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Toxic Ghost by Peace Habila-Okwoli

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When it happened, I didn’t have the courage to lift my head for fear of becoming the meat on bloggers’ tables on social media. Picturing myself on each blogger’s page with captions like ‘Proposal Gone South’ and how they would add what didn’t happen to spice things up as well as attract the gullible kept me still. I would rather remain in this position: one knee down, eyes fixed on the ground and tears flowing like a river till the mockery-induced laughter and smirks fade away. I blame myself more than I blame Adunni who propelled me into this mess. I was too foolish to forget how she had jinxed great opportunities for me in the past. I hate her guts yet enjoy her company. She is my only friend and because we function like the negative and positive forces of the universe, I had held onto our friendship like life. On the day she got engaged, she couldn’t hide her displeasure over my inability to get Dayo to man up and put a ring on my finger. I recall how we sat on the floor like two hopeless birds mourning the death of the wind before she snatched us back to reality with “What if you propose to Dayo? It is the 21st century, girl” “Come on, my ancestors will disown me’’, I added as quickly as I could before her words settled in my bones. Days turned to weeks and I began to rationalize her suggestion. Dayo was beginning to act sweet. He was the sweetest shade of himself. Then the demon possessed me. ”Hello Dayo, do you have a minute to spare?”, I asked over the phone with the words quaking through my vocal cords due to fear. ”Sure, shoot babe’’, he replied swiftly. ”I want us to do dinner tonight’’, I added almost immediately. “Ok, I will pick you up after work. Our usual spot, right?”, He asked. “No! Dayo, I will send the address to you and I will find my way there, don’t worry”, I replied. ”Ok”, he said before dropping the call. Fear welled up from my tummy racing for my throat to choke life out of me. I wondered why he didn’t add the usual “I love you” closing. It got me anxious but the thought of wasting 10 years of my life and the possibility of another 10 gave me faint hope. I rushed to the makeup studio to fix myself. The red gown was perfect for the day because it was Valentine. When I was ready to step out, I loved what I saw in the mirror- I was intimidating to the eyes yet soft on the heart. Dinner was beautiful but the thought of what was ahead made me uneasy. Thankfully, he didn’t notice it. ”Dayo, I love you so much’’, I said as I let my feet enjoy the freedom of stretching. Like a robot, I walked to his side and knelt on one knee. ”Please, marry me’’, I said. ”Get up, you are embarrassing me”, he said. I asked again and again till my voice lost discretion and got people around clapping. Guess he really couldn’t take it as he hurried out, leaving me to my fate. I felt empty yet determined to salvage what was left of my self esteem. I stayed there for a while, enduring the arrows of shame and mockery that were directed at me. When my romance with fear was over, I started counting the feet of people leaving the restaurant. The restaurant was almost quiet when someone tapped my shoulders. I lifted my head to a cute young man urging me to get up. ”You have punished yourself enough’’, he said. He wondered why I allowed them to take pictures of me. His indirect speech confirmed my fears. The only available consolation was the hope that none of them got my face. I am Samson but you can call me Sam, he said as he disrupted the silence that had engulfed the table we sat at. One thing led to another and I found myself in love with Sam barely six weeks after meeting him. He wasn’t the conventional Abuja guy. I enjoyed his pranks and the air of mystery around him; it kept me longing for more. My mum was excited the day I told her about Sam’s proposal. I was over 40. That explained the over 1000 congratulatory messages that glazed my social media timeline. However, the low key wedding was disappointing to a lot of people. They expected us to throw a big party. My mother concluded that I was overprotective of Sam. “E no easy to see husband”‘was all I had the courage to say in response to her question. She had so many issues with Sam and how he couldn’t get his people to show up for the wedding but what doused her fears was that he was working on his papers to relocate to Canada. It was only decent to rush the wedding and process our documents as a couple. That explanation calmed a lot of wagging tongues. After the wedding, he moved in with me. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of joining him in a hotel where he had spent about 5 months plus. Like they say, marriage is an eye opener but in my case, it opened my eyes to the beauty of love. I enjoyed waking up to his bright eyes jealously watching over me. I felt so much in love and wished Dayo could get to see this in addition to knowing that I got married two months after he walked out on me. He was my world and I threw myself helplessly into his net of love. All was going well until this same Adunni called to register her concerns. ”I think your husband is a narcissist’’, she exclaimed. ”You are in his web o!” “Do you feel fulfilled?” “Are you truly happy?” “Can’t you see he has

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In Search of My Better Half: A short fiction by Chukwuemeka Oluka

