< PROLOGUE The trees swayed left and right as the gentle breeze of the cool Saturday evening drove them on. Bluebirds made lovely noises as they flew by adding extra glory to an already magnificent atmosphere in Eko city. I stood on the verandah of my upstairs home that looked out to the street. I waved to a couple of friends passing by. "Holler bro" Adefemi shouted from the street. He was putting on his black rollerblades and was in company of five of our clique. “What’s up fm" I hollered back” I figure you guys are going to roll" I added. "Yeah, and I’m surprised that you are still perched like a duck up there. The guys from the other street would be waiting." 'I think I would pass on that bro" I replied already knowing what was coming next. Adefemi aka Fm didn’t disappoint as he shot back in an instant. “oh, aha, hear that guys" he laughed as did the other members of the group." don’t tell me the wizard himself is scared of the rolling contest" he continued "Nah bro, I’m kind of still feeling the pain from the fall I had last week. But no p, you guys go ahead, and I wish you luck". "No qualms bro, heal fast and don’t forget you still owe me one race". That said Fm turned on his heels and with others not far behind glided off majestically- as always. I smiled as I watched them roll, twist and jump their way to the entrance of the street before they finally disappeared into tiny dots in the distance. As I continued watching and listening to Bruno Mars’- The lazy song on my beats by dre, a figure came into view. As he drew nearer, I sucked in my breath; it’s a rarity to see a mad man on our street. But the man walking all the more nearer was nothing short of one. His hair was so haggard and unwashed since God knows when, eyes sunken in that a gaping hole replaced it, and worse still, he was putting on clothes that was extremely dirty. He was clutching a polythene bag with holes in a million places. He walked on but the kids playing on the street ran headlong into their marbled compounds amidst shrieks with none chancing a look back. He was dark- I don’t know if it was his natural complexion or the coat of grim strewn all over his body. He wore a gray agbada which helped a bit to conceal the lean and crooked body underneath. He picked an empty bottle here, a can there and both he dumped into the bag which he held so fiercely that I wondered if his heart was inside the bag. The fleeing kids peeped from the slightly open gates. While some still showed signs of visible fear, others resorted to mocking and making derilous remarks at the dirty stranger who was roaming our street. I couldn’t stay out long to see where he went to or what he did next as I was called in by my mum. It was three days later I saw him again, loitering around an empty spot some distance from the entrance of my street. Three weeks later- three weeks of hard labor for the old man-, and the empty spot was transformed into an awkward home. A home which had discarded asbestos roof as its walls, palm leaves made up the roof itself and hard as I look, I could not make out a window. And due to the lax town planning enforcement and environmental management in Nigeria and the tendency to let anything go- the house remained. And the haggard man with the agbada started shoe mending and shining in the front of his shabby home. CHAPTER ONE “what would you like to be son?" my dad asked me on one of the rare days we conversed as father and son, mainly because my dad was hardly ever at home. We were sitting in the expansive living room. "I want to be a journalist dad,” I answered almost without taking a breath, the reason was that I had already made up my mind a long time ago on what I wanted to become- a journalist. If I was expecting my dad to smile about my answer, I was wrong as he wasn’t buying my choice of career. "You want to be a what? “A journalist dad" "But how can son, the son of Mbadiwe can’t be some errand boy!" "No dad. journalism doesn’t mean I am going to start selling papers in some ramshackle stall by the roadside, actually it is a very prestigious profession and I think I would be fulfilled if I dedicated my life to it” it looked I wasn’t convincing enough , my dad didn’t seem to bulge a bit. "why not consider studying law, I know you always like to defend people, so it would be just ok if you made it official, going to court and bailing everyone in the country" my dad said with a smile on his face. I smiled too and pondered it for a while. True, after journalism, law was my next love and with my dad cajoling, I was beginning to tilt towards the gown and the wig. “Ok dad, I would give it a thought. Thanks dad” I went over and sat by his side on the big sofa and he crossed his hands over my shoulders before he muttered “ok son”. I didn’t take as much time as I thought I would before I decided to go for law though it meant jilting my other love. So, knowing law wasn’t a walkover course, I put in extra effort as I prepared for my upcoming final exams in high school. I was returning from school on one particular day, striding