By Poetified Victor

Barely had he put the spoonful of rice in his mouth before Joe ran in, soaked by the heavy rain.

"Joe!" Ben shouted, as soon as he entered, food in his mouth

"Ben!!" Joe called back, unenthusiastically. He dusted his trousers as if magically, they'd become dry

Joe grimaced in anger and disgust, he was wet and droplets of water dropped from his shirt and pants and flowed to the waste basked by his right. He stood for a while on the mat at the door steps. He did a mental calculation of where he'd sit. The cushion was not an appropriate place, so he sat on a leather chair, opposite Benson. The name tag that read BENSON DALTON BADEJO, reminded him that he was in an office

"How're you Joe?" Ben asked, keeping his plate of food under the table, he took his handkerchief hanging on the window behind him, then cleaned his hands and oily lips

"I'm good oo" he said, stressing his every word, obviously tired

"How is beautiful Jane?" He asked again, this time, going through some files on his table 

"She's just Jane, you know?" He frowned and picked a lying magazine

"She's no longer beautiful?" He laughed

"Whatever!" Joe replied, concentrating on the book

"How is work? I heard those young soldiers are pestering y'all there" he said, not comfortable with the silence of the room

"That's very true, but you see, no one knows about these. Today, I had to pay ₦30 to enter my own company, can you imagine?"

"I can imagine! You see, I asked you to leave there a long time ago" Ben said, shaking his head, as if to say "I can do nothing to help"

"Leave? I've stayed there all my working years. The Shagari's government affected me. My customers were sent out of the country, and now, I'm left with nothing, not even one enough to help me relocate" he lamented, and his eyes caught something in the magazine

"Wow, the hunt for Saro wiwa Is on again" he said, opening his eyes in disbelief

"I thought it had passed away oooo, these journalists won't learn to keep shut. They act like they're the most affected" he dropped the file he had been reading on a pile of others and picked another again

"You're such an ingrate! The man fights for me and you"

"You mean he fights for himself and his pockets, you see, everyone has eyes on the national cake, there are just different ways by which we exercise it" he said, just eyes not leaving the new file

"I doubt that Ben, Abiola has been doing great stuffs lately..."

"That's what I'm saying man", he looked at his friend before continuing

"That's what I'm talking about, we all have our different approaches. Abiola has been building schools and doing some NGOs and stuffs is his own way and method. Just watch if he won't join the military and be one the next head of state" 

They both laugh at the joke

"I still don't beat, you see, Jane has been having these dreams of late, a dream of Nigeria, where the people put those who they think are worthy into positions"

"And that's a nightmare, or the worst daydream, or a terrible hallucination" he laughed again

"Infact, only a fool would believe her dreams, I hope you didn't, the Nigeria we were promised after the so-called  Independence is not the same we see now, all of them were lies" he then flipped through the pages of the file's pages absent-mindedly

"Hmmm, ì guess Abacha's reign will be longer than we imagined, indeed this country in in a disaster. I'm tired of it's state"

"Let's not be" Ben smiled

"But I still believe that that day shall come, we would not be scared but have confidence in our elected leaders... I promise" Joe said, observing his trouser's moisture again

"And that day, Is million of years away" Ben's voice echoed...

Neo of the Big Brother Nigeria reality TV show was caught washing the pants of his girlfriend, Vee while she stood idle with him. This annoyed many of his fans as they call him all sort of names. Some said he has failed the entire Warri but one thing remain, he was true to the love of his life.

In Africa, most people see it as taboo for a man to wash a woman's underwear or clothes. They feel that the man would highly be disrespected by the woman but this is not the same with advanced nation. Lovers believe they bond more when they bother share home shores;  washing of clothes, cooking, gardening etc 

Fans have now taken to the Twitter App to express their surprise and shock as they watch Neo who has been tagged “Warri boy” wash Vee’s pants.

See tweets and reactions below;

Venom: My dear one pant is missing. Ohhhh, its there

Nene: Ahhhhh, Nestle, you even wash pant now? I reserve my comment..

Venom: He knows I'm a clean bitch..