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Photo credit: freepik How the Durex Mutual Climax found its way to the ground in the full glare of introspective eyes is what beats my wildest imagination. Using his Instagram page, Aproko Doctor would preach against putting condoms inside wallets. He also discourages men from putting their wallets in their back pockets and then sitting on it. However, I would just laugh over his sermons and consider it all cruise. I love to put stuff in my back pocket notwithstanding. Especially my handkerchief. Though this would teach me a lesson I would never forget in a hurry. The moment I dragged the handkerchief’s tip to clean the sweat bubbles having a swell time on my face, the condom pack followed through immediately, like a child who would give the dad close marking to monitor when he goes out. I was still spreading the hanky generously on my face when an instinct beckoned on me to take a pause. I saw pairs of eyes locked on the condom. Their jaws dropped freely and their mouths went ajar. If I did not die that day in the mall, I might never die again. Shocking! I melted. I wish I could disappear. Many weird situations I have witnessed in life, but none came close to this. The other day, it was bedbugs. Yes, bedbugs! That day, I donned an immaculate white shirt with its crimson red buttons opened to the chest level. My pants looked sharp; razor sharp. The belt gripping my waist matched with the pair of shoes I wore. I also wore the costliest cologne in my wardrobe. I was giving fine boy vibes. However, all these meant nothing to bedbugs. Did I tell you I was heading for a date? She was already seated at the reservation. I joined her, ready to wear my heart on my sleeves. “Nothing will make this date go the path of the previous ones,” I said to myself. I was ready to hold this relationship so gently and tightly. It wasn’t going to slip off my fingers. The previous relationship before this didn’t last longer than an orgasm. It came crashing like a pack of cards because of the weirdest of reasons. She accused me of pressing the toothpaste from the middle and not from the bottom. Well, as we sat holding down discussions and waiting for our orders to be served, her eyes spotted two tiny creatures crawling out from under my collar. It was a white shirt, and this meant that spotting their movement was effortless. They moved haphazardly like male and female in a frenzy. They looked like tiny cockroaches. You would reckon the male was giving the female a last-minute chase for a mating session. The female stretches the companion to the limit to ensure the mating right is earned. Her attention was divided, but her eyes focused on something. We lost eye contact. I became worried. “Baby, what is it? You look so troubled.” “Oh… It’s fine” she responded. At that moment, Romeo and Juliet had found their way back under the collar. They were having a swell time with their relationship. Unknown to them, they were the village people sent to destroy mine. She wore red lipstick and the heart shape her mouth took while she sipped her drink kept me gazing at her with relish. Her face was moisturized and bright. I was making some mental pictures of how beautiful my children would look. One of her palms was placed on the table. I put mine over them and ran quick massages. Then I stretched my neck, ready to sink a kiss on her forehead, when she exclaimed; “Again? What are those things that keep crawling from under your shirt?” This time, they were three. There is no telling me it wasn’t kpakpangolo game they were playing. “Bedbug! Jesus! How come?” The moment she heard ‘bedbug,’ she froze. The glass wine she held, found its way joyously to the ground. “You nurse bedbugs?” “Babe, I don’t understand what you mean. Don’t say that,” I responded. She got up, dabbed her mouth with tissue paper to ensure the red colour on her lips was still within circumference and then she took a walk. I was gobsmacked. I couldn’t muster the ounce of energy to beg her to stay. It was our first outing and it ended in an embarrassment, not just for me, but also for her. As soon as I found my senses again, I dashed to the restroom, took off my shirt and closely observed it. I found a red coloured stain on the back of the neck. I had also seen a similar stain on the headrest of the bolt ride I booked. However, it didn’t catch my attention, as I was consumed by the wild thoughts of how the date would go. It dawned on me that the padded cushions of the bolt ride were infested with bedbugs. I might have snuffed life out of one of them when I rested my head on the seat. The shock and shame the incident caused me will never leave my subconscious mind. That was why when the Durex condom fell to the ground, it felt like a déjàvu. Another embarrassment. I felt like speaking to the ground to let it swallow me. Did I tell you I was carrying a bible? Maybe I should have rejected the condoms. Valentine’s Day celebration was counting down to hours, and that day, the NGO distributed free condoms as part of their enlightenment campaign for safe sex. After the 4:00 pm fellowship, I was heading for the mall when they foisted one pack on me; the way some kingdom preachers would foist gospel pamphlets on passersby. *** I resumed cleaning my face with the hanky, confused about the next step to take. Then, someone touched me gently on the back. “Have it” she encouraged me. I ran a quick scan of the faces of onlookers and summoned the courage. Everyone burst into laughter — hysteric

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Husband Ghost by Daniel Ogba

