I’m David, I’d tell from the point of view of an assassin and a psychopath, a distorted version of how I feel, so if you might get weary or your mind is like the soft garden of clovers, I’d prescribe your absence from my thoughts, as fear… as something… as a real one… as your heart… There was a day I held a gun and pointed it to a soul; my heart rhythm made my arm fall down, but my goal was to shoot, so I raised it back, and everywhere was splattered with a new chapter of people who knew him. My goal was simple; my heart ought to be absent. It bothers me how it leapt out for a second, but I cage it like how God condemned the morning star.
I came out of his abode and blended back with onions and tomatoes, and the next soul was walking calmly; her voice had to be faint like Rusty Weathers, and her mind had to be silent and not worrisome, so that when I took her soul, it wouldn’t be a process of trauma; it’ll be a happy day till when she suddenly views the lights and trumpets of heaven. Until she sees everything but existence on earth.
My heart is also like the musty clay I moulded… I felt too… I flourish… not yet, but I had my heart rolled and smoked it with the morning star God condemned.
Anoint me; you look like Freydis, that Viking warrior. Take my soul. If I ever get in a battle with you, I would surrender and, while I surrender, take control. Shower me with the rain that comes from you, and anoint me with your holy water.
Secondly, I like it when you walk your fingers through…
See, I can go right or left with it when it comes to your body, but I can’t go wrong. I can go through and be true when it comes to your body… But my libido does not lie. Even if it speaks parables, it’s not meant to be understood; it’s like a portion of the Holy Spirit, and it charges your body with fire. Then it freezes you up, so it’s so sweet, you calmly take your breath to meet up with my tension.
I’d play the deep blues of Gerald Levert, that part when he talks on the complexities of heartbreak, so that it’ll make your legs vibrate; that adds to the flavour of what we are creating. The songs will enter essential dimensions, clicking every part of your desire, and then I watch it erupt like a volcano, burning every village it comes in contact with, and you grip the sheets; you’d hold on to it like your life depended on it. I’d add fuel to the fire by capturing your eyes with mine, caging you where I want to.
I’d put you in a position, those positions sorcerers put one in when they want to suck the demon out of them. And they say things, they whisper spells, dangerous things, dangerous spells to the ears to remove those demons, and I’d say those things to you. It’ll act as a flavour to what’s going on too.
The night soaked in ink, he wore his best suit, which was dipped in charcoal, and a dress bleached in white was protruding. He wore suede loafers and a positive attitude. The groovy night was what he was stepping in, and in the groovy night, good witches flew in on their brooms and ignited the skies with histories of love. In the groovy night also, Cupid sat in the corner, there was a bureaucracy of emotions, and there was stability; people sat and talked.
He walked through a lonely road, deep in his thought, with a smile drawn on it. The moon, stars, and galaxies gave him the light to ensure he had a path. The groovy night is also entrenched by dragons, and so he could go and hop on its back and ride till he flickers what burdens him, maybe take another ride to the river, allowing the fire of the dragon to steam the waters and cool his soul. And when he is done, the dragon can air him. And take him back to where he came from.
Groovy night; he could speak, but his voice is volcanic, it bursts in flames, so he’d keep to himself and enjoy the night. “I’d walk in slow motion till I feel at ease,” he said. He’d take deep breaths with his eyes closed to have the air of freedom in his lungs.
Groovy nights, he called her feelings in the noir of the night, but she was slightly intoxicated; she replied with, “Dreams are better than being high in the groovy night,” but I know what she meant. She wants to take my feelings for a night ride, while I journeyed to the pop soul of Frank Sinatra and to the harsh blues of “Marvin Gaye.”
On the groovy night, she’d taste my lips, and the lipstick painted by good witches would stick a bit on mine.
Dark blue is how we talk; dark blue is like running deep into a rabbit hole that is riddled with both mystery and comfort. Dark blue is when I can see the fire in your eyes, the core of the groovy night.
Groovy night… I’d take chunks of you in my memory so that when I’m without you, I’d live in you through my mind, through my soul, and through pathways of happiness.
It had been 15 days and Dele stench from the loss of inspiration. He was finding it hard writing a word, and the publishing house needed a manuscript to publish; Dele had to play his part in the capitalism. Dele hid himself in his multi thousand-naira apartment in Ikoyi, that had all the needed for a man to write
This particular day, he knocked on my door, his eyes were soggy and bleeding with sadness. His right hand was holding a bag loaded with clothes. I stood by the door, and saw this man so miserable that it made me wanting more of him.
“All day I just seat and try make something, but I can’t, there is this part of me that is not here”
“But you are here”
I opened the door wide for him while I stepped back into my house. A smile is drawn on his face. I took the bag from his hand, he slowly entered into the house.
“Have you eaten?”
“Not really”
“I would make some toast”
There he was just looking lost like he always is; he would turn his head to the other direction, thinking of a lot of things that I find weird when I listen to him speak.
“Come on, I am your girlfriend, not even a kiss on my forehead” I turned to him with my eyes dripping with pity. Then he moved closer and held me firmly. He placed his hands on my waist and kissed me on my mouth. I dragged his hands on my buttocks, then he swirled it. I placed my fist lightly on chest and pushed him forward.
“Let me go get the toast”
“All right baby”
I tip toed to the kitchen. I was flooded with excitement. I would not lie, this is what I always wanted, to have a little fun time with my boyfriend. Dele would sit on his chair and for hours pressing on his laptop. He only calls me for sex, and sometimes he is afraid to say it out, he is a complicated man. We would lie on the bed for hours and dream of the stars, and reminisce on how beautiful it is, we only had each other and it was enough for me.
***
Some days earlier he kept on calling me on how troubled he has been.
He is a journalist, he got tired of the same routine as a mere reporter, he wanted something more that made him more of a writer. He quit his job and started ficiton writing, he got pretty good at it then he got a publisher for his works, as opposed to being a journalist, he could dictate the terms than working like a regular bureaucrat.
The day we met was blossom. The day was coming to a close and I chose to spend the night with my girls at a bar. He came to that bar that night, he was in search of inspiration. I saw him and how weird he was, he would glance at people from time to time, then he would raise his phone to his face and hit on his keypads as fast as he could.
He caught my stare that night, and for those few moments we were stuck. The only way out of this was if one of us had the audacity to approach. He carried his hand and waved, and forced a smirk. I said “Hi” as softly as I could and threw my palms halfway as long as my hands could stretch. Dele was still lost, tilting his head to another direction thinking as deep as he could for some seconds. He turned back his head to my direction and waved his hand to me. I shrugged. He had no option but to come, that is if he truly wanted to talk to me. He was this 6’1 man dressed with a polo T-shirts, pants, brogues shoes, and a smile.
“My name is Dele”
I chuckled, I was shy
“Dolapo you mind if I steal you for a moment”
“Steal her forever” Laide shouted, she could not hold control the alcohol she was taking. It was embarrassing for Dele, his face turned red and innocent as he tilted it shyly away.
Love making was spectacular, he had style, but I know it is from the frequent pornography he watched. His hands are cotton, soft and relaxing that would leave electricity lightening your every moment. He was always gentle and reminded me of how soft and tender a woman body must be treated. He starts with the foreplay, his lips crashing sweetly on every skin of my body, I swirl and moan on the bed, as its forces causes destruction on my body. The next phase is when he swirls his tongue around my clit, it feels so good, that I press his head deep into it. Then it is the thrusting, it is simply heaven.
Dele always stressed on how simple he is, but I know deep down on how complex he is. He wakes up at 4am, seated on the couch with his legs crossed, watching the news on NTA. He says it helps him think about the situation of things better.