along the road and whistling to myself. The sun going down as it was about getting to four in the evening. I was on the road leading to my house which was at Simpson Street, Lekki. Actually this was a longer route to my house and I took it on purpose so as to spend more time before going home- I wasn’t so eager to get home, maybe because I loved the fresh air outside. I hadn’t gone far from the bus-stop when I heard a strange sound. At first I didn’t know where the sound came from, and then my sole of my feet suddenly felt as if I was walking barefooted. On looking down, the sole of my shoe had pulled out; I had even taken a step or two without it. Treading backward I picked it up. I couldn’t go home with one leg uncovered. I was about flagging down a bike to take me the short distance home, when I remembered that there was the cobbler just ahead, so it was better I got the shoe mended than taking it home like that. Actually it was one of my precious shoes, my kid sister got it for me on my last birthday and made me swore that I would wear them till I was sixty, and I was sure Ada would be so mad if she knew I was already going back on my promise after just two months! I trudged along heading to the cobbler, I was certain that I would find him there coz all the while that I have been going through this way to and from school I saw him at the doorstep of his house which also served as his spot for practicing his cobbling act. On getting to the cobblers shade though, I didn’t see him. Pa Mutiu was the cobblers name and apart from that nothing else has been known about him since appearing on our street some weeks back. He had no friends and sought no friendship. Though friendly as can been seen from his ever ready smile, he made it obvious that he didn’t want anyone too close and everyone kept their distance. Pa Mutiu’s gray agbada which I hadn’t seen him change seemed to complement the gray color of his asbestos roof which served as the walls of his home. I looked around but there was no sign of him, so I crossed the road to the mai guard that was operating a kiosk in front of the building opposite Pa Mutiu’s home to inquire about him. “Hi. Good evening" I greeted him "Wetin you wan buy" "Give me two tom tom" While he was still getting it, I asked "Please, this man that repairs shoes over there" I pointed towards Pa Mutiu's home “have you seen him today?" "That old man?" "Yes" "I never see am today. In fact for two days now, I never see am anywhere around" yesterday was a Sunday. "Are you sure' “I sure na, no be dey stay here." “but has he been away like this before" I probed further, the journalist in me taking hold. "no, na just this days e neva come out, but wait, wetin make you dey ask me all this questions sef?" he arched a brow "Don’t worry, I only wanted to mend my shoes' I collected my sweets and left. Deciding to finally take the bike home and try my best to make sure Ada didn’t discover my misdeed- I fear her tantrums more than the mystical Shadrin in my favorite series, Legend of the seeker. but then, I didn’t move too far, before I turned and headed straight back to Pa Mutiu's doorstep, and coming close for the first time, though not a power-filled freak, I picked something up, something real but not visible at the same time. It hit me hard, the pains and despair hanging stiffly around this mysterious abode of a much more mysterious person. I stood at the spot for almost five minutes listening, still no noise from inside. I could feel the eyes of the mai-guard boring into my back; he must have been perplexed by my actions. I was too, but I was more astonished by the fact that I could not stop myself. I tapped gently on Pa Mutiu’s door made up of thin and dirty clothing, no answer, I was now burning with curiosity, and although aware of the fact that going into the home of somebody without authorization was illegal, I just had to damn the consequences; something told me that if he was inside, he was probably in trouble. I didn’t know for sure, but I was such a person that didn’t let things go so easily. Call it over-sabi and you may not be wrong but nothing was stopping me from going inside and satisfying my curiosity. I pushed the curtain aside, and peered into the darkness, my eyes looked left and right, but then, as more stream of light came in through the open curtain, I saw what looked like a log of wood, but then this log had eyes, nose, and mouth that was dripping with spittle, if not for some invisible power that held me back, I would have run out in total fright because Pa Mutiu lying on that floor cut a deadly sight, I stepped in cautiously and went down on my knees, felt his pulse and was relieved he was still breathing, thinking that what how he slept, I turned back to terminate my intrusion into his privacy, then he spoke, faintly at first "water, water" I almost didn’t hear him till he managed to speak more audibly as I opened the curtain and had one of my legs outside, "my son, please water, water" I turned back to behold a sight so horrible I shook my head in