We Have Moved

Hi everyone, i won’t be posting here again, but on www.debzine.net. Thanks for being there all along, let’s begin a new voyage with debzine, and make it the very best as always. Some posts already waiting for you there.

Cheers!

Do You Trust Me Honey?

Banke flipped through the fashion magazine nonchalantly, she had read it over a thousand times in the past, but being a boring Sunday afternoon with no power supply, she had picked it up among other editions to while away the time, and perhaps see if any fashion style could interest her.

Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her, and turned back to see Kolade, her husband smiling mischievously at her, one hand in pocket and the other holding something behind his back. “What’s he up to?” She wondered.

Still smiling, Kolade nodded and brought his hand forward to reveal a shiny brand new machete.

“Do you trust me honey?”

Banke wondered what brought about the question and where he got the machete from; but before she could voice out her question, he slashed out the cutlass at her, that it was only her sharp reflex that saved her face from being slashed.

She shrieked in horror, at the same time terrified.

“Kolade! Are you crazy?”

The smirk didn’t for a second leave his face, as if he was sharing a joke with her.

“Do you trust me?” He repeated.

“Trust you? You wanted to kill me and you are talking about trust.” She screamed at him.

“That means you don’t trust me, and you will pay.”

The smile vanished from his face instantly, and was replaced with a mean murderous look.

He advanced menacingly towards his already retreating wife.

A bewildered Banke realizing it wasn’t a joking matter tried to see if she could talk her husband of three months out of the madness, as she kept putting safe distance between them.

“Kolade, what are you doing, what has come over you?”

Her words didn’t register on him.

She missed her footings as she was walking backward, and Kolade seized that moment to pounce on her with machete ready to stab, but she got away again in the nick of time, thanks to the adrenaline shooting in her.

Without being told, she knew she had to escape out of the building fast. She had to get away from her mad husband, or what would make a man to attack his wife in such a manner if not for lunacy?

She turned around to make for the door, and out of the building; but in her flight from the second attack, she had mistakenly moved further into the room than out of it, leaving him closer to her exit.

Kolade realized her predicament at the same time, and the sly and evil grin returned to his face. He walked to the door, locked it, dangled the key for her to see properly, and made a show of dropping it in his pocket, patting it mockingly.

Tears swelled in her eyes, but she quickly blinked it away. She knew she had to stay focused to remain alive.

“Somebody please help me, he wants to kill me!” She screamed at the top of her voice.

“So you don’t trust me honey?” He asked in an emotion laden voice.

“Are you crazy? You want to kill me and kept talking about trusting you.” She shouted at him, and took her voice to the maximum pitch possible.

“Please help me somebody!”

Kolade paused, wiped the smirk off his face as if contemplating something which made Banke for a moment toyed with the idea that maybe his senses was being regained, but knew she was doomed when he released a string of fart, and busted into laughter.

She lost the battle to hold back her tears, and broke down in it; all hopes seemed lost.

Like a predator that had its prey trapped, Kolade walked without haste towards her, holding the machete in his right hand and fingered the sharp part playfully with his left fingers.

She screamed again for help, but no one seemed to exist in the world than both of them.

With only a chair separating them, he lunged mockingly at her as if attacking her from the left side, knowing she would want to escape to her right, and quickly deft that way, swinging the machete at her; she rushed into his trap, and the weapon cut deeply into her arm. Screaming with agony, she went crashing down in great pain.

Had he moved in for the kill at that moment, he would have had her on a platter of gold as she laid writhing in pain on the floor; but he noticed her blood on his weapon, took a closer look and did a sickening thing – he licked the blood with his tongue, and closed his eyes in ecstasy.

“This can’t be happening.” She whispered to herself, and with the last ounce of strength in her scrambled into her last hope of safety, the guest toilet that the door had been left ajar. She bolted it seconds before her husband started banging at the door, shouting at her to open it.

