Monday, 30 September 2013
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. - Jeremiah 29:11
And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them. Romans 8:28
Bimpe had been waiting for two hours now since church closed. She needed to see Pastor Matthews. With the seriousness of her situation , she was ready to do a whole lot more than wait two hours. She was tired of whatever misfortune that followed her. She needed big men that rode big cars. Her problem was that she attracted the wrong kind. She believed the solution to her problem was to go to God. She had earlier kept vigils, crying to God in the darkness of the night to bring her some happiness in form of a young man in a big car. But somehow God hadn't heard. So she came to the church. Pastor Matthews however found her problem hilarious. "Pastor, look at me", she said desperately trying to make him understand. "I deserve better than okada riders and mechanics. I need my breakthrough. This is not the plan God has for me." Pastor Matthews was at loss of what to say. He said some comforting words and prayed with her. That night she dreamt of the life she wanted. Exotic hotels, big men boyfriends who rode range rovers. However she woke up to the reality of her misery. She found Alhaji Aminu weeks later and abandoned the church for hotel bars. She has got the blessings of the Lord now, just hugging old pot bellied men in different beds. She has got two jeeps now and apartments in the best part of town. She has got everything now. Everything but what she needs to fill that hole that keeps growing within.
Wednesday, 25 September 2013
I havent written because I'm too afraid to write
I'm afraid of words
I'm afraid to give them expression and meaning.
I'm afraid of the thoughts in my head.
But today I'm determined to overcome that.
Hope you enjoy today's post.
Its almost October. Simi hated the rain. She had not left the house and it was raining already. Umbrellas were useless. Frail things that couldnt even withstand the wind. It was always a tug of war to hold the umbrella right against the wind. With an umbrella, one would get wet still anyway. It rained almost everyday these days. Heavy droplets of water hitting you everywhere that hurts most. They felt like hail stones falling from the sky to her. Getting wet could be so annoying when it meant ruining your weave, getting your clothes and your shoes soaked. There were mornings when she would cry under the rain out of frustration. She screamed at the skies in her head for the fear of being considered to be mad. Not that she cared. No one cared about her to notice even if she was mad. She hated the rain the same way she hated work. Emptiness and depression made her whole. Today she's on her desk meditating over Cyril's pictures on instagram dreaming of her day of release. She was tired of crossing the road, the long walks and the bus rides. She hated the hard life. She needed her good days to come to her. Days were her fantasies would become more than what they are. She looked at Cyril's picture again. His middle fingers were thrust upwards in it. She bit her lips thinking of what those fingers could do if they were thrust up, up into her. However it was his eyes that appealed to her most. The evil glint in them like they knew she was looking. Those eyes suggested a whole lot of dirty things and she was game to each and everyone of them. She liked the way he lived. He lived in the pictures with no care for the world. She loves that. Maybe one day he would reply the Facebook message she sent a year ago, and maybe, just maybe, this fantasy would be more than what it is.
Tuesday, 17 September 2013
Monday, 16 September 2013
It's been 3 months since we wore those long, large gowns the color of carpet grass. I still dream of our graduation day, the way you were so happy to finally be moving out into "the real world". How you nudged me and wrapped me around in your hood for being too quiet. What was I to do? I knew I was going to miss you endlessly. I wanted to make you understand that graduating meant parting from you and I would rather die in the damned dystopia than crash with heartaches. That doesn't matter now, most of it anyway. I moved back to Abuja, you're somewhere in Lagos doing God knows what. It's been 3 months since I last held you. Months that seem to span into years. Months that don't even speak the truth, those whatsapp conversations where were too busy paying attention to flimsy details "I miss how you used to pull my hair to get my attention, no one does that anymore" the stupid smiley that rolls her eye is my favorite reply anytime you type "I miss you" I cant bear to be honest. Honesty would mean the whole truth, how I dream of you pulling my hair and moaning my name, How much I wish, I spent that last night before graduation on your bed. I didn't. You have a girlfriend. The old me cared, I don't now. I'm packing my bags we've got to be in school for our call up letters....
Call up letters meant seeing your face again. Seeing your face again meant emotional torture. I don't know which I dreaded most, I had put all that behind me. Being away from you or seeing you with her again, stealing kisses behind the pink hibiscus flower beds. I still detest the colour pink. I remember before you settled with her, how you didn’t want her, you even called her fat. “She isn’t my type” you said too easily, I wonder what changed your mind. How one day I mocked you with her name aand you simply smiled. No protest. No nothing. You were hers. You wore her proudly like your bvlgari perfume. I began to hate you. I detest her. I hate the way your instagram pictures now scream you belong to her. I'm sick of your lunch date pictures, oily fries and cold stone ice-cream. I don’t enjoy them anymore you would never call me fat. When I become your girl we wouldn’t need that account. We’ll have secret pictures of nudes and my less oily body in lingerie, meant for only your eyes. I’m letting my silly daydreams and endless fantasies torture me into sleepless nights. No. Now I'm packing to see you. My mind replaying videos of your lips on my neck, your fingers in my hair and your olive brown skin next to my dark one. I love the videos in my head, here you moan out my name and no one else's.....
Thursday, 12 September 2013
Bisola asked herself this this question. She never understood why Chief still visited her room every night. How much more was he willing to take from her emptiness.She remembers nothing now from her twenty two years of existence. She made herself forget the pain, and all that came with being sexually abused. She learnt to be numb and submissive just so he wont be rough with her anymore. So she lay each time beneath him almost lifeless as he pleasured his plump disgusting self on top of her.
