Tag : Memoir, Randomz, Stories, Story

Answer to the common question

If you read my blog, you must know this too.
Err just read it already!

Friday, 24 May 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : Stories

She Was My First Love (-̩̩̩-̩̩̩_-̩̩̩-̩̩̩)

Even though the forces of nature sometimes destroy the beauty of the world, we still appreciate the times that we were happy and thank God for giving us the good old memories to muse over and merry in.
In retrospect….

The age was seven and the class was primary Four.

3 Significant things, difficult to forget happened that year. It was the first and only time I topped the class, it was the first and only time I won a prize and it was the first and only time I had an almost perfect friend and lost her.

Her name was Obasa.

She was my classmate, new in the school, Ebony-like in complexion and I thought she had behavioural problems because she was really slow with everything she did, both academically, in movement and in speech. Everyone in class saw her as a ‘dollard’ who could not comprehend a thing and struggled to be a step ahead of the least. I didn’t see her that way.

Maybe I was biased. Why shouldn’t I be? She was beautiful and always had that look in her eyes like the looks I saw in the eyes of the hollywood actresses. She reminded me of the movie ‘ANNIE’ whenever I looked at her.

My likeness for Obasa grew and I was always happy going to school every morning. My mum thought I had suddenly fallen in love with school. It wasn’t school mum, it was Obasa.

I shared my biscuits with her on one of her lonely breaks and from that day, we became friends. Only then did I discover she wasn’t the ‘isi aki’ everyone thought she was. We grew from class mates to friends and from friends to close friends. She neglected the girls when they called her ‘spoilt’ for preffering the company of the opposite sex during break and I neglected the boys when they called me ‘woman wrapper’ for choosing her instead of playing ‘police and thief’ with them.

Soon, my Obasa began to bloom academically, proving my instincts right and proving the other pupils wrong. She must have needed time to settle in properly which I guess was the reason for her initial poor scores. I liked her even more after her breakthrough.

We used to walk home together, holding her younger ones and sharing tales we wouldn’t tell the others at school.

She became my best friend as we fondly called it back then. We shared biscuits, talked about things appropriate for our ages, and sometimes, I resisted the urge to do those things I saw people do in movies to her. Yea, I resisted the urge to kiss her.

During the Christmas holidays, I volunteered to follow my aunty whenever she was going to the market because I knew we would always pass her house along the route. I used to peep in and wave if I saw her but if not, I’ll just go to the market feeling the pains of an unfulfilled mission.

This I did until she travelled to her village to spend the new year. I waited patiently. Built up my courage and rehearsed a scene on how I’ll kiss her when she returns. I didn’t know much about love, I was too young to know but the feelings I had for her was next to love if it wasn’t love.

Then…

The day of resumption… Three days…. One week…. Two weeks…. Absence.

Then an OBITYARY… *sigh*

Her ebony-lit face, smiling in black and white with her mother and siblings. The siblings I used to hold. It was her, involved in a ghastly motor accident, burnt beyond recognition. Number plates, tooth and other little clues were used to identify them.

Her family was wiped and I couldn’t hold back as hot tears filled my eyes. I knew what death was at seven and it meant I’ll never see her or her little ones again. I’ll never get to kiss her.

And I went to school everyday, looking at her vacant seat, wishing she could come back so that we can walk home together like we always did but it never happened. I walked home alone, lonely and sad. Memories of our three months old friendship flooded my head each time I walked home and tears were forced to fall sometimes.

Back to present…

That is how I remember it. Thanks to childhood innocence, I wasn’t depressed for so long even though my academic performance that term was a little below my usual performance and I lost that zeal for school that mummy loved. I still remember her every now and then. Even till this day, the memories flood back sometimes and each time I remember her, I feel happy for the opportunity to have had that kind of friend. Soft spoken and strong, intelligent and wonderful and lest I forget, beautiful.

"She was my first love"

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless devic

Posted by LordHman's Blog

5 Comments

Tag : Love, non-fiction, sad, Stories, true story

I, The Okada Man and His Girl-Friend

....... Hendrix, I’m inviting you to my fellowship” she said. “Trust me; it’s going to be worthwhile”.

How the hell was I supposed to refuse such an invitation? Dolly was too fine. The girl set die…., In fact she was “Mmuuaa!!!” and I had been trying to get with her.

Now, the chemistry between Dolly and I was as mutual as it could be. In a nutshell, it was a bit like…….ok, Mutual chemistry? Check, Physical attraction? Check and then Religious compatibility? No check. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like she was a Muslim and I a Christian. In fact, we were/are both Christians.

But you see, the wahala come be say this girl was a Jehovah’s Witness. I’m not saying I dislike or hate Jehovah’s witnesses, no; but if you know these lots well, you’ll agree with me that they have some of the strictest “living righteous” rules/guidelines ever made.

Their views and outlook on life have never been mine at all. I digress, but apologies if I’m being judgmental however.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that babes said “NO” a lot to a lot of things. “Oh no I’m not supposed to do that with you, you’re not a witness”. In fact me sef tire for the girl. She gave me the impression that all I had to do was show just a hint of commitment to her faith and then she’d loosen up on the “NO”s. Trust me na. “Yes, yes, I’ll be there”.

On this Sunday, I got ready and told my friends I was going to church. Of course I didn’t tell them I was going to a Kingdom hall for fear of becoming a subject of mockery, as they were Catholics who had always invited me to tag along with them to which I had always objected. So anyways, I set off and proceeded to board an okada to the address. Na here the drama come happen o! It wasn’t until we were about 15 minutes into the journey that it dawned on me that the okada man I had boarded his bike was drunk as a horse.

Suddenly, I had started to smell alcohol in his clothes, and his riding was no different to the riding style in that matrix movie. “E don happen” I said to myself. We had gotten to a point where it was inevitable to abort the journey and there was just nothing I could do about it. So I sat there patiently, with my heart in my hand, while bros had a blast diving into potholes at a very uncomfortable speed, obviously testing out his newly fixed shock absorbers. “All these wahala na because I wan impress woman abi?”

As we went along, I noticed we were going into a very remote area, and I started to feel really uneasy. “Bros you sure say na the church you dey carry me go so?” I asked, and his reply almost threw me off the bike. “Oga we dey go my girlfriend house”.

Now, at this time, it was 9.45 a.m. and I was supposed to be at the service at 9.00 a.m. I was livid. “Akpos!!” as I later learnt was his name, “wetin we dey go do for your girlfriend house?” “Oga sorry sir…… just gimme 2 minutes, we go comot now now abeg”. Before I could get Akpos to change his course and take me to my destination, Akpos had turned off his motorcycle. Whether I liked it or not we were at Akpos’s girlfriends place o! See film!!

It turned out Akpos had come to settle a score with his girlfriend who had caught him having an affair and had moved out of his house, just after trashing it. “She dey crase” he yelled. “How she go scatter my house, break my TV, burn all my clothes……” I stood there in total disbelief at what was unfolding before my eyes. All I simply wanted on that Sunday was to wake up, get dressed and impress Dolly by honoring her invitation to her church, but there I was at Akpos’s girlfriends place, forced to take on the problems of two complete strangers.

2 minutes turned into an hour, and to make matters worse, I became a mediator. I couldn’t believe myself. I had to say or do something just so we could hurry up and get me out of there. This was comedy at its very best. Well, Akpos and his girlfriend exchanged insults for the next 45 minutes and at this point, it became apparent that there was no way I was going to make the service, and so I resigned to these strangers and just stood there while they entertained me.

Eventually, when both parties had run out of nothings to say to each other, I asked Akpos take me back to where he had picked me up.

“Hendrix, welcome back….how was your service?” my friends asked. “Ah! It was fine o! In fact it was the most fulfilling service ever” Before nko? How was I to tell them I spent the day with Akpos and his girlfriend instead of the in the church I had earlier told them I was going to?

Plus I had to prepare a very convincing excuse for Dolly. Some weeks later I was going somewhere when I bumped into Akpos again at the same bike stand. I was surprised he recognised me. “Oga how far na? Oga come make we go”. When he saw that I was obviously avoiding him, he came over and said “Oga come make I carry you go… no worry, me and my babe don settle”.

I said “we bless God o! But no thank you”.

Saturday, 18 May 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : fiction, Funny, Stories

Another Random Boy Meets Girl, Boy Falls Hand Story

Of course, I got to lectures late. What self respecting big boy like me comes to lectures early? That’s for all those silly efficos that carry textbooks bigger than their heads with authors whose names they can’t pronounce.

Yes, those same effico that will still be counting ceiling boards in the exam hall. Me? I have my systems. I know how to get by.

For today, as every day, I had to spend extra care to make sure I was looking good. I had to visit the barber to make the mohawk sharp and dye it a bit so I could look tight. I was going to make a killing today. That girl, that course-mate of mine that I had been trying to bag since the start of the year? She would have to agree to go out with me today.

