I never said

I taught you to roar

You always had it in you

deep in your throat

you just took your time.

But then I was there

when only meows and purrs escaped your lips

instead of the growls of a jungle beast

when all you did was run and pounce and fall.

I couldn’t carry you

so I just fell with you

wanting you to stand

so that you could lift me.

I cried your tears

because lions don’t shed tears

They only shake their mane and bare their teeth.

Now your growl is thick

Your roar is strong

And I am a doe

that must either become a lion

or get left behind.

My Coke and Fanta Gentleman


Just sometimes

I wish Adebayo drank

Just a little bit

so that when he kisses me

I would drink from his lips

and swallow his spit more eagerly

rather than lift a bottle

of Smirn-Off or Redd’s or Kagor

to my waiting mouth.


I wish Adebayo drank

Even if only a little bit

so that when we shake the bed

the flush on my skin would be redder

the bites on his shoulder deeper

and the clench of his cheeks tighter.


But most times, it’s okay

I can drink for us

I will drink for me and my Coke and Fanta gentleman.20160314_210654

The 3 pieces of 8

All or Nothing

We tried our hands at love

supple pink flesh

turned snowy white leprous.

We failed

I was right

You love hard

You hate harder.

A monster is born.


I slept in tears

dreamed of rain and storm

and woke with her crouching on my chest

as I sank in the flood.

She places her lips on mine

as our eyes lock in time.

Someone, Anyone

please wake me up.


The first day of spring

the seeds of hate will now bloom

as you march like unto war.

If you would still leave

take one last look

have one last thought

hold me one last time

For auld lang syne.

These 3 poems are how I feel this February.

Your comments are welcome.

Follow us on twitter @tele_ola and @Janus_aneni

Zelophehad’s seed

So, I was reading the Bible in church the other day – yes, I do study, and I sorta stumbled on this. And a story grew. Enjoy…


Zelophehad’s seed

Her father stood at the summit of the mountain, his arms spread out as though to fly or to catch a draft of the wind. The base wind tore at his robes, the air smoky and dense with ash and flinty sparks. At the foot of the mountain a fire seemed to rage, the reddish glow a foreboding backdrop to the man who stood with arms outspread.

“No…” she breathed as she ran towards him, the mountain seeming to become steeper with each step. Below she could hear the sound of jubilation, raucous laughter, the shadows of what seemed as waving arms all reaching for her father. Zelophehad grinned in the light of the flames below, the tongues dancing in his eyes, then he stepped off the edge of the mountain, his robes flapping wildly as he fell.

“Noooo!” Milcah screamed, her hands clutching the empty air as she reached for her father, to see him fall into the fiery darkness, and jolted awake.

It was dark. Looking through the flaps of her tent, she could see the sky, billions of lights danced across the dark blue floor of the firmament, Jehovah’s eyes; the portents of things to come. She got up from her bed, her clothes rustling as she made her way through the mess of pans and skinning knives to the entrance. Standing there, a willowy silhouette, she stared at the night sky and wondered what portent her dream might hold. I wonder how long Father has to foray this time. When would he come home?

Then she heard the scream.


Mahlah held the rabbit by the ears and slipping the knife into the flesh at the throat, skinned the entire animal in one cut. She dropped the skin into the bowl, and began to dissect the rabbit to remove the entrails. On the floor beside her was a narrow tipped, red fletched arrow, one of Noah’s. Several other animals lay on the dirt beside her, their eyes almost lifelike that one would almost believe they lived, but for the arrows sticking out of their throats. Thank Jehovah for Noah’s aim, and the extra food. Noah was easily one of the best shots among the people, everyone knew her aim was uncanny. Not once had she put many a boy to shame in an archery contest, her arrows finding mark in whatever she set her sights on. Oh, that she would find a man soon. Already she was eighteen.