I prepared toast and placed them on the dining table.
“Dele” I yelled. He came out with my towel wrapped around his waist, with his hair still holding water, his face was bright and stress free. “Baby, go and dry up, you are still wet”
He leaned forward to me and forced a swift kiss on my lips. He put his hands on my face and smiled for some few seconds, feelings of despair began to fade, I noticed it in his eyes. He walked out of sight.
Dele, he is the sweetest man I know, he is always reassuring. He’d hold me close to him, and just look at my face; he’d tell me that the answers he was always looking for was located in my eyes.
15 days I have been with this man. He helps with the dishes and some house chores. He told me it helped with his thinking. He cooked not so nice but manageable food every day, it was fun being with him. He’d hold me by the hand whenever we seat before the television.
***
This morning he told he has been harboring something, a vital message in him, he was swelling of it. While we ate our breakfast, I fixated my gaze to his eyes. There was something he said about the eyes. It was a poem that tore straight to my heart and cut deep into it, creating me a new.
The eyes are the doors to your soul,
It tells me the most beautiful story of the galaxies.
The eyes are the windows to your soul,
Its as beautiful and innocent as the history of earth and the stars,
The clashing and the gliding of rocks that built life was a result of time.
I was still staring at his eyes, trying to see whatever message he was passing. His eyes were hostile. He wouldn’t reveal. Dele would just tilt his head and let out a smile to contain the situation. He was blurry, and a little bit uneasy.
Food dropped from his spoon.
“Fuck” he said silently.
The innocence that shielded him made him cute. He tried so much not to wear that garment of his condition, this broken man searching deep in his unconscious for the mood that is hiding in his wild mind.
He would talk to me in weird songs
“If I wasn’t in love with you, I would love to be a tree in a very deep forest, planted on the ground and receiving the beauty of nature for hundreds of years”. He just told me that while we watched football a particular day. I couldn’t stress that moment, I got into it with a weird man, and as it seemed he was giving me the peace of mind my heart yearned for. I finally was getting the affection that I needed. My family couldn’t provide for the emotional health I needed. I spent my primary school to till the end of uniben inside hostels, there was this feeling of abandonment that housed in me, and when Dele came, my only prayer was for it to last long enough; I would not lie, I really needed the affection.
***
I could not sleep a particular night, I had downed a couple of cups of caffeine to get through the day, I turned on my Tab and check on some funny YouTube videos to escape reality. Dele just folded himself on the bed, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, he was deep into it. He was exhausted, the snore steam that poured out of his mouth could not lie about it. I just laid my tab on the bed, removed my airpod and watched my man. I could inhale the fresh air the air conditioner sifted out slowly, and let it crumble out of my nose. My body chemistry could align with the world it’s had conflicts with, and just the weirdness of a man could bring that.
Dele Screamed, “Ah” for some couple of seconds. It shrieked me that I vibrated instinctively. He held on to my arm, he was shaking in an anxiety. His body was warm.
“It’s not coming, nothing is coming… I am just an empty, worthless man…”
“Dele, you are just going through a phase.” I replied him
He turned his head to my face “But you… are going to leave me.”
I just shook my head, tears hung on the base of my eyes, I had to contain it than allowing it stroll down my cheek. I stylishly use my hands flick the tears away from my eyes. Dele was a gift and also a curse. He was a loving man that every soul needed, but then again, he was strange; He would trek for 500 meters and come back puffing with sweat. He’d tell me that, he is trying to refine his soul. He’d go to a far street talking to area boys, there was a time his face was painted with bruises, he escaped a near death experience when a drunk area boy confronted him; he was so happy that day, he said he needed that experience to boost his confidence.
Dele began to shiver. He was suffering, I knew that the from the moment he knocked on my threshold.
“I don’t have any meaning of this life, baby” His eyes were gushing with uncertainty. “If I can’t make anything of myself, then what is the point of living in this world, this fucked up place, I am tired baby”
I took a hold of his head and wrapped my hands all over it. This man started flowing with tears, this was the first time I saw a man express his truest emotions to me. I was sobbing too, trust me. But I was happy, for one, this man was not scared to show me who he truly was on the inside, guilty and sensitive, calm and steady, and also, he was very understanding.
***
(Dele’s fighting feelings)
They say emotions are strong, and you must control it, so that the surge ,the waves won’t come crashing out on you, wiping everything you once called your existence, then you become a slave to emotions, to your feelings; my art.
I am Dele, I am weird beyond measures. There was a time I was purged from all muse I owned; so I let the night be my day, and my night be my night. I moved not an inch from my apartment for a month, I had to find my muse; the elixir that is needed for me to see carve life the way I always wanted.
I tried littering my heart on white paper, blood was not gushing enough, even while part of me was deeply hurting.
This particular day, my girlfriend had to be there for her friend in a birthday party. I just did not want to come, for a particular reason; discomfort. I folded myself on the bed. My phone was placed on the cupboard, far beyond my reach. I had to land my thoughts on a foreign space, let me lay my worries on the day that I met my muse.
The first time I met my muse, I could remember; My parents planted me in a boarding school when I was in primary four.
This was what happened
Sometimes when everywhere is dark, and every human had gone in for shelter, I would stride through the window, that had a torn net. Then I would run through the hole and there I would be, inside this noir night with this innocent figure in form of a girl my age. Whenever she smiled, her teeth painted a section of the night white.
She would hold my hands and seat me on the rock. She would point to the stars, where she would read me the stories she had carved from the galaxies.
There was a night I wanted more from her, so I took a big note book with me, with a pen. I was uneasy as I raised my pen.
“What are you doing” My muse looked into my eyes with a smile to lessen the already awkward moment.
“I don’t want to forget whatever stories you tell me. In case you are not around to read the me the stories, I can always read the stories and remember your face”
She held on to my arm and. Hugged it, then she rested a part of his face on it.
“I am always a part of you… Wherever you go… Wherever you are…”
She held on to my head and began stroking it, allowing those soft hands with tender emotions stride through my scalp.
***
(When there is no meaning to life):
She was not around, she had to see her parents. Dele had to know she is never a competition. There was no need to be selfish about the whole scenario. He was hurting deep inside, but that doesn’t mean he should be selfish with another person’s time, someone that he wholly claims to love.
That night Dele was deeply bleeding with sadness. His phone was on his chest, his vision was on the white ceiling. Dele thought of his emptiness, and how blank his life is. He thought of killing himself, but that would be too much for his girl to bear, he scratched it off his mind.
He had another idea in his mind, beers and cigarettes. He promised his girl he had stopped, he promised himself too. But he could just stop only when she was around to heal those parts of him that was hurting. If she couldn’t be there, he had to result to the old therapy, booze and cigarettes.
***
Dele laid under the shower and waited while waters splashed and poured on his skin. Traumatic thoughts splashed his mind; the emptiness that he felt while growing up, the feeling of his muse abandoning him forever.
“It is burning me up, it is burning me up. Dele take it easy. Dele be calm” he mumbled to himself.
The room was as cold as antartica, the Air conditioner was controlling the weather in the room. Dele didn’t bother to take a towel. He bumped out of the bathroom; his naked body still dripped of water. His nostrils were blocked, he had to breathe through his mouth, he didn’t care about the whole situation, what was hurting was stronger than the cold he was feeling.
He slowly walked to the bed, like a zombie, with nothing, no intention, no purpose, he just felt a blank shelf, an empty space inside of him. He crashed his head with his face down.
Then…
Sobbing… This man lay on the bed, allowing the room feel a little of his pain, he was crying gently and calmly. The bedsheet soaked his sorrows and tears.