With pain searing through her body, she panicky checked her injury that was bleeding profusely, and was scared at what she saw. She made a mental note that it would require stitches if she made it out of the ordeal alive. Against her wish, she broke down in fresh tears, while Kolade kept body slamming the door to break it open, but the door held.

Suddenly she heard the happy giggling of Benita, her next flat neighbour’s five years old daughter, her cherry voice urging her father to hurry.

Banke quickly dashed to the toilet’s window, and saw father and daughter about to leave the compound.

“Charles! Charles help me, Kolade wants to kill me.” But Charles didn’t hear despite not being far away. She continued screaming, and waving frantically until Benita looked her way.

She called her father’s attention to her, and they both waved at her with smiles before stepping out of the gate. Banke shouted for help till her voice became hoarse, yet she didn’t give up.

Her ears picked up rustling sounds from the dead leaves beneath the toilet’s window, and a quick peek revealed her husband tiptoeing quietly toward the window. She stepped back in the nick of time as Kolade slashed at her face again, but not fast enough from the broken window’s glass that shattered when the machete struck it, and a splinter caught her on the chin. She tripped over a plastic bucket and hit her head against the wall. She became momentarily stunned.

Kolade cleared the debris with his machete, and peered in.

“You can run honey, but you can’t hide; do you trust me?”

The senseless trust question infuriated her so much that she didn’t know when she flew up in rage, and started throwing anything within her grasp at him. Kolade didn’t flinch as the soap, toothpaste, soap case, sponge, disinfectants, under wears, shower caps, not even when the pedicure’s pumice cut his face.

“What has gone over you, are you crazy, don’t you know what you are doing again?”

The free flow of tears didn’t mask the pain and terror she felt as she watched her husband rooted to the spot as if he had turned into the biblical pillar of salt, and they both stood a while looking hard at each other.

Something within her flashed warning signals that he was planning something sinister, but her reflex failed her at that moment when the machete flew in like a rocket, cutting and breaking her left collar bone and at the same time slicing away part of her ear. Like a dead weight, she fell backward with her head smashing the bucket behind her. She passed out in an instant, but not without having heard the absurd sounding question from her husband

“Do you trust me?”

……….                    ……….                    ……….

She heard a feminine voice calling her name softly, as if from a distant; the voice was warm and familiar, yet it sounded as if miles separated the owner from where she was.

“Where am i?” was the first question that popped to her mind.

She tried opening her eyes, but the simple act seemed like an herculean task at the moment, and the pain searing through her whole body made her feel she had been passed through a wringer.

The voice called her again, and asked if she was awake, then she recognized the owner as her friend, confidant and neighbour, Mercy – Benita’s mum and Charles wife. Suddenly she remembered what has happened.

Knowing Mercy was beside her made her feel at ease that she was in safe hands. Mercy might have alerted people in the neighbourhood, and even the police about Kolade’s assault on her. Maybe she’s presently at the hospital and her husband with the police.

She wondered what was wrong with her husband. Had he discovered she now knew about his extra marital affairs with Anita – his colleague, Gbemi – the single mother at the church, Zainab – the sexy photographer down the street? Had he discovered that she was aware that the real reason he hadn’t made love to her for eight days now wasn’t because of chronic waist pain as he made her believe, but because Kike, the intern at Charles office had infected him with syphilis? Even if he knew that those weren’t secret again to her doesn’t mean he had to kill her.

She was about to heave a sigh of relief when she heard his unmistaken voice

“Is she conscious now?”

Panic gripped her, and her once heavy eyelids flew open to reveal the present situation to her.

It was late at night, and she was strapped to a raft like platform. Mercy crouched beside her naked as the sun, same as Kolade, Charles, and little Benita. They were all marked on their forehead, chest and navel with what she suspected to be her blood. Charles was at her feet, Mercy and Benita at her left side, and Kolade close to her head.

Mercy rose to a standing position, and answered his question.

“She is.”

“Good, move to your position.”