The knife twisted through Mahlah’s fingers, her mind absent, yet her fingers deftly skinning the rabbits in expert strokes that broke no blood. Strange how she should be bemoaning Noah’s insistence that the time had not come to find or even be found by a man. She herself was to be twenty come next Hannukah and yet to be joined before the tabernacle. Though for her, it wasn’t a matter of decision, circumstances beyond her control had dictated it so. She thought of Obed then, and that fateful night as he stole into her tent, his scent filling the small space. She had awoken to his smell, the male virility that poured off him, washing wave over wave upon her desire. Her nostrils had flared, drinking him in, as she reached for his body, her body taut and stiffened peaks of need. Oh, how she had wanted him that day. The knife slid into the furrows of the last rabbit’s neck. But for the scream. Mahlah shook her head. And now, she could not marry. Not anytime soon.

It had been four months now and Obed rarely came back to camp, always out scouting the Promised. She knew he avoided her. Mahlah, put the skin into the bowl.


Tirzah sat upon a rock overlooking the camp. It was a favourite spot of most of the teenagers. The cliff-face of the rock gave a birds-eye view of the entire camp; tents and tents stretching to the lip where the earth kissed the sun. At night with the sky dotted with light, and one could see clearly through the crisp desert air, the beauty of Jehovah in the pillar of fire that rose into the sky. Oh hallelujah! Those were the best times. The camp lights flickering below her, the people moving about like gaily arrayed ants, above the angels flitting about the stars making them twinkle and sparkle, and from her father’s harp sweet melodies even the LORD could not ignore. Then they would dance, light feet skipping on the rocks, Zelophehad was the nimblest of men, his feet barely touching the floor as he twirled and spun, dancing from rock to rock. Tirzah blinked back tears. She said she wouldn’t cry again.

“Look! There she is, the sinner! Daughter of a sinner!”

Tirzah turned to see the boys as they walked towards her. It was Becher and Tahen and their brothers.

“Crying again? Your father was an evil man, perhaps your tears might save your own soul,” laughed Becher.

Tirzah got down from the rock, her back stiff as she tried to ignore them and walk away.

“Look! She is running,” it was Tahen. “He has to be in hell now. Only the souls of those whose hearts are pure may go to paradise. But those the ground swallows up are doomed forever. Cursed!”

Tirzah whirled, her plaited queue flying as she spoke. “You are an ugly fool, Tahen, and all your brothers. My father may be dead, but better than yours. Cursed is the man who lies with an animal, and surely your mother must be a pig because that snout you have can belong to none less ugly.”

Tahen reddened, his face contorting into a snarl as he lunged for her. Smoothly, she sidestepped to her left, her right hand reaching to smack the back of his head almost playfully as he sailed into the dust.

“I may be wrong,” she danced on the balls of her feet. “She may be a clumsy goat after all. Who else would fall for an oaf such as your father?”

The other brothers, all growling now, surrounded her, fanning into a semi-circle pushing her backwards towards a large rock that jutted out of the ground. Tirzah backed up. They were all larger than she was, but she wasn’t scared. Dan, Tahen’s older brother, brought out a switch, his evil face in a grin. That was when she knew they must have planned it before coming. Tirzah backed away some more, her heart beginning to race now. Maybe she had pushed them too far. Going into a crouch; all her weight on her left leg which she kept backwards, she kept her right foot forward and ready to be lashed out. Tirzah drew up her dress, exposing toned thighs the colour of warm caramel. Maybe she could take them, they were only seven. At that moment, an arrow whistled through the air and thudded firmly into the ground mere inches from Dan’s toe, the red feather fletching waving in the breeze.

“Don’t you think seven is a bit too much for one girl,” her older sister’s voice drawled.

Tirzah glanced up at the rock behind her, grinning widely. Noah sat there carelessly, a man’s breeches showing from underneath her dress as she swung her legs over the edge, another arrow already nocked almost lazily to the bow.


“You shouldn’t tease them so,” said Noah as they walked home, the line of sullen boys in the distance ahead of them.

“And you should teach me how to shoot, then I may not need to,” replied her spitting image of a younger sister.

Noah was beautiful in a dusky Midianese way, her olive green eyes wide and yet flinty, the long lashes giving them a smoky luster set off by the sensuousness of her lips. She was laughing now, her long limbs swinging as she skipped down the side of the mountain back to the camp.

“Father and I have already taught you Ramses fist, what more would you learn?”

“Milcah says it is more of a dance than an art of fighting”

“With Milcah, everything is a dance or a dream,” replied Noah.