a bid to dislodge the imprint of it in my mind, I don’t know how death may look like, but Pa Mutiu at that point could be used as a symbol for death, with his lips slightly open trying to form the words water for the fifth time, the creases on his face became more clearer and his skin all the more whiter. I hushed to him to suspend the idea of repeating his request as I saw he may not survive even the first syllable. I ran back to the mai-guard’s kiosk, "Give me one bottle of Eva water" "Na three hundred naira" "Don’t worry, bring it" I gave him five hundred naira and forgetting my change dashed back to Pa Mutiu, this time he was coughing heavily. “Pa. I have the water here' I said as I knelt back at the spot I discarded some moments ago. He seemed not to hear me but on sighting the bottle of precious liquid there seemed to be sparks across his eyes. I helped his head up and opened the bottle to his mouth; he gulped like I have never seen anybody drink water before. So it was little surprise when emptied the hundred cl. he laid back, closed his eyes and to my horror, his heart stopped.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
AN EXCERPT FROM MY NEWEST BOOK, TITLED: MY GREY HAIRED NEIGHBOUR
< PROLOGUE The trees swayed left and right as the gentle breeze of the cool Saturday evening drove them on. Bluebirds made lovely noises as they flew by adding extra glory to an already magnificent atmosphere in Eko city. I stood on the verandah of my upstairs home that looked out to the street. I waved to a couple of friends passing by. "Holler bro" Adefemi shouted from the street. He was putting on his black rollerblades and was in company of five of our clique. “What’s up fm" I hollered back” I figure you guys are going to roll" I added. "Yeah, and I’m surprised that you are still perched like a duck up there. The guys from the other street would be waiting." 'I think I would pass on that bro" I replied already knowing what was coming next. Adefemi aka Fm didn’t disappoint as he shot back in an instant. “oh, aha, hear that guys" he laughed as did the other members of the group." don’t tell me the wizard himself is scared of the rolling contest" he continued "Nah bro, I’m kind of still feeling the pain from the fall I had last week. But no p, you guys go ahead, and I wish you luck". "No qualms bro, heal fast and don’t forget you still owe me one race". That said Fm turned on his heels and with others not far behind glided off majestically- as always. I smiled as I watched them roll, twist and jump their way to the entrance of the street before they finally disappeared into tiny dots in the distance. As I continued watching and listening to Bruno Mars’- The lazy song on my beats by dre, a figure came into view. As he drew nearer, I sucked in my breath; it’s a rarity to see a mad man on our street. But the man walking all the more nearer was nothing short of one. His hair was so haggard and unwashed since God knows when, eyes sunken in that a gaping hole replaced it, and worse still, he was putting on clothes that was extremely dirty. He was clutching a polythene bag with holes in a million places. He walked on but the kids playing on the street ran headlong into their marbled compounds amidst shrieks with none chancing a look back. He was dark- I don’t know if it was his natural complexion or the coat of grim strewn all over his body. He wore a gray agbada which helped a bit to conceal the lean and crooked body underneath. He picked an empty bottle here, a can there and both he dumped into the bag which he held so fiercely that I wondered if his heart was inside the bag. The fleeing kids peeped from the slightly open gates. While some still showed signs of visible fear, others resorted to mocking and making derilous remarks at the dirty stranger who was roaming our street. I couldn’t stay out long to see where he went to or what he did next as I was called in by my mum. It was three days later I saw him again, loitering around an empty spot some distance from the entrance of my street. Three weeks later- three weeks of hard labor for the old man-, and the empty spot was transformed into an awkward home. A home which had discarded asbestos roof as its walls, palm leaves made up the roof itself and hard as I look, I could not make out a window. And due to the lax town planning enforcement and environmental management in Nigeria and the tendency to let anything go- the house remained. And the haggard man with the agbada started shoe mending and shining in the front of his shabby home. CHAPTER ONE “what would you like to be son?" my dad asked me on one of the rare days we conversed as father and son, mainly because my dad was hardly ever at home. We were sitting in the expansive living room. "I want to be a journalist dad,” I answered almost without taking a breath, the reason was that I had already made up my mind a long time ago on what I wanted to become- a journalist. If I was expecting my dad to smile about my answer, I was wrong as he wasn’t buying my choice of career. "You want to be a