As I sauntered into the lecture hall, the lecturer, an old, hungry man-like 'thing', paused to cast me a withering look, that look that says “I see you, continue wasting your life, ehn? You’ll see me in the exam hall na.” before continuing the lecture. I quickly scanned the hall for an available seat. My fellow bad guys waved me over from the back and indicated an available seat among them. I was just about heading in their direction when I spotted it. An empty seat close to the front of the class.

You may be surprised at that, after all, wetin concern big boy, concern front seat for lecture hall? But it wasn’t the seat that was the attraction. It was the person that was occupying the seat beside it. Angel, the object of my Mohawk sharpening and hair dyeing. I normally avoid seating close to the front of the class (as all well known big boys do, only silly efficos and empty brained girls occupy the front seats) but today, I had to make an exception. I was going to seat beside Angel.

I mustered my swag and sauntered to where she sat.
“Is this seat available?” I asked in my most polished yankee accent, indicating the obviously empty seat.
She barely glanced at me as she said, “Yes.”

I settled into the seat gently, dropped my one notebook (that I rarely ever write in, ever) on the writing surface and took my pen out of my pocket, the look on my face serious, like I was about to learn quantum physics. I heard she likes brilliant guys. Well, she would have to deal with my brilliant guy act today.

I had just opened the notebook and written down a few chemical equations (it was actually a physics class but when you want to form brilliant guy, you have to make do with what is in your head) when my problem started, a slight twinge in my stomach. I adjusted a bit in my seat.

Must be the heavy breakfast that I had eaten trying to digest. I added a few figures to the chemical equation that would have made the chemistry lecturer call my parents and ask what I was doing in a university when I should have been learning a trade. Well, at least, it looked like what an effico would write.

The twinge came again, this time a bit stronger. Then pressure, that kind of pressure that comes when your system is about to get rid of gas began to build up in my system. No way! I thought to myself. There was no way I was going to pass this gas beside this girl and kill my opportunity to ask her out. Why now of all times did my body decide to start getting rid of waste gas?

With that decision, I concentrated and suppressed the pressure. The gas felt like it had gone back into my digestive system. Good.

No, bad. Even worse. After five minutes, the pressure came again, this time slightly stronger. Again I suppressed it by force of willpower. I was not going to allow my body fall my hands today. The third time the pressure built up (stronger than the previous two times) I realised one thing. This wasn’t gas pressure. This was go-to-toilet pressure, but of a special kind. The kind you get when you are purging.

My goodness, no! Not today! Not on this blessed day that I got the opportunity to sit beside Angel. I had already mapped out the questions I would ask her to explain better at the end of the class that I would use to drift into other topics, topics of a more personal nature. No way! No stomach problems were going to prevent me from taking this God-given opportunity today.

The pressure continued to build inside me and after five minutes, I felt like I was going to burst. How was it that the human body could make the human so miserable (the closest I have ever come to thinking about biology)? Now my stomach began to make small funny noises that I hoped Angel wasn’t hearing. I was forcing my intestines to stay closed because they were threatening to burst open.

Chai, what kind of problem was this. Inspite of the fact that the fans were on maximum speed and the windows were wide open, I broke into a sweat.

Angel may not have noticed my initial effico act but she certainly noticed my discomfort.

“Are you alright?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered too quickly, a wide obviously fake smile on my face. “Wonderful. Thanks for asking.”

Her look lingered for a second before she turned back to the lecturer. The smile instantly disappeared from my face. I had to go to the toilet else I would burst. Angel was still a student; I could talk to her at any time. Right now, I had to settle issues with my stomach. But even that was a problem now. It now felt like if I made any move from my current position, I would soil my boxers.
“BRRRRRRRP!!”

No, I did not soil my pants, thankfully. Neither did my system let go of a cache of toxic gas. It was the contents of my intestines rearranging themselves, very audibly indeed. Unfortunately, Angel had heard and assumed the noise came from the very part of my body I was doing my best to keep from discharging unwanted items. She looked at me with disgust and moved well away.
Then to pre-empt any unsavory smells, sheheld her nose with one hand and fanned with the other.
Fortunately, I didn’t care what she thought anymore. What I cared about was getting to the toilet ASAP. Couldn’t this lecturer stop yapping and get out of the class already? His period was over.

“Well, what lecture are you having next?” the man asked.
“MTH 101,” the course rep replied.
“Okay, I think I’ll continue till your lecturer arrives,”
“NOOOOOOO!”

I only realized the shouting voice was mine when all eyes fell on me. The lecturer’s hawk like eyes fell on me.
“Young man, is it that you are so averse to learning that you can actually voice your displeasure at my presence in the class? Stand up!”

Wahala dey , I thought to myself. If I stood up here, everybody in the class would hear it from my excretory system. I did the best thing. Sat and looked resolutely at the lecturer, sweat still pouring down my face like a Christmas goat.

“Will you stand up young man?”

Na here trouble dey na , I thought, still seated. Something would have to happen to save me from serious trouble.

Thankfully, something did. In the shape of an Okada man that contrived to ride too close to the lecturer’s ancient Honda car which was parked outside the window, leaving deep scratches on the already faded paint.
“You bastard!” yelled the lecturer, running out of the lecture hall to hurl more insults at the retreating biker with better accuracy. With a subdued “brrrrrrrrrp”, my system re organized itself and I felt a moment of calm.

Time to make abreak for it. I grabbed my notebook, left me pen and fled the lecture hall.

“Bike!!!!” I yelled before I even got to the road. Three Okada men stopped and I leapt on the closest one. “Divine Hostel, fast!”

Posted from WordPress for Android

Thursday, 9 May 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : Stories

First Time With An Ash***| My Confession

Yes, I slept with an Ashawo and I paid with MY money. I’m so sorry if you’re disappointed in me but it was not totally my fault.

It was raining and I was driving through Ijede road(ikorodu lagos) listening to Jamie Fox’s “Blame it” when I saw her standing under the rain. If you were in my shoes what would you have done? Leave another Nigerian in the rain?

Have you not read the story of the Good Samaritan?

I picked her and took her home but after that night, my conscience wouldn’t let me be and it was my first time (Conscience calls out, "Hendrix?!?") Okay maybe my second time but it was just two times and my conscience wouldn’t just free me whereas there are people reading this note with their ashawo on speed dial.

Talking about my conscience, a lot has been going on in my head of recent and they are driving me crazy.

Seriously, I think am going mad. I’m not about to catch trips on mad people but these days thoughts and images fly around in my head and I’ve started wondering if that’s what qualifies someone as mad? If you are reading this and you’ve been mad before, please pardon me.

At what point do you remove your cloth? Which comes first, moving out of the house and moving into the bus stop or running after cars?

I’m sure the random thoughts come first and that means I may just be at the first stage….Chai, Chineke biko!

Seriously speaking, I don’t want to go mad and I need your prayers. People, forgive me for what I’ve done but pray for me so that these thoughts can leave my head.

Now back to the issue at hand, recently I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and this started after my first second night with an Ashawo .

She is what our modern girls call “Runs” but while it appears to be an insult to refer to someone as an Ashawo, it’s fashionably correct to refer to someone as a “Runs girl” . *SMH*

Back in the good ol’ days, when Ashawo work used to be the pride of some states. (Namely….) The day you decide to do ashawo work is the same day that you move into a brothel.

Most brothels were designed in a “Face me, I face you” style with about 10 rooms on both sides facing each other. Each room consists of a small window, covered by a red curtain, a slim door with a red curtain, 3 nails on the wall, bright blue or red bulb (that’s why they are called Ashawo bulbs) and a mat or wooden bed depending on the location of the brothel.

Ashawo joints were known and they were sincere with their chosen career. They didn’t drive cars but they could afford small stout and cigarette.

Unlike those days, modern day ashawos operate from different places and in different ways.

Some operate from our higher institutions (with or without admission letters), some have their pictures in different hotels over the world, some stand by the roadside, some operate from their father's houses, some serve as nannies during the day and “Runs chics” at night, some work in hair dressing salons during the day, some do only “Home service”…

The list is endless but while Ashawo’s are sincere, Runs Chics are not but seriously whether you refer to yourself as an Ashawo or Runs chic, “Ashawo work na Ashawo no matter what you drive” ask M.I.

However my thoughts has got noffing to do with where they operate from or what they do during the day, I only want you to tell me why my head keeps wondering about them:

Random thought 1
How come Ashawos’ don’t get nominated for National Honours even though some of them are known to have serviced sitting presidents and the likes? Are they not being cheated? Service is service period and once you’ve served you should be recognised. I think a commission should be set up to fight for this right and in next couple of years we should be seeing National Honours like Ms Cynthia George, AFRN (Ashawo Federal Republic of Nigeria).

Random thought 2
If an Ashawo is filling out a UK Visa entry form or any form at all, when she gets to that part that says; “State your source of income ?” What will she write? My body? Is that not being sincere? Should she not be given Visa for being real?