“What has Milcah done now?” asked Hoglah, appearing suddenly from behind a rock outcropping, a basket of herbs under her arm. “And what have you girls done to the band of crybabies I saw walk past me cursing deeper than an army of Amalekites?”

The two other sisters, each a copy of the other, burst out laughing.


“What are Shemida’s men doing here?” queried Noah furiously as she burst into her sister’s tent, her olive eyes flashing angrily. Mahlah silenced her with a look. Noah fell silent, and went to stand behind her sister. The five of them; Mahlah, Noah, Milcah, Hoglah and Tirzah, all stood hands clasped in front of them and watched the man sitting before them being attended by six others in leather jerkins, heavy wooden cudgels in their belts.

Shemida looked up from the ledger being read to him, “Ah, my daughter Noah. Good, you are all here.”

“Yes we are, now get on with it.”

Noah started, staring at Mahlah. She had never heard such intensity in her older sister’s voice. That was usually her line. Suddenly she was afraid, whatever would make Mahlah so angry must be really serious.

Shemida paused for a second, his ingratiating grin never leaving his face. “Your father has been dead four months now, may his soul find embrace in the bosom of our father Abraham, and I have allowed you enough time to put your things together. According to the law, since he had no sons, all that he had, including you girls now belongs to me,” he licked his wet lips. “I have decided to take possession after the tabernacle meeting tomorrow, where I will make my intention known to the people. So do well to…”

“No! Never! You will never!” spat Noah. “Our father did no wrong! He never cursed GOD! He was not swallowed up!”

“It is the law child,” smiled Shemida as he sauntered out, his men in tow.

Milcah collapsed on the chair, her head in her hands. Her two younger sisters sat at her feet, eyes all turned to Mahlah. Noah opened her mouth to speak, but Mahlah raised up a finger. “Milcah, go make sure they’ve all gone, then come back. I have a plan.”


Eran crouched in the olive basket, his ears trained to detect the slightest sound. He had watched from the shadows as the little Zelophehad girl scouted the perimeter of their tent, then doubled on her to sneak into the basket. Heard when she announced triumphantly that there was no one about. Eran giggled to himself. No one indeed. Everyone knew who was the lightest footpad in all the people; trained by Caleb himself. He giggled again and listened to hear even further. They were hatching a plan just as Shemida had thought. Silly girls. Eran had to marvel at their bravery though, he almost felt sad for what Shemida would do to them.


The tabernacle of the Ark of Jehovah stood in the middle of the camp, the other dwellings radiating from it for miles around. It was a large structure, the huge tent which housed the ark surrounded by heavy wood pillars which fenced off an area around it within which the white-robed priest and blue sashed Levites could be seen moving. It was the law, upon a certain day, all were to gather at the tabernacle as they made their offerings unto Jehovah and asked for forgiveness of their sins and received instructions on what to do next. Shemida gave his orders quickly to his men, each of them placing a hand on the ram as they filed away. There would be no sin and whatever might be committed, the ceremony started soon and once the priest took the ram, their sins would be absolved as the ram was slain, and with it all ties to the Zelophehad line cut from the world. He could remember his joy that night when the scream had woken almost the whole camp; Zelophehad under all those rocks, not much more than his arms the only things showing.

“He has been swallowed up!” he had screamed too, first in genuine shock, then in earnest as he realized what that would mean.

The Hebrew man drew his kaffiyeh across his mouth as a wind blew from the west kicking dust and sand. Oh, he could not wait to leave this godforsaken desert and live in a city again. It had been forty years now, and though he remembered little of Egypt, he had been little more than a child at the Passover, but it had to be better there. Oh, look what the girls were making him think. Jehovah forgive me. He slapped the head of the ram. Take my sin. He would not be swallowed up.

Take my sin.


Hoglah walked in between the tents, through the back alleyways of the camp. Mahlah’s instructions had been explicit. For no reason were they to walk in the thoroughfare where they would be seen by all. As they made their way to the tabernacle, they would each go singly through the side ways in the shadowy corners, easy prey for those who would attack them. Or so it would seem.

