The Prophesy (Fiction)

The Prophesy (Fiction)

“A prophesy is not destined to occur,” Nané says. She stares out of one good eye at Mother and I.

“It is only one of the possibilities the spirit man sees.”

Mother is silent. She bends over and jabs a piece of wood into the fire underneath the pot bubbling with ewedu. I busy myself sieving the yam flour, shooing my baby sister from the powder every other minute.

Nané gestures with her cup of palm wine,”It is the choices we make that help those visions along. Even the spirit man knows this.”

The spirit man. The one who sits in the circle of white pebbles, himself dressed in a white robe held up by a white snail shell. On the outer circle, are a company of white owls.

It is believed that the more the necks of the owls turn, the clearer the vision is to his shut eyes. By the time he has seen enough to speak, all the owls have turned their necks into the spirit world and they stare. Unblinking. Knowing. Channeling.”

“A prophesy,”Nane hisses into her cup of ferment, “is only a possibility.”

An event chanced.

O le je. O le ma je.

It may happen, it may not.

“The father of your children will die.” This is what the seer said to mother. This is the prophesy.

My father is to die.

Maybe it is the smoke or the smell of boiling leaves or Nane’s sweet ferment, but I feel sick.

“Mother, could father live by chance?” I ask as we eat supper, “Could Nané be right?”Mother says nothing.

Nané picks up the fish head in her bowl and after sucking out its eyes and chewing them, she begins to sing to the fish head.

Mother looks at me.

There's your answer.

I sit with father.

The fever has returned. He shivers, his lips tremble, and whispers nothing into the stillness. I touch his body with the damp cloth. He is whispering mother's name. Mother does not look at him.

The spirit man saw death and she is present; loitering, breathing the air and giving none back.

Death is here but so is Life.

She is sitting by father, drawing out his breath, and breathing it back. Her song is light on the night air.

---

You will live. She is saying to him, fighting for him and so I join the chorus.

My mother does not sing with us. She has sent word to father's people three towns over. They must prepare to bury.

The harvest is ready.

Mother is packed for our journey. My sister is nestled on mother's back, chuckling at nothing. Nané helps tie up some farming tools in burlap and they both lift and place them on mother's head. I carry three baskets on mine.

We begin our journey. Without my father’s strength and stories, the path stretches on. We are tired and quiet.

Nonetheless, Mother walks briskly, and I keep up.

I am happy to be away from father, from the gloom of the illness and from the smell of his unwashed body.

We arrive at dusk. Already Faluyi is counting the crops of harvest, his sons are around him and his wives are chattering idly. His side of the farm has been completely harvested. So has ours.

“Olaide,” he greets my mother, “hope it is well. How is home? How is my friend? I did not think you would come.”

“Your friend is at home, if you bothered to visit him, you would know how he is.”

None of his wives offer to help my mother bring down her tools from her head. She is too proud to ask. She squats before me and I help her with the burden.

“The harvest is great, we would not have gotten this far if I made a visit.”

Mother eyes him.

“Give us our share and we will be on our way.”

“How do you propose to carry it?” He asks.

“Do not concern yourself with it.”She says.

“I keep telling my friend to marry another wife. Many more. To have sons and more sons. To till his ground and carry his produce.”

He looks at me and then at my mother.

He takes a step closer to her, and I step behind her, as he towers over us. I smell the herbs and chewing stick on him.

He whispers, “The sickness will take him. He can not come out of it.” His tone drops lower. “Come, let me give you sons.”

“May sickness take you!” I snap at him,

“My father will not die,” Mother catches his raised arm before it swings at me and closes the small space between them in one step, her nose almost touching his.

“Name a place.”

His anger dissolves.

“At the hut by the rock, in the forest.”He presses his lips close to her ear.

He says it so I can hear.

He steps back and orders his wives and children to divide the harvest. Down the middle.

In seven days, his sons will carry the produce for us.

My mother does not thank him. She steps by him and lays my sister down in the shade. The wives stare at her.

It is night when she leaves my side. “Watch your sister,” She says.

“Where are you going?”

It is a stupid question.

She will not be long. It doesn’t take that long. This is all she says.

I should say something but I don’t. I lay there, determined to wait for her. Soon I am dreaming. In my dream, I am on a path at night, surrounded by tall yam plants. In the distance, there is a small, yellow flame and it is moving. A person is carrying it. Suddenly, the wind snuffs the light out. I wake up with a start. Mother is back, she smells of herbs and earth. I wrap my arm around her and she pulls me close.

She sings a quiet song of two friends: time and chance till my lids weigh down and I am asleep.

A prophesy isn’t destined to occur. That is what Nané said. It is the choices we make that help it along. If the prophesy says you will have fields, then by a hoe. If the prophesy says you will have children, then you must lay with a man. If the prophesy says to you a slave that you will be king, then serve your king, and kill his sons.

Mother will become Faluyi’s wife by the next harvest.

“We will starve” she had simply told me, “With your father gone.”

A prophesy isn’t destined to occur. That is what Nané said. It is the choices we make that help it along. When my father arrives on the farm it is night. He had walked all day. The fever stands far off, offended by his strength, and death has turned away to return the path along which she came. When he arrives, I am watching over my sister because mother has gone to Faluyi.

Father will find them at Faluyi’s hut in the forest. He would freeze at the sight before him.