Nene: Lucky you...

Nestle is the latest pant washer of the season 🤣🤣🤣 pic.twitter.com/4ByLWITy3H

— Chineze (Ex Mrs Walcott 😢 Ozil's bae💖 (@Amchizzy) September 24, 2020

Na babe wey get ferrari we go wash the pant#bbnaija pic.twitter.com/5Np2gbC8bD

— Vicky too much Grace 🥺 💙 (@VickyShegzy) September 24, 2020

Neo can wash pant.
Ozo can cook for you and follow you everywhere you go.

Women, which of the Lover Boys do you prefer?

Neo - Like ❤
Ozo - Retweet 🔁#BBNaija #BBNaijaLocdown2020 pic.twitter.com/MPy98zV4Kh

— BBNaija Lockdown (@BBNaija_Tweets) September 24, 2020

 Some notion needs to go into extinction. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a man washing his love partners clothes.  If any culture could approve a woman to wash her husband's clothes while can't her husband wash her clothes?

This is a question for all of you in the comment section

Damilare David

Writer/Poet

 

As children, we hurried to grandma's hut every twilight with the full moon illuminating our paths.

One night, we flooded to grandma's hut but what fed our hungry juvenile eyes was not the usual jovial and cheerful story teller she used to be; but she lay on her bamboo bed with a wrapper covering her up to her old sagging bossom.

We could hear her breath running miles and her eyes moistened with tears which glistened the flickering fire that burns under her primal enormous pot in the center of her hut.

"Grandma, are you okay?" We chorused as fear of the unknown whooped us.

"My grandchildren, certain is death, this world I will leave but not this moment" she grasped.

With the look of fear, misery and confusion on our faces, she grinned as to assure us everything was well with her, but her depraved grin was not convincing enough to fool us that she had but few hours to live.

"Grandma, please...tell..us..a story!" Ebube, the most wildest, oblivious and bizarre kid drawled.

But I snapped at him immediately with a  jab to his right ribs as to shut his gaping talking mouth up: 

"Can't you see grandma is on her death bed?" I managed to whisper.

"My grandchildren, a story, I will tell, and you all shall promise to remember to the grave" she beamed as her fast breath sapped more of her strength.

"My grandchildren" she began.

" Time before remembering, there lived a priestess called 'Mmili' in Umuagbala, a land of warriors situated somewhere along the coast of Africa. 

It was said that, she was a reincarnation of a beautiful black goddess, and in her days, people of the land pay obeisance with cowries, kegs of palm wine, lions paws and eagle's wings for the deity to bless and prosper them and their families.

Then, there came a day when mortal pleasure drained Mmili of her immortal  sanity when she desired to be intimate with a male mortal with a thick masculine prowess whose loins drives insane satisfaction, to plant a seed which will never shrivel or die but rather a hybrid; a blood of a mortal and a goddess who will take over the throne of the land and the sacred abode of the invisible deity.

"She bore a son, but it was more like a beast, a ravaging bloodthirsty tyrant who because of his selfishness, slaughtered his own parents, drank their blood and hung their corpses on a withered iroko tree in the village for birds to feed on them.

"He turned the villagers to his footstool and his parents bones artifacts. He also proclaimed himself the king and the gods of the land.

And so no one would oppose his ruthless and bloody rulership, he massacred his parents in cold blood.

"But something unexpected happened, when the cockerel heralded a new dawn and his hideous body was found breathless in his 'obi' where he had passed the night after sipping tons of palm wine brought to him by the unknown from the known that shall become known."

"Grandma, you mouth words encoded with parables and brains of the sages of the Mmili order that my dad reads to us in his African history book, please could you break the calabash to pieces?" I interrupted.

" The bloodthirsty tyrant died after gulping down kegs of palm wine given to him by his dead mother in guise of one of his wives.

"But there was a disturbing prophecy about him surfacing once more on the face of the earth through reincarnation.

"Reincarnation?" Jedinna the oldest among us asked with bewilderment.