Hoglah could understand. She had understood Mahlah’s motives without explanation, like Noah with her warrior’s mind, Hoglah thought herself to be adept with strategy. It had been their father’s bane to have no sons, but daughters. After their mother died, not long after the birth of Tirzah, he had begun to train them in the arts of the warriors and priests, and also feminine arts of music and dance, for Zelophehad had been a skilled dancer. Each of them could stalk a rabbit up to two paces, and could skin a bear if they had to, and kill a man when the occasion called for it. Her father, their dear father, all he had ever asked in return for the doting he showered, was obedience. Simple obedience. And that was where Hoglah had failed.

“Go get the herbs Hoglah.”

But she had wanted to play with her friends. It wasn’t like she couldn’t get the herbs and return. She had been stubborn. Disobedient. She hadn’t gone. And then there was no light left, and father had climbed the cliff face alone in the dark, so dark he hadn’t seen the crumbling handhold he had hewn in himself so long ago. So dark he didn’t see the fissure that had been growing in the rock. So late had he been climbing, so angry had he been at his stubborn daughter, it had been too late when he saw. And father fell, the landslide toppling rocks upon him, one after another, as his screams rent the night. Cursed is he who the land swallows. But it was the mountain who fell on father. And now, she would pick herbs all the time, for all who needed, all who asked.

Out of the shadows of one of the tents a figure leapt out, a tall man in leather, holding a cudgel and a wicked-looking knife. “Now girl, all you have to do is go back home, and I would not hurt you,” the man smiled.

Hoglah just kept walking towards him. The man lifted his cudgel to strike her. Moving with the swiftness of a cobra, she darted under his arm, the skinning knife flashing out from under her basket of herbs, striking him under his right arm. Twisting around his back, she tore the sharp knife across his back, ripping open leather, flesh and sinew. The man arched his back and neck as the beginnings of a scream began in his chest. Hoglah slit his throat from behind.

She was walking away, knife once more hidden in her basket of leaves when his knee thudded to the ground, his throat a gurgling mess.

“Make sure they attack you first,” Mahlah had said.


Tirzah slid between his legs, her knees scraping the dirt, and reached upwards as her knife sliced off his manhood. The man made to scream as Milcah leapt into the air, the flat of her fingers slamming into his throat paralyzing it in an Anubis strike. The man’s face went blue as he suffocated on the scream of pain his lungs tried to force upwards through the constricted trachea.

Across the tents to their left, the people thronged on the thoroughfare, none looked in their direction.

“Make sure they make no sound, we will not call for attention,” Mahlah had said.


Noah danced.

The five men came at a rush, their eyes furious, mouths open in silent yells. Maybe someone had told them about their fallen comrades. Good. They were afraid. Slipping an arrow out of the quiver strapped to her side, she gripped it in her hand like a dagger and waited. The first man came and she lashed out with her right foot, kicking him to the side, her left arm blocking the thrust of the second man, the arrow in her hand plunging into his neck. She retrieved the arrow, already moving before the blood spurted. She sidestepped the next blow, got under the arm of the attacker and using her shoulder, she broke it and twisted around to stab at his neck from the other side, before dancing in again.

“Whatever happens, leave them dead,” Mahlah had said.


Mahlah walked into the congregation, her head bowed. The black shawl she wrapped around her head doing little to hide the determination in her eyes. Behind her, she led a small goat, the neck bound with sacrificial hempen. Two men dislodged themselves from the crowd and came at her from both sides. Giving no indication that she had seen them until one of the men made to grab her arm, she twisted her hand suddenly like a snake, her nails digging into the man’s flesh as she pulled him close. The force of the pull jerked him downwards and her knee caught him at the underside of his throat in a sickening crunch. The other fellow produced a knife. She dodged his thrust, leaning backwards, letting the knife hand sail in front of her. Then using her left knee to the small of his back, propelled him forward and yanking on his knife hand, plunged his knife into his throat. The man fell.

The crowd scattered, some running to the side, most yelling for Moses. Mahlah stood still as a loose circle of space opened up around her. She stood still even as her sisters joined her and the soldiers surrounded them, spears leveled at the ready. Her sisters seemed uninjured, though their clothes were bloodied and Hoglah was without her bag of leaves. All the while she had not let go of her goat. Moses stood before them, his eyes an angry white storm. “What have you done?” his voice was thunder.