He stood up from the bed, used his palms to wipe off his tears. Dele strolled to his wardrobe and picked out his ironed black T-shirt, his trousers and those nice Italian shoes that his girl bought for him. In his own mind, no matter the adversity a man is going through, he must still own his style.
***
Dele ordered for a bottle of Beer and a pack of cigarettes, the therapy session had resumed for him and he had to be ready for what was coming. He stood up drunk, picked up a bottle of bear and flung it on the wall.
There was a deep sense of confusion from everyone inside that bar.
“You all don’t know how it feels like… to be nothing, because you all in this pathetic bar are nothing, that is why they sell you fucked up meat and washed-up beers”. He took the last cup and gulp of his beer. He moved disorderly. All eyes were on him, people moved their attention from the champions league that was going and were focusing on a man that seemed to them, foolish. Maybe he caught his wife cheating, or maybe he gambled his money in a ponzi scheme or maybe he’s angry at a friend or something, but that was different, he was just a man that has lost his muse, his meaning to life.
He glanced at his cup; he stretched a smirk on his face. Then, he flung the cup to the wall. Two men came forward to him, they were muscular, twins, the owner of the bar that Dele is Defiling.
They walk closer to him, one of the twins held Dele by the arm. Dele brushed this off and landed a slap on his face. They became angry, dragged him off his feet and pushed him to the ground. There was a surge of pain that came to Dele’s way; brooms, sticks, fists and wires landed on his body. Dele laid on the ground like an innocent dog infected with disease on the streets. They dragged him and threw him to the gutter.
***
Untitled Me: Feeling child
The love I feel for this boy is immense. In all the journey that I have been through, my feelings have played a huge part. People have broken up when love was not just enough, but when it was never enough, I and Dele still nurtured our dreams on that fertile soil. When the differences were too much, there’s always a separation, a retraction that forbids something coming together.
I was just coming from my friend’s birthday party and I was driving through the night till I could get home. On my mind, “Dele” could not stop popping through my head. Dele, a full-grown man filled my thoughts with hopes he has not done anything childish, or stupid.
I glanced at the other side of the road, and I saw Dele sleeping next to the gutters, I knew it was him the moment, I could just feel it. My worst night mare has come to past. I folded myself to feel a little warmth, I placed my hands on the steering wheels and thought about the good life.
I once read a poetry by Voodoo, an extension of David Tells, it has it songs planted in my mind, whenever I want to organize my mind, I grasp its story. It goes like this;
It can’t be this difficult,
This passage seems like a cult,
When it becomes endless and hoping on a false story.
If you keep on running to somewhere you are not familiar,
There might be a passage through time,
You’d evolve to see fit the flourishing of your life.
Each day in my 1.2 million per month apartment at Banana Island is hellish. I have it all, money, a Playstation 5, my own apartment and a G-wagon seated at car park, but how I feel is ironic as I walk to the balcony and face the clouds traveling through skies. The sun is hell, but my mood is unbothered. Even how cool the air conditioner calms the mind; the sun is still my sanctuary.
An idea popped while I was bowing on the railings. The beach has sun, plenty of it. Thoughts danced through me, I could get my speaker, an umbrella, a mat, a bottle of water, a bottle of scotch, and those expensive Cuban cigars that keep my ego alive. Those thoughts came from nowhere, an inner instinct wants me to go to the sun, to have a feeling of the beauty of hell, to see something new and explore desires. The sun brought heat, hot rays that melted the brain and shows a difficult part that could be seen. The heat also brought fire, and fire cools desires.
The art of seduction, the feeling to be one with your lover, or someone’s girlfriend. The oceans of dirty thoughts that drowns the mind. I lick my lips, when I see your chocolate skin cheat the sun and brighten my day. That scarlet dress and white teeth have sunk me and created a dirty secret I shall now live with. Can’t just a man, wear his shades and feel the sun only. Is this why this sun called me, to see a beautiful creature stolen from heaven, and let it ignite me. The sun called me to burn me by this agent that he begged God to create.
I lay on the beach, and faced the sun, sounds of happiness from fun seekers flickered everywhere. Children playing and shouting, couples riding on horses etc. Those lovely things that are found in the beach had its presence here, I can feel it. I have a massive expectation, I burn with rage, rage of love, of hearts, of things that could not be seen, but can only be felt.
I took off my shades, my subconscious made my confidence alert. Seconds are going, but a majestic creature comes slowly, a work of art, a structure, but made with every sin I can think of. You can imagine, my jaw fell a couple of seconds ago, but it feels like ages since this painting has been in my soul, the feeling of tearing her off, makes her frame given the best attention in my life. But the feeling to come closer to her.
The art of seduction, different auras, different time, different space, you are from another universe is what I am saying. You give me cold feet even when I walk through hell. It is crazy how I feel about you. Your body is a painting, a work of art. The colors are strawberry and vanilla, when I think about how sweet you are in my mind, oceans drip from my mouth. I can not breathe well. Hot air steams from my mouth, an uneasy spirit has possessed me and taking order of my reality. I see a different perspective of life, ruled by a wide reservoir of libido.
The sun though, as bright and as trusting as it is, it makes my senses deluded. It brought me here to witness one of God’s best clay.
(Aisha is Eros)
The art of seduction, I am with every beauty that Venus governed. I am true in every aspect of your imagination. You want me without the threads on my body, just my natural silver skin you wish to defile. I would make you quest in a false journey, and the price would be your fantasy you will mightily cling on to.
The art of seduction. I would wear the silk dress that was gifted to me by Venus; I will place every thread of it, till I become one with it. The dress was made from blood of the defeated titans, its powers was crafted from the heated process of Jupiter; it has curses like Medusa.
It was a normal day for me. I will not design, Saturday is a day for no work, it is a part of me I should reveal more. There are unconscious chapters that are dug deep in the shelf of my memory, a little education about me brings about acceptance of this world, my world, and that I cannot overlook I’m staying alone in this beautiful glass apartment. The tiles are snow-white. Ceilings crafted by the finest artists, I left to explore his imagination. The sofas are soft, and the TV is on.
A Novella show won’t hurt, a little exploration of televised emotions. The novella is done with, it is time for the next phase, have a degree of emotion. It was easy, the calm effect of wizkid’s essence does the trick. The soothing feeling that the sound waves from music is always something to reckon with and that is never a lie.
Something is bothering me, some wires are sparking beneath my skin, it is pushing me to go somewhere, it is leading me out to see feel something. A feeling that I take for granted is reaching out to me with the most attention.
The art of seduction, freedom, the ability to explore the deepest sex in one’s mind, it goes deeper than the thrusting of sexual organs in the sanctuary of love. It is the fresh breeze that uplifts the soul, even in the tightest corners.
The art of seduction, nature holds no bounds. It births the day and the night, the most beautiful spaces to explore the gift of the world. The ability to see one in the most excellent form; raw and untouched, but only in their dreams.
I went to the beach and there he was, lusting, his mouth out like a dog waiting for his next meal. I know his kind; he probably owns a Benz parked just at the beach park. It is like a stroller to lure his victims to his temple of fornication. He wants to undress my innocence. He wants the electricity in the dam of my skin, a spark that would transform his self-esteem to that of King Henry.
He is coming to me, his shirts are unbuttoned, he robbed lotion on his skin, trying to reflect the beach towards my eyes. I bet he will chew on his lips while talking to me, it might be sexy to him, but it would be worth my while.