His fingers will seek a lifeline and will drop to the scabbard hanging from his waist. They will close around the hilt of a sickle. His eyes never leaving their bodies.

Death will stop in her tracks, her sagging shoulders will be lifted, and slowly she will turn and look upon Faluyi’s hut.

The father of my mother's children will die. That was the prophesy.

But a prophesy is not destined to occur. It must be helped along.

My father has crossed the threshold.

The End

Koot: A Short Story by Ike Adegboye

Koot: A Short Story

It was that moment Rufai lived for—that sliver of a second when his eyes caught hers in the rearview mirror. True, he had grumbled when Uncle Jubril fell ill, and when the old man had promised his Oga* that he trusted nephew—Rufai would show up in his place. Just when he finally saved enough money to go to the local club to see Adeola Montana and his Fuji 5000 band. Still, Rufai had arrived at the address in Ikoyi, dressed in his severely ironed shirt and trousers—Uncle even made him wear deodorant.

Number 16, Roland street was an unassuming house hidden behind a small, black gate and lost in the shade of dozens of trees. There was a gateman, David, and two househelps. Rufai didn’t learn their names. Madam had her own driver, Festus, whose trouser gators were sharp as a blade. Oga left for work at 7. Lunch was served at noon. Some tea and sliced bread served at 4pm.

A damned cycle.

Then she happened. She had stepped out of the house barefoot, dressed in a long maxi dress that flapped around in the hot Lagos air. And in five seconds, she vanished into the house.

If God was fair, Uncle Jubril would remain sick. But God had a different standard of fair. Uncle Jubril recovered. So Rufai sprinkled a little detergent into Uncle's Yellow Label tea on most mornings now, just to keep the old man down a little longer. 

                                  ⭐️ 

Her father’s schedule tapered off around noon. Rufai would bring him home for lunch. They returned to the office about 1:30PM. He’d set his briefcase and gym bag next to Oga’s feet in the elevator, keeping his eyes available but not fixed on Oga. Once the doors closed, he sprinted through the reception, out the revolving front door into the car, back to the house to take her to the little bungalow in Lekki, where she took piano lessons. It was the best 30 minutes of his day. He stole glances at her. Her dark skin glistened in the sun and her eyes stared out the back window into the Lagos traffic, lost, sometimes troubled, other times her eyes focused on nothing, other times they cried. If he was sure of his English, he'd say something. He had practiced saying"Hi" but his brother said his nose twitched whenever he said it; that his"H" was too heavy. He could try? Yes?

Her music teacher was a tall, light-skinned man with a glistening scalp. His beard was shaved close to his jaw and his eyes twinkled whenever she stepped out of the car. Sometimes they both giggled and spoke in hushed whispers. The man would open the car door for her, other times she stalked in front of him and didn't say goodbye. For two weeks now, she stalked ahead. No goodbyes. Then the bearded man stopped walking her to the car. She cried now whenever they drove home from Lekki.

Today she was restless.

She looked away from the sparkling Atlantic. Her attention fleeting around the car for a minute, She looked at her phone and smiled. Restless again, her eyes, magnificent, large, framed by long, thick lashes-rested on his in the rear view mirror. Rufai’s heart stopped. His eyes dropped to her lips— plumped by a sheer rose gloss, haloed as the light bounced off of its sheen. Rufai had never seen anything more beautiful.

He parted his lips, but they trembled.

Just say hi.

"Mr. Rufai,”She broke into his thoughts,“Please can we go back? I think I forgot something in Lekki." She said, rummaging through her huge handbag.

Rufai's lips quivered lightly,"Ok." He stammered, his eyes found the road. He cleared his throat in a low grunt.

"Hi", He muttered under his breath. The hairs on his arms stood on end.

He cleared his throat again. It could be better.

"Hi."He muttered. “Hi” was hard. He could tell her that he thought she was sweet like honey but his brother had said, the rich people used “cute” not “sweet”.

“Ki n sę ‘Koot’!” His brother had fallen off his chair laughing,”Not koot. Cute! Cute!”

Koot.

You are Koot. He just couldn’t get it right. He could tell her he was in love with her. That Kolade Gbenro was teaching him to play the keyboard now. He could teach her music, teach her to play. She’s never have to go to Lekki again. She’d never have to cry.

He pulled up in front of the teacher’s gate. The light-skinned, bearded man was outside before Rufai turned off the engine.

His hand was on the car door as she stepped out.

“No! I didn’t come here to talk.”She snapped, “I left my sunglasses. That’s the only reason I came back.” She pushed past the man.

Her teacher grabbed her elbow and muttered to her. He handed her the sunglasses case. His voice was barely a whisper. His hands traveled along her arms. Rufai frowned. In an instant, the teacher dropped to the floor on one knee. From his pocket emerged a ring. It sparkled in the sun.

It happened all too soon. She jumped around, nodded her head and fell into his arms. The embrace was forever and a year. The kiss, eternal.

She hopped into the car after a long goodbye. She chattered on the phone as they drove home. She screamed calling one friend after another. He proposed! She’d yell. Followed by a scream.

Rufai glanced at her in the mirror, his brows still drawn together in a scowl. How did that happen? That man and his beard. What did the teacher have that he didn’t?! He watched her now, hysterical with joy in the backseat. She yelled. Giggled. Screamed. His frown melted away and a small smile softened his face. At least she had happened. At least he had loved. He’d hand the keys back to Uncle Jubril and stop feeding the poor man poison.