“We have committed no sin here,” answered Mahlah, her voice cool. “We were attacked by men who would kill us and steal from us, would we not defend ourselves? These men were hired by him!” she pointed at Shemida, who had been trying to disappear into the throng. “And we have brought a sacrifice to plead for mercy.”

One of the soldiers, the son of Nun, grabbed Shemida out of the crowd and threw him at Moses’ feet. The white bearded leader ignored the pleading man. Moses glared at them for what seemed to be an eternity, then he gestured for Eleazar the priest to collect the goat.

“We also come with a grievance before the LORD, and we shall not enter the tabernacle to say it,” added Mahlah.

Moses raised a white eyebrow.

From the fourth book of Moses also known as the Book of Numbers, what comes next is found in chapter 27 verses 1 – 10.


  • This is a work of fiction, all characters however are based on actual persons though dead, as recorded by the Bible
  • All events may or may not have occurred however, depending on if one would attribute the source of my inspiration to the Holy Spirit of GOD
  • I have never been accused of feminism, and in fact may be the most chauvinistic man alive

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GOD bless you, and GOD bless Nigeria. Peace.


Hello guys. I have quasipoetry today (I think) and it’s in form of a narrative in two parts. Please share what you think you see in the comments section. Thank you.


Master left at dawn

on the last day of the rains

with a little wave, a few tears and a promise to return.

Bound, voices laughing in my head

my songs and moans echoing to the mountain tops

where I roam free only at starlight.

I have heard tales of the sun

how it burns and destroys all in its path

how it reduces my kind to soul-less shadows.

Isn’t master a god?

Coming and going all these seasons?

Festering wounds and burst blisters,

bloody metal and my putrid stench.

Death must come to all things one way or another.

Awash with blinding light,

murmuring last words in deluded sanctity,

awaiting my screams and sure demise,

birds erupt in songs sweet, breaths are lungful and sweeter.

Where, oh death is now thy sting?

Master never told a lie

surely I will meet my end.

Puzzling and musing on this new mystery,

master returns with the love in his eyes

“Why do you wish to leave me and become a soul-less ghoul?”

My god and master never told a lie.

The cold darkness welcomes me

for in shackles is where I belong.

I am, after all, a monster.



The fire has gone out

smoke rising as from a funeral pyre

smelling of sweat, infatuation and saliva

of lust and unbridled passion

floating into the thick darkness as unholy incense

leaving them groping

he for reason, she for sanity.

Songs by the shore replaced with throaty growls

as she unveils herself

daughter of Eve, ever disloyal

mother of sin, ever unfaithful.

Flee, oh gentleman, heed my voice

head for your light

before she engulfs you in eternal icy blackness

bid her farewell.

Leave her be in her evil form.




P.S. – There’s a monster in all of us. Let they that love you gird you in shackles.


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Feathery Kisses

     I would like to apologize again for the silence on the blog. I am new here so I am still undergoing rigorous training and Janus has tried his best to be a good teacher (see what I did!) with all the perfection lessons and tutoring/mentoring and I understand because everything is for you guys. And my betterment, of course. Enjoy.


I burst out of the room, opening the screen door swiftly and widely and then releasing it abruptly. It made a loud noise, temporarily deafening me but I did not pause in my stride. My blue long-sleeved shirt was wrinkled, the top three buttons were undone, and my blue jean trouser was hanging loosely on my hips because my belt had been unbuckled. I held my shoes in my left hand while my right hand covered my mouth, my head buzzed, my heart pounded and with each racing pulse, one name resonated in my head.


The gate was not far. I would wear my shoes when I get outside. I felt my pocket for my mobile phone and wallet. Intact. Thank God those were the only things I brought here. I heard the netted door slam furiously again. She was coming after me.

“Olamide!” she screamed.

I increased my pace. I pushed the gate open, faced the street and started putting on my shoes. The laces were troublesome. Darn these Converse laces. I just tucked them in haphazardly, buckled my belt, buttoned my shirt, wiped my mouth vigorously with the back of my two hands and began to resume my walk. She was at the gate as I took the first step.

“Olamide, please, wait.”