Tunde just lay on the bed like an innocent dog, like one without the troubles that life gives as a price for living. His mother entered the room and walked as silently as she could to Tunde’s bed. She placed her palms on him and gently tapped him. Tunde woke up gently stretching his body as lazily as he could. He opened his eyes for some seconds. “Good morning, Mom”.
“Wake up, we are going for a visit to your uncle’s wife, Uche. James just left her like that”
Tunde opened his eyes “For how long?”
“For three days now”
Tunde stood up from the bed and placed his palms on his waist. He twisted his palm, hoping for the remaining story.
“I don’t know what that guy is up to” His mother, Gladys, sighed out, she was forced to frustration.
“Mommy, have you called the police?”
His mother hissed. “It’s not a detective or a mystery solving issue. It is just James being a child “
Tunde scratched the back of his head; he is still not getting the issue. James had just fled his wife, on the pretext of him finding out who he truly was. That is what happens when you take a lot of social media quote too seriously. James was this mischievous man, that never cared what people around him were affected by after taking this decision. His wife, Uche, for instance, has been patient ever since. Gladys had always troubled her, and told her to explore other options. Gladys would always tell her, marriage is not slavery, and it should not be treated as such.
Gladys and Uche have been close friends for a long time. Uche Married James, Gladys husband’s brother. Gladys husband, Damilola was still baffled on how close the two were. For one, Damilola wasn’t really that close to James. It baffled the brothers a lot. But Damilola came up with the conclusion of women building friendships in the weirdest conversations, and he didn’t really bother about it.
Damilola walked into Tunde’s room.
“Good morning, Dad” Tunde greeted his father.
“Good morning, Son. Can you give me your comb, my hair has grown a little long.”
“Daddy, Mommy is just telling me about Uncle James”
Tunde went to his drawer and brought out a comb. Damilola rushed to the mirror hanging on the wall and checked himself out.
“I heard about it, and your mother stopped talking to me because of it”
Damilola gave the comb to his father. Damilola combed his hair gently. Damilola still adopted that younger side of himself.
Gladys hissed, and stood up from the bed. “Tunde meet me in the car in thirty minutes”. Gladys could not handle the amount of irritation in the room. She walked out of the room.
“Daddy, is it a must that, I go, I mean I am 33 years old and should be able to make my own decision”
Damilola held his son by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Son, as it is, your mother is going to behave like this for the next two days. I can’t do anything more to extend that behavior, a man like me has needs. You would understand one of these days” Damilola threw a salute at his son as he strolled out of the room.
**
Tunde and Gladys in the same car was Gladys seeing her son as her therapist as she expressed her annoyance of the world for him to hear.
“Mummy, I still think that this is something for a couple to address without any form of interference”
“Well, where is he?” Gladys twisted her face, looking for an answer.
“Mummy, I still think, it is an issue for them… you know as a couple to solve, maybe therapy”
Gladys laughed at her son when she heard about therapy; one thing that she knew was that Nigerians, whether rich or poor, never believed in such.
“Or a family meeting or a pastor, whatever they can do, so that I won’t be present” Tunde angrily explained to his mother. He went to a party late at night after coming home from work, and came back drunk. He had just had some few hours of sleep and he wanted more, but he was stuck at the wheel as a driver. It annoyed him so much.
“Tunde, I didn’t ask for your opinion” Gladys started to boil with anger
“Mummy, I need this Saturday to sleep, but I am stuck in this car with you” he replied
“Well, next time, you would know that it is not a good thing, coming back from work, drunk”
“I work 9-7 everyday, and I come back home smelling of sweat, can’t I just have a night to myself”
“You can just as well get your own house, and pay the bills, if you think you can do as you like”
“So you are punishing a 33 year old man”
“Yes. Now, hear me complain and just drive the car”
Tunde sighed heavily. There are some certain battles you cannot win against Gladys. Like her making sure that, Damilola didn’t buy the G-wagon he always dreamt of. Damilola wanted to promote his brand like he would say, and expensive cars are a good idea. Gladys thought about it as being an avenue for him to get younger girls and flirt with them. Gladys would always say the only thing that you can never do is trust a man.
“Men, they just feel like they shouldn’t do anything about critical situations if it doesn’t affect them” Gladys shrunk her face with anger
“Mummy what are we supposed to do? Remember, it does not affect us”
“He is your uncle, your father’s brother”
“He is also a 53-year-old man, that is fit to make his own decision. Who are we to stop that from happening?”
“We are family, you hear me, we are family”. Gladys yelled at her son.
“Mummy, you don’t even care about your own family, when last have you seen aunty Idrine?”
Idrine was Gladys elder sister; she died from a car crash, after stealing her father’s car to meet her boyfriend. Good roads sometimes cause accident. Idrine was driving like a mad woman that night; she never knew when she collided with another car. They could not bury Idrine. Gladys’ father once loaded the car with two 25 liters kegs of petrol, fearing there might be a black out. The collision created a spark and the bomb blast was looking like the final stage of World War 2.
“Idrine is in the grave and probably in hell for what she did to my parents” Gladys said. “My father had two strokes”
“Mummy. Okay. Just okay. You are moving away from the point” Tunde tried to evade the topic. He has already opened Lion’s Den, and there is no escaping from it.
“How am I moving away from the point, you asked a question. Do you know what she did, while she was dead, my parents forgot I even existed”?
“Mommy, sorry about that, but that happened 20 years ago, and even before then you stopped talking to her and you are somehow exaggerating this too much”
“Because, she was acting without her senses”
“But she was family, and you not talking to her might have, I don’t know, maybe caused her death”
Tunde glanced at his mother. Gladys face has changed to something else. Her eyes squinted, and her face wrinkled. Tunde gulped in the air. He was in trouble; what could save him from his mother’s rage is unknown.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing”
There was a pause. Tunde’s chest was moving back and forth.
“Tunde?”. Gladys called his name with a stern face.
Tunde just looked in front, trying to evade eye contact. He knew what the look meant to him. That look always had its way of instilling fear into Tunde.
“Yes Mom”
“What did you say?”
“Mummy, just try to calm down”
There was this outburst from his mother. She would not let the moment go. “What did you say”. Gladys shouted.
“I didn’t mean what I said, I am so sorry”.
**
The afternoon was hot. Gladys came out of the car and slammed the car door. Tunde rested on the steering wheel; he sighed. Tunde was drowning in an ocean of guilt. “I should never have said that” he thought to himself. But the deed was done; he can never undo it. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
Idrine and Gladys history was because Idrine had a drinking habit after her divorce. Idrine had caught her ex-husband on multiple occasions cheating with younger girls. She told Gladys about the situation, and Gladys persuaded Idrine to divorce him. Gladys would confront the guy and make a mess of him. Idrine took her sister’s advice and divorced him. The man could not handle himself and committed suicide. Idrine could not handle her urges after meeting another man, and, well, you know that story.
**
Uche and James lived in glamour; there was a large pool dug, a spacious car park. It is like seeing a mansion right in front of you. Inside the living room, there was an 85-inch television, seated on an expensive cabinet. There was a bear rug laid on the floor. There is a mini library at the angle. At the other angle was a standing ac. The floor design was upper class American. Chandeliers hang on the wall. The sofas and chairs were expensive. One would wonder what went wrong that made James leave this life.
**
Uche was seated on the couch, sobbing heavily. There was a tissue on her hand that she used to wipe her snort once in a while.
Gladys entered the house, and they exchanged embrace.
“I don’t know what got into him” Uche talked with exhaustion from crying.