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image credit: Unsplash Try as I might to deny it, some part of me knew Tobi was not real. It was a strong knowledge, couldn’t shake it off, no matter how many times I coaxed my mind with pep talks about not allowing the trauma of my past relationships ruin the one good thing I had going for me. No matter how many times I confronted him about it — how little I knew about him despite how long we’d been together, about how I feared that one morning I would awake to find straightened sheets in place of the slender, solid weight of his frame, and his palms would no longer slide into mine as it had every morning for the past nine months. He had laughed when I told him. His laughter, carried as if from a hollow, came to my ears, encircled them, slithered down the corridors with warmth so intense, powerful and complete with an assurance I could almost touch when he said in his sing-song baritone: “I will never abandon you, Ifem. You have nothing to worry about.” My previous partner had said the exact phrase to me. I will never abandon you, my light. I’d be directionless like the wind. But he’d carried his big head to go and die in a road accident while traveling from Enugu to Lagos, for what he said was a business trip. And at his requiem in his hometown(one of his coworkers, a friend, had taken me), I was bone-shocked to discover that the woman sitting behind the condolence table, garbed in white all-through was his wife, and that the three young boys surrounding her like soldiers, were his children. The trip he’d died making was in return to his real family for his wife’s PhD convocation at the university of Lagos. I had been enraged then, walked stiffly behind my friend in a queue leading up to the table. I contemplated telling the woman as I shook her hand that her husband was a cheat, and that he deserved to have died in such horrible manner. The line proceeded slowly, I fiddled the promise ring he’d fitted on my middle finger after a wild round in my house, the one he paid for in full with his money, finally taking it off, slipping it inside my purse before my friend left the table and it was my turn to offer condolence. I told her I knew her husband well, that we worked very closely. “I don’t recognize you. What’s your name?” A hint of suspicion danced in her tired, tear-reddened eyes. “Ifechukwu.” “Richard never spoke about you. I know all his close associates.” I wanted to say maybe it was because her husband thought telling her about me was like delivering arsenal into the enemy’s camp. He thought it best to leave me out of their conversations, smart, big-headed man that he was. He also never mentioned his family to me. He’d been good to me. It would’ve been senseless to ignite chaos. “I am deeply sorry for your loss, ma. Your husband was a seasoned professional at his job.” I discarded the ring as our vehicle sped past the undulating hills of Nike, folded up all the promises he’d taught my heart to believe. In my room that night, in the bed that had bore his weight, I thrashed madly about mourning something that wasn’t mine to mourn. * Tobi’s words buoyed me out of the morass I’d been wallowing in since he appeared in my life, held my arms and led me over the ledge, as I crossed from a world of skepticism into one where he was possible, where his presence was real as real can be — like the black mole on the arch beneath his right eye which I caressed on Saturday mornings that I usually woke up before he did, when he lay asleep undisturbed, as if in death, until it was noon. He was as real as the sweat that poured in rivulets down his back, denying me a firm grip of skin while he worked his weight above me; like the grunts and hot breaths that clung to my wet throat while we kissed, as my thighs vibrated from the ecstasy his hardness harnessed from my body. That, too, was real, in fact, I don’t think anything can be realer than an orgasm. Yet, the knowledge of his un-realness was a ghost that retreated into the shadows, because I commanded it to, never rearing its head for the longest time. But its presence was still apparent, lurking about. He owned only three shirts, three jeans trousers, a black tux, and a pair of canvas. When he moved in finally, two weeks after I asked him to, a month after we met at Ballroom, he came with just a carry-on slung over his shoulder. Nothing else. I thought he wanted to make it easier for himself to be able to leave me. Less load, quicker disappearance. I kept expecting to find more of his luggage occupying space in the wardrobe we shared. I kept expecting to wake up one morning, or return home from work one evening and not find the carry-on in the corner where he’d securely fit it on the top wardrobe shelf. But that never happened. And even now, I can see the bag, black and new, unmoved from its position. He’s no longer here, yet what belongs to him still is. I realize he’d taken to owning little not for himself, not because he was cunning and calculative of his plan to disappear after he tired of me. It was for me, to make it easier to forget him, to get rid of any physical memory that he was ever here. More bags, clothes, shoes, meant it’d be tasking to move him out of my space after he was gone. He’d left a note tucked in the side pocket of the carry-on, the white edge of the

Essays, Writers

The Bad Waiter by Emmanuel Enaku.

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Valentine’s Day meant nothing to me. True, it was seen as a day of love but as far as I was concerned, love did not exist. After a series of heartbreaks by those pretty offspring of Eve, or should I rather say, Delilah, I had made up my mind to play the field without any emotional attachment and no remorse, of course. I had become very proficient in the game of playboys and I had coined a name for myself which I made use of during action –Messidinho. That name, gotten from two of my highly viewed football players, Lionel Messi and Ronaldinho, speaks about my personality and how good I am in the field of players. I had been invited by Remi, one of my niggas, to fill up a vacancy in his boss’ hotel, a remarkably expensive five-star hotel that stood in the centre of the city like a treasure Island and only attracted the big boys of the town who had money to burn. Being a waiter was not much of an exciting accomplishment but I knew my lines well and was determined to make the most of my position, one which offered a good deal of exposure, ‘’new fish’’ and connections on Valentine’s night. I was already dressed and primed up at 6:00PM, in a resplendent black suit,  black trousers and black shoes to match. My white shirt seemed to work with the white fluorescent bulb that hung below my ceiling to illuminate the rather dim room I occupied. staring into the mirror,  I adjusted my red bow tie and waistband and gave a charming smile. Both had some diamond-like scintillating stuffs bonded all over them and with the fluorescent in the room, they sparkled excellently. I had a sinister smile playing on my face, revealing my deep dimples and the creases at the sides of my eyes, as I thought about what I was actually up to that night. Yes,  I was handsome, with the face of a demigod and a well-built body structure,  made even more alluring by my constant workouts and quite religious visits to the gym. I had a smile that could set a lady’s heart pounding and I took great advantage of this. Yet again,  I was smart,  highly intelligent and practical, the perfect man every woman wanted and,  sure,  they fell easily into my net. I adjusted my dark shades again and chuckled as the mirror reflected my action.  My phone buzzed then and I smiled as I identified the caller.  It was Remi. “Hey, Rasta!” I said as I picked the call.  I could hear the music blaring through the home theaters in the background  as Remi laughed. “My night!” Remi said,  I could tell at once that he was at the venue and enjoying himself. “Where are you at,  man?” Remi asked. “Hope you are prepared. I’m having so much fun already.  Just hooked up with a fresh chick here,  uhm… Veronica,  yea, she calls herself that. Man, she’s hot!” I chuckled as Remi blabbed out, not once stopping for a breath. “Get yourself over here quickly!” He said finally and cut the call. “Lousy son-of-a-bitch”, I said smiling as I put the gold-plated Samsung, the latest model in vogue, into my pocket and reached for my body spray on the cupboard. Smelling nice I went out through the door and locked it. “Bad boy”. I said as I spun the key holder with my index finger a few times before putting it in my pocket. The Valentine’s party was going smoothly and although the boss tried to keep us on our toes,  there were still opportunities to catch fun. I had arrived an hour earlier and had very little time to chat with Remi because he kept appearing and disappearing. My duty was to serve drinks round and I had done a great job. I also managed to draw attention to myself and did a little flirting here and there. Oh yeah! I watched as the bar boy poured the drinks into six elegant-looking glasses on a thin gold-plated tray I had dropped on the counter and smiled at him.  A hard-working lad he seemed,  staying behind the counter pouring drinks,  unable to go out and mingle like the rest of us. Just then,  Remi appeared with a contented smile playing on his face. “My paddy eh!” He said looking me over. “Why you just dey stand there dey look?  The river is already full for fishing.  Six already in my net!” Remi said drunkenly. I watched him laugh feeling very happy with himself. “How many you got?” He asked after a fit of laughter. “I don’t fish Sadines, man. I’m waiting for the sharks”, I said and gave a mischievous smile which Remi understood. “Ahh! Messidinho!” Remi hailed. He was just about to say something else when the door to the party hall opened and a silhouetted figure stepped in. Remi had his mouth agape and I watched, captivated as the figure moved gracefully into the gathering. The noisy hall had suddenly become quiet and lifeless as all activities ceased and everyone stared. It was just as if the graceful intruder had cast a potent spell on every individual in the hall. Step by step that heavenly being came in,  dragging all stares in the room. “Ahh, mogbe!” Remi exclaimed in his usual Yoruba fashion as the figure materialized out of the dark section of the hall into the brightly lit part where we stood. He had his hands on his head the way people do when in shock and in the silence of the hall,  I could clearly hear Remi’s heart pumping adrenaline-diluted blood through his veins. That creation of heaven marched towards me in a flamboyant manner.  The most beautiful entity I had ever seen.  My eyes caught the set of diamond earrings and pearl necklace that adorned its structure. A total figure 8. She was a captivating dark lady with bright magical