She was panting. I stopped but did not look at her. She couldn’t come out and I knew it was because she was ill-dressed. I caught sight of the yellow wrapper which I had noticed was folded on the bed less than three minutes ago.

“I am sorry. No. I am not sorry. I really like you. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I can’t eat. I really tried to like someone else because I know you have Simi, but I couldn’t.”

I started to walk away but stopped again as I heard a faint sob.

“I really tried. I am sorry.”

I resumed my walk again and this time, she did not speak and I did not stop.

*               *               *

     Mr. Olanipekun was rounding off his usual comic talk which was usually my weekly doze of silly humor but it meant nothing today. General CD was all fun and games. I couldn’t recall anything that had been said and while people had laughed all around me, I had stared at them, wondering if they could tell that something was bothering me. Since I spoke to Simi on Monday, I hadn’t heard from her. She said she would call me when she thought of what to say. I had understood. She always needs time.

Everyone was standing now. Youths obey the clarion call my arse! No matter how much we all tried to lift this nation, generation after generation, all the swallowed oil money would not be vomited and old grey-haired men dressed in expensive danshikis, suits, agbadas and velvet would still keep pummeling each other over selfish issues for the whole world to see. The anthem was finished and the rush to sign CDs cards began. I was very hungry. Allowance wasn’t due till next week and the remaining one thousand five hundred and fifty five naira with me would just have to do and I would have to cook. I would have to dust cobwebs off the pots too. I sat still waiting for the crowd to thin while all around there was chattering and screaming. I watched them and understood why people called me snob. I didn’t talk much to people who had nothing important to say. I was still sitting and thinking  when she appeared before me.

“Hi, Olamide.”  she said softly.

Her khaki trousers clung to her like second flesh just like her white T-shirt. She was nervous. Her widened eyes and her high-pitched voice betrayed her. Now I understood why I had been transfixed. She looked so much like my Simisola. The wide brown eyes were the same. The 32B which I had rightfully guessed during a game of ‘Guess It’ were the same. The forwardness, the same.

“If you are not going to speak to me, now or ever, you should let me know” she said slightly above a whisper, bringing me out of my thoughts.

It took me a few seconds to playback what she had said. I patted the space on the bench by my right, indicating that she should sit. Her face relaxed a little and a weak smile curved her mouth as she did. It wasn’t entirely her fault. I had agreed to go to her house to grade assignment and test scripts because she didn’t understand Yoruba and the HOD had asked that we be merciful.

Corperx, plix, tranxlate and mark the correct wonx for them. You Lagox people and your Engliksh. There ix even no xpeks for all of them to repeat.”

 I could have asked that she brought it to school. I don’t know why I didn’t. Ten minutes passed.

Fifteen. Twenty.


Three days ago

  She had sat too closely beside me on the bed. I had stylishly moved and laid on my stomach, supporting myself with my elbows on the mattress as I continued marking the scripts. She had done the same directly opposite me so that if we both looked up, we were facing each other with mere inches between our faces. I had unbuttoned my shirt halfway earlier due to the searing heat. Now I understood why Ibadan people were aggressive.  She passed me a Yoruba-written script, looking up and sighing deeply as she did so. At the same moment, I had also looked up to ask her why she would grow up in Lagos and not understand one word in Yoruba. My mouth had been open to speak but no words came out. It seemed as though I was staring into her soul and before I could say anything to change the atmosphere, she had placed her lips on mine. Soft. That was the first word I could think of. Very soft.  Then no. My small eyes had become wider than a flat plate, looking into her closed eyes but seeing nothing. Two seconds felt like forever and I scrambled off the bed, standing with my tongue folded in my mouth. My heart was racing wildly in my chest. Shit. Shit. Shit. She stood and walked to where I was, pulling the white gown she wore over her head when she was in front of me. I couldn’t move. Her hands went to my belt and as she undid the buckle, she had looked at me with wide eyes, asking the unspoken question. She had stood on her toes and held my face in her hands and pressed her lips on mine again. Her tongue was warm, skimming my upper teeth, wanting an equal response. But I felt nothing and that was when I peeled her hands from my face and marched out of her presence.

I looked to my side at her and found her staring ahead, waiting patiently. A lock of her weave strayed to her face and I reached out and tucked it behind her ear. That was all she needed.