He’d work on his pronunciations and his keyboard lessons. Maybe one day he’d join Adeola Montana’s Fuji 5000 band….and maybe one day he wouldn’t.

He wished he could tell her though, that she was koot.

“Koot…Koot…” He shook his head as he battled with the alternate vowel word.

She screamed and burst into laughter in the back. Her eyes caught his in the mirror.

His heart stopped. 

She was so sweet though. She truly was. He thought to himself. Sweet and koot.

                           The End 

Copyright ©2018 by IkeOluwapo Adegboye

Oga* Colloqial Nigerian word for a boss or an employer

Love Bite: Entry #10

This fictional series contains Nigerian slangs and some inappropriate use of diction. This is for the proper portrayal of the character.

Love Bite #10

Ajibade opened the peephole in the pedestrian gate.

His eyes darkened with a scowl, “Wetin?”

“Open the gate.”

“Oga no dey.”

“You are the one abi?”

“That what?”

“You are helping him with all this? It was you at the window that night. God will punish you!”

Ajibade opened the gate. He was dressed in old mid-calf denim shorts and a grey, distressed t-shirt with the words, “Over It” written in white canvas letterings. The ‘o’ was almost completely gone.

He muttered under his breath,“Na you God go punish…”

“So you are helping Niran record?”

“No o! No be me.” His face was straight, “I no help Mr. Niran with anything.”

“So who dey for window that day? With light?”

His eyes found the stones on the floor and shrugged.

I groaned. He made me want to strangle him. My fingers found two folded thousand naira notes in my back pocket. I shoved them in his palm; his fist closed around them in a crunch.

His dark, sweat-dampened face twisted in a frown, “Na me dey for window. Nothing dey der...I just dey look, but I no help Mr. Niran do anything.”

I felt sick. To think he was watching. He probably did all the time. 

“They tell me make I shine light next time wey you come.”

“Who?”

He looked to the ground again. He eyes looked for missing objects between the cracks in the cement. Another note. 500 naira this time. 

“Na one woman wey dey follow Mr. Niran here.”

Tayo?

“Is she dark? Big woman?” I wiggled my hips, trying desperately to describe Tayo’s curvy figure. 

“No. She no dark. Yellow like pawpaw. Dey wey glasses. Her eye pencil na super.” He drew an upside down tick in the air.

“She dey call herself Abimbola. Abi Abim…”

Abim? Who was Abim?

“Whether na Abimbola, I no no. Her name sha na Abi or Abim.”He shrugged.

Abi?

Abi!

My Abi?!

A light breeze lifted my top from my body, and in the distance the sky rumbled with thunder.  

The chill seeped quickly into my bones.  

Abi? It couldn’t be.  

---

Lightening streaked the navy Lagos sky as I stepped out of the dark gate of house 21. I heard the metal gate close behind me and Ajibade murmuring to himself. Abigail knew about this? I walked briskly to the Main Street off Garrison. Surely the okadas and napeps would be near-blind in the impending storm, but I took my chances. I got into the first napep tricycle I found and we drove to Abigail’s apartment. It was impossible. She is my best friend. She had always been there. Always...

By the time we pulled up, the rain was pouring. I paid the man, who muttered that he had no change. I stepped out into the rain, and walked to the gate under the gaze of the napep man. He was yelling about my change. She lived in the Boy’s Quarters of a four-flat building in Gbagada. The security man let me in and with unhurried steps I made it to her door.

The glass pane rattled as my fists hammered on her door. I knocked again. Now, I wouldn’t stop knocking. Soon, the knock became distant, drowned in the patter of the rain. 

“Who is it?” Her voice rang, “Don’t break my glass o! Moshood, is that you?”

The door swung open and she stopped short. 

“Lani. What are you doing here?” Her hand went to her chest. Her brows rose above the rims of her glasses.

“Come out of the rain! You’re drenched!” Her fingers grasped my arm.

Was that concern I saw in her eyes? How rich. 

“How could you do this to me?” I tore my arm away. My voice shook.

“Can you come out from the rain?”

“You’ve ruined everything.”It was almost a whisper. 

“I don’t know what you are on about.” She shook her head.

“You knew about the videos!” I wheezed.

Her lips tightened into a knot. Her fists sat on her hips.

“I’m not having this conversation in the rain. I just fixed my hair.”

Why did you do it?”I asked.

She leaned her weight on one leg, her hip popped. 

“I was tired of your whining. I was tired of Niran’s whining. You destroyed the guy, you know? And I had to hear all of it from him!”She snapped.

”You cheated on Leke before you got married”, She continued, “Then you got married and you thought you’d stop, like marriage is a wand that transforms cheats into saints!”

Rain water streamed into my mouth as it in widened in disbelief.  She continued, “Leke isn’t home, so you cheat. You reported Niyi. He could have lost his job. Lost his livelihood. Did you think about that? Do you even think? Do you think about anything other than yourself?  What about me? Do you ever ask me about me?!” Her voice rose louder with each word.

Her eyes blazed under the sharp arches of those furrowed brows.

“Do you know I started seeing someone?” She asked, “No. You don’t care. Do you ever ask about my work, my new business?”