Obeying Kolade, her friend walked down to her feet, paused by her husband and shared a kiss with him before walking down to her right side. Kolade was now at her head.

Banke tried to ask her what was going on, but it seemed her voice was on vacation. Her effort at speaking was similar to that of a fish taken out of water. She gave up the effort when she realized that though her friend was looking at her face, her eyes seemed to be looking into her soul. She heard her voice, spoken not with her mouth, but via telepathy saying.

‘Why didn’t you trust him?”

Finally she took her eyes away from Banke, and spoke to Kolade.

“We can begin.”

Banke was alarmed, “Begin what?” She wanted to scream, but her husband cold voice sent shivers down her spin.

“For it is written that death is the reward of sin, and we must obey that which had been written. Curiosity made you to distrust me, and not trusting your husband is a sin, so you must be rewarded. You are like the proverbial cat that was curious, therefore you must share the same fate.”

He raised his voice a bit higher.

“What killed the cat?”

The other family answered in unison.

“Curiosity!”

He repeated the question twice, and they answered him back as well on both occasions. Everything looked like a drama to her as she laid there helpless.

“Can I have the lighter?” Kolade asked.

Benita produced a lighter from her little hand, and handed it to him. They started humming rhythmical together as if they’ve been practising it for so long; that was when the fumes of the petrol she had been bathed with, and the reality of what was about to happen hit her, she was about to be roasted alive.

She heard the unmistaken sound of the lighter being lit, and as she was about tilting her head to look at her husband, to demand an explanation for the ongoing madness that had seized them all, when he lowered the flame to her petrol drenched body, it caught fire instantly. She shrieked with pain and leapt up from her nightmare drenched with sweat.

Her heartbeat was racing as she threw glances around to confirm that she had just woken up from a terrible dream, and indeed she was in her living room. She quickly did the sign of the cross three times on herself, and chanted “Blood of Jesus” under her breath.

She was about picking up the fashion magazine that had slipped to the floor while she slept when Kolade walked in from the bedroom, one hand in pocket and the other holding something behind his back with a mischievous smile on his face.

“Do you trust me honey?” Kolade asked.

 

Rule #1: Thou Shall Not Go Down Alone!!

The tears that cascaded down Debby’s face was not of shame or remorse, but of anger at being betrayed, pains of missing Tony, and ironically determination to pull lots of people down.

She wiped her dry, mumbled an apology to her guests, scribbled an email address and password on the writing pad before hers, and passed it over to the renowned investigative reporter cum activist.

Oyewo after reading the content looked back at her puzzled. He had provided her with sheets and pen for what he thought would be a lengthy exposé, and was surprised with the few words she wrote. He glanced back at her lawyer who brought him to her, but he seemed lost as well.

Debby smiled wryly, and cleared her throat before speaking.

“That information in your hand has only been seen by two sets of eyes, yours will be the third and I’m sure you’ll know what to do with the contents of the emails when you see it.”

Moments later after Messrs Oyewo and her lawyer had left, and she back in the cell, she pondered about her meteoric rise and fall. Like a film running in slow motion before her eyes, the images gradually zooming into focus till it was crystal clear, she remembered how everything started.

She was introduced systematically into drugs smuggling by Ijeoma, popularly known as I.J, her course mate then at the polytechnic. Life then was so tough because her father was late – gunned down in his prime by a trigger happy policeman over a twenty naira bribe argument, and her mother who was just an ordinary roadside roasted plantain seller couldn’t adequately cater for her five children.

She had approached I.J, a ‘big girl’ on campus for financial assistance, and rather than assist as requested of, told her to accompany her on a journey to Port Harcourt to visit an aunt that had just returned from Dubai. She complied, and it was on their way back from the journey that I.J revealed to her that she had just succeeded in delivering hard drugs to a client. The drug had been carefully concealed in the light luggage she made her carry, and was given twenty thousand naira cash for the job. She was taken along because I.J’s boss was recruiting for inter states delivery, and was believed to be smart enough for the simple but dangerous assignment.