what? “A journalist dad" "But how can son, the son of Mbadiwe can’t be some errand boy!" "No dad. journalism doesn’t mean I am going to start selling papers in some ramshackle stall by the roadside, actually it is a very prestigious profession and I think I would be fulfilled if I dedicated my life to it” it looked I wasn’t convincing enough , my dad didn’t seem to bulge a bit. "why not consider studying law, I know you always like to defend people, so it would be just ok if you made it official, going to court and bailing everyone in the country" my dad said with a smile on his face. I smiled too and pondered it for a while. True, after journalism, law was my next love and with my dad cajoling, I was beginning to tilt towards the gown and the wig. “Ok dad, I would give it a thought. Thanks dad” I went over and sat by his side on the big sofa and he crossed his hands over my shoulders before he muttered “ok son”. I didn’t take as much time as I thought I would before I decided to go for law though it meant jilting my other love. So, knowing law wasn’t a walkover course, I put in extra effort as I prepared for my upcoming final exams in high school. I was returning from school on one particular day, striding along the road and whistling to myself. The sun going down as it was about getting to four in the evening. I was on the road leading to my house which was at Simpson Street, Lekki. Actually this was a longer route to my house and I took it on purpose so as to spend more time before going home- I wasn’t so eager to get home, maybe because I loved the fresh air outside. I hadn’t gone far from the bus-stop when I heard a strange sound. At first I didn’t know where the sound came from, and then my sole of my feet suddenly felt as if I was walking barefooted. On looking down, the sole of my shoe had pulled out; I had even taken a step or two without it. Treading backward I picked it up. I couldn’t go home with one leg uncovered. I was about flagging down a bike to take me the short distance home, when I remembered that there was the cobbler just ahead, so it was better I got the shoe mended than taking it home like that. Actually it was one of my precious shoes, my kid sister got it for me on my last birthday and made me swore that I would wear them till I was sixty, and I was sure Ada would be so mad if she knew I was already going back on my promise after just two months! I trudged along heading to the cobbler, I was certain that I would find him there coz all the while that I have been going through this way to and from school I saw him at the doorstep of his house which also served as his spot for practicing his cobbling act. On getting to the cobblers shade though, I didn’t see him. Pa Mutiu was the cobblers name and apart from that nothing else has been known about him since appearing on our street some weeks back. He had no friends and sought no friendship. Though friendly as can been seen from his ever ready smile, he made it obvious that he didn’t want anyone too close and everyone kept their distance. Pa Mutiu’s gray agbada which I hadn’t seen him change seemed to complement the gray color of his asbestos roof which served as the walls of his home. I looked around but there was no sign of him, so I crossed the road to the mai guard that was operating a kiosk in front of the building opposite Pa Mutiu’s home to inquire about him. “Hi. Good evening" I greeted him "Wetin you wan buy" "Give me two tom tom" While he was still getting it, I asked "Please, this man that repairs shoes over there" I pointed towards Pa Mutiu's home “have you seen him today?" "That old man?" "Yes" "I never see am today. In fact for two days now, I never see am anywhere around" yesterday was a Sunday. "Are you sure' “I sure na, no be dey stay here." “but has he been away like this before" I probed further, the journalist in me taking hold. "no, na just this days e neva come out, but wait, wetin make you dey ask me all this questions sef?" he arched a brow "Don’t worry, I only wanted to mend my shoes' I collected my sweets and left. Deciding to finally take the bike home and try my best to make sure Ada didn’t discover my misdeed- I fear her tantrums more than the mystical Shadrin in my favorite series, Legend of the seeker. but then, I didn’t move too far, before I turned and headed straight back to Pa Mutiu's doorstep, and coming close for the first time, though not a power-filled freak, I picked something up, something real but not visible at the same time. It hit me hard, the pains and despair hanging stiffly around this mysterious abode of a much more mysterious person. I stood at the spot for almost five minutes listening, still no noise from inside. I could feel the eyes of the mai-guard boring into my back; he must have been perplexed by my actions. I was too, but I was more astonished by the fact that I could not stop myself. I tapped gently on Pa Mutiu’s door made up of thin and dirty clothing, no answer, I was now burning with curiosity, and although aware of the fact that going into the home of