”And this justifies why you just ruined my life?”I wiped away the rain from my eyes, or was it the tears…

“ ‘MY’”,Her eyes rolled,” It’s always about you. What about all the other lives that your selfish actions have ruined? Niran, Leke, Ngozi!”

“Abi, you are my friend!” My tears lost in the rain, “I don’t care how selfish I am. You don’t do this!” 

“It is what it is.”She shrugged.

“That’s all you’re going to say? You were going to post the video at Leke’s conference?”

She raised her penciled-in brow.

“But you called, text, held me, when it spread around the office… All this while…you were sending the videos…you sent it to Leke—”

“Sending it to Leke—that wasn’t my idea. You wouldn’t fess up to tell him. I told you to a million times. You’d never listen.”

“When Niran told me about what he was doing I tried to cover for you. But to be honest, I thought if you saw it…if you saw yourself cheating…you’d stop. If you thought someone knew, you’d stop. I told the gateman to scare you off a little.”

I scoffed, water splattering from my mouth.  

“You are probably solely and successfully the worst thing that ever happened to me—” 

“No, Lani”,She turned her body fully to me, “You are the worst thing that ever happened to yourself. You are caustic to yourself and everyone—”

“—Oh shut it! You are just sad. And what stupid business do you have? The makeup retail?! Really?! Well, I see you’ve built a mansion from that success”, I threw a hand at her rented apartment behind her.

She flinched, then she went back to stone. 

For a second, we both said nothing.

“Lani. Look, I’d apologize if I thought you deserved it.”

I took a long look at her, then turned on my heels and walked towards the gate. 

The street was lonely, save for a man in a suit running for cover from the rain.  A cab approached, and at the wave of my hand pulled up next to me. As we drove along, I thought about Abi. About Leke. About Jare, his life was fine. Mine was a mess.

He deserved the mess just as much. I wondered if his wife was on Facebook, then I wondered how Abigail slept at night.  

My phone vibrated against my thigh as I got out of the taxi.

Leke?

My heart sank at the sound of a stranger’s voice. He was calling with regard to the missing person inquiry. 

They had found someone with Leke’s description. Families were already arriving to identify bodies involved in the crash.

Hello? I heard the voice say. The line got disconnected and if he called back I didn’t know. My jaw hung loose. A cry escaped from my throat. It sounded far away. My knees buckled and hit the rain-drenched tar which paved Garrison street, just as the orange street light came on for the night. 

Copyright ©2018 by IkeOluwapo Adegboye

 Love Bite Finale out soon!  

Love Bite: Entry #6

This fictional series contains foreign language, Nigerian slangs and some inappropriate use of diction. This is for the proper portrayal of the character.

Love Bite #Entry 6

A feeling gnawed at me—the strange feeling that the day would end in chaos or at least end in a state akin. I had deleted the video from Leke’s phone. The pastors were on their way.

Why were they coming? 

I brushed the thought away and buried myself in a burst of activity in the kitchen. I sailed from the cooker to the fridge, to my spice cabinet, and back to the cooker. They would arrive any minute now. The red stew spluttered over fried beef, the plantain sizzled in an old dark pan and the white rice steamed quietly. I tilted the cover off a large pot of vegetable that cooled on the kitchen counter and hurried back to chopping the onions, my knife knocking swiftly against the chopping board. The frenzy took my mind off the reason for the visit but still my heart beat to the sound of the chopping knife. Had the pastors seen the video? It was grounds for dismissal surely. 

Was Ngozi the person at the window that night? Where was Jare? 

What did this mean for my Leke and I?

I poured the onions into the stew and turned the flame off. I had to end it all.

Ernest, the gateman bowed as I slipped out of our gate to house number 25. The towering dark gate was so familiar, yet so alien.

The gate man opened the gate, after glancing at me through the peephole in the gate. He had no snide remarks or nasty looks today. His melancholy was comforting. He held the the gate open and he grunted when I asked if Ngozi was home. 

When I knocked on the door, the help, Marie, opened it and ushered me to the living room. In less than 5 minutes, Ngozi walked in. She had changed from her outfit from earlier into a shirt dress that showed off endless legs. Her soft smile was gone. Her strut a little angry, yet lagged a bit as if she was tired.

“Hello, Lani. How are you? I've had the most terrible day.”She made her way to me.

I was on my feet and planked stiffly into her embrace. 

“How was yours?”She asked.

“It was ok.”I answered.

"That promotion come through yet.”

The image of Tayo, Niran and Dami flashed through my mind, "No. Not yet.”

"I can put in a word with Niran if you’d like…” Her voice faded into the background and her lips moved quickly, her eyes concerned, fixed on me. 

Lani, just tell her. 

Her voice came back to the surface.

“It's like all hell broke loose today, you know. The PTA meeting was dead-boring. My spa attendant…I own a spa…Aquatia…you know it?”

I shook my head.

“My attendant was run over by a cab on her way to work. We had a flat on the way to the hospital. The poor darling broke her femur. Of course, Jare showed up early from his trip. That was a blessing.” Her cheeks rose in a toothy smile.

My ears perked up. Jare was back.

She continued,“The gateman won't stop sending Marie to me about some important information he has about an incident that happened the other night…”

The gateman…his dark, scowling face flashed through my mind.

I had to tell her. Myself.  I heard my throat swallow.