Gladys carefully took her hands and guided her to the sofa. Uche had finally seen someone to talk to. She explained the full incidence in details. James, she said, was acting immature. He turned down the chance of being the chairman of the company to pursue a career in music. His story was one complicated one. James was having an income that was more than 95% of people living in Nigeria. but he was not really feeling the money, as he wanted that dream of becoming a Fuji artiste, even if it meant quitting a job from one of the biggest companies in Nigeria.
“A fuji artiste, that is so hilarious”. Gladys burst into laughter.
“That man is 53 years old and he wants to become a fuji musicians, is he on drugs”
“I don’t think so, or maybe” Uche shook her head.
Tunde came out of the kitchen; he was holding a food tray of sandwiches, an orange drink, and a can of beer.
“Mummy, what time are we going” Tunde asked his mother.
“Tunde, I beg you, don’t annoy me, and I have not still forgotten what you said”
Tunde went to the sofa and placed the tray on the sofa. He picked up the sandwich above his mouth and dropped it into his mouth. The women stared at him with amazement.
“I think it is better if you go to the dining table” Uche suggested.
“Mrs. Uche, I promise myself to behave while I am seated, no crumbs on the couch, no splash of juice on the couch, and I won’t make it obvious when I am drunk” Tunde talked childishly. This was his way of making things more complicated. Everyone would have to leave him alone.
“What is his problem?” Uche faced Gladys.
“I don’t know, I am very sure something is wrong for someone that is 33 years old” Gladys had a smirk on her face as she faced her son.
Unable to hold back the annoyance, Tunde brought about a piece of his mind “Mrs. Uche, I guess you should maybe persuade your husband, and talk to him, instead of getting my mother involved. Because my mother might give you an advice that would make you end up dead, and I don’t mean it figuratively”
“What is that supposed to mean” Uche faced Tunde with a great deal of anger.
“Yes, what is that supposed to mean” Gladys looked at her son.
“Well, it is just the fact, and I won’t feel bad for stating it”. Tunde walked stood up angrily, and walked out of their sight.
“He is a spoilt child” Gladys said with disappointment written all over her face.
Tunde came back to the living room and took his plate back. He could do anything for food at the moment. “I forgot to take this”. He packed the food, and munched on it while he walked out of the living-room.
The ladies stared at each other. To Uche; that was the of the weirdest thing she had seen that day. To Gladys, it was her son being a spoilt brat, at 33.
“Gladys, what is wrong with your son”
“The men from the family we married into are going through a phase, and we are deeply affected by it”
“Gladys, my son and my husband are perfectly fine”
“Your husband wants to become a fuji artiste. I mean is that normal?”
“Something is bothering him, if I can just talk to him”
“That something that is bothering him is the phase he is going through, we are both saying the same thing”
Uche sat properly and rested her elbows on her knees. She felt her intelligence had been insulted, from Gladys and her son.
“What is the problem?” Gladys asked.
“Nothing is the problem. I feel like this is being exaggerated”
“What is being exaggerated?”
“It is better you chase me and my mother away from your house”. Tunde shouted from the kitchen. He was seated in the washing machine, and was stuffing his mouth with food, using the beer to wash the food in.
“Tunde are you out of your mind, go to the car and wait for me”
“Mummy, no, you can’t just boss me like that, I am a 33-year-old man, and not 14”
“Well, you are not acting your age, you are acting like a brat”
“Mommy, if you say that again, I am going to take the car home, and not care if you followed me or not”
It is not a good thing to dare or threaten your mother. She is your mother and she knows how to break you. The wrath of a mother is similar to a dragon; Tunde knew this.
“You are not acting like your age; you are acting like a spoilt brat”. Gladys said slowly.
“Well, if you weren’t my mother, I would have left you”
Uche has had enough of this. She slammed her hands on her knees, and stood up.
“Gladys, I think I need sometime for myself to think to myself”
“Thank God” Tunde could not hold his excitement.
The unexpected happened, Damilola came in with his brother James. Uche ran to James and hugged him as tight as he could. He kissed her head; it was starting to look like a fairy tale. Her face turned hard suddenly and there was a slap on James.
“Uche, why did you slap my face?”
“Because, you put me through a lot”.
“I told you that I was traveling to sign some Fuji artiste, I told you I am entering into Fuji music business.”
Uche tilted her head; she was amazed. “I thought you said something of becoming a fuji artiste”.
“Fuji artiste?”
“Uche, I left pounded yam and Egusi soup inside the kitchen, I would love to go and eat it”
There was this settlement in spirit for the first time in 3 days; for Uche, she might have misheard what he said initially. But her husband was right back home, and that was all that mattered. She went into the kitchen.
“Where did you see him?” Gladys asked her husband.
“I just picked him from the estate gate. Where is my son? I need to fix something in my laptop”
James screamed, he thought Tunde to an intruder.
James wanted to become a fuji artiste; he invested 1/3 of his life savings and investments in crypto-currency, but the worst happened, it went into a dip. James was lucky, the email he sent to the board didn’t go through, and the cause was internet issues. He could go back to his office like nothing ever happened, becoming chairman.
Gladys, Damilola and Tunde went to an eatery. Tunde, even though he was a 33-year-old man kept on complaining about how hungry he was. His parent took him to eat Amala and Ewedu. Tunde called it “therapeutic food”.
Kunle and Yomi, two hustlers, two Africans with the taste of survival embedded in them. Kunle took a sip of his beer every moment, then he rubbed his hands together as he listened to Harold, a white merchant in a bar, at the early hours of the night. A Yoruba music band sang traditional Yoruba songs. People flocked around the bar doing whatever that they were doing that night.
“It is very simple. You both can act as middlemen in this transaction. Museums in London would kill for those kinds of artifacts, so what say you guys?” Harold said in a rather calm and condensed manner.
“Not about the money… no… no, we are cursed if we do something,” Yomi stuttered as he replied.
Harold tilted his face his head for a few moments. “What are you talking about?”
“What my brother is saying is that what we’re doing could bring a curse on us; you don’t play with the Gods,” Kunle responded in rather fluent English.
Harold burst into laughter. He folded his fist and banged on the table. He caused a scene, as eyes from all over the bar fixed on Harold. Harold coughed and gave a slight hit on the chest as he stopped laughing.
“If there was anything like a curse, England would never be England”. Harold took a gulp of his beer and belched, “You both don’t know anything about business or money, and it is better for you both to be cursed than to live in poverty for the rest of your lives”. Harold gulped the beer to the last drop; he slammed the bottle on the table. “So, what say you guys?”
Kunle gazed into nothing. Thoughts flew through his mind. He scratched his nose. After a while, he faced Yomi. “Let’s go” Kunle Standing up, gestured to Yomi in Yoruba. The brothers always spoke Yoruba to each other.
**
The First night (the beach)
The moon is bright and full. The faint sound of music echoes through the night, giving the night a filtered sense of calmness. Kunle and Yomi were on top of the beach sands. The ocean waves pushed back and forth as the breeze howled throughout the beach. It was the beauty of nature, but with bad intentions.
“We steal the artifacts, then he would give us two hundred pounds.” Kunle nodded his head as the idea sunk and waited for his brother’s approval.
“Yes, I am in total support of this,” Yomi shrugged as he replied.
Kunle became perplexed. Confusion was written all over him. He scratched his face, and then gazed at Yomi. “I thought you said something about the curse”
“My brother, you are troubled, if this would make everything alright, I can’t say no to you, cause I know that you would do it with or without me” Yomi replied. Yomi smiled at his brother; it was a reassuring smile that had its therapy to uplift Kunle for a little while
“Thank you” Kunle replied
**
The First night (The bar)
Harold laughed hysterically as two women sat around him. He was totally drunk. His confidence boosted, he took turns kissing the two women. “I have to admit, women are going to be the death of me”
The two brothers came. Anxiety built up inside of them. They sat down.