“Thank you.”, she said with a genuine smile as she looked at me. “See you in school tomorrow.”

And with that, she left.

*          *          *

     The sun was angry today. I was sweating profusely despite the swirling blades of the ceiling fan and my almost naked body. The movie didn’t even seem interesting anymore. Nonso just called to cancel our game duel because it was raining heavily at Ring road. I had screamed into the phone, calling him a liar, listing all the names of the girls who I knew were crushing on him and asking him which of them was on his bed, telling him the sun would burn him to ashes like an unprotected vampire. He had laughed and told me to shut up. He would come tomorrow to finish our battle and he was bringing his friends that I had met when we went for a swim at Kokodome last week. I was on my own today. Again. My phone beeped. A text message. I leaped to my feet.

It can’t be.

I hurriedly wore my black jeans and the white unwashed T-shirt of two days ago hanging in my wardrobe. I snatched my wallet from the bed and tore out of the room like a man on fire in search of a river.

*           *          *

     The aboki was speeding carelessly but I didn’t mind. I didn’t even ask how much he would collect. I just needed to get to the bus park. It couldn’t be.

*           *            *

     I slammed a two hundred naira note into the aboki’s outstretched hand not even waiting to see if I had any change and I started my frantic search. Where could she be? I jogged around the park, pausing at intervals to scan the area. Amidst awkward gazes, I looked in buses, under roadside call center umbrellas, inside a couple of stalls. Where was she? I patted my pocket. Shit. In my haste, I had forgotten my phone. I walked towards an Airtel umbrella I saw in front of me. I had not checked this one. There was a fair young lady seated underneath it with her back to me. My heart skipped a beat.

I walked faster. I smelt her before I saw her face. She was the one. Vanilla flavored Body Fantasy. I touched her shoulder and she turned.

“Olamide”, she said with a smile. “I asked for a message.”

I held out my hand and she took it.

*           *          *

     Nonso hadn’t been lying about the rain after all. Outside, everywhere was wet and the heavy rain had subsided to a drizzle. We had had Suya and Garri for dinner. That was what she had wanted. There was no light. She was sleeping on my chest, wearing only a bra and her trousers, her mouth slightly opened, her nose buried in my armpit. I remembered the first time she told me about her fetish for underarms. Clean underarms, she had stressed and we had both burst into fits of laughter. I had been surprised but as I walked to my hostel that night, I knew my armpit hygiene would climb to another level. And it had.

*           *          *

     The bulb glowed brightly above me. I still couldn’t sleep. Despite the cool breeze, I was hot. We hadn’t talked about it yet and I still didn’t know why she came, to leave or to stay. She turned in her sleep and wrapped her arms around me. Beads of sweat were already forming on my forehead and if I stayed near her this way, she would also begin to sweat soon. I unzipped her trousers, revealing matching colored panties and covered her with my blanket before heading to the bathroom.

“Olamide.” She moaned sleepily. “Are you hot?”

I nodded.

“You want to bath?”

I nodded again.

She stood and followed me to the bathroom. After filling the tub with water, she told me to sit in it. I took off my shorts and stepped into the cold water, goose pimples covering my body immediately. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, she bathed me, washing me everywhere while singing Coldplay’s Yellow with her sleep-cracked voice. She pulled the plug to drain the soapy water and rinsed my soapy body, pouring bowl after bowl of water on my head till I was squeaky clean. Thank goodness I took out that weave.  I stepped out of the tub and she dried me, she held my shorts as I stepped back into it.

As I lay down on the bed, I looked in her eyes. Wide like saucers. She kissed me and I closed my eyes. I would sleep soon, finally. She moved closer to me and slowly planted feathery kisses on my eyes, nose, mouth, neck, arms, chest, stomach, thighs, legs, and feet. I turned my back and she kissed them too. And with that, I drifted off.

*         *          *

     The sun will be angry again today. The bright rays coming from the windows told me so. I could hear water splashing in the bathroom, by my side was the last Sunday’s bulletin of the church I attend and neatly laid out where she had lain were two blue gowns. We were going to church together. I smiled.



  • Errr…… I haven’t learnt how to use this ‘disclaimer’.
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