“Ngozi…we have only just met, but there's something…”

“Babe…”Jare walked into the room and stopped short. My heart skipped a beat and I hated myself for it. He wore a black linen shirt folded at his elbows and above that, his sculpted arms bulged against the fabric. Tall. Eyes I had gotten lost in too many times. Yes, I hated myself for it.

“There he is,”She said. Jare hadn't taken his eyes off me, frozen on the spot. His perfume rushed at me, with the gust from the AC. 

“Oh, darling. This is Lani. She lives up the street. I don’t think you’ve met—.”

”We have”, I cut in. Jare’s eyes widened.

”You have?” Ngozi looked from me to him, a slackened smile on her face.

”Yes, at the gym.”I said,”Ngozi, about why I’m here—“

“Ngozi” Jare recovered,”A quick word?” He looked at me like I was a plague that had come into his home. His arm circled around her waist, guiding her out of the room. 

It cut deep, the way he held her and seemed to protect her from the bad news which would be me. 

“One minute.” She excused herself, as Jare hastily led her out of the room . 

Marie popped her head into the room, "Madam, your gateman, Ernest, say your guests don arrive in your house.”

The pastors were here. I looked into the corridor for Ngozi and Jare but they had vanished. I stood an extra thirty seconds and slipped out their front door. The gateman was outside, sitting on the far end of his bench, peeling an orange with a broken razor blade.

I shoved a wad of money into the hand that held the blade. He looked up. 

“Please. Who was it?” I begged. Who was here that night?” He continued peeling. 

He started singing a song in Yoruba which I didn’t understand as he peeled his orange. Both eyebrows raised, and forehead furrowed, he continued singing, and seemed to relish every word and note of his song, not failing to stress some words mockingly. 

Agbèrè. What did that mean? Ìyàwó Agbèrè.

"I came here to tell Ngozi myself." My tone was steel. He looked up. "I will make sure you lose your job. You knew your oga was bringing me into the compound at night, abi? With her and the children in the house?”

“You will lose your job. We are all going down together.” I touched my finger to my tongue and pointed to the sky. He had stopped peeling and singing. Now he just stared at me like he had seen a ghost.

My phone vibrated. Leke was calling.

“I’m coming back tomorrow. You better know who it was by then.” I snatched the money off his bench.

"Ahn! Madam wait now—"

He jumped off his bench. 

I swung the gate open and hurried to my house. At the gate Earnest was letting in the pastors, Pastor Linny, Pastor Kore and Pastor Remi. I stepped in quickly after them. They turned around, their faces serious. Pastor Linny’s face lit up with a smile. The others weren’t as delightful.

I was sure now why they were here. 

“Sis Lani.”The senior pastor, Pastor Remi smiled. I saw more in the smile. It was a gentle and pious—a smile of grace. Was that disappointment I saw hidden in that smile? Was it regret?

“Leke is a real hardworker”, I blurted, “He’s hardly home… always at church sites. He’s diligent…” My heart was beating wildly. I couldn’t catch my breath. “I'm not the most supportive wife...and I get lonely.” The tears began to stream down my face,”I get lonely… Please don’t fire him.’ Pastor Linny stepped forward, her arm around my heaving shoulders. I completely melted under her touch. All the tension and lies, the aches and fear, the guilt, the shame, they came undone as I sank to the floor. “The videos are enough shame for him…Please don't fire him.”

The pastors stared at me. 

“What videos?” Pastor Remi asked, “We came to talk to Leke about heading the new church branch opening up in Victoria Island. He has served under me for five years now. It’s about time.”

Pastor Kore, the pastor with the tufty afro spoke “Although, if you do have any pressing information that may adversely affect this new role…this will be your best time to speak.” He looked like a slender toadstool with a generous black top.

“Also, if you know you have family pickles to get through, we don’t need to know them,”Pastor Remi spoke, cutting into Pastor Kore’s haughty tone.

Pastor Remi stepped forward and held my shoulder, his voice dropped to a whisper,”Clearly, something is going on.”His eyes looked into mine. A quiet calm resonated in them. "Deal with the problem. We will come back another day.”

“Once you sort this out, we will reconvene and reconsider.”

“I…”My voice trailed off. Leke appeared at the front door, jogging to where we stood, his eyes wide and his nervous grin across his face. Saliva pushed against the knot in my throat.

I knew the day would end badly. The feeling had tugged at me all day. I had just destroyed all my husband had worked for five years. I had threatened a gateman's livelihood and almost ruined someone's marriage. But the feeling persisted still.

The day was about to get worse. 

Entry #7 out next week!

Copyright ©2017 by IkeOluwapo Adegboye

Love Bite: Entry #5

This fictional series contains foreign language, Nigerian slangs and some inappropriate use of diction. This is for the proper portrayal of the character. 

Love Bite #Entry 5

I pulled up at Jade Towers at about 10.30am. I imagined the video playing on the wall of every conference room—team leaders talking everyone through the happenings as jaws dropped. I bounded up the bush-hedge lined drive way, my wig shifting with each stride. I rode the elevator to the 6th floor. When I stepped out, a few bored looks swung my way and went back to their work. 

Quickly I typed into my phone.

💬Me: Abby. I’m here. How bad is it?

💬Abby: Be out soon. In meeting. 

I walked towards the conference rooms and peeped in through the glass walls. There were no videos on the wall. I let out my held breath. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. I could relax. 

Voices interrupted my thoughts. 