Random thought 3
What should be the basis on which to retire from this job? Age? Experience? Years in active practise? Considering the fact that some people do it while still in school shouldn’t that be added to their years of experience while applying for jobs that requires 3 or 4 years of experience or there about?

Random thought 4
Why can’t government regulate their fees? I mean it’s the same thing na. I think it should be same price across board. How come it’s more expensive on the Island than the Mainland? I mean that’s what’s obtainable in the case of Lagos state?

Random thought 5
Don’t you think that it would be better to relocate all of them to one community and a BRT bus attached to the community? That way we won’t have people doing it from schools and the likes.

Random thought 6
Since they operate in cities and make use of the amenities shouldn’t they be paying taxes? Somebody receives his salary, gives it to an Ashawo who don’t even submit a PO? Is that not cheating? Don’t you think somebody is cheating somebody and if somebody does not speak up then somebody will keep cheating somebody. If you pay, hold back your tax, jor.

Random thought 7
Don’t you think all Ashawos should have an ID card representing their zones? I think Okada people are not allowed to operate in certain areas without paying a particular fee; should that not apply to Ashawo work? Do you know how many Nigerian girls go to Dubai to work? Should they not go and identify themselves on entering the country like “Hello, my name na Peace, I follow man come. How much be una international fee for here”? The ID card will make people sleep better sef. If you sleep with an Ashhi and she audi with your money, all you need to do is go to her zone office and report her.

Random thought 8
Should one trust and use the condom provided by the Ashawo ?

And final Random thought.
….We’re all aware that Christ died in-between the two thieves but how come Nigerian girls want to suffocate him the second time by placing the crucifix in-between two large sagging boobs?

It’s just my thoughts, and for all you perverts, I only slept with an Ashhi in .my head but then if you can think it then you’ve done it, abi?

Let me have your thoughts…and remember AIDS IS REAL!!!!!

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Tuesday, 7 May 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

23 Comments

Tag : Funny, Narrative Fiction, Randomz, Status, Stories

I Am Now Convinced That I Am Going To Die Single.

I am now convinced that I am going to die single.

Growing up, I had been tutored to have high demands when it came to women. I was encouraged not to ‘settle’. So, as early as JSS3, I had made up my list of requirements. Whoever would be my main squeeze had to have the following exact characteristics:

1) Pretty face. Females who were ogres in their former lives were advised to stay far. Very far.

2) Hot figure. Something of a mix between Eva Longoria and Beyonce.

3) Height. Pygmies not welcome.

4) Fair complexion. This particular idiosyncrasy was handed down from Dad: you should see my mother.

5) Who doesn't want for himself some mammary?

But you see, dear readers, I met her during my first year of university. She had all but number 4. Her chocolate complexion was exquisite. I fell in lust instantly..... she dumped me after I farted in bed.(T'wld have been better if she had dumped me cos of this reason)

Anyway, I had then realised that I could date dark chicks. Awesome. Then I met another her(maybe we'll just call her "her2) who kind of looked like a bimbo. However, she was missing numbers 3 and 4.

Our relationship went down the drain after she caught me ogling at her mother. What? Don’t judge. The woman had all 5! But she also had her blasted husband’s stupid wedding ring. Aaaaargh…(another worse case senerio I wld have agreed to be dumped for)

It all went downhill from there. Her3, while of average height, was shaped like a pedestrian bridge: straight and narrow.

Her4(you should get it from this point) made me rethink item 5. She put the ‘2’ in too much. The Jews could have hidden from Hitler’s Nazis in her cleavage!

Recently, I finally let go of my precepts. I made but one new rule: conversation. I wanted a woman I could talk to. All my friends lauded the new and improved me. I had indeed matured, they all said.

And so I happened upon Her5. She was a colleague at school. And – you guessed it – she had all five. Plus, she was single. How ironic that I should meet the girl of my dreams AFTER I’d contrived to trash those prerequisite.

I’d only seen her a few times when she came to our faculty and… my oh my: she was stunning! First she was half caste, and then her figure was to die for. On top of that, she was at least 5feet 10inches.

I once snuck a peek while she was talking to a friend of mine (another colleague). I couldn’t make out what she was saying from where I stood but I figured she must be a pretty powerful orator because Clinton clearly had tears in his eyes. Amazing! What could make such a macho man cry? If my curiosity was piqued before,

I was nearing obsession by now. It seemed my search was finally over. I couldn’t wait to meet Her and have terrific conversations with this intelligent, hot girl.

My chance came soon enough.

One day, I spotted her at an eatery my colleagues and I frequented during lunch breaks. I was about to order when our eyes clashed. I ignored the attendant and walked over to where she sat.

“Hi”, I started, “my name is Chris and I’ve been dying to meet you.” By the time she was done replying, I was weeping like Clinton. She said:

“Hello Chris. I’m Ingrid. Let me start by apologising. I have a birth defect which accounts for my incurable, tear inducing halitosis…” I wiped my face without bothering to hear more and trudged back to the counter.

See why I wrote the first line?

Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry using MTN NIGERIA.

Saturday, 4 May 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : fiction, Narrative, Randomz, Single, Stories

The Confused State Of Mind

Its the 5th month of the Year, the month of 'may'.

Why don’t I feel the excitement- that amazing feeling that everything will be different, better and all one has ever wished for?

Why do I feel exactly the same as I felt the month before?

Why do I feel sad, knowing that I’m back to square one?

Why do I have over 1000 contacts on my Facebook, yet tons of messages from them can’t make me happy?

Am I an attention seeker?

Am I seeking attention from that person that means the world to me and getting an icy cold shoulder in return?

Am I just drifting into the land of the insane without even knowing it?

If I want to let you in on what’s going on in my heart, it’ll take forever to explain and ultimately leave you confused with my back-and-forth feelings that I can’t even put into words.

He that findeth a wife, findeth a good thing – so I’ve heard. *sighs*

I’ve heard of amazing love stories and watched tons of movies in which such was depicted excellently. Agreed! Most are make-believes but why then do I feel I’m the only one experiencing the reverse?

I hear relationships have ups downs…. But somehow I feel i …….

*is it just me or have you ever wanted to express your feelings on paper then find it hard to find the exact words to convey the message*

I’ve been schooled into believing that the heart is a muscular pump that supplies blood to the body-(mr peter)

TRUE! Being a medic, I’ve held a couple and dissected a few. And believe me when I say its not all that!

The heart I refer to in this article isn’t the one in your chest that deals with blood. Its the one we cannot see, touch or even dissect. It’s the mastermind behind what we feel and our emotions in general.

It’s what makes you light up when you see that person you genuinely cherish and care about. It’s what makes you sleep well at night, knowing the love and care you dish out is appreciated and returned (in full). It’s equally responsible for making you completely miserable when you’re hurt!

I’m trying so hard to concentrate and take my mind away from the pain I feel inside right now.
Hmmmm………….

Life can be such a b**** sometimes, screwing peoples feelings and emotions over and over whenever she feels like.

As the sayings go ”All is well that ends well”; ”It ain’t over till the fat lady sings”

This is just a phase I’m sure will pass over with time. Some things hurt so much that the only way you feel (a lil) better is if you write out how you feel at that very moment, as talking to friends or even a therapist won’t do you any good.

There are always two sides to every story. There’s always an element of truth in every rumor.

What if both sides of the story say the same damn thing, but I’m just too blinded by emotions to face facts and make up my mind. I don’t believe in star-signs, horoscope predictions and fortune telling- but I believe what will be will be!

Of late, I’ve been trying desperately to make up excuses for “your” actions. Am I just scared of losing you, scared of moving on or scared of starting all over from scratch?
These are questions that I know I can never answer directly in this current state of mind without confusing myself any further and compounding my problems.

For big fans of chocolates, you know that feeling you get when you taste a good bar of chocolate and it dissolves in your mouth and momentarily you are in another realm surrounded by comfort, peace and bliss – and then that feeling is replaced by the bitter taste of “alomo bitters”, that’s all I can relate to right now.

Hmmm…….
I must say I feel better writing down my feelings and problems. Like Lil Wayne said in 6 foot 7 foot, “I talk to myself, I am my own consultant”

Matters of the heart are dangerous and dickey, you’ve got to handle with care! When the pain you feel inside starts to reflect on your day-to-day deeds and it then manifest as psychotic heart wrenching absent mindedness then, I think you may have an incline of how I feel.

I hear people say, Rome wasn’t built in a day. But i am very sure that concerted effort can bring it down to its core. It takes ages to build things and a couple of seconds, minutes…, tops,days to destroy the same things.

Life can be frustrating sometimes, with a lot of commas and people that are naturally kill-joys clamouring around you. Striving hard, never looking back or “aloofness” as my friends always say, is the way forward. Karma exists whether you like, love, hate believe it or not and it sure as hell stings hard each time you experience it.

Bending over backwards for people doesn’t necessarily make you subject to them. The patient dog eats the……. Question is, What if the dog prefers the meat to the bone, huh?