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Cupid And A Strange Town: A Poem by Victor Oladejo

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I Cupid enters a town, today they celebrate love, his greatest weapon, On a corner of a street, an old woman seats on a stool, She holds a bowl in her hand, and her eyes hold a prayer, Her offspring smiles at a passerby, He is her friend and their angel, He sees the prayer on the old woman’s face, A rose blossoms at the left side of his heart, a fire grows on the right, He reaches for his pocket and his fingers dive into its fold, At the bottom, they meet a crisp note, stained with blue, The fire at the left side of the heart leaps at the flower and consumes it, He drops the blue paper and said : Allah bamusa! He shakes his shoes and leaves. The prayer leaves the old woman’s face, and enters her daughter’s face, The old woman drops the bowl. Cupid flaps his wings and leaves. II On n another corner of the street, Cupid sees a girl, She is seating on a stool, Her heart is a canvas with a masquerade painted on it, A steward hovers around like a lion, his eyes are a furnace, His heart is a canvas with an eagle painted on it, Cupid stares at the Man, at the canvas, at the eagle. Her lover arrives, and they open like flowers, The masquerade in the girl’s canvas transforms into a dancing woman, The lover’s heart is a canvas, A man beating a drum is painted on it. They start a song, it tells a strange story, It speaks about love. The steward leaves and returns with a tray, The girl and her lover make merry. The song stops, the merry ends, The lover’s hand dives into the fold of his pocket, They meet a brown note, He shows the steward, He shakes his head, The eagle on the steward’s canvas transforms into an eagle with its prey, The lover and the girl follow the steward, They enter a room filled with vessels, The lover and his girl bend over the vessels and begin to clean them. Cupid shakes his head and leaves. III In another corner of the town, cupid sees a man, His heart is a canvas and a cloud is painted on it, His daughter stands close by, Her hand is up, her eyes hold a prayer, The daughter’s heart is a canvas, a desert is painted on it He reaches for his pocket, his fingers meet a crisp note stained with blue, Cupid flaps his feathers “The love of a father is eternal!” His heart says, The cloud on the man’s canvas transforms into a man feeding his family, The man drops the note and leaves.

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To My Beloved: A Poem by Oluwaseun Osanyinro

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Love, they say has no senses The feeling they say makes one feel weightless Yet, when I met you, it was as if I had run 10 races Each look, easy and stressless I believe I won a medal with you Cause you brought out the side of me That made me believe I could achieve anything with you Than I ever did with a thousand over-serious me The first change I noticed was my smile I could light the moon, I was once told Then you came into my life in a grand style And suddenly began lighting many suns that were snuffed out cold I had giggles that made one giggle I had a laughter that rumbles the stomach Which you doubled in ripples Causing me to bless my stars for my luck I could tell the world of your eyes The way you stared at me, melting my heart I could tell the world about your drive Of course, they should know my love is smart I could compare you to the fountain Flowing your love endlessly into my soul I could compare you to 7 mountains For you stand tall after every wave or toil There are several men wise They are several men fair Yet you surpass them all with prize And you race above them in the air Who would have thought I would find a mate in you? Who would have thought we would be? For I had given up on love till I met you And I had accepted fate to be I love you now and tomorrow I love you If the love ends, I’ll borrow Cause I want none else but you I am assured you love me now and tomorrow I am assured you love me And if it dwindles, will you borrow? Will you want another or me? So, I stand and pray for a future most perfect A future with you and me With children and a garden well kept And a picture of we I pray for little young ones that look like you’ And few princesses with my eyes and smile So that we see a picture of the new A generation of our love merged with smiles There would be storms ahead but we are ready I choose to stand beside you all the way Storms may be few or many But our love will overcome them, we pray Others may scorn us Some may stay While they are it, we would climb a bus And show the world perfect love all the way I love you forever I know you love me the same And ever and ever We are ready to share a name While the future may seem a little scary I am not afraid With you by my side I cannot be weary Cause you would always come to my aid I dedicate this to you my Prince My knight in shining armour For you slew the dragon that held me since And became my love, my charmer Let’s fly away Let’s soar For the future holds a great day And tomorrow, I am certain we would adore