“What is your conclusion?” Harold stared at them. His reality had been restored.
“We want 400 pounds.” Kunle folded both of his palms together. Harold gave it a thought. Eyes stared at eyes. It was as if a telepathy deal was going on.
“Agreed”, Harold took a cigar from his pocket and started sniffing it. He gestured for the ladies to give him some privacy. The ladies kissed him on the cheeks and walked out of their sight.
“I like your spirits. I do not care what conversation happened between both of you. “
“But we would like it if you paid one hundred pounds first, then when the job is done, you can pay the rest.” Kunle interrupted. He knew he had to be careful when he handled issues like this.
“Done”, Harold brought out a hundred-pound note and flung it on the table. Kunle took the cash, raised and flapped it, checking its authenticity.
Harold brought out a pack of matches and lit his cigar. Clouds poured out of his mouth, “I have appreciated your terms and conditions. It is time for you to do your part in the deal.”
“And one last thing, so what is the plan?”
“Our team researched a small town in a village north of here. Those artifacts are very artistic and unique in their nature. Museums, galleries, universities, scientific institutes, even powerful people in London society are trying to get their hands on them.” Harold took a drag of his cigar and continued, “it is a competition, and we want our hands on it. You bring it to us, we all become rich and everyone is happy.” Harold stretched his arm to his bag, unzipped it, and he brought out a map. He laid down the map on the table, “This is where you are going.”
Kunle stood up and took the map. He gestured to his brother to stand up. Yomi clearly understood and stood up. When Harold winked at the ladies, they both rushed to him and jumped onto his laps.
**
The First night (the hotel room)
Kunle and Yomi laid on their beds looking at the ceiling. They were both high on wishful thoughts. Kunle was a former student of Cambridge. He was deported for engaging in a robbery while in England. He couldn’t bear the guilt, those feelings; every time he thought about it, he wanted to take a hammer and smash it on his head. He should never have committed that crime. The money he was getting from charity and well-wishers was okay; he was even sending some to his family. But when he got caught, his world started to fall apart. He spent some weeks in jail before being shipped back to Nigeria. He could not go back to his community. His family would find the news unbearable, but he had his brother Yomi, a man that could simply just kill for him.
Suddenly, electricity lit up the room. The fan whirled heavily.
“I miss my mother,” Yomi said as tears strolled from his eyes. “I miss her roasted yams and her advice. We did a lot of wrongs, a lot.”
“And we are trying to solve our wrongs” Kunle replied. “We need to find a way to get into the shrine and take the artifacts and just get away from the country. We can try Europe or America. We are starting a new life. “
“We have a family” Yomi responded.
“We are going to be taking care of them too”
There was something that was still found in Yomi. He still had that compassion, that yearning to be with his family. He still believed everything could come back to how it had been before. All he had to do was to go on with the mission with his brother.
**
The Second Night (Bush)
The moon hanged on the sky that night, it was a peek into the brothers secrets. The brothers stood on top of a hill and they could sight the village. There was something about that night; the cricket chirped, the mating frog croaked once a while, but Kunle was different about that night, he was wearing the English clothes and looked like an explorer. He was anxious that night, his hardened spirit could not cover it, he looked at the map once a while, then looked at the village. He knew he was entering a battle against a lot of things; the jungle he was in, the guilt he was suppressing, God and the villagers.
Yomi came and wrapped his arm all over his brothers’ shoulders. “I know how you feel”
Kunle brushed his brother’s arm away “I don’t think that you do”
Yomi became flustered. He had to act right or it would be for nothing, him trying to restore the family again would be for nothing. He sighed out heavily and faced his brother “I hope that you have eaten enough food”
“Yeah” Kunle responded. “I don’t know, but I am very scared, what if we don’t make it, then we are just living for noting”
Yomi finally understood his brother, he was human and broken. Yomi had to act like safe space for his brother.
Droplets of tears leaked from Kunle’s eyes, the dam of his emotions cracked, it has been piled up for too long, the feelings, he definitely had to let a little bit of it out.
Yomi rushed to him, and embraced him “We are going through with this, I know, then we can go back to our village and meet our mother and our father too, I know that can happen”
Kunle shrugged off the embrace “I know” He went to a tree and sat on the branch; he placed his hands on his face thinking about his mistakes.
“Let’s get this finished as possible” Yomi yelled.
“I want to make things alright, everything” Kunle spoke with a high degree of emotions
“That is what we are doing”
Kunle took a pebble from the ground and flung it. “I think it is better we go on with the mission before we talk about anything. “Are you with your knife?”
Yomi nodded his head. “Let’s go”
**
Second Night (the shrine)
At what level can men have riches, would they go as far as robbing God, the maker of riches, in the coal of Night, when no one was watching. But the night doesn’t make God blind, it makes him angry, the brothers had to be ready for the wrath from God.
The night was calm, cold breeze sifted through the jungle. The big eyes of the owl shined bright that night, it tilted its head and hooted once a while.
The brothers walked to the shrine, they had already battled the cold and they were without shirts, they walked stealthily through the bushes.
The shrine was empty of humans when the brothers arrived. The shrine had Deities being represented by artifacts. Kunle nodded to his brother, things had to go as planned.
Yomi went on the lookout, his brother stayed. Kunle knelt down brought out a large piece of bag and started loading the bag with the artifacts. Yomi told him while they walked to the shrine, that he should use his sense in this scenario, he should load what he could carry, they needed only one artifact, but Kunle thought of getting some to sell to other merchants, that equals to more money.
Kunle would not hear, the incoming good life blinded his senses, he was already thinking what he could do with the money while he loaded the bag. “I would get myself a nice business in the city, get a lot of money, get myself a white woman and run away from this country, this feeling and this anger in me once and for all” Kunle thought to himself.
The bag was already loaded more than Kunle could carry. His brother came and was with Perplexity all over him, he went to meet his brother and touched Kunle on the shoulders, this startled Kunle, pushing him to the ground in fear. “Kunle what are you doing, let us get the hell out of here, I thought I told you we need things that we could carry only” Yomi talked to him in a whispered voice, he didn’t want to wake the night.
Kunle stood up and carried the bag on his shoulders. It is too late; they have been seen. Chants flickered everywhere as the shrine guards shouted “Who is there?” and “Identify yourself” in a different dialect of Yoruba.
Kunle fell on the ground from the heavy load. Arrows were raining from every space of the sky. Yomi pulled Kunle beside a tree. The arrow woosh on the tree for some seconds.
The brothers were panting heavily, sweat and anxieties strolled through their cheeks even when the night breezed the cold air and shivered their soul. The arrows stopped raining. The brothers glanced at each other, they understood what they are supposed to do, go for a run.
“They are here” the shrine guards, two of them spotted the brothers. Kunle, he was formerly one of the wrestling champions in his community, he was feared for his brute strength and his ability to charge at an opponent with great rage, he was called “The leopard”. But he was still no match for Yomi, who beat him easily. Yomi knew a battle should be always calculated.
Kunle dashed at one of the shrine guards before he could strike his bow, he pinned him to the ground, smashed his face continuously with rocks. Yomi had already killed his opponent with a large rock smashed on the face. Yomi rushed to his brother and dragged him away from the guard who is already dead. “Let’s get out of here before it is too late, they are coming, they are plenty. Yomi dragged his brother up.
Kunle ran to where the bag was and quickly carried it on his shoulders, he waved for his brother to go into the jungle.