If you don't get it right at first, try, try again. It’s not every thing or every one you push your self to the limit for.
Tick tock.. Time flies… Soon my heart will be hardened like “stock-fish” and it’ll be goodbye or on to the next one. He who laughs last…. may not necessarily laugh best. He may either have issues upstairs or is indeed very calculated.

“The best things in life are free” – “nothing good comes easy” commonly used words, Yes! But how can we fully relate the two especially when you know how hard you’ve worked to come this far? I wonder!
“The heart wants what the heart wants”. Can’t argue with that. Searching for that “special-someone” that understands you is like looking for a needle in a haystack – a medical friend told me the easiest way to find said needle is to burn the haystack.

Agreed no one is perfect, we all have flaws. I’m not looking for perfection, just a lil appreciation and a reassurance that I’m not the only one in this love boat.
If something is truly yours, it’ll surely come back to you. What happens when it comes back and there’s already a replacement?
Some questions in life are truly rhetorical!
Don’t YOU think so?

It really hurts when you love someone with all your heart, you’re willing to do a full 180° on your old ways and move mountains for the person, yet the person can’t even tell when you are hurting.

The more I try to write my feelings down, the more pain I try to let go of, as it consumes me. To you, I may just be a confused individual, true… Scroll up and check the title, love does that to even the finest minds on earth.

If you’re out there and you’ve been in my shoes at one point or the other or you’re currently experiencing it, kindly let me know that i’m not alone ….

*sips coke...listening to Bruno Mars "Who Is".*

Bruno Mars - Who Is

[audio http://defpenradio.com/wp-content/2010/09/Bruno-Mars-Who-Is-BMF.mp3 ]

Oh I was perfect
For the circus
If she dared me I'd do it
Love makes you stupid
I gave it up
But I guess it was not enough
'Cos she never seems satisfied

I know I'm not perfect
But at the end of the day
Who is?
She wanted someone that's perfect,
Okay, but can you tell me who is?

She set the bar
Just above the stars
A rocket couldn't reach it
But I still kept on reaching
She watched me try
At least a thousand times
If she loved me she'd stop me,
But no

I know I'm not perfect
But at the end of the day
Who is?
She wanted someone that's perfect
Okay, but can you tell me who is?

I saw something worth my future
So wrong, so wrong
In my mind I would turn the clock
But I guess I wasn't wrong

I know I'm not perfect
But at the end of the day
Who is?
She wanted someone that's perfect
Okay, but can you tell me
Who is?

Posted from WordPress for Android

Wednesday, 1 May 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : Stories

Tha Day Jonah Became A Fish

“The Lord sent Jonah to Nineveh to the…the lord sent Jonah to the people of….the lord sent…aaargh!”

I groaned in frustration. This just wasn’t working. I wasn’t cut out for any kind of reading. If it came to looking cool hanging out with chicks,just looking fly with the guys then I’m your guy any day. But having to read? And memorise? Hmm, that was transformer hugging stuff right there. Yet here I was, trying to cram a summary of the book of Jonah, thirty minutes before the CRS paper was about to start.

It wasn’t as if this was one paper I absolutely had to pass. In fact, back in secondary school, I had failed CRS so woefully from Jss1 to ss3 that our CRS teacher was convinced I was from a strongly pagan family and we spent our weekends in offering sacrifice to the gods. The man even predicted (correctly) my WAEC result for CRS.

“If you don’t get an f9, then I will become a Buddhist!” he declared after trying (and failing) to make me understand that Jesus turned water to wine at a wedding at Cana and not a bar in Syria. I decided right there and then that I would surprise him with my result. By the time the results were released, he had better have bought his Buddhist habit and be prepared to relocate to a monastery in Tibet.

I failed the paper, of course; f9 being the particular score.

He was not surprised.

So no, I wasn’t preparing for the CRS WAEC paper, but the third GCE I was writing in a row.
I didn’t care if I failed CRS of course. It wasn’t as if I was planning to open a church any time soon (though that was definitely part of my long term plans). My problem was that I had failed to make any other paper as well in spite of my dashing good looks and smooth talk.

How was I to know that I would be bedevilled with deeper life invigilators for each of the examinations I would write? Besides, my brain is too filled with cool stuff to accumulate boring stuff like how to solve quadratic equations or dealing with set theorems. Infact, the first time we were taught set theorem, it had gone like this;

Teacher: Today we will be dealing with sets…
Me: Sex?
Teacher (fair complexioned woman, blushing visibly): No! Sets!
Me: But what does sex have to do with mathematics?
Teacher: SETS, SETS, SETS, OLODO, SETS!!!!

So you see, I’m really not cut out for all that caper. I was looking forward to a career in modelling. This fine face would be a waste behind a counter in a bank. I would dazzle the world with my million dollar smile and the ladies would just die when I walked into rooms.

My father wasn’t thinking along those lines when he saw my WAEC result:
“CHAIII!!!” the man screamed, giving my mother the impression that his long awaited cardiac arrest had finally happened and the poor woman dashed over from the kitchen to see if she could still save his life.

“What’s the problem?” she asked, partially worried at his scream at that time of the day and partially relieved that he was not writhing in pains on the ground.

“The problem? The problem?” he shouted. “There are nine problems!” He roared holding my result aloft. “F9 in nine subjects…..oh and look, he got an A…..in Yoruba!”

I didn’t even pass that Yoruba on my own effort, anyways. The invigilator had slept off after a large mug of hot cocoa our school principal had served her, leaving the path clear for all kinds of malpractice. Of course, the woman subsequently turned down all food offers thereafter. If she hadn’t, I would probably have made all my papers.

Anyways, that was my WAEC result from secondary school. After the traditional thrashing for failing a major examination, I was enrolled in a summer coaching programme in preparation for the GCE my parents had me registered for.

Need I tell you that I failed that one as well?
“HA!” my father screamed. “He couldn’t even make Yoruba this time. Yoruba!!!”
Again, the customary thrashing was dished out and I collected it in good faith, after all, it wasn’t the first time. Afterwards, my father called me into his room, asked me to sit in a chair opposite him and spoke in a calm, clear voice.”

“I will register you for the next GCE. It will be the last one I will register you for. I have also acquired a large metal basin for you, so that when you fail that one, you can go and start hawking pure water in traffic. Your mates are married with children,” I wondered which of my irresponsible mates would already have kids at nineteen “and you are still here, failing examination after examination. I’ve had enough you fail this one, get ready to join those boys we see in traffic running after cars, okay?”

Whenever my father did this (call you into his room, sit you opposite him and talk in a calm, clear frank voice) he meant every word of what he said. I had also spotted a gleaming, large metal basin propped up under the stairs.

Now this is one thing you’ve got to know about me. I can take a whipping, shouting, punching, head butting, electric shocking, choke slamming,groin kneeing, bi**h slapping, the people’s elbow, The Undertaker’s smack-down, ear twisting, listening to Justin Beiber for nine hours straight and a beat down from a permanently high tout at Oshodi but one thing I can’t take is embarrassment. The very thought of hawking pure water in traffic while the hot sun (that sun God must have specially made for Lagos traffic and nowhere else) bore down on me, then being spotted by the guys or one of my numerous girlfriends was just pure torture. It was time for me to sit up.

No, no, I didn’t fail that examination as well. I haven’t even written it yet, take a chill pill!

Actually, it was why I was here trying to memorise a summary of the book of Jonah, whose story I was quite sure I would have known if I hadn’t spent Sunday school classes pouring powdered chalk in girls’ hair and planting twigs (always with an impressive number of branches) in boys’ back pockets. But all around me was noise. Nobody in the GCE centre seemed to be even bothered that in thirty minutes, we would be starting the examinations with CRS as our first paper.

Over there, a girl was describing a particularly hot mini skirt she purchased the previous weekend. From what I could gather from her description, it was only two inches longer than the thickness of a piece of rope. And it still had a slit at the back. And right beside me,a guy was narrating to the small crowd he had somehow gathered how the last party he attended went down;

“Omo, una for come dat parti! Chei, see as girls just dey twist, dey bend, chai! E be like say I go heaven come back. E come get one girl wey I dey rock, chei! If you see as she just dey twist body…” he attempted a mime of how she was twisting and I was convinced that she must have been a particularly stiff girl. If his demonstration was anything to go by, she was more in need of medical attention than a groove at a party.

Still, it made pretty good listening to but my mind bugged me. These guys had probably not been threatened with metal bowls and pure water hawking so they could afford to make all that noise. Besides, they were probably depending on the N5,000 they had all “willingly donated” to the woman who was in charge of the centre where we were writing the exams, of course, at the woman’s behest.

“It’s not by force o!” she had declared. “I’m not forcing you to give me anything, but if you don’t pay up, I’m not sure the result you’ll end up with will get you into any university.”