Unable to keep her new status from her true and benefactor all along, she squealed to Tony who out of fear of the wrath of the drug peddling boss, and being from a financial unstable family as well against his wish encouraged her on, and was soon recruited because he was found to be a ready and capable tool.

Tony being smart, bold and a fellow with an analytic mind was within a short while put in charge of most operations, especially after he voluntarily dropped out of school, and soon became an independent supplier after few years. Tony always had the perfect plan for every operation, knew the hands to grease in case of problems which were few, and always discovering new spots.

Being a shrewd person, he handled every operation himself, and revealed to her one day after he had returned from a trip that the reason he spent a fortune to purchase an exquisite wristwatch as a beginner then wasn’t because of his love for expensive materials, but because of the watch’s hidden ability of recording crystal clear digital audio and video files to an inbuilt memory. He made sure he recorded every transaction, made documentary off it and store online – “Our soft landing on the day of reckoning” he termed it.

The bubble busted when Tony on a trip to supply 2000 kilogram of cocaine (which wasn’t his first) at Kano. The drugs had been carefully concealed as a trailer full of fairly used tyres. He had concluded arrangement not to be stopped at checkpoints as usual, but luck ran out of his side and was stopped by NDLEA officials that seemed to be acting on a tip off. He tried escaping but was shot by a trigger happy official.

NDLEA officials swooped on their residential abode and store where more drugs were discovered. She was arrested alongside their few workers, and all her distress calls to their allies in authority were sharply rebuffed, some even publicly castigated them as if unknown, and that was what prompted Tessy to request her lawyer to bring Oyewo over after her conviction. She knew she is down already, but wouldn’t be alone for long.

Now smiling smugly to herself of the impending revelation to the world soon. Her only regret being that she had nothing on her like Tony’s wristwatch during the meeting with Oyewo, just in case he is bought over by her allies turned foes – the high and mighty in the country.

The Sex Life of a Lagos Mad Woman (My Version)

Picture Credit: rachelab74

This place is not my house, but I live here.

It is not the type of place you want to call your home. Sometimes, I wonder how I have managed to call it mine since my uncle died, that should be five years ago, or six or seven.

It is a very smelly place, that’s what people who pass make you believe, because they are always covering their noses.

But me and the grown men who smoke Indian hemp every morning, every afternoon and every night in that corner, always wonder why they cover their noses.

This place is very cold, because there are no doors, no windows, nothing. But there is a roof. That’s where the cars pass; plenty during the day and very few at night. The other ones who don’t pass my roof usually pass my frontage and I love watching them, especially those ones that are as big as houses and you can’t see the people inside because the glass is always black like charcoal.

I see a lot of things every day. A lot of things. I will tell you some and then one that happened today. The one that made me swear that I was not mad and I can never be because I couldn’t have done what the woman did

.

It is sad that only one man here knows that I’m not really mad. That shameless one with his beards and hair dreadlocked like my pubic hair. Rosco. He hisses and shakes his head at me during the day like all the others in his gang. But I and he know that I am not mad. Because at night, very late in the night, when others have gone, he will call me into his danfo bus, and I will do to him what that stupid igbo he smokes cannot do to him.

I do not let him know I look forward to it. How can I? Then he will stop squeezing that N100 note into my left hand every time he gets up after he has pounded me to his heart’s content. He must think he has just raped a helpless mad woman as he zips his pants. Fool. He does not have any idea how my legs shake uncontrollably and how my bowels tremble and how the hair on my body stand still when he is inside me. Only that he is always too quick. I don’t know why, but I can’t complain. I have to wait till the next day or the next.

I’ll continue to let him believe he is raping me but deep inside me I know I will die if he does not call me like that for three days. I don’t ever want to return to those days of touching myself. How can I even think about it? Evil thoughts go back to your sender, please.

Back to what I was saying…the things I see here every day.

In the morning, I wake up with noise. Loud noise.