**
The Second Night (the jungle)
Thoughts were going through the brothers’ minds; Yomi thought of the regret of accepting the this in the first place, he has put his brother and his family in danger. Kunle had a simple mindset in the situation, what he had to do was to escape the jungle with the loot. The loot equaled his freedom from the guilt that caged him, he also had to make sure that his brother was safe. An arrow passed through Kunle arms slitted it; blood started pouring. The brothers rushed to a tree, they could not hide from the night, the moon showed their guilt for their hunters to see, they had to fight through the night.
“can’t we limit the load of those artifacts” Kunle tore a piece of his clothe and tied it through his wound, he groaned in pain.
“Are you okay” Kunle whispered to his brother, as he saw his brother fight through the pain he was in.
“Yes”
“Let’s go, i must have dropped the map” Kunle rushed with the bag still heavy on his shoulders.
“We are going to get lost”
“If we keep heading straight, we won’t”
The brothers were at the heart of the jungle that particular night, Yomi had a wooden torch light. flaming with fire. The moon had retired out of sight. The brothers walked without direction, unable to show their guilt, the universe had the second option to leave them lost in their guilt. The loud noise of monkeys echoed through the jungle.
“Maybe this is a curse” Yomi thought to himself. “Kunle wait” they both stopped walking.
“What are we waiting for?” Kunle replied
“I don’t think they are coming anytime soon; I suggest we just rest for some moments; I would make a fire, we still have a lot of time before they catch up with us, then we retrace our steps and go back from where we came from initially” Yomi said.
“We would be dead by then; those people are ready to die for this”
“And you are ready to die for it too”
“We have to keep going, we know what we got ourselves into”.
Yomi had to do something, he knew how dangerous his brother could be anytime he was ridden with greed, he becomes impatient, strong headed, and uses none of his senses, that was what got him expelled from school and deported back to Nigeria.
Yomi went in front of his brother, and punched Kunle hard on the face. There was this stern face that Yomi wore, it was a process of getting his brother in check and in order. “I cannot risk my family falling apart” he thought to himself.
“Yomi what are you doing”
“Making sure greed doesn’t lead you elsewhere” Yomi replied “We have to do things in order”
Kunle stood up and groaned in pain.
**
Second Night (Jungle; by the fireside; the interlude)
That night by the fireside, was the moment they had to relax and rethink, all impulses simmered down, while the brothers deeply in their thoughts, they unconsciously watch as the fire crackles.
Yomi thought about his mother, he remembered when she would sing while she was in the farm or at home, it was something beautiful. He once thought of it as a remedy for his soul whenever he felt depressed. Yomi face fell down with depression, he needed his mother to sing one more time.
Kunle thought about the days with his father. His father had deep respect for him, for his abilities to cause trouble in the village and at the same time maintaining a high level of education. His father would always remind Kunle that he was coming out to be the first educated person from the family, and it meant a lot to him. The news of Kunle’s admission to Cambridge was the best thing that his father heard. His father spent the last of his money to organize a party for the village to celebrate. Kunle couldn’t ever approach his father after what had happened. His father wanted more from him, he had high expectations, and worse of all, it would be because of a failed robbery at a store that could damage the relationship with his father. Anytime the thoughts came into mind, the guilt would be too much to handle. He would always speak to himself “I should never had done this, Kunle you are a big fool”. His wish was to retrace time and made sure he went to the soccer pitch instead of allowing some thugs convince him to robbing a store to see a lot of money.
“We need to go back and retrace our steps back to where we came from before dawn, or else those people would find us, they know the jungle better than we do” Yomi said.
“We can just continue going, there is always a way out of the jungle”
“And how would you know?”
Kunle looked at his brother and tried to utter a world, but he could not, his brother has already poured a lot of reasoning into him.
They had to continue on the journey, they have been at the fireside for minutes, they have had their rest, they have had their fill of water from the stream. They had to get up and find a way out of the jungle before the dawn.
“Let us start moving, I sense them coming for us” Yomi stood up, he groaned from the pain on his arm. He tightened the cloth harder on the wound.
Kunle stood up from the ground and placed the huge load on his shoulders.
The night was dangerous at this moment, their lives did not depend on money at that point of their lives, but it was depended on their survival, they had to beat the night, the jungle and the shrine guards. Survival sometimes has a mind of its own, it is like money but it is different. Money makes one kill, but survival makes one mad. The brothers did not have any road map, they never asked about it at the fireside, but they had to survive in the right way according to Yomi. They had to retrace their steps back to the beginning of the jungle to find their way back home.
**
The second night (against all odds)
The brothers’ hearts were beating and drumming through their chest. They stood up for some moments to get themselves in the right state of mind. Hot air from their lungs breezed through their mouth. They both stretched their body, with their bones straightened; it was the last battle, they had to pick the best weapon available to them, the weapon was their fist and the side of their spirit much darker than the night.
The universe was still beaming with anger, it sent forth rain. Droplets of water started to thump on their faces. Yomi looked at the sky, he was fully convinced of the rain.
The rain poured on the fire and showed its power as the stronger element
“It is raining, we have to move as fast as possible” Yomi told his brother.
“It is already the night; those guards would stop looking for us” Kunle replied.
“I am starting to doubt if school gives the right number of senses” Yomi started walking, looking forward without the fear of the rain. “Let’s start moving”. His brother joined him.
Lightening flashed on the sky; thunder claps accompanied it. The brothers are already soaked with water.
Kunle slid on the muddy floor, he fell down and two of the artifacts fall from the bag. His brother raised him from the ground. Kunle became anxious, he started turning, looking for the fallen artifacts.
Yomi rushed to him and gripped his brother firmly. “It is gone, let’s go, forget it, we still have enough inside the bag” Yomi pulled his brother, and grabbed the bag “Let’s go”
“It is gone” Kunle said with his face covered with daze, as he followed his brother that took him by hand.
The moon is shown clearly in the sky while the rain became light till it was empty of water
Arrow struck a little nearer and it would have pierced the throat of Yomi, the sound of another arrow is heard and it is stung to a tree.
Yomi pulled his brother to a tree. He placed his finger on his lips, signaling his brother to remain silent. “They are here, like three of them, I think we could take them out, just wait on my signal” Yomi whispered, as he peered through the trees. An arrow is struck but hit the tree. “We would attack soon” Yomi turned his head and meets his brother that was still moaning the artifacts that were lost. Yomi boiled with anger and slapped the face of his brother; it was a shock therapy to bring him back to life.
“What are… are…you…doing?” Kunle stuttered.
“We are in the middle of a war zone, get back to your senses” Yomi said worriedly.
An arrow struck Kunle on the leg, he falls on the ground and groaned in pain.
“Damn it” Yomi, looks around hurriedly, he picked up a rock from the ground and rushed to one of the guards and pinned him down with a swift, smashing his head with a rock.
“Brother, look out”. Kunle shouted.
Yomi dodged an arrow that came to his direction, a pinch of luck found him. He rushed to the guard before the guard took another stroke of the arrow, it was calculative, using a rock to smash his head.
Yomi rushed to the tree his brother was, he met one of the guards with an arrow on his chest. Yomi goes to hug his brother. The arrow is still struck deep in Kunle’s leg.
“You think you can steal from the gods and go scot free?” The stricken guard talked with the remaining strength in him. “The gods are coming for you, just two of you can’t defeat 15 guards that are scattered all over the jungle looking for you. It is going to be a longer night than you ever imagined, a slower death too”. The guard chuckled as he died slowly.
Yomi quickly tore a piece of cloth from his shirt. He was calm for a moment, he thought of when to remove the arrow from his brother foot, his plan was to remove it unexpected. Still a moment, then; he dragged the arrow from his brother’s leg.