The rush to give her money was overwhelming.
Still, I didn’t want to take chances so I continued cramming what I could of the summary. Meanwhile, everyone else felt there was nothing to worry about, that everything had been “taken care of”. What they did not bank on, however, was the deeper Life invigilator that walked into the examination hall thirty minutes later.

“Please remove anything that might implicate you in the examination,” woman said. Have you ever heard anybody with a Christian accent? This woman had it, and it was obvious that no amount of bribing would work with her. Her long, billowing white skirt and shining white head-tie/turban was testament to that fact. The previously noisy hall fell silent. “Hey, you,” she pointed to a guy seated on a desk. “Go and wash your hands and by the time you are back here, everything you wrote on your palms must be gone. That girl,” she pointed at a girl at the back. “If I see that paper sticking out of your hair when this paper starts, I will tear your answer sheet. And you,” a boy, also at the back.“You think I can’t see that Gideon’s Bible you are hiding under your thigh. Keep it well o, because if I see it when this paper starts, you might need it for prayers when you see your result.”

People began exchanging glances and plan Bs were discussed in whispers. Those without a plan B started chewing the caps of their pens before the paper started. I prayed a silent prayer. Lord please; let me see Jonah in this exam. If I don’t see Jonah in this examination, then I’m in trouble.
“Be seated!” snapped the invigilator. “And I want total silence in this hall.” Obedience was absolute and immediate. She immediately began handing out the scripts; question and answer booklets, assisted by other invigilators who looked like they were in awe of her mighty turban. After all the papers had been distributed, she glanced at the wall clock, cross checked it with her wrist watch, then declared “You have two hours and thirty minutes for this paper.” A low moan began to rise “Silence!” she snapped. I kill you! I couldn’t help thinking in my head. The moan died to its roots. “Start. I will be collecting your scripts in two hours and thirty minutes on the dot. May God be your help.”

I immediately skipped the objective part to the theory. Everyone knows the theory part is much more difficult than the objective so I decided to get that one out of the way. There were ten questions and we had to answer five, the first question being compulsory. It read; “Narrate the story of Jonah and God’s mission for him to Nineveh.”

I almost stood up to begin dancing azonto.
I immediately began writing down what I had crammed before it would escape my brain (which, by now, you know can be quite porous when it wants to be). Meanwhile, beside me, party goer (the guy who had been demonstrating what I still wasn’t quite sure if it was a girl dancing or an accident victim trying to walk) scanned his paper and let out a sigh. Then looked at the invigilator. Then at the ceiling. Then back at the invigilator. Then at me. Then started chewing the cap of his pen. Then looked at the invigilator who was now filling something in a form of some kind. Then back at me .

“Pssst. Psssst. Guy!” he whispered. I glanced at him.

“Which one you dey do?” he asked. I paused. Now I didn’t know what to do. It was almost traditional for me to help guys and ladies out in exam halls (yes, I know, I’ve only helped someone with an answer once in all the examinations I’ve written but that’s beside the point. It’s not my fault I didn’t know the other answers. A guy has to help another bro out) but with this turbaned woman looming large at the front of the hall, I wasn’t quite so sure if I was willing to take the risk.
“Pssst,” he came again. “Which one you dey do na?”

“Theory,” I whispered back, an eye on the invigilator. “Number one.”
He flipped pages to get to the theory section and read number one over.
“Pssst. Psst. Guy.” He hissed. “Guy, wetin do…..” he snapped back and pretended to be muttering to himself as the invigilator looked up to peer at us. “Wetin do Jonah?” he resumed after she continued her form filling.

O ga o! I thought. There I was thinking I was the biggest pagan in the world and here was this guy with no knowledge of Jonah. At least I had been familiar with the name Jonah, even if I hadn’t read the story but this guy didn’t even have an idea. Jonah could have been a wrestler for all he knew.
“You dey go church?” I asked.

“Ehn, I dey go church wella na, na wa for you o,”he replied.

“And you no sabi wetin do Jonah?” I asked.
“Eh guy….see ehn…..for awa church, we no read bible reach da side.”

I shook my head. This was going to be hard.
“Okay,” I started. “God send Jonah make im go preach for one place dem call Nineveh. Jonah no wan go so God send fish make im swallow am. For the fish belle im come pray make God forgive am. The fish come vomit am. Im come go preach for Nineveh. You get dat wan?”

“I get am,” He replied, nodding his head vigorously, like an agama lizard.
“Ehen, so just find as you go take write am make im long, ehn?”

He nodded his head vigorously again, then opened his answer sheet and started writing. After covering a line and half, he stopped. Then again:
“Psst. Pssst. Guy!”
I turned again.

“Er, shay Jonah na fish?”
I didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or start crying for this guy. His case was worse than I thought.

“No,” I whispered back. “Jonah na prophet. Fish swallow am. Im come pray….you no remember wetin I talk before?”

“I remember, I remember” he said, nodding vigorously again. Then:
“Psst! Pssst! Guy! Guy!”
This was getting rather tiring.
“Guy, you sure say you no make mistake? How fish go swallow pesin na? Dat wan no fit happen na. You sure say Jonah no be de fish? Or no be Jonah swallow fish?”

I shook my head in exasperation, my voice now becoming squeaky.
“No, no, na fish swallow Jonah, Jonah be…”
“Okay!” he exclaimed the light of realisation dawning on him. I was relieved. Finally, he gets the plot and will leave me alone. “I don get am now. The fish na shark. You for don talk am since na, you just dey here dey tell me fish.” Having said this, he turned away to resume writing.
I was quite speechless.

He had covered another line when he suddenly stopped again.

“Pssst! Pssst! Guy no vex but no be chop shark dey chop person? How person wey dem don chop go dey shark belle dey pray. No be die im don die be dat?”
I was beginning to see myself jabbing my pen in his left eye.

“Okay, wetin happen be dis” I said, calming myself as much as possible. “Jonah na fish. Biiiig fish. One fisherman from Nineveh come catch am carry am go house. And hunger been dey catch dem bad for Nineveh. Na so as the man reach house everybody gather. Na im the man start preach to dem say dem if dem wan catch fish, dem suppose first consult am. Na im the man open church, become daddy G.O. You get dat wan?”

“Ehen,” he replied. “Na now you come. Why you come dey tell me long story say fish dey swallow person, say person dey pray for fish belle. Ehen, I for talk am!”

He returned to writing again. After covering like,six – seven lines, he stopped to survey his work and he saw it was good. And he did give praise to whom ever it was that he worshipped and promised gifts of thanksgiving. Then he turned to thank me as well for the help I had rendered.
“Pssst. Psst. Guy, number two!”

Does murder in exam hall count as a charge in court?

Co Written with: @nadez_

Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry using MTN NIGERIA.

Friday, 26 April 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : Funny, Narrative Fiction, Stories

Dear God

Dear God,

We’re tired of praying prayers that have no faith. You know us better than we know ourselves so why do we constantly try to play on Your intelligence? We know that we don’t spend much time with You throughout the day because the duties of life always seem to get in the way. It’s weird because we make time for everything that has nothing to do with You and we don’t even complain about it.

We can stand in a club for hours but it seems like when we get to church, we’re ready to go after praise and worship is over. The preacher is speaking Your words yet our minds are focused on what to do after service. Its so disrespectful how we carry on from day to day without telling You “Thank You”. We don’t make the time to talk to You because our thoughts are so polluted with guilt and stifled by shame.

Forgive us!

Not only do we ask for forgiveness, help us to do better with our relationship with You. Make us put the same efforts that we put into our personal relationships, into our spiritual walk with You. We can’t do it without You. Most of us want to be closer to You, but we’re afraid of change. We’re afraid that walking with You is going to required too much. We’re not worthy God, we don’t even have enough sense to comprehend that You love us even when we don’t love ourselves. Bless us because You are God and not always based on our behaviours.

Free our dear country from the shackles of "backwardness" in which corruption and all other vices have tied us with. Teach our fellow citizens to fervently pray for our leaders, and not rain invectives on them like we often find solace in doing.

Show us the way; surround us with people who truly love You, not those who say what a TV preacher told them to say. Help us to know You for ourselves and not how people feel we should know You. We’ve realised that we’re nothing without Your presence; we just need You to show us a sign. Let us know that You hear our heart desires. We’re ready for a new beginning.

We know You are not on an internet plan but can surely read our minds..

Posted from WordPress for Android

Wednesday, 24 April 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : Chat, Stories

April Fools | My experience

All I had on my mind was to have a mad night of fun with this sweet girl I had just met and hardly knew.

Slim', was her name if memory serves.( Well you didn’t think I was going to mention her name) She was a lovely gal and I was so happy when I ran into her earlier in the day. I had been on her case for a minute, telling her how attracted I was to her blah, blah, blah. You know how we do.

We agreed to meet up later that night. I was way excited about the prospects of our date, I took her to the most famous restaurant in my area. The evening was great and was getting better the longer the night went. Diner was awesome and I was all pepped up, ready to have a wonderful night.