"Yes, my grandchildren." Grandma said and she continued:

"I won't join my ancestors yet until I put a knive through his chest. My grandchildren, the beast is here in our midst in a guise of a lad!" She raised her grotesque shaking fingers and pointed them at Ebube, the wild kid as we all babbled in fear and confusion.

"My son, it is so stunning that you don't recognize the woman that births you centuries ago whom you killed in cold blood!" She growled and we all murmur silently as our eyes popped in  bewilderment.

"Yes, my grandchildren. I am Mmili the black goddess to be reincarnated in two generations, and I am here to save the world I once destroyed with my selfish desires.

"Ebube my son, it's time to go home" she said, and in a blink of an eye, she and Ebube disappeared, never to be seen again.

#Ikemefuna.

#fiction.

©️ London Lucky Talbot 

 

After a long day in school, we hurried home so we could finish our chores before twilight and join grandma under the moonlight for her jaw dropping tales.

When we arrived her hut, with our anticipations, we curtsied by greeting her respectfully; the boys bowed their head with their hands to their sides while the girls curtsied by bending their knees. 

She blessed us and asked us to sit on her local made mat. Then, a magical ride to a wonderland we took.

" You all are welcome my grandchildren" she welcomed us with a beam as her wrinkles stretched while she struggles to smile and talk.

" Long, long time ago.." she began.

" A traveler ventured to a western forest to work for some white men so he could make some money to fend for his only son.

He went with a close friend after bidding his son goodbye and told him he was coming back with a lots of money and food.

They left at night with torchlight well gripped in their hands.

As they were going, the man walked ahead of his friend, he muttered words to him and his friend responds. This continued till they got to a tall tree when the man decided to look back and to his amazement, his friend was no longer with him. He said to himself: "but I just heard his voice now."

Fear gripped him as he saw his friend swiftly dropped down from the tree.  He flashed his torchlight on him and he saw he was lifeless; there were two little holes on his neck, one which could only have been dug by vampires fangs. 

He felt an object in a wind form running around and towards him from different angles. He yelled apprehensively for whatsoever is about to kill him to reveal itself.

The object came to a stop as he gathered his wind-like pieces to one place and the complete piece was a man in black with red eyes, paled skin, fangs and the two sides of his mouth was stained with blood. apparently, his friend's blood.

The vampire wears a face of irony as he throws him a fake smile. The man pleaded for him to spare his life; whimpering how his only son would be fatherless if he kills him. He wailed to him that he wants to live and not to die.

The vampire assured him that he will make him immortal. He agreed and the vampire swiftly grabbed him, deeped his hungry fangs into his neck and suck life out of him, he mixed their blood and fed the man some. Then he took him to his coven and watched him for days if he's strong enough to fight death and become  an immortal like him.

Days later, the man woke up in the vampire's coven and couldn't feel his body; all his bones were as strong as iron, he felt an overwhelming strength and a taste of blood in his mouth. He looked himself in a mirror and saw he was a complete transformed being, that was when it dawned on him that he was turned a vampire; his request of living and not dying.

He confronted the vampire that why would he turn him to a vampire without his full knowledge. But the vampire laughed and said: you asked for it and you should thank me for that.

He was devastated, he slowly started craving for human blood. And his fear was how he would explain to his son; he wasn't sure if he would be able to overcome the temptation of killing his own son.

We went back home in a snap of a finger, he was surprised too. He enjoys this part of being a vampire: you could reach anywhere you want in split of second.

At his sight, his son ran towards him and hugged him tightly asking him questions like: what happened, why did you not  return home for days. And crown the questions with: I was frightened and worried.

Tears rolled down his paled cheeks at those emotional questions.

He missed his son.

Then, his fear came.

While still hugging his son, his face was burried on his shoulder exposing his tempting flesh staring into his face.

He was a new vampire, it was difficult for him to master and control the urge to bite his own son but he got hold of it as he pushed him to a side and fled through the window.

He thought for days and deviced another means of survival by drinking animal blood instead of human blood. He practiced it and it worked and the rest of his days he lived in peace with his son and other humans without wanting to sulk life out of them.

That's the end of my story" grandma concluded.