“Ojuelegba – stadium – barracks!” repeated four times in a roll so quickly; if you don’t live here you will think it is a call to war. I wonder where that is; a place whose name sounds like sport and war. Other times it is, “Itire – Lawanson” that I can hear louder.

Where do I even know? I’ve not left my house for many happy-new-years now. This is where I shout it every time it is time to shout it.

Then Rosco will wake up and start the engine of his bus. He will switch it off again and then go across the road and come back with water in a bucket. My eyes always go with him because I don’t want any careless early morning driver to knock him down. When he gets back to the danfo, he will go close to one of the tyres and bring out that his big thing to urinate. That is when I always wish he would call me, but never, the fool will never even speak to me, he will just shake his head like the others when they look at me. I have to wait till it’s very dark.

Then he will remove his clothes and leave his shorts on, pouring water on himself with either a bowl or his hands. When it is time to chafe just below his waist, he will keep his hands in there for too long. This is why I know Rosco is a fool. Can’t he just remove the shorts and wash properly? Who else is watching?

When he finally leaves with his noisy danfo, I’ll turn my attention to the road. If I feel hungry, I will get up, re-arrange my house and make sure no one stole anything while I was asleep and then walk across the road to buy what I’ll eat.

Oh how I miss the woman who sells that early morning akara. She doesn’t come again these days because of Fashola’s people. So now I go to the aboki who prepares tea and indomie noodles and egg. Only Rosco’s thing is sweeter than that Indomie and egg in this life, you have to believe me. But the fool will not use his plate to serve me like other people, so I have to always remember to bring my own plate. He says I’m mad, yet, he knows how to collect my money and give me change. He doesn’t toy with my change any more since the day he saw me bite someone with these my teeth for calling me “Reveren sistaa”.

I hate that name. I hear those are the people who never do the thing me and Rosco do. They must really think I am one. Fools.

It may be better to ask me what I have not seen here than to ask me to start telling you the things that I see every day. I have seen rich men carry prostitutes away at night; I have seen a corpse dropped from one of those charcoal cars one night long time ago. I have also witnessed many fights between different gangs like Rosco’s group where they use machetes on themselves and left blood everywhere. I have also seen many okada people die like chicken from too much speed, especially at that junction over there. Only last week, a speeding trailer climbed one okadarider’s head spilling its content to the ground. I couldn’t eat for days after that. Let us not talk about it, please.

Yes, I promised to tell you about the incident that made me know that I am not mad, right? Actually that day I was just sitting on my own and I noticed a woman selling Coke, Pepsi and LaCasera that all these people buy and drink and then shine their teeth gleefully after only a gulp.

Suddenly she brought down the big container of drinks from her head by herself as if to sell to someone. Then she began to go round the container. Then she began to dance. Then I stood up. I wanted to understand what was happening. Then she started singing, and clapping like the people in those churches where they wear only white.

Then she untied her wrapper and used it to cover her wares. That’s when other people began to notice what I had been watching since. Then she removed her buba, revealing rounded breasts that made me jealous, only protected by a very fine bra with some shine-shine on it.

“O ti n ya were o!” a bus conductor yelled as his bus passed and people stretched their necks to catch a glimpse, saying the woman was experiencing the beginning of madness.

Then the men who were walking began to stop and look. I’m sure they were waiting for her to remove the bra. I took my eyes away.

I can’t worry about her too much, because I myself I have a problem growing in my stomach, I feel like vomiting, and I am very dizzy and I am very worried.

I’m worried about myself because the way I’m feeling makes me think I’m pregnant which I know I’m not.

How can I be pregnant with that quick thing Rosco is doing to me when we don’t make love like married people, or even have sex properly?

I wish I have people to discuss with, but I can’t because they all think I’m mad when I know I’m not. It’s only Rosco that seems to understand me, only the fool will not allow me talk to him except when he wants to use that his shiny thing on me at night, the mere thought of it is already making my body to do yori yori.