somebody without authorization was illegal, I just had to damn the consequences; something told me that if he was inside, he was probably in trouble. I didn’t know for sure, but I was such a person that didn’t let things go so easily. Call it over-sabi and you may not be wrong but nothing was stopping me from going inside and satisfying my curiosity. I pushed the curtain aside, and peered into the darkness, my eyes looked left and right, but then, as more stream of light came in through the open curtain, I saw what looked like a log of wood, but then this log had eyes, nose, and mouth that was dripping with spittle, if not for some invisible power that held me back, I would have run out in total fright because Pa Mutiu lying on that floor cut a deadly sight, I stepped in cautiously and went down on my knees, felt his pulse and was relieved he was still breathing, thinking that what how he slept, I turned back to terminate my intrusion into his privacy, then he spoke, faintly at first "water, water" I almost didn’t hear him till he managed to speak more audibly as I opened the curtain and had one of my legs outside, "my son, please water, water" I turned back to behold a sight so horrible I shook my head in a bid to dislodge the imprint of it in my mind, I don’t know how death may look like, but Pa Mutiu at that point could be used as a symbol for death, with his lips slightly open trying to form the words water for the fifth time, the creases on his face became more clearer and his skin all the more whiter. I hushed to him to suspend the idea of repeating his request as I saw he may not survive even the first syllable. I ran back to the mai-guard’s kiosk, "Give me one bottle of Eva water" "Na three hundred naira" "Don’t worry, bring it" I gave him five hundred naira and forgetting my change dashed back to Pa Mutiu, this time he was coughing heavily. “Pa. I have the water here' I said as I knelt back at the spot I discarded some moments ago. He seemed not to hear me but on sighting the bottle of precious liquid there seemed to be sparks across his eyes. I helped his head up and opened the bottle to his mouth; he gulped like I have never seen anybody drink water before. So it was little surprise when emptied the hundred cl. he laid back, closed his eyes and to my horror, his heart stopped.
Kelly adventure series
Kelly is a journalist, a sinfully good one, she's got eyes for the big and complicated stories, so often overwhelmed wit nausea if asked to do simple cover ups., she knows her way about, digging up earth and spurning dirt, stepping on toes and staking up foes, bt she doesnt care, she's got a passion, a fire burning within that she must flare out else she may burn within.. Her bosses are eternally grateful for their luck in having in their fold such a rare gem, she practically keeps the media house running, her exposé and scandalous outleaks makes the paper a bestseller. But she's stepping on toes and staking up foes. They get livid, she's catching up on them, her newest quest, they are her newest quest, she must come any closer else they are busted, but she nva stops, she sniffs, she thinks, she ponders, kelly nva gives up until she find her prey.. They know, and so they are jittery,but they swear nva to go under whining, kelly would hav to pay if she comes any closer. But would she stop, would she listen to that odd voice, the voice of her sister whose murderers she was gunning after, would she take her sisters advice to let vengeance avenge itself, would she, ? No, kelly nva fights a personal battle, she gives her job her all and keps her life different, but they fired the first salvo taking what she held dear and they must pay for it. She searches, they employ the hiding game, she knows this may well be her last escapade but stil she dares it,. The search is growing kenner, the net is drawing tighter, the bastards are been roped in and The DANGER IS ON THE INCREASE, stil she forges ahead. The battleground is the basement of a tower, she's made provision for police support, but the evidence to warrant immense commitment from the police is stil lacking, but she must stil go on, no turning back. She steps into the tower, a bit dark and smacking of disuse, a perfect place for d hounds she seek, not knowing their number, she stuffs up wit enuf ammo to kill an elephant., she climbs down d stairs, creaking and eerie sounds, she gaze about at the world not knowin if it would be the last view,gun in hand, she tethers towards the door that led to the group , she could practically feel their heat coming from inside,she was damn sure they were unaware of her presence, she heaves a long laboured sigh and push open the door, .. A tinglying sensation on the back of her head, a wierd feeling running down her spine, just one foot into the room and she spurns around with fingers on the trigger, too late, a group of stern looking men all holding automatics pointing at her tells her shes a gonna... To be continued.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Trying a little more for a change.