" My children, you can always find solution to every problem. Go home to your parents and come again tomorrow" she said.

And we were dismissed.

©️ London Lucky Talbot✍️

It was an eclipse night, I was making merry with uncle Jude in his condominium when a text message popped on my phone screen: "come home right now, there is something you need to see!" was the message from my mum.

I dreaded sinister, but at that moment I couldn't help it but to allow it sit in my head. uncle Jude patted my shoulder and I fled to my parents house.

getting there, from afar I saw human figures silhouetting on my window through the curtains. everywhere was disturbingly dark, I looked up and I saw the moon was no longer red but was glinting at me -- which lit my way without bumping on anything as I paced.

I got to our door step, pulled the knob as the door creaked open which panicstroke me because my parents would never forget to lock the front door once is dark, no matter how oblivious my mum was or how drunk my dad was.

I walked in quietly and headed to my mum's room wondering what was amiss -- when I heard someone squeak from my room. I spun, tracing the voice half running and half pacing looking over my shoulders because now it was obvious we had an anonymous eerie company. with the blinking lightbulb over my head dangling on the ceiling, I could see the mess they'd made of the house and the walls stained with blood.

I got to my door and I could hear my mum whimpering. I hungered to open it when I heard a cat meow behind me, I abruptly spun around on adrenaline, and I saw a black cat, and in a blink of an eye it was no longer a cat but an old woman in black cloak pacing toward me smirking and grinning at the same time, and when she got closer, I could feel, see and hear a bubble of fire that moves with her -- I was horror-stricken, my body went numb and I managed to shield the bubble of fire with my elbows as I screeched, and then suddenly, silence swallowed the scene.

I squinted wondering if I was still alive, and I saw her suspended in the midair, rigid and icy, and when I took a proper look, it was my aunt, Naomi. my mouth gaped open and my eyes popped in surprise and betrayal: why would my aunt want to kill me? and then suddenly I felt a rage overwhelm me and I stroke the icy figure hard as it splinter on the floor with a clattering sounds.

with the same rage, I pounced on my door and it thudded on the floor flying dusts in the air, and I saw my mum whimpering in a corner, blindfolded and mouth-taped, she was quavering miserably which boiled my  anger the more. then, dangling feets in the midair caught my attention and i looked up, it was my dad -- dangling on a rope hanged on the chandelier hanger, his body bruised and swollen, and a long knife sticking through his belly and poking out through his back -- and i reeled and fell on my knees at the nightmare before me.

then I saw someone emerge from no where in a flash, he wore a black cloak like my aunt Naomi, and the moonlight shone through my window illuminating the gloomy room and I could see his face: it was my uncle, Jude.

he muttered some enchantment and I froze, completely numb. I struggled to break free but the unseen cold hands gripping me were too strong.

"say your last prayer, boy or you watch me slice your whore of a mother's throat!" he growled as his forehead furrowed.

"so - uncle Jude you're a -a wizard?" I stuttered.

"of course, boy. just as your mother is a witch" he said with a nasty smile.

I was engulfed with bewilderment, what the hell is he blabbing?

"but what did my parents do to you to deserve this?" I cried.

"enough interrogation, boy! you want your slut of a mother to live or not?" he barked.

sinking in confusion, I closed my eyes and I felt an unprecedented strength I had never felt before, I could feel it traveling through my veins from my head and settling in my two clenched fists.

"Arrrrrrrrghhh!" I yelled with anger and a mad wind spun in the room deafening every living thing in it.  and when silence returned, I saw him turn to a statue of ice and the invisible hands gripping me were gone.

I rushed toward my mum feeling her misery and pain, cut her loose and untied the blindfold on her eyes, tore the tape on her lips, and carried her to the bed -- crying at my dad's dangling dead body. I lay her down and she started breathing heavily and fast.

"London, I hope you're not my mad at me? -- there are things we never told you." she muttered.

"things like what, mum?" 

"sweetheart, you're destined to be a powerful sorcerer" she gasped with her last breath as her eyelids glued with a tear rolling from a corner of her eye to her ear, and from that moment, a new chapter of life flipped open for me; wizardry.