“Na Pastor wife o!” A voice said. It came from around the corner.

“That’s messed up, men.” It was Etim from Sales.

“I heard the video bad gan o. All those pastor-wife.” Another voice hissed.

“You haven't even seen it.” Another hissed, “Abeg who has seen it? Give me correct gist.”

"Kai. She don spoil her life finish.”

My heart sank.

My eye caught a movement from my left side. Tayo. She approached. She threw her waist long braids over her shoulder and ran her bulgy wing-tipped eyes over me. I hissed and stared into my phone. The leech had been trying to steal my project for a while now, I was sure she was glad with this mess. She paused for a brief moment in front of me. I looked up, she looked like she was going to say something, but then the corner of her mouth tipped in a small smile and she walked past me. 

Idiot.

Abby met me in front of the conference rooms and pulled me into an empty one.“Only a hand full of people have seen it. Everyone on your team. Niran had it contained.”

“But everyone knows about it…”I said.

“HR has seen it.” She continued, “It could have been worse.” 

Just then, Niran strode out if his office, sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. His eyes narrowed on me. 

“Lani. A word.” He said.

Abby rubbed my arm as I walked into Niran’s office. My entire team was in there, Andrew, Tola, Gbemi, Felicia, Sanmi, Foluke Alao and Foluke Candoyle. Dami Predo, the HR manager stood against the glass wall. One by one, they began to leave, careful not to catch my eye. Soon Dami Predo and Niran were left in the room. I closed the door. 

Niran spoke first, “What goes on in your personal life is your business. However, when it goes out of hand, as it has, and as we speak, and finds its way to your work life and impacts your productivity and the productivity of the team…well, that just won’t do.”

“Niran”,I started,”This will not stick, I promise—”

“I’m putting Tayo on your projects until you come back.”He cut in.

“Wait. No. Where am I going?”

“Take some time off. Get this all sorted.” Dami spoke, his bald head shone under the lights. He was about a foot shorter than Niran but thinner. He shoved one hand in his pocket, and with the other pushed his glasses up his nose.

“I don’t think we need to do this.” I said,”I can deal with this and it won’t impact my work.”

“I had Tayo moonlight your work. Too many errors in your data analysis. She can’t present that to Ivan in Marrakesh.” 

“She? Marrakesh is my project! She’s not presenting anything.”

“This isn’t the time for sentiments.”He threw his hands up,”We can’t lose this deal. Your data is off. You need—”

“Niran, Is this because of you and I?”I looked from Dami to Niran, “Because of the issues we had? Is that why you are doing this?”I was becoming desperate. Niran sat on the edge of his table and raised both brows.

“We aren’t doing anything.”Dami spoke,”We are asking you to lay low until it blows over. In a few days, someone else will do something crazy and eyes will be off you. It’s how it works.”

“The entire team has seen it. I don’t need them distracted now.” Niran said, “We are about to launch that project. Tayo has been in touch with Ivan in the region. She will head there in the coming weeks. If you care about this project at all, you’ll let her bring it home.”

The horror was naked on my face.

Niran ran his hand over his head, ”Deal with it. Quickly.” He got to his feet, in a few strides, he held open the door. Tears filled my eyes and both men swam in my gaze. 

Outside the door, Abby was there. She put her hand around me and led me to the elevator and into my car. 

I drove home as in a trance. I couldn't remember driving or even honking for Earnest. 

I’d tell Ngozi about it. Tonight. 

I couldn't bring myself to tell Leke myself. He had probably seen the video by now anyway.

Less than ten minutes after I sank into my bed, I heard the front door open. 11.30am, read the alarm clock on my bedside stand. Leke?

I got out of bed.

I held my breath. Had he gone into the office? Where was his phone?

He walked into the bedroom, his shoulders drooped. His jacket hung off his shoulder, his phone in his hand.

“Hey…why are you home?” My voice shook, “You went to the office already?” I took careful steps towards him. 

“How are you?” He asked, throwing his jacket on the bed. 

“Hmm?”My eyes on the phone.

“Your head was aching before I left.”

“Yes!”My hand lightly slapped my forehead,”I'm better.”

My eyes focused on him but the phone in his hand never left my sight.

“Pastor Remi asked me to go home for the day. He said there were somethings to be discussed among the other pastors. I don't know what. They have all been acting strange all morning.” He sat heavily in the armchair, placing the phone on its left arm.

“Really?”I asked, “What could it be?”

“They said a few of them may come over this evening.” He said,“Will you be home?”

“Of course”, I said, “I do have to have a quick chat with Ngozi down the road.”

“Ngozi? Who’s Ngozi?”

“The neighbor in 25.”

He shrugged.

“Please try to be here.” His brows furrowed in worry, “If they fire me…I don't know what I'd do.” I walked to him and sat on the arm of the chair, gathering him into my arms.

“Don’t talk like that. God called you to this. You mustn’t talk like that.” He leaned his head against my breasts and sighed, as I rocked him gently. My fingers found his phone. He had 2,436 unread emails and 160 unread messages. I scrolled through quickly. There it was, the video. Unopened. I pressed down to delete. 

I swallowed as the message disappeared.  “It would be alright.” I whispered as I rocked him and stroked his head, “It’ll be alright.”

But I knew it wouldn’t. 

Copyright ©2017 by IkeOluwapo Adegboye

Entry #6 out soon!