How best to succeed?
Give up hours upon hours upon hours after the last man throws his
hands up in surrender.
Its a new year, its 2013, so many things occured in 2012, but then
that year is all gone in the annals of history never to been seen
again. The only use 2012 would have for us is to enable us do some
really good soulsearching and reflection. How did we spend it? What
was our attitude to life; work, education and the family. Were we
commited to the things that matter most, or were we just nonchalant
about the activities in our life. 2013 beckons, it beckons with the
vigour of a sterling in its prime, waiting for us to exploit it and
achieve so many things in different spheres of our life while
contributing our lil bit to making the world a better place.
How do you want to spend 2013? What plans do you have? Do you have set
goals for the year? Drawn up calenders to align your efforts for the
year with?
These and many more questions need to come readily to our minds as we
start the journey of 360+ new days.
Its 2013! Where would you be found, what would be your contribution to
your sorroundings? Would you be that goal getter who never believes in
impossibilities and limitations? Or would you belong to the group who
sees a mountain in every single challenge? Its 2013! A year we are all
given another chance to chart a new course for a brand new year. What
course do you want to chart for yourself? Is it been less concerned
with academics and work, or dedicating yourself to the things that
matters most.
Is it been distant from families and friends or keeping those who
matters most close.
More importantly, is it keeping God in the background or drawing
closer to the source of all strength?
2013 beckons, its open to all those who really want to get out
something from this great year.
----- my dreams for 2013...
Martin Luther jnr once dreamt, though awake, he dreamt what was deemed
impossible in his time. That's the secret, challenges can limit your
physical efforts but not your dreams, and when your dreams are not
limited, there would be tremendous output since dreams are the little
firewood that fuels the materialization of our every expectation.
My dream for 2013?
Let there be peace, not just here in my country Nigeria, but over
there in Somalia, in Irag, in Syria, in every single part of world
where peace is needed.
That's my dream, what's yours?
Give up hours upon hours upon hours after the last man throws his
hands up in surrender.
Its a new year, its 2013, so many things occured in 2012, but then
that year is all gone in the annals of history never to been seen
again. The only use 2012 would have for us is to enable us do some
really good soulsearching and reflection. How did we spend it? What
was our attitude to life; work, education and the family. Were we
commited to the things that matter most, or were we just nonchalant
about the activities in our life. 2013 beckons, it beckons with the
vigour of a sterling in its prime, waiting for us to exploit it and
achieve so many things in different spheres of our life while
contributing our lil bit to making the world a better place.
How do you want to spend 2013? What plans do you have? Do you have set
goals for the year? Drawn up calenders to align your efforts for the
year with?
These and many more questions need to come readily to our minds as we
start the journey of 360+ new days.
Its 2013! Where would you be found, what would be your contribution to
your sorroundings? Would you be that goal getter who never believes in
impossibilities and limitations? Or would you belong to the group who
sees a mountain in every single challenge? Its 2013! A year we are all
given another chance to chart a new course for a brand new year. What
course do you want to chart for yourself? Is it been less concerned
with academics and work, or dedicating yourself to the things that
matters most.
Is it been distant from families and friends or keeping those who
matters most close.
More importantly, is it keeping God in the background or drawing
closer to the source of all strength?
2013 beckons, its open to all those who really want to get out
something from this great year.
----- my dreams for 2013...
Martin Luther jnr once dreamt, though awake, he dreamt what was deemed
impossible in his time. That's the secret, challenges can limit your
physical efforts but not your dreams, and when your dreams are not
limited, there would be tremendous output since dreams are the little
firewood that fuels the materialization of our every expectation.
My dream for 2013?
Let there be peace, not just here in my country Nigeria, but over
there in Somalia, in Irag, in Syria, in every single part of world
where peace is needed.
That's my dream, what's yours?
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