After paying the bills and all, we ended up in the car park, got talking and we started kissing passionately. BOOM the night was going according to plan. I managed to convince her to move to the back seat with me, which she politely declined to do. But with much honey tongued persuasion she finally gave in.

It was the perfect setting for any mischief. Darkness, No light in the car park area which further added to my excitement. Struggling to find her lips was fun and I got carried away. She suddenly asked me to stop. Which I did, cooled down the passions a bit. We relaxed then continued again.

All of a sudden she started shouting "NO! NO!!NO!!!" I could hear odd sounds, but wasn’t sure it was me? The way she held on so tight to me but was still saying “NO” was not making any sense to me. I thought she was talking to me. But to make the situation more confusing she began yelling “please”!, “please”. That was when I began to realized it wasn’t me she was talking to.

By now it had began to rain outside the car. Am sorry, did I say rain? I mean storm!. The thunder and lightning plus the pitch darkness wasn't helping the situation but I was trying to be a man. As you can guess, my imagination was running in different directions. I asked her what was wrong and she wouldn't answer or talk to me. I was so scared, trying not to shake but very close to tears. Asking what was happening and getting nothing in return.

The next thing she said was...

“don’t move, they are close”.

Gosh!, I almost passed. She said this while I was trying to make my way back to the driver’s seat from the back where we were seated. At this point I knew I was a dead man because she had started using words like “no please, I am begging”. I have never prayed as hard as I did that night. Yes I was now living my nightmares, thoughts of friends and family flooded my subconscious. I was going to die.

The last thing she did was cover both our mouths with her hands telling me not to talk and she kept silent as well. We must have sat down like that for 5 minutes but it felt like an eternity to me, I was sweating profusely and I even made promise to stay away from girls.

Then she said “THEY ARE GONE, WE CAN GO NOW” that was the best thing that came out of her mouth that night. With no shirt on, legs shaking I managed to crawl to the front seat with her. Tried starting the car but my nervousness got the better part of me cos all I had in mind was to get away from that place as soon as possible but the car refused to start. I prayed for forgiveness of all my sins and promised God never to touch another gal again.

I turned around and looked at her, the tears were all gone and she had this big smile on her face. All I heard from her, was Hendrix "relax now", she went further and said that I should take it easy and we should go to my house.

I was lost for words, I quietly started the car and drove towards the girl’s house. She attempted to touch me but I told her I had to concentrate. I dropped her and drove straight to my house, picked up my bible and prayed all through the night.

I saw her the next day in our estate, I tried avoiding her but she walked up to me smiling, laughing more like it and said

“OK come on I was joking”

Well maybe she was joking, maybe it was a spiritual attack, I didn’t want to find out but it had been such a terrible night for my nerves and most especially my heart.

Ever since then I stopped trying to get intimate with girls…..until 2 days later... ;-)

Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry using MTN NIGERIA.

Tuesday, 2 April 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : Stories

Caught In-between Two Women | Final Part

Finally, here's the last part of this series. i'll like to remind you that All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely UN-intentional

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

She smiled at me as we settled into the back seats. We still had not said a word to each other. There were three of us on a row of seats that ordinarily sat four, so it was as comfortable as a bus could get. The driver started the bus and the tires started to roll, when the conductor ordered a stop to take on one more passenger.......

-cont'd

My mind went blank and time seemed to stop. I would not have been more shocked if an embalmed monkey had climbed into the bus and taken a seat next tome.

‘CY was equally shocked.

Here she was, presumably going to obtain some exotic ingredient from big market – and the object of all her ‘work’ was off on a trip with some other girl?

I tried to speak, but the words would not form. There was nothing to say: no lie or excuse; no hurriedly concocted fib with the slightest chance to save my sorry ass. I was caught, not red-handed – but pants down!

Again the events of the past few weeks flashed before my eyes. - The dinner in coca cola spot, the play at the artscan hall, the repeated visits to the Anatomy Museum, the walks in the Staff Quarters… It had been fun to finally do what I wanted with someone who shared similar passions, but I knew then that those days were gone forever.

There was a loud commotion in the bus. Somebody was asking me questions, but they had two different voices. I did not answer; my mind could not decide which voice to process.

-I was lost in thought, far away thinking back to the text message that started it all.

Something stung the left side of my face, then the right. My eyes shook violently in their sockets.

-I was now entering coca cola spot, selecting the table in the corner.

I was hit again, alternately left then right. ‘sandra started to cry.

-I was now standing, to introduce myself to ‘CY.

My face was hot. The bus had stopped. I heard the soft whoosh of a nylon bag as it swung through the air. I tasted tomatoes.

-I was now rising again, approaching the counter to ask for our food.

There was pepper in my eyes. My face felt even hotter. The conductor held tight to one struggling woman, the driver to another.

-I was now turning in slow-motion to greet ‘Ruki.

I tried hard to see, but the tears made it difficult. Somebody was grabbing me, pulling me, their arms under mine.

-I was now noticing ‘sandra, she was standing right behind ‘Ruki.

I was moving through the air one instant, laying on the ground in the next. Two more people were deposited beside me. The bus moved off. I was now feeling like a cheat, caught at my first attempt.

- And then I came back to reality.

We, all three of us, were on the ground – beside the bus-stop. There was pepper all over me. ‘Sandra was sobbing furiously while ‘CY cursed in ibo: till the very end, differences between them screaming for my notice. Some fool was taking pictures; passing students stopping to point and giggle. I had successfully made a public ridicule of myself.

I scarcely noticed when the police van pulled up at the bus-stop, parked so as to ‘shield us from public view. The last I remember is ‘Ruki running down from the van, and dragging me and ‘Sandra into the back. ‘CY refused to move, despite his entreaties – so we left her there. And then I broke down in tears…

If I ever get down to making a list of the things I am not, ‘player’ must come first. I simply sucked at it.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I scarcely heard my room mates as they sympathised with me. I hardly heard ‘CY’s vituperation when she returned with her friends for her handbag. I had moved on. I knew I had lost her, and had accepted the fact already. I knew what I had to do next.

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

I went back to ‘Sandra’s room that night. It took all my courage to knock at her door, to bring myself to walk into her room amidst hostile stares from her room mates.
To sit on her "plastic-chair-that-was-originally-mine" when she burst into tears rather than offer me a seat. It took all my courage to say the words, appreciating her for the years when she had been a loyal friend; acknowledging that she was right to have refused my offer to ‘date’, knowing that we really did not have much in common; pleading that she put the happenings of the day behind her and allow us to continue as good friends.

I told her about the many questions I had asked myself already on my way to her room. I told her that I would never stop wondering if a little more loyalty from my end would have won her over, if a little more perseverance would have helped her to find joy in the things that made me happy. What if I had not sent that text to both of them? What if I had not met ‘CY? What if I had not written that article?

I knew then that I loved them both, but I would always love ‘Sandra more. ‘Sandra was the quintessential friend, the type that did not understand or get involved in what you did – but was loyal none-the-less; ‘CY was the stuff of which dream girls were made – shared passions and common interests – but she was too good to be true.

I knew then that I would meet some girl later on, who would combine attributes from these two.

++++
All of a sudden, there was a lump in my throat.

Tears gathered in my eyes as I watched ‘Sandra cry, threatening to reveal the turmoil I felt inside. I swallowed hard as I fought the urge to put my arm around her shoulders and comfort her. I dug my fingers into the back of my chair till they hurt,willing myself to remain seated. It was better to let her cry, to leave her to settle this on her own.

It hurt me even deeper to see her hurt so. The sight of tears wracking her body, throwing her lean frame to and fro like a leaf before the wind, would haunt me for years to come. The sound of her crying would wake me from my sleep, stabbing at my heart in an endless rhetoric: “What If?”

THE END

Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry using MTN NIGERIA.

Saturday, 23 March 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : Stories

Caught In-between Two Women | Part VI

I let out a little yelp, and my room mates gathered around me immediately. Dumb stricken, I let the phone fall from my hand – and someone picked it up and read the text out loud. They all went quiet for a while, and then started to talk all at once. Everyone had an idea on how to save the day, and each person felt their idea was best.

After a few minutes of hullabaloo, someone suggested that I dash out of the room immediately, meet 'Sandra on the way, and head for the palace; I would turn my phones off, and explain to ‘CY on returning that I had to do something for someone urgently. They all went quiet, and then started to talk all at once again – everyone claiming the idea was originally theirs.

It seemed to make sense, so I picked my phones and wallet and left the room. As I descended the stairs, I called ‘Sandra to say I had gotten tired of waiting and had left my room – so we would meet halfway. She was already at the hostel gates by this time, and so said she would return to the bus-stop.. My plan was to take a bike from my house, so doing reduce the risk of inadvertently running into ‘CY.

As I made the three minute walk to the gates, I thought back over the events of the past few weeks. ‘sandra was yet to congratulate me on my article; in fact I did not think she had read it yet. I had come to grips with the fact that we did not share much common ground, and more importantly – she could not be bothered to become interested in my passions. While we could survive that as friends – it would not be good for a dating relationship.