Love Bite: #Entry 4

This fictional series contains foreign language, Nigerian slangs and some inappropriate use of diction. This is for the proper portrayal of the character. 

Love Bite #Entry 4

I waited for the storm, but it never came.

Leke came home, a tired smile on his face as usual. He asked about my day. I had nothing to say. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and the dryness tickled my throat. He smiled, planted a kiss on my forehead and headed into the bathroom to take a shower.

Once the water started running, I scrambled into the room, searching through his discarded clothes. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t under the bed either or in the wardrobe.

Where was it?

”What are you looking for?”

I turned to look at my husband, a towel around his waist, droplets of water scattered over his dark chest.

“Nothing. Err…looking to see if your clothes need to be washed. Isaac is coming this weekend.”

"Oh. I actually need him to starch my white native.” He turned on his heel and headed back into the bathroom. I started searching again.

“I’ll text him later tonight.” I said,”Or better yet I’ll text him now. Can I use your phone?”

“I think I forgot my phone at church.”

I stopped searching and cursed under my breath.

”Oh no! You don’t think we should head out and get it?” I called out towards the bathroom.

"No, it’s locked in my office. No one can get in.”

I had to get that phone. I could sneak in tonight.

”I hope you didn’t leave your keys lying around.”

”Lani. That phone needs aburo, I don’t think it’s a thief’s dream come true.” He chuckled.

“Where are your keys though?”

”With Pastor Remi. He needed the keys to the storage room. I’ll get it tomorrow.”

Snap.

A video of his wife moaning and panting with a stranger…The images stayed in my mind all night.

I thought about breaking into Pastor Remi’s house and into the church office. There had to be an easier way. I stayed awake all night, waiting for the morning, watching our ceiling fan blades cut through the air until they were invisible. Leke slept like a babe, his breathing heavy with an occasional snort.

For me, sleep had been elusive and it was beginning to tell. I had to get to the bottom of this. Jare was still away. I knew it was his wife. It had to be. If anyone knew it had to be the gateman.

I had to make him talk.

My eyes were wide open at 4:30 when Leke got up to pray, at 5.30 when he went into the bathroom, at 6.30 when he settled into the desk and chair in the corner to study his bible.

“Lani? You’ll be late if you don’t get up now.”He said. It was 7.30.

”I’m not feeling well. I’ll call in.”I mumbled.

”What’s wrong?”He got out of the chair. "Maybe a little Leke is in there?” He jested.

I smiled weakly. Not unless we had had sex in the last three months and I wasn’t aware.

He made me a quick breakfast of fried omelette and toast bread with a glass of juice for me. It made me smile.

“I’ll head to the other church branch first. I won’t be at work until about noon, so you might be unable to reach me ok?” He rested his palm on my forehead and said a little prayer.

“It is well, ok?” He said, as he threw on his blazer, and patted my scarfed head.

The moment he stepped out, I took a quick shower.

I’d go to his office before noon, wait for him to arrive and delete the message his phone. For now, I need to know what happened that night.

Jare’s gateman had to know who it was. He was the only one in the compound that night. I threw on a pair of jeans and a navy boat-neck blouse, shoved my feet into a pair of brown leather slippers and headed out. Ahead, Earnest was talking to someone through the opened gate. He stepped aside, and there was Jare’s wife, Ngozi. She towered over Earnest in her heels, she was dressed in army green pixie crop pants and a white t-shirt. A hand bag in the crook of her arm. Her slender face, half covered by long, full head of extensions and her round-framed sunglasses.

“Hello, Lani.”Her tone was sweet and cheerful.

I had stopped in my tracks.

“I was on my way out and I thought to say Hello. I have a PTA meeting.”

She looked like she was in a weekend relax day photo shoot.

“Hello.”I managed to say, my feet unwillingly walking forward.

“Would you like to meet up later at my place? Jay should be back much later but I’m sure we can fit in some girl time and chatter in the evening?”

I nodded,“Yes. Of course.” My voice tried in vain to echo the panache in hers.

“See you later.”

I waited until her car drove off and I walked briskly to her house and tapped on the gate. Ajibade opened the peep hole, his eyes hardened.

“Wetin you want?”

“Open gate. I wan ask you something.”

“No. Madam no dey. Oga no dey. I no fit open gate.”

“Ok.” I tried to peep past his head to see if any one else was there. His eyes cautioned me.

“Ok. You know that night. Last time…the night wey your oga…and me….who dey hold torchlight?”

He blinked a few times.

“I no know. Maybe na God catch una.” I caught the peephole cover as he began to close it.

“Just tell me. How much you want?” He looked at me.

Just then my phone buzzed in my back pocket.

“Just tell me how much you want?” I said to the gateman.

“How much den pay Judas?” He asked,”Which money you wan give me?” The hole disappeared.

I kept knocking, my phone kept buzzing.I heard his voice through the gate.

“I get your type for house. Dey sleep with landlord. She think say I no know. Na God go catch una. All of you together.”

“Hello.”I said into the phone, pinning it to my cheek with my shoulder. I was prepared to stand here all day. I reached into my pocket and counted ten notes of the thousand naira bill, 

“Babe,”Abby’s voice was urgent,”Come here fast. The video leaked at the office.”

The loose bills fell out of my hand and rained on the pavement below.   

Copyright ©2017 by IkeOluwapo Adegboye

Entry #5 out soon!