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Canticles Of Love: A Poem by Chukwuemeka Oluka

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                                   i To the one whose faults are small yet loud That makes my heart groan in loud solitude I let you wreck and deck me as you vowed You held tight to your dangling attitude Here and there, you swung me till I was lost Lost in the fold and mould of your true self Like a pearl left in savannas far east I was lost like a book that left its shelf But how much longer will this continue? How long will I stand and wonder and feign? Near, you are; yet far like the mountain dew In all, love threw me you so that I gain Glad I stayed with you and love is anchored Come pain, come gain, love came, saw and conquered               ii They may share agbado, cassava and maize Love we share is above a transient gift Their future is sold, lost and set ablaze But ours firm, affirmed and devoid of rift You by me, the future is not in doubt Love is the future that will never fade Like days the grasses were green upon drought Our love shone through never to ever cave Days the noontide wears a nightfall garment The days drought is hidden in a dark cloud Are days our love will glow on a parchment Obi m, we will stand tall to what we vowed In us, love shines bright in valentine’s sky It will not say goodbye, it will not die             iii Oh, love, who can tell in a haste your state? Some stroke for some folk I see you remain In all moments you maintain your estate You come through unshattered with enough thane Who can expose this hue using mere eyes? Even the kaleidoscope showing a guile Some say love is bright, dark or like an ice You are that hue; you are without a guise Some will say love is neither here nor there You are love; you have an identity You are love, you come with a shade so rare My love I adore with sincerity My love, you are never over the place In you, I will forever make a case             iv Nothing will cloud the love I feel for you Not the scarce naira of February It is clear to see; very plain to view The verdict beautiful, and flowery My dear love, when push ever comes to shove Let no one say I am just a pullet Let no one say I am just a mere dove Because for you, I will take a bullet You do not need flowers for valentine Yes, what you need is the garden instead My love, you cue a due essence of mine On your lush plain, I laid me on farmstead Obi’m, come serenade my gentle heart Come take these canticles of lovely art  

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And This Is You by Kenneth Nwabuisi

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They say the devil attacks in strange ways, sometimes in concrete things that can be spotted from a distance. But yours does not strike this way. It starts with a primal knowledge, a knowledge that sets your whole body on fire; electric currents coursing through your body, an itch down your honeypot and a pair of bulbous boobs. This is the beginning of the things that will see you to ruins. You have a single parent; a mother, who prepares you for school every morning in front of an L-shaped building. She puts a stocking on your left foot. Your other leg bounces free. She holds you firm so you won’t fall. This is what she does to you every morning: covering your feet with white stockings, turning you around before her as she scratches your hair with the teeth of a comb, the comb warm on your scalp. She does these things for you because you are her precious egg, fresh and plum. Because you are in senior secondary school one and already late for school. You know fully well that Mrs B., your pigsty haired integrated-science teacher must be by the gate waiting to punish you. In a few minutes, she slings your school bag over your shoulders and you wave at her, she waves back. You leave. On the road to school, the ground is miry. There was a heavy downpour the previous night. The air smells fresh as you run. Your sandal soles catch reddish mud and you slip. Your hands flailing on air, your bag rotating to hit the floor when he comes by to grip your hands. “Thank you,” you say, after he takes you to an extreme, away from the soggy earth. “It’s nothing,” he says. His serpentine eyes are the first thing you look at, but deep down under his pair of ripped jean trousers, there exists a bulge. “I can see you are heading to school.” He beams a smile. You are breathless. This is the first time someone, except your mother, looks at you while smiling. “Yes. I am almost late,” you say, fiddling with your school bag. “I’m Kelvin, my friends call me eagle.” “Eagle? What does that mean?” You are confounded. “Story for another day, let me see you off to school.” He holds your hand, you clench his still. You both are on a swagger fit down the road. At the roads’ junction, under a huge tree where a woman stoops frying akara, he waves at someone; a guy with dreadlocks. “Who is that guy?” You ask. He is silent. You are sure he heard you, but ignored. His gaze locates another lad standing on a veranda of an uncompleted building upstairs, wreaths of bluish smoke emitting from his lips, dancing across his face. You watch as Kelvin takes in a breath, as though he longs to join the guy ahead. The next minute, he is waving at you and your footsteps bring you to the school gate. In the classroom, you are not concentrating. You are fantasizing on the fall. On his hands holding you, on his breath close to yours and you didn’t perceive a thing as insignificant as his tom-tom mixed with cigarette breath. You just cared about the walk, about you holding hands with him, walking down the road like couples. A question which has been revolving over the air falls on your head. Mrs B points at you and says “you at the extreme, what is photosynthesis?” You stand, sluggish. Your eyes dart over your friend, Jessica. She’s mouthing indecipherable words, cupping her palm over her mouth. Mrs B walks to your seat and you feel the whole class’s eyes on you. You feel ashamed. That’s how you feel these days since you began noticing the roundedness of your breasts. Later, outside the school field, after Mrs B tells you to pick pin in front of the whole class, with your legs trembling and hurting till you feel tears leak from the corners of your eyes, you will ask Jessica, “do you feel ashamed when people look at you?” Jessica clucks and says, “Yes, I do” “I felt strange today, with one guy?” “Hian! Which guy?” “One boy who prevented me from falling inside mud this morning on my way to school.” “Ok, how did you feel then?” “He was all over me. I couldn’t get enough of his weight, strength and masculinity.” You gasp. “I have never felt like this before, a sweet sensation on my breasts.” “Chai! My friend is crushing on someone, who is this fine bobo that my girlfriend is crushing on that even made her forget the meaning of photosynthesis?” Jessica rambles on. You wander off with her question again. The mango tree you both are sitting under blows fresh air, reaching your nostrils with a slight whoosh. At home, you try not to think about him. You fight so hard not to tell your mother about him, about how you felt towards the incident that happened earlier today. But soon, she notices everything from how you sing through your chores. How you shake your waist majestically, beaming as you sweep the compound. How you pause at intervals, gazing at nothing in the air. It’s in those little quiet moments of yours that her voice jolts you to reality, “Nneka nwa m, you are happy. Since you came back from school yesterday, I noticed you are happy.” “Yes mama, let’s say, I had a very fantastic day.” “O si no fantastic? Kedu maka cocastic? Eh nne?” You drop the broom in excitement and run to hug your mother. She sits on a wooden bench in your compound and you climb over her back, giggling like a little puppy. You meet Kelvin again in the evening of the next day, while you are returning with your friend from the market square where you went to get some egusi for dinner. Somewhere under arching trees, a place dark