I thought back to my second epiphany. Things were a little better – at least now I had one more female friend. I had since given up expecting all women to be versions of ‘Sandra, and even though I honestly did not know what ‘CY’s motivations were – it felt good to know I was making progress on this point.

I knew I was fully responsible for not developing other friendships over the years – preferring to give all my time and attention to ‘Sandra. I would not deceive myself that she was responsible for that in anyway. What I had to do now was change that.

I smelt ‘Sandra before I saw her; the distinctive scent of Omnia Green Jade. She was beautiful, as always, dressed in a simple blue dress and carrying one of her trademark Ankara handbags. I looked upon her and knew: I would always love this girl.

There was a lot on my mind, a lot that I wished I could tell her as I took her hands –but I could not bring myself to speak. In that instant I decided this would be our last ‘date’ in this undefined state: professing to be best friends, but acting like lovers and blocking each other’s chances. When we got back I would take her into some empty classroom, and we would align on a way forward for our friendship.

She smiled at me and started to say something, but then stopped. It started to drizzle lightly; the heavens shedding tears for me, expressing how I felt at what I had to do. I closed my eyes, and ran my fingers all over hers, vainly trying to memorise the velvet of her touch. Tears formed behind my tightly clenched eyelids,and I ground my teeth together to keep from crying. As we climbed into an almost-full bus, I knew this was a magic moment – a last ‘date’ – and there was nothing I could imagine that would mar this experience.

The keyword in that last thought of mine must have been the word ‘imagine’, as what happened next could not have happened in my wildest imaginations.

She smiled at me as we settled into the back seats. We still had not said a word to each other. There were three of us on a row of seats that ordinarily sat four, so it was as comfortable as a bus could get. The driver started the bus and the tires started to roll, when the conductor ordered a stop to take on one more passenger.

*******************************************
Wait till you read the final piece…

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Thursday, 21 March 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : Stories

Caught In-between Two Women | Part V

Within one week of seeing that play, I re-discovered passions and hobbies I had thought lost forever. I would dream up some exotic activity in the morning and send texts to both of them – inviting them to ‘trip’ with me. Inevitably, ‘sandra would say no – and in fairness to her, suggest some other activity that she preferred. ‘cynthia on the other hand seemed to exist for me, and so we did all sorts together.

We saw plays and attended book-reading events. We explored the Anatomy museum and got lost walking around the Staff Quarters. I began to spend less and less time with ‘sandra. In the past, I would plead with her when she refused to do something with me – and still hang out with her regardless of her decision. Now, all that had passed. I had an option, and a beautiful one at that. My heart would sometimes revolt, but inevitably acquiesce – after all, it felt good to finally do the things I wanted.

I had the best of both worlds. At least so I thought until it all came undone. One fine Saturday morning, I awoke with a renewed urge to visit the Ovie’s palace. I had drawn up a list of ten locations within and around the University campus I wanted to visit before graduating – and the palace was one of them. I had studied a book about the origins of the urhobo tribe back in my first year, and had wanted to see many things. For Three years I had asked ‘sandra to go with me – receiving a negative answer on all occasions. Now I had an option. As had become my habit recently, I sent out a text message to both ladies. While I awaited their responses, I took my bath and got ready to go out.

I was stunned when ‘sandra responded in the affirmative. It was so shocking that I called her immediately to verify that she read the text right. When she explained that it had been long since we spent quality time together and she thought this was a good opportunity, I knew I had boxed myself into a corner. I chuckled, weakly, and arranged to meet her at BMS in about an hour. The instant I dropped the call, my mind went into a mad race for excuses. I needed one for ‘CY, and I had better find it fast!

After holding a hurried conference with my room mates and creating a shortlist, I settled on the most basic excuse: I had just found I needed to turn in my Head and Neck Seminar on Monday and did not have the luxury of time – hence we would visit the palace next week. I was not a convincing liar, and my fingers trembled as I dialed her number. The trembling grew worse when I found that her phone was switched off. A friend suggested going to her room, but it was well before the 12pm visiting time. As we deliberated other options for reaching her, there was a knock at the door.

As I turned the knob to open the door, I caught that familiar scent and knew: it was ‘CY. She had pulled the ultimate one on me: rather than respond to my message, she had gotten dressed and showed up. My foolery had finally cut up with me. I had no option other than to continue with my prepared excuse. As she made herself comfortable on my bed, I explained that Mr. Enahwo had slammed my class with yet another seminar topic.. Yes, it was his habit to give out projects at random. No, this was different from the one I wrote last week. Yes, I had missed his class during the week, so I only just found out. Yes, it absolutely needed to be ready by Monday. No, I could not start writing it tomorrow and needed to get to work immediately. Sorry, but would she kindly agree to move our ‘palace visit’ till the next Saturday?

My room mate winked at me as I spun an elaborate web of deceit. Thumbs went up all around the room – of course out of her range of vision – as my room mate applauded my skill at lying with conviction. I patted myself on the back – in my mind – as I put on my most pitiful face, describing how much I had looked forward to the visit and how it would have been more fun because we were going together. My phone started to ring, but I could not take any calls right then, so I reached into my pocket and muted it.

And then she responded: she had not really wanted to go out, she said, but agreed because she would do anything for me. Her original plan had been to come and cook for me, in my room! I could work on my computer while she cooked outside. She would be as quiet as possible, almost invisible. That was win-win, she said, I would work on my assignment and we would still spend the day together. If I was aligned, she would now leave for Big market to get the necessary ingredients, and would be back in about an hour. My phone beeped twice, giving an eerie sense of finality to her statements. I was suddenly dumb. The entire room went quiet.

I could not say a word as she stood to leave for the market. She blew me a kiss as she stepped out the door, and I smiled weakly in return. For want of something else to do, I retrieved my phone from my pocket. It was a text from ‘sandra. She had decided to meet me in my room instead…......

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Monday, 18 March 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : Stories

Caught In-between Two Women | Part IV

WARNING:
*******All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely UN-intentional.*********

.............As I turned around – almost in slow motion – to greet him, my heart prayed all sorts of prayers: that it was not really him, that power supply to coca cola spot would fail all of a sudden and I would disappear under the cloak of darkness, that he would be here alone – looking to grab a quick meal before heading back to his laptop.

I caught the smell of Omnia Green Jade for the second time in one night. As I extended my hand to ‘Ruki, I saw her. She was standing right behind him.

-Cont'd-

You know how it feels when you steal for the very first time and get caught? I felt exactly that way. I went weak at the knees, and my mouth went dry. My heart cursed ‘Ruki for showing up at this inopportune moment. It did not help that ‘Sandra was smiling at me, that full toothy vulnerable smile of hers. I felt like a cheating boyfriend, husband even. My epiphanies were yet to acquire legs: my heart was winning the battle with my head.

‘Ruki had been so sure I would meet them here that he had called ahead to book dinner for three. My voice seemed to come from outside of me as I negotiated with the waiter to return one plate. I mumbled unintelligible when ‘Sandra asked why we had four plates instead of three. My legs felt like logs of wood as I led the way to the table in the corner.

Although they did a great job at hiding it, they were both shocked to find that I had invited someone else to dinner. I introduced her as ‘Cy, stressing that I had only met her that day. I also made sure to mention that she read my article and had contacted me. I was briefly excited to learn that ‘Ruki had also read it, and even though I did not expect better – disappointed to learn that ‘Sandra had not. I chose to entirely avoid the unspoken question of why ‘Cynthia was there. Explaining to ‘Ruki and ‘Sandra that I forgot our ‘date’ would suggest that it was not important to me, and make ‘Cynthia feel like an intruder.

There was so much tension in the air – you could cut it with a knife. ‘Sandra withdrew into her shell, concentrating on her food and randomly glaring across the table at ‘Cynthia. ‘Ruki got into a conversation with ‘Cynthia about the role of the church in politics, occasionally asking my perspective on recent happenings. As for me, my salivary glands had taken my taste-buds with them on leave. The food tasted like leather, the drink like urine. I shifted in my seat and shuffled my feet – alternately happy that ‘Ruki was there to keep ‘Cynthia company and sad that I had bungled my first ‘other date’ in Three years.

That dinner was the longest of my life. I could not have been more grateful when we finally stood to leave. It was late in the evening, and ‘Ruki had to answer the call of nature – potentially leaving me with both ladies. My heart leaped for joy when ‘Cynthia said she was going toward cannon mason, and would walk with him. I almost asked for her room number, my head having decided that I would see her again – but then decided against it, as my heart did not want to upset ‘Sandra further. We said our goodbyes at main gates, and made for our different destinations.

As I walked with 'Sandra to campus 3; medical hostel – taking the path through Ekrejeta – my mind went over the events of the day. It had been a long, long, day. My article had turned out a huge success; my self-confidence had taken a major boost; I had, had two epiphanies that could potentially change my life; and I had met a wonderful woman who was genuinely interested in me. ‘sandra did not say a word for the entire duration of our walk; I did not notice until weeks after.