Yetunde asked herself this after Bayo still refused to date her.She had done everything according to the books to prove she was woman enough to be wife material. She would stay over at his place, clean up his ever messed up house, cook him mouth-watering meals, look hot for him with money that came out of her own pocket and then let him fuck her every which way he wanted. He was still dissatisfied somehow as his crush on Pamela hadn't died yet. The cunt was even married to someone else but Yetunde had to endure watching Bayo act a fool for Pamela whenever she came around.
Tunde had given his parents everything. He had tried so hard to please them. A first position result all through primary and secondary school., and a first class degree after university. He had gotten various awards from the different competitions he went for. He was the kind of child parents prayed for. Excellent, brilliant, Godly and well behaved. He worked through burning night candles and sick days. His parents never noticed though. No award or degree could replace the space their late son, Tunde's baby brother left when he passed on.
Secondus had given Paula everything. Everything was everything. He sold his shop out last week to buy her a Samsung S4 phone. He needed that shop to open his trade business but Paula was more important. Her charming smiled scattered his young head. He needed a pretty wife to take back to his parents in the village. And Paula was the prettiest. He wanted her to himself. He wouldn't have her chasing rich old men for money so he tried to attend to her many expensive needs. Now he had nothing left to keep her interested. She broke up with him two days ago, spitting on his face for being too poor. Now he hears her gist. She is ever in those hotels with one rich Alhaji or another.
Friday, 6 September 2013
Or Papa Biodun, who has been jobless for three years now. Mama Bolu's work as a cook for the Jones could barely provide for their three children and now she was pregnant again for the fourth child. Another child they had brought into the world to suffer. Guilt and misery filled him up inside. Till he found his happiness in beer.At least it made him forget his problems for a while. Sometimes he would be too drunk to make it home. Mama Bolu would cry herself to sleep each night. But he was happy. He ignored the looks people gave or their loud gossip. He didn't care. He was happy.
Tunde had failed jamb three times now. Sometimes he wondered why his parents bothered paying for it. He found his happiness in cocaine. It was his escape after the horrible end to his parents marriage. His father was an unfaithful bastard. His mother was too busy with work to care about him. They were both rich. he was their only child. Till now they haven't discovered his new addiction. They are never around.
Sylvia finds happiness with men. Since she got raped at 13. She couldn't deal with the pain and the shame. She never forgot her grief. Her scars found their own way to heal. She is still healing, just in the beds of different men. Sex is her form of release. She is a big girl and lives the big life. She has got governors, ministers and oil company contractors as lovers. She wears designer clothes and drives big cars. She looks in the mirror and she is finally happy with what she sees.
Audu dropped out of school. His mother has tried on countless occassions to get him to return to school but to no avail. He finds his happiness in music. He is going to be a rapper. His happiness doesn't care if he makes money or not. His CDs never sell but his happiness is still complete everytime he goes to the studio to record.
The world is dark. But find that light. Find that happiness and let it consume you. Let it be your comfort in this dark cold world.
Tuesday, 3 September 2013
Aisha had lost both of her parents now. Her dad died a year ago. Her mom on Saturday. The girl was beyond helpless as an only child.The death of her parents unfortunately was not her only problem but the satanic greed of her relatives from the both of her parents. They had moved into the house, and got busy with squabbling and fighting for the documents to the properties of her parents. They made her a prisoner in her own house and refused to feed her. Her mother's body was still in the hospital and had not been moved to the mortuary...
The selfishness of some of us many never be understood. I couldn't bring myself to write extensively on this due to the fragility of my efforts to keep myself from breaking down emotionally. This is a true story. A girl was ripped away from all she had, all her parents left her. Maybe we should begin to value the things that seem little. Life, health, loved ones. Be grateful. We complain about the things we don't have when we've got so much. So much to be grateful to God for.
Monday, 2 September 2013
She looked at me again. "Why do you want to model then?". She ignores me and goes on pouring the concoction into the well folded moi-moi leaves. I felt my body relax relieved that she had found out nothing. This was the continuation of the argument we had last night. "Virgins would never talk about modelling." she goes on. "How many of those..those models do you see that end up having a family, a good marriage? Ehn..tell me." I didn't want to remind mama of how she had done everything right and still didn't have a good marriage. I didn't even want to begin to tell her of my plans of not getting married at all. What is marriage if not constant endurance. To some grief and pain like Mama Junior who gets blows regularly from her husband. We hear her cries for help everyday even the neighbors are tired of intervening. "That thing is of the devil. Get your mind off it." she says, finally dismissing me. I went back to my bed and silently wept all my dreams of becoming a super model into my pillow.
It seems like forever since we smiled at each other. I spend hours in my room trying to picture your smile, that smile, how i never get tired of it. You always seemed to get my spirit lifted with it, how you would always make me feel better even if I was having a bad day. The nights grow longer as I patiently wait for our reunion, now much of a mirage that seems to be. My heart stays focused as my mind tries to play tricks on it, tries to sway it away from the hope of seeing you again. Passing days start and end the same with out you in them. Regardless of the fact that we talk all the time, nothing can replace your physical presence. Nothing can replace how you make me feel, nothing can replace you.
It seems like forever since we prayed together, I remember how we use to always hold hands in agreement on a matter, how you always seemed to inspire me to pray longer, how being around you fueled me even more. The Ora around you can't be explained with words, you can't be explained with words. Some days the pain of missing you so much increases with each passing hour, I try to forge on, try to block it out with other activities, but to no avail. You've become such an integral part of me, almost like a limb, you're connected to me. Saying I miss you never truly qualifies anything, never gives true meaning to the emotion behind it, I search my vocabulary for a more suitable phrase, one that would truly justify the emotions I feel without you, none seem to fit.