Blog, Poetry, Writers

Bloody Valentine! – A Poem by Becky Peleowo

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                 I Bring roses for my love, Scatter delicate Lilies so white, Moradeke, my queen, my dove, So now, why do we fight? Old naira notes squeezed into a bottle Were saved to pay your bride price; They’re moribund now, my petal All spent, my sweat, my sacrifice! Those queues at stations break a man, For the love of Valentine, think not of fuel. I’ll cool you, my love, with Abebe, the fan Come now to bed and let’s end this duel. Valentine is still red, Moradeke, be mine In this bloody valentine, let’s wine, let’s dine!                      II Moradeke, be not angry, my heart, The Amala, ewedu, the goat meat, Our once-perfect meal before dessert, Now, is the genesis of our rift. Cash in exchange for cash, Blows in exchange for fuel, You ignorantly don’t call them harsh But my penny-pinching you call cruel I’ll eat your amala with watery soup Skip ewedu, gbegiri, even the goat meat Moradeke, POS quick cash is such a dupe Let’s eat the meal and forget the treat. Ha! My love, the five-star hotel trip, Will only put me on intravenous drip!                      III Valentine, quarantine – call it by any name You want the moon, the stars, to dine in Mars But our income and my love remain the same Let’s cast our vote, let’s end this SARS! Moradeke see now, mighty men cry, Nursing mothers stifle babies’ cries with a spank. Full-grown humans bare bodies not batting an eye Angry neonates pull at the breast with a yank! Chained up for eight years of change, Many have suffered, died, committed suicide, We laboured yet in our pockets, no change Our youths on valentine consume insecticide. Let’s follow trends, let’s Japa! let’s leave town, Then you’ll marry me my love in a Chantilly gown.                      IV Bring sweet roses for my love, Bring the delicate lilies so white, Moradeke, my queen, my dove, Come to your dawn, be my light! Ife mi, a new dawn will come, Then, a new nation shall arise, Soon, you see, I’ll leave this slum; A new job; a decent pay rise Come, my love, let’s be a couple, Let’s kiss, let’s smile, think of the old times I’ll give you a ring, I’ll make it legal, Chill in my arms while I sing you love rhymes. Moradeke my joy, let’s make cute babies, For the love of you, I’ll clean cute doodies.                      V Valentine is still red, Moradeke, be mine Let’s marry, let’s wed, Let’s wine, let’s dine! White, red or black, blue, green or pink What colour love takes, I’ll wear its stain Our love’s boat sails, it will never sink You, be my wife, I’ll bear all your pain In life, in love, the drama never ends, No cash, no fuel, no…blah blah blah Your night calls, your visits on weekends Make these stay and I’ll leave you in awe Okan mi, let me be your hero, And you alone, my Naira, my Euro!                          

Blog, Essays, Writers

Love For Love by Okoroma Favourite.