Nigerian Slangs || The Art of Giving Yourself Brain

One day, in the not too distant future, you will have to sit across the table from yourself—your fine, fine self—*catcall* and decisively correct your wrongs; making a conscious decision to improve your lifestyle practices and motivating yourself to be a better person. This action, is what is referred to in Nigerian lingo as “giving yourself brain”. It is a mental jerk that improves the quality of our lives, after a stark realization of the gloominess of a situation we've come to find ourselves in. Like the Prodigal son, this is the part we call it quits on being mediocre and exit the pigsty. 

The first time I heard the expression, 'give yourself brain', my brother used it in describing his decision to move on from a futile situation (which might have involved a girl) and subsequently he would say it to me and to his friends on matters that required our proactive attention. He’d say it in English “Give yourself brain”, Pidgin English “Omo, make you give yourself brain o” and Yoruba, “Omo, fun ara ni brain. Lol! There he was, telling everyone to practice this skill he had so mastered- the skill of self-correction. The skill of "giving one’s self brain".

While I was still on Dating Boulevard, I failed to give myself brain sometimes. The great thing though, was that I would eventually do it. I’d make a good decision; do the right thing and choose to fall in or out of love. Recently, I had to give myself brain again. As of last month, I was a very devout procrastinator, the world was mine and the world could wait. Well, update on that, I gave myself brain and...brain has been received. I spent sometime “reprimanding” myself in the proper way we discussed in this post and I’m much better for it. 

Before that though, I went through the process of realizing a change was needed, just like the prodigal son did (he, by the way, is the star-boy of brain-giving).

He started off with a blunder which landed him in a not-too-ideal situation. There were pigs involved *blink* Usually, self-correction is initiated by a trigger (in his case, the icky pigs and the awareness that he had hit rock-bottom); then came the giving-himself-brain bit; then the active part of getting up and doing something about his situation; followed by his journey home— to the place he wanted to be and then the party! Recap: There’s the trigger, the realization, the brain-giving, the action, the journey and arrival. The Partay! The obvious benefit of actively choosing to change your situation, of course, is getting yourself from a place of discontentment to place where you enjoy the benefits of this wonderful readjustments you’ve made.

Another benefit though, is attaining that sexy sweet spot of humility, sitting across yourself from a table and correcting your own faults to your face is pretty life-changing. You just made yourself a confidant and you are listening to the inner voice, which hopefully is the Holy Spirit.

Correction is something wise people enjoy, so says the bible. Fools, not so much.  I love the opportunity to completely goof off, fall off the wagon, pout and then “arise, and give myself brain.”

The place of external motivation such as mentors, books, podcasts, articles, “instamotivation” images can not be emphasized enough. They serve as great triggers but when it comes down it, the final decision to act, lies with us.

We all know the right thing to do in most situations, or at least, we kind-of know; the honorable, albeit, difficult thing —whether it’s choosing to ask for forgiveness like the prodigal son, or choosing to take the higher road, leaving a dysfunctional relationship, falling in love or out of it or choosing not to procrastinate. Whatever it is, every breath is an opportunity to right our wrongs, do the right thing and give ourselves brains. I just did. Let’s have a party!

Action: Decide where you want to be, write out actionable steps to get there. Act out these steps now. No excuses. Now! 

Have you ever heard/used this slang?  Are you having a "party" soon? Speaking of parties, we hosted thanksgiving for the first time. Read here! My friend, Tope wrote a piece on Nigerian slangs here.

Illustration by Dare Somade.

Our Turkey Pardon and Thanksgiving Menu

Ciao, guys. I apologize for the inconsistency in the last few weeks. I have been working on some fictional work for the blog, as requested by several readers. This was after great feedback from "The Adventures of Saudiq Amao" and "Blue Twine". Older readers also loved the "Tiide series", which I should bring back one of these days. Anyway, after a ridiculous number of drafts, I believe I may have found the one I’d like to refine and edit the heck out of. Look out for it!

Right now, I am getting ready to host our first Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night. First, we aren't having turkey, so somewhere, somehow, a turkey is walking around free as a bird, pun so intended! Prez Obama also pardoned his last two turkeys today, his last pardon as president, it was a bit sad. Anyway, we are having baked hens instead because I'm allergic to turkey. Don't ask.

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 It’s going to be a Nigerian Thanksgiving; puff-puff and a lot of fried rice and jollof rice. It'll be my first time baking cornbread from scratch, I snubbed all the ready-made ones at the store. Now, I'm thinking I should have bought one, just incase things go wild. For dessert, I chose to make an Apple-Walnut cake, which I intend to serve with some vanilla ice-cream. This is also my first attempt at making desserts *crickets*. I don't have vanilla ice-cream. I have a tub of strawberry and a tub of cookies and cream. *taps chin*. This is going to be fun.

Thanksgiving Menu

 

Appetizer

Puffpuff (made by my friend, Funmi)

Goatmeat pepper soup (this bit makes my heart beat a little faster)

Entrée

Baked Hens (they ousted the turkey)

Stewed Gizzards (Ed’s recipe)

 

Sides

Jollof rice (I’ll share this soon. Jollof hack, that will prevent your rice from burning)

Fried rice

Fried plantains

Cornbread

Dessert

Apple-Walnut cake 

Ice-cream

Are you hosting Thanksgiving? What would be on your menu? 

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