“Argh” Kunle groaned loudly.
Yomi quickly tied a cloth around the leg, tighter than ever, to stop the flow of blood that gushed. Kunle had to hold himself from letting the pain out.
“Put that foot on the ground” Yomi told his brother.
Kunle put the foot on the ground in pain, he squealed in pain. Yomi rushed to the where the other guards’ bodies were. He picked the bow and an arrow, he raised one to the air, trying to get his hands used to it. He rushed back to where his brother is.
“It is a good thing we are heading to the right direction; I just pray we get there in one piece” Yomi chuckled, his hopes were failing, his face could not hide it anymore, but he had to continue fighting, it was the only option available.
He raised his brother to his feet, and gave him the bow and arrow. “You have to fight too, I would carry the artifacts for you, but you have to try to walk, we can’t run anymore, we have to face whatever comes our way, at least let’s die fighting for our lives and a future”
Kunle nodded his head in agreement.
**
The rain had stopped pouring that same night. The brothers walked careful through the jungle. Kunle limped and walked with one of his feet.
“Walk out the pain, it is just a mindset” Yomi advised him.
Kunle thought for a while to gather some courage, he placed the foot on the ground, it was accompanied with a loud cry. Yomi knew there were in enemy territory, he dropped the loot and rushed to his brother. “Position your bow and arrow”.
The brothers learnt how to hunt from their father, who took them to the jungle and look for antelopes to hunt. Their father was a master hunter, he taught them how to aim their arrow to kill the Antelope with one strike. Tonight, was when they had to forcefully remember the skills that their father taught them, this time is not about hunting, it is about survival.
**
They hid behind the trees and acted in a stealth mode. The brothers had already positioned their bow and arrow, they were fully ready to strike. The guards were chanting as they approached, five of them. The loud scream from Kunle had brought them here.
The brothers glanced at each other; it was time. Immediately, the brothers positioned their bow and arrow and aimed. The guards approached, the brothers fired their arrows into the chest of the guards, two of them killed.
An arrow pierced the shoulder of Kunle, he fell down in pain, groaned hard. Yomi became anxious, sweat started to drip from his head in the cold night. An arrow flew through the air and pierced Yomi’s left ear. He held the pain in that prevented him from screaming. The arrows kept on flying in the air, Yomi dragged his brother closer to him.
Yomi took an arrow stung on the tree, he positioned it carefully and struck one of the guards. Yomi looked at his brother down again, in pain.
“They are here, they are here” chants were coming from the back up guards, adding up to 10 of them. “Careful, be careful, they are armed”
Yomi looked at his brother, tears strolled from his eyes. Yomi looked at the sky twirling his head, anxiety painted all over him. He picked a rock, walked out of the tree with his hands raised up, a form of surrender. The guards rushed to him, the surrender was fake, it was an attempt to bring them out and take out as many that he could. Yomi threw the rock at one of them. He charged forward. An arrow was shot to Yomi’s leg, he fell, landing on the muddy floor.
**
The brothers were on their knees, their hands and legs tied, they are about to be beheaded in the bush, their heads covered with clothes. Dawn approaches, and their fate decided.
I am just coming back from work, and what do I find? The toilet seat not taken up. I keep on telling him to take it up anytime he takes a dump, but he keeps on forgetting, it is as though he is doing this on purpose. I boil with a great deal of irritation anytime I see this. He is my husband, he is my Taiwo, I have to remember this anytime he does anything that annoys me, that is me accepting the mess I put myself in.
Loving him is difficult. We are still in our early stages of marriage, we have been married for 2 years now, and there have been moments of anger and arguments, sometimes the pettiest thing, for instance, why the hell wouldn’t he want to raise the toilet seat up anytime he is done with it? Sometimes he takes a piss on it, gosh! It is terribly annoying.
He acts like a teenager all the time, eating junk and always watching football. I just want to have a bond with him in the living room. For Christ’s sake, I have a 9-5 job, and I would like some affection from this man. He doesn’t even get to be woken up by the alarm, since he designs at home, he sometimes even forgets to take his bath. I just want one-on-one interaction with him, but it is one stupid match every damn night. Then I get angry, but he says, “baby, you are on your period, just try to calm down”, now it’s “baby, you are pregnant, just remember to be at peace”. Thank God I was not pregnant while we were dating, I am very sure that he would have left me, I know what Taiwo can do.
Mummy, you are right, men do really act like children, even worse, they are babies, how can a married man take a street football match so serious that caused him to use the wheelchair for three months, three months of being starved of sex, three months of doing the house chores and the cooking all by myself, and also taking care of him. I was without sex for three months; it caused a lot of emotional struggles.
Loving him is difficult, some days I just sit on the bed, crying for hours, and it is because of him. If I divorce, it will be another circle of an annoying man, so let me just stay with my poison that has killed me multiple times.
He doesn’t even check my phones or my chats, even when there is no password, does he trust me that much; I am sure he knows that I would never leave him, that stupid boy. I love him though, my mother always told me marriage doesn’t come that smoothly and lovely as expected all the time, but it is a marriage of two different people. He is a lovely man though.
(Taiwo’s perspective)
I wish she would sometimes stop talking about something, like how Rachel looked slutty to work, or how the C.E.O made a joke about the stocks of the company rising to a certain level, I really don’t give a fuck about it. All I just want to do is watch this match with every attention in me. But she will not understand, she would start talking about me not giving her the time she needed that she wants to share some intimate moment with me all the time; I mean, we live in the same house. I miss those days when we were dating, it was not as serious as it is at the moment; I had time with the boys to party and flirt, but now I have a nagging wife; and the sex, the sex was great when we were dating, I mean, it was fornication because it was against Christianity. Presently, She comes to bed naked, leaves naked, I am getting tired of it. She looked sexier when she came to my apartment to visit while we were dating, she would wear this mini skirt or these sexy tight jeans, at night she does not wear any panties, and that always excited me.
Sometimes I ask myself why I got married. The wedding was one of the most exciting moments of my life, I planned it very well, spent money, real money; it was in the biggest redeem church in Lekki, we even had the reception in “light-house”, it was something for me. But I had not known it would become like this, she farts in the night and smiles at me thinking it’s funny or amusing. God, it stinks and very embarrassing for me, and when I tell her, it amuses her.
Loving being difficult, anytime I come home, I meet my wife seated on the couch watching whatever soap opera she is watching and looking so unsexy, she is getting too fat, I try to tell her, she could do some aerobics or cardio.
They say after loving comes patience and perseverance. I am strong, I know, my parents always told me about the sweetness of getting married and the pains that come with it, I never paid good attention to it. My parents have been married for close to 35 years, so I always thought it would be easy and fluid to be in a marriage. I thought their ted talks were just because they wanted to talk and make a pond seem like a sea. The irony is that my present situation is deeper than the ocean, and I am drowning. I am just a little bit overthinking this, maybe we could work this out, we still have a long way to go in the marriage. The doctor said that she was pregnant, a baby will be nice, I guess. I hope so. I shiver when I remember that I am someone’s husband, I shiver more when I remember that I am going to be someone’s father.
I wish I could get a few joints to smoke or a couple of cigarettes. It would help me think smoothly and comfortably, but I sacrificed that for Chioma. No one would want to have a husband that is high all the time, it would be inconsiderate, and mom said that a marriage should be more of sacrifice than love.
I wish I could leave her and have peace of mind; it would be great for me, I would remain single till I die, but I can never do that to my baby girl, my Omalicha, my Chioma.
David (A WRITER'S BLOG) 