My life changed from the very next day.

On my way to class, I noticed posters for a play at Artscan hall that same evening. I had always wanted to see a play at the Arts Theatre, but‘ Sandra had never shared my enthusiasm – always finding something else for us to do together instead.

As I studied the cast, I instantly knew without asking that ‘cynthia would accept to go with me. I don’t know what came over me, but I decided to run a little experiment – so I sent the same text to them both, inviting them to see the play with me. I remembered my second epiphany from the previous: I was still comparing both ladies, but for the first time in Three years – I had setup an even game. Finally, one epiphany had translated into action.

‘sandra responded first. Thirty minutes after I sent the text, she replied saying how much she hated the Theatre and how there would be too many sweaty people there. She had just gotten the latest High School Musicals movie, and would rather have us watch that in her room. Furthermore, she wanted me to get suya from the Students Union Building on my way. I just smiled.

‘Cynthia responded about an hour later. She was sorry she had not responded immediately, she was in class – she said. Yes! She would love to see the play with me, and she was going to ask me if I had not asked first. There was even more. She had gotten our tickets just before calling me, so all I had to do was show up.
I let out a little whoop, dancing a jig right there on the road. Life was good, but that was only the beginning…

Friday, 15 March 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : Stories

Caught In-between Two Women |Part III

I walked into coca cola spot a few minutes before 7pm. It felt wrong, criminal even, to sit at the centre-table where I met ‘Sandra exactly Three years to the day – so I chose a different one in the dimly lit corner. I sunk into my chair, acutely aware this was her favourite restaurant and she might walk in at any time.

Then she, the other she, arrived.
She came in and looked around – failing to notice me – and retrieved her phone from her clutch-purse. Evidently, she was going to dial my number. I made no move to stop her and introduce myself, preferring instead to observe her from the anonymity of my seat. She was lighter skinned, of a slightly smaller build, and had shorter hair.

In that instant, I realised I was subconsciously comparing her to ‘Sandra. I had just had my second epiphany of the day – my subconscious expectation that every woman in my life would be another ‘Sandra had led me to the point where I had only one female friend, ‘Sandra. My original epiphany now had a Siamese twin.

I waited till my phone rang, then I rose and walked over to her. As I introduced myself while steering her towards my choice table, I caught a whiff of her perfume. My heart stopped for a second, and I gasped for air. The smell was unmistakable. She wore Omnia Green Jade by Bvlgari, ‘Sandra’s favourite perfume. I have never believed in coincidence, and so in that instant I knew – something was going to go wrong.

We settled at the table without any incident, and made small talk while we waited for our food. She introduced herself as Cynthia, a lover of all things written. She thought I was one of the best amateur writers ever, and wanted to know if I planned to write a book. She read Malcolm Gladwell, and thought there were similarities between his work and mine. She had a blog, and wanted to know if she could re-publish my article or create one for me. I felt important, admired even. Five minutes into our conversation, all my fears had disappeared.

More time passed. We talked about Nigeria, and we talked about lizards. We talked about school, and we talked about the recent ‘Colour Blocking’ scourge. She wanted to know why I chose to study Anatomy instead of English Literature. She wanted to know what inspired my writing. She was very expressive: leaning forward when I spoke, stabbing the air to punctuate her sentences, and hanging on to my every word. She was different.

Thirty minutes passed, and the food had still not come. The service at Coca cola spot had not improved much in those three years. In fact – they still had the same waiter from my first day on campus. Under different circumstances I would be glad that they were delaying, but the University Management had recently begun to shut the school gate at 11.45pm – so we did not have all the time in the world… I reluctantly drew myself from our conversation to ask why our food had not been served.

As I approached the counter, I noticed that Coca cola was rapidly filling up. All other tables were now taken, and if a few more customers came in – they would have to join us at our table. I fervently hoped that would not happen, as I looked forward to being alone with ‘Cynthia until we really had to leave. And just then, I heard a familiar voice call me. My heart stopped for another second. At this rate, I was going to be dead before the end of the day.

I suddenly remembered that my friend ‘ruki, had promised to take me and ‘Sandra out for dinner after his 'Maga' paid. We had pestered him after he collected control number to ‘wash’ it for us, and he accepted – quite surprisingly. After postponing twice due to his busy schedule, we had finally agreed on a date – January 12. In the euphoria surrounding the success of my article and my dinner invitation – I had completely forgotten. Now, he was here – calling my name. ‘Sandra was sure to be somewhere around!

As I turned around – almost in slow motion – to greet him, my heart prayed all sorts of prayers: that it was not really him, that power supply to. Coca cola would fail all of a sudden and I would disappear under the cloak of darkness, that he would be here alone – looking to grab a quick meal before going back to his laptop.
I caught the smell of Omnia Green Jade for the second time in one night. As I extended my hand to ‘Ruki, I saw her. She was standing right behind him…

Wednesday, 13 March 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog

Tag : Stories

Caught In-Between Two Women | Part II

*******All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely UN-intentional.*********

I became confused. She would not say a yes, or a no. I was lost. I had been so certain all I needed to do to ‘formalize’ our relationship was just ask. Now, I had become the laughing stock of my friends. After all, how many guys ‘chased’ a girl for Two years? I prayed. I sang. I fasted. I thought. I dyed my hair. I got a new perfume. I changed bathing soaps. Nothing changed; well, maybe something did – my grades fell, alongside my self-confidence.
And then I met ‘Cynthia..

-cont'd-

Earlier in 100level, i contested for "MR Anatomy" a pageantry stuff organised by my department for her 100level students(freshers) also, my signature article, For the Love of Nigeria, was published on unity magazine and the editor included my contact details below the post.

By this time, I had lost confidence in my ability to achieve anything. My CGPA had sunk despicably, my finances were in dire straits, and my friendships had badly deteriorated. Yet, my dream girl – the cause of it all – continued to elude me at every turn. I needed something to boost my self-confidence, to prove to myself that I was still good at something – so I decided to sit at the basement and watch people read and react to my article.

In retrospect, that was the first good decision I would make in about three years. The public reception was so good – I had to put my phones on silent to remain inconspicuous. Many readers sent me texts complementing the quality of my writing and the depth of my argument. Three burly fellows from canon mason got in a fight while arguing some of the finer points, and had to be hurled off to the Student Union Building. A journalist from Tell Magazine who happened to be visiting her nephew on campus mailed me requesting permission to reproduce it… It was too good to be true, yet it all felt strangely empty.

You see, ‘Sandra had never appreciated my writing. She never understood why I spent countless hours fine-tuning the personalities of characters in my stories, or why I got emotional about the struggles they faced. As far as she was concerned, they existed only in my thoughts – and were therefore not worth her attention. Actually, nothing I thought was worth her attention. She would never congratulate me on this article, or a future one for that matter. She would not even read it. As I sat on that slab outside the Anatomy Morgue, tears starting to stream down my cheeks – I had an epiphany – I would never get any validation from ‘Sandra
.
The flash-bulbs went off in my head. I suddenly realised how I had done all the giving in our friendship. She had never gotten me a gift for my birthday – even forgetting to call me once. She did not know where I lived. She did not know the names of my siblings. She did not respect my time, opinions, or person – taking it for granted that I would always be there when she needed me. We never spoke about my plans, my family, my thoughts – or anything that had to do with me. Our relationship was painfully one-sided. I had to face a hurtful truth: she did not love me back.

Epiphanies – sudden realisations though they are – seldom cause instant change. In that instant, my head knew it was futile to love her – but my heart remained sold. My epiphany needed legs.

The indicator light on my Blackberry blinked red, so I picked it up and started to read through the messages received while I was lost in thought. Nearly all of them were the usual fare, conveying the sender’s appreciation for my skill or argument. One stood out, however. It was evident it had been written with care, by someone who paid attention to detail. There were spaces after the full stops and commas, line breaks to mark paragraphs, and capital letters were properly used. The sender was a Political Science major who wanted to meet over dinner to discuss my article. I read through again, and noticed the message was not signed. Evidently, the sender preferred to remain anonymous till our physical meeting.

It was a no-brainer. Attention starved as I was, I was desperate to meet with someone that wanted to talk to me about me. I responded conveying my willingness to meet, and suggesting that we meet at coca cola spot for 7pm.
As I dressed up in my room, guilt started to set in. I felt dirty, dishonourable even. I was absolutely positive the sender was female, and it felt like I was cheating on ‘Sandra. Actually, it was the first time in Three years that I would have dinner with someone else. I tried to reason with my heart, to explain that ‘Sandra did not care where I was, who I was with, or what I did – but the feeling would not pass. Therefore, it was with a heavy heart that I set out for Bush Bar

It was January 12 2013…

Saturday, 9 March 2013

Posted by LordHman's Blog