#Ikemefuna.

©️ London Lucky Talbot

 

I was burried six feet under the earth, I was only unconscious but everyone thought I was dead

I know that feeling of waking up in a casket after decades of unending slumber and realising you've been burried alive.

About 15years ago, during our every twilight tale with grandma in her hut with her antique lantern hung on her shined red wall and glistening in our petrified eyes as she tells her eerie tales. One night she had told us about not whistling in the night, not looking at mirror in the night, calling people by their names and answering names in the night -- that they could attract haunting and restless ghosts.

When she finished her tales, we were about leaving her hut and she added:

"My grandchildren, don't ever sleep with your legs facing the door but your head"

She never told us the reason behind it and we never asked because we've got enough of frightening tales.

Well, many people thought these were propestrous myths and superstitions designed to frighten children, so they doubted and never believed they could happen. I wasn't excluded though I was only a kid running around with a sagging pant and following my folks to church every Sunday watching the preacher engulfed with vibration on the podium as he spits out frightening words about heaven and hell which made us to see every tale our grandparents ever told us as myths no matter how terrifying they are.

Then I started having nightmares about my room being watched by a ghost girl, and I would wake up the next morning a and I wouldn't feel my legs; they would be rigid and dead. I never knew I was having sleep paralysis, and I had forgotten about not facing my legs to the door while sleeping.

Unknown to me, I was sexually and maritally engaged in the spirit world.

One night, after coming back from grandma's hut, I flopped onto my bed waiting for sleep to come but I suddenly heard someone crying in my room; it was a girl's voice sobbing bitterly.

I quickly grabbed my lantern closer holding it with my trembling fingers and I saw a girl in white standing on my door, with long black hair covering her pale face and white eyes sobbing bitterly.

"You invited me" she wailed.

I opened my mouth to say something but no word came out only my lips shaking.

"No one has ever wanted me, no body likes me and I've never had anyone to share moments with until I saw your interest in me" she cried sinking her face on her palms.

"N....no, I d.. didn't" I shivered.

"You did!" She cried. 

Then I remembered I'd been whistling on our way home from grandma's without noticing it, and I'd slept the night before with my legs facing the door.

"B..but you're dead" I stuttered and she nodded childishly.

She suddenly stretched out her pale hands and I took them subconsciously, and WHAM -- we were gone.

I woke up breathing heavily with my body moistened with sweat.

Damn! It was a nightmare.

Then I looked at my door and she was right there, standing like a statue and grinning sheepishly at me. 

I stood up swiftly from the bed and I looked back at it, and I saw my body lying breathlessly.

"Nothing was a nightmare" she said coldly.

I was truly dead.

When everyone woke up the next morning and I didn't, after hours of crying, I was burried. No one knew I wasn't dead but unconscious.

Then I woke up what seemed like centuries in the grave and with the heat and darkness, I knew I was burried alive.

If you're wondering how then I wrote this, well, I was a seer who couldn't avert his misfortunes, fate and destiny; I saw this horror years before it happened.

#Ikemefuna

#fiction

©️ London Lucky Talbot ✍️

 

A happy toast to all mothers out there both the pregnant ones and the nursing ones.

Mrs. Salami woke up in the middle of the night-- her stomach growling and her throat as dry as a furnace. She gave her snoring husband a side-long stare, rubbed her bulgy belly which was almost due for delivery. She jolted up sluggishly and tapped her husband on his hairy legs:

"Hhmmmm!" Mr Salami groaned.

"Get up!" She muttered.

"What is it?" He asked yawning and stretching his hands above his head as he sat up.

"I'm hungry" she drawled as she squeezed her drowsy face exaggeratedly.

"By this time of the night-- well, let me go and warm something for you in the kitchen then"

"No-- you don't understand. Is not just any food I want"

"So what do you want?" Mr. Salami muttered struggling to keep his eyes open as he kept dozing off.

"I want-- I want eba garnished with native mango and female monkey intestine" she muttered shyly.

Mr. Salami eyes popped in bewilderment mixed with a little exasperation and amusement.

"What did