Eewoo! See plenty people looking at this woman o, the men are more than the women, yeye people they want to see her breast but the woman disappoints them by tying her buba over her bra while laughing wildly. Truly this woman is mad, thank God I’m not.

One woman around bursts into tears saying “Aye ma ni ka o” meaning the world is wicked, and I waved to her to pacify her, but on seeing me she cries the more. Maybe she’s going mad too, or the mad woman owes her money.

Now I remember someone owes me money too. One foolish man came to put food near my house one night like that and signalled to me to come and eat. I said I will not eat because the food was in a calabash and not a fine plate, and he said I should not worry that he will use a fine plate to bring it next time. I told him I will not eat unless he gives me money and he gave me a new N500 note. He promised to give me more the next day if I eat the food quickly and I did. Though the food wasn’t delicious as it was eko and palm oil, but the promise of more money made me eat everything and even licked the calabash.

The mumu did not come back but I enjoyed the N500 he gave me. When next I see him I will collect the money he promised me, though I can’t remember his face very well, I will remember his voice because he speaks like oyinbo. Maybe he has gone back to London.

I feel like vomiting again, I’m afraid o. My breast hurts too. Abi I don get belle ni? Me I dey fear o because na only Rosco dey do me.

When Rosco comes this evening I will not wait till its dark because he will want to sleep with me again without hearing what I want to say. I will go and meet him when he’s with his friends and tell him “Rosco, e be like say that thing wey we dey do don turn to belle o.”

…………..….

The sex life of a Lagos mad woman was originally written by Seun Salami (Read Here), from which a competition titled “End The Story” was birthed. I’ve just added my entry (Read here) to his story, to get my own version.

Looking For Office Staff Urgently

A jobless man applied for the position of “office boy” at Microsoft. The HR manager interviewed him then watched him cleaning the floor as a test.

“You are employed” he said. “Give me your e-mail address and I’ll send you the application to fill in, as well as date when you may start”. The man replied “But I don’t have a computer, neither an email.” “I’m sorry”, said the HR manager, “If you don’t have an email, that means you do not exist. And who doesn’t exist, cannot have the job.”

The man left with no hope at all. He didn’t know what to do, with only $10 in his pocket. He then decided to go to the supermarket and buy a 10kg tomato crate. He then sold the tomatoes in a door to door round.

In less than two hours, he succeeded to double his capital. He repeated the operation three times, and returned home with $60. The man realized that he can survive by this way, and started to go everyday earlier, and return late. Thus, his money doubled or tripled everyday.

Shortly, he bought a cart, then a truck, then he had his own fleet of delivery vehicles. 5 years later, the man is one of the biggest food retailers in the US . He started to plan his family’s future, and decided to have a life insurance. He called an insurance broker, and chose a protection plan. When the conversation was concluded, the broker asked him

his email. The man replied, “I don’t have an email “. The broker answered curiously, “You don’t have an email, and yet have succeeded to build an empire. Can you imagine what you could have been if you had an email?!!”

The man thought for a while and replied, ” Yes, I’d be an office boy at Microsoft!”

Moral of the story

M1- Internet/email is not the solution to your life, even though it can help you immensely.

M2- If you don’t have internet/email, and work hard, you can be a millionaire.

M3 – If you received this message by email, you are probably working in an office already, and might not use that gift in you to become a BILLIONAIRE.

Poison In My System

Just like poison in my system

Thoughts of you makes my heartbeat fail

How you make me feel

Only my heart can explain

Just like poison in my system

Your voice increases my blood level

How i cope

Only my being can explain

Just like poison in my system

Your eyes pierce holes in me

How i react

Only my will can explain

Just like poison in my system

Your smiles fingers my sanity

How i remain sane

Only my feelings can explain

Just like poison in my system

Your touches set my body ablaze

How i survive

Only heaven knows

But unlike poison in my system

Your love rejuvenates my soul

The way we are

Only what we share can explain