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“A wink was the only conversation I’ve ever had with her – Ella. And now she hates me? Was I wrong to have winked?”. “But what could I have done? She stared at me, she smiled at me too. Her eyes glistened like the reflection of a mirror in a shallow stream. I was only enchanted by her smiles. The fault was all hers; not any of mine. I never meant to smile back, I was only betrayed by my lips and then… That wink from the pit of hell! Aaargh!”. My right palm covered my face. To think that it didn’t end there, Rita just had to make everything worse. Just imagine the guts; “Hello, my name is Rita, this is my friend Ella and she doesn’t fancy fair guys…” Oh Lord! What the! Who asked you?! “But…”, I bit my finger as two voices conversed in my head. “could it be that she really doesn’t like fair guys?”. “Oh! snap out of that already, who wouldn’t like you?!”. “Hmm really now? Can’t you see she doesn’t? At least it doesn’t seem like it”. I frowned. “So she doesn’t like me and she was so shy that she eclipsed her face in her arm?” “Oh wow!…. So she was shy. And that meant she liked you? And now she wants nothing to do with you?” “Oh God!”, I slapped my head. “Touch that person”, Dr Nnadi knocked me off my thoughts. “You on the third roll”, she pointed. I jolted up flickering my eyes sideways and hoping not to have been the one caught by her drooling hook. “You”, She gazed at me. I patted my chest weakly like I was being maltreated. “Yes you”, she affirmed. “You seem like the most attentive person in this class so answer the question”. “Oh God! There was a question?”, My heart pounded in my throat. Then the silence of the class yelled back at me. “Yes there was!” Jeez! I had no clue! My eyes foraged the class in search of a hint that I was sure would never come. Every eye that met mine looked a little perplexed, expecting the smartest guy in class to dish the answer with the snap of a finger. But then, my shoe ached in my teeth and they had no idea because they never had to wear them. Things couldn’t have been any worse, SHE was in the class too! I felt tiny balls of sweat converge eagerly on my forehead while my palms sprouted warm waters. My spirit was gravely stirred, but in the middle of it all I knew… More than anyone else that “I don’t know” was a “NO NO” for an answer! So I’ve caught to do something!. I exhaled deeply and adjusted my tie. “Uhmm… I didn’t get the question ma pardon me”. “You couldn’t have”, she retorted. “An unexamined life is not worth living”. “Oh no”, My heart sank. She was about to decimate my life with her usual strategy – The quotes first before the pangs of her stinging words. She fixed her gaze at me, “Who was quoted to have said that ‘an unexamined life is not worth living’?” What?! It was near impossible that I believed that. That was it?! “Socrates!”. I rushed the answer like it would run off. “Socrates”, she smiled. “Handsome and smart altogether”. The class cheered, “heeeeeyyyy!”. She chuckled and teased them off. “Children of Sodom”, that will be all for today, have a nice day”. She glanced at me and smiled while she walked out the door. Then I felt my heart tick back to life as I let off an onerous smile, slumping back to my seat with a heavy sigh. My heart still beat a bit faster than usual but my blood pressure seemed to have been dropping to what appeared more normal than before. “So even lecturers admire you these days”, Edozie nudged my shoulder. I laughed. “Please allow me, you hallowed son of Adam”. We laughed and stormed outside to the open veranda where students as a matter of routine chat and kiss themselves goodbye at the end of each lecture that marked the last of the day. “So how is your Rita?”, Edozie chuckled. “Whose Rita?” “Your Rita” “It’s your own Rita”, I smirked. “Woops!”, He made a funny face, “speak of the devil!”. “Sorry, speak of wha….?” I felt someone’s arms stream around me from behind. Edozie grinned and turned his back at me. “See you in the hostel man”. My eyes smiled before dropping onto the arms that grasped me. One wore a gold bracelet and some finely shaped finger nails at the tips, the type that would make you wish to observe the English practice of kissing a hand all of a sudden. “Rita”, my lips whispered. Resting her cheek on my back and pressing her body harder against mine like she wanted to submerge herself into me, she exhaled softly. “Mmm?”. I felt a bit uncomfortable as people watched; Some in admiration, some out of scorn, while others brewed with envy. Rita was such a beauty, the type you would wrestle Hades to glance at just one more time if you passed by. Tall, fair and finely shaped like an hourglass. Her skin looked soft like the petals of an infant rose; almost penetrable by the eyes. Her face was a priceless work of art; second only to one – Ella’s. She stood there at a distance – the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Her slender body looked even curvier as she stood on a wedge with both feet in close proximity. Her fitted top sunk neatly into her skirt and gifted her butt a neatly carved shape like a “c”. The breeze added to her glory, swaying her natural afro hair gently and backwards with levity while long lashes spread over her eyes like frayed wings of serene flees. I felt the urge to run a finger

Blog, Reverie

A Brief One On Marriage.

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By all means, marry. If you get a good spouse, you’ll become happy; if you get a bad one, you’ll become a philosopher. ~ Socrates ‘improvised’ I remember one morning when my daughter woke up, came downstairs, and made breakfast. I watched her fry the pancake, spread the Nutella and topped it with a piece of strawberry fruit cut in half. I only asked her to punch it up with peanuts for extra calories to avoid collapsing in the gym! All done effortlessly with a headphone clasped over the ears as she hummed along to her playlist. My last daughter o, just to let you know. The joy of watching her while knowing that she may or may not be aware of the impact of her simple act was another delight on its own. For me, this is one of the numerous benefits of having a family. She is a fruit of my marriage and the bliss of such little blessings is better experienced than explained. So you can pardon my indignation when I hear that marriage is overhyped. In any case, it may be so for those who are not getting the satisfaction that should come from a marriage. I don’t have a perfect marriage, nobody has and I have seen people who wished they remained single. A wish which will always be alien to me because frankly if I come back a million times I will marry as many times. I even wish I married earlier because I would have now retired to spend more time on passion projects. The thing is that many commentators often generalise and put out an opinion informed by one or a few experiences. That is why we have many fluky relationship counselors obfuscating on social media platforms. Of course, it is better single than miserably accompanied but two good heads are better than one. Likewise, it is equally helpful to identify your shared interests before that walk down the aisle. In my case, a common love for tourism was identified early on and it has proven to be bonding and therapeutic. You see, besides companionship and procreation, there are countless benefits of marriage if you truly love and respect each other. And we must not take love lightly here. It comes with commitment, giving, taking and understanding. But yours truly will only tell you about one benefit from my little experience. The one that matters most even if it is ironically selfish. After all, aren’t humans selfish? There is a “feel-good feeling” that comes with marriage. It is psychological. It comes with that phrase “till death do us part”. I mean that feeling of “they ‘ll love to hear this” or “honey I’m home” after a good business trip. Or the belief that “they ‘ve got my back” that makes you long for home after a terrible day at work. It is just that simple but it is indeed an enormous feeling. So great that sometimes you unconsciously find yourself alone, thinking and giving thanks for having the best life ever. A friend had once asked me why I left all my businesses in Nigeria for “the abroad” and I replied “because I need ataraxis” Confused he said, “Cmoni you ‘ve come with all these your yeye vocab, which one is ataraxis again?” I beckoned for him to come closer. He did and I whispered “peace of mind!” I dated for many years and I ‘ve been married for 18 years now so I can tell you from my experience that the union can never be overhyped. The reverse is the case because I can’t seem to find enough words to qualify this beatitude. So go on, get married and enjoy the great benefits of the first institution created by God! But remember the caveat..if you truly love and respect each other. #HappySunday

Creative Essays, Essays

Sweet Stigma by Ebube Ezeadum

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  It wasn’t that the 300-level student, Bowale Israel, wasn’t handsomely carved. Neither was he as deadly as a shark cultist. It was the little exhibition of mad: the sudden explosion, the unconscious pacing up and down the hallway, the loud dialogue-like monologue. It was these things that made even the thought of having a romantic lady in his life seem like fiction. Deborah Ebong was the transfer student in his class. Somehow she had miraculously worked her transfer to the University even at 300 level. She was as slender as a one-year-old pawpaw tree. Her long hair, rather than her breasts or a womanly shape, was the singular characteristic speaker that announced that she was a female human. She just wasn’t the girl Bowale Israel was looking for. She didn’t pass up to half of his features-I-seek-in-a-woman checklist. No large backside; no curvy waist; beauty, Nil; intelligence, not impressive; ability to cook well, he heard that she hardly ever boils water sef! So she was a failed candidate to him. Yet he recognized but didn’t know why she always flanked around him like a remora fish on a shark’s side. *** It was going to be the routine Valentine’s day. No lover. No call, well except his younger sister asking him if he had taken his “anti-schizophrenic drugs”. He kept pacing the room, scared that he may have another episode of explosive outburst. He was talking with an increased volume to himself. Why was I even born? That’s true. I never gave it a thought; it was probably a mistake. Hmmm… I feel like I’m just wasting resources here. Why is life so unfair? I can’t even have a love partner. And I am in the 300 level! Maybe I should just become a priest if I survive graduation two years from now. Or… wait. Not a priest. A monk. I can’t afford to travel to China. What do I do now? Bowale pacing came to a stop as he spotted the coconut at a distance from his bright window. Something struck his mind. Easy! I’d travel to the village. I can be a village monk. But what about jobs? It doesn’t matter, man, the villagers farm their food and that’s all that matters, right? But my friends… Be a real man, you’ve got no friends! Bowale scratched his head; he didn’t want to believe the voice in his head. But it seemed so real and right. His pacing resumed. Faster than before. His heart raced. His feet and wrist pumped with blood and energy. No, not now. The psychiatrist had told him to distract himself by painting pictures when Mr Negativity spoke to him, but he was not in the mood to continue painting this lonely city portrait. He opened his room door to steal some breeze for a while. Two hostelites dressed in Valentine’s color passed by with their girlfriends at their sides holding fancy packages. “Why did you pass the corridor? Now everywhere is smelling perfume, perfume. Do you people want to block my nose?” “What concerns him if we passed a general corridor?” One of the boys asked the other. “Chike doesn’t respond to him; you know how he always does.” “That’s true sef, no crazy hostelite can spoil our day,” He wrapped his hands around his girlfriend and stoned her with a kiss on her chubby cheeks. There was a wicked cackle as they walked down the corridor. Bowale was mad. He went back inside, slammed the door. He came out again, slammed the door harder. He opened it again and repeated the action only stopping when he heard his doorknob drop to the ground with a clang. He could hear the silence afterwards: the birds cooing, his heart crying aloud, the cars honking. Bowale sat on his bed gazing at the spoilt doorknob on his hand and the fresh bruises on his right foot which made him so puzzled. His pocket vibrated twice. Then he heard his ringtone. Who could it be? He stared at the screen. Deborah? Why? He touched the screen and raised the phone to his right ear. Yes. Hello. I’m fine. Okay? My email? Why? Important message. Okay… About what exactly? Speaker? Me? How? His face lit. Okay. I’d check it right now. Thank you. Well… I didn’t have any Valentine outings. I’ve been home all along. Sad, boring Valentine’s day as usual. Which girlfriend? No, I don’t have one. In fact, I had never had one since 100 level. No one has called me today up till this moment, well, except you. I’m still in my hostel by the way. What about you? This was the first time he asked about her; it felt different. Impossible! He sat upright, plucking his nose unconsciously. You, too, were home all along? I thought it was just me! Wow. I get it. Hmm… Are you for real? Okay. You know what? Can I come over to your place? Oh. You don’t stay in the hostel? I get; your parents may be thinking XYZ. Her laughter was unique; It seemed powerful yet creamy. You want to come over? Wow. I never saw that coming. I stay at Zik Hall. Block C. You can call me when you get there. Okay. Let me see what I can do; if there is no foodstuff, we’d soak garri together. Her laughter induced his blushing. He dropped on the bed, his smiling face opposing the multiple white squares on the ceiling. Yes o… Even on Valentine’s day. Okay now. I’d be expecting your call. Once again, Deborah, thank you so much for what you did; God bless you. Yeah. I’ll check my email right away. Take care, too. Bye. Bowale smiled. He never thought Deborah could be a wonderful person. He heard footsteps pass the hall and he suddenly remembered that she would be coming over soon. He tucked in the bedsheet in minutes, swept the floor, and hid the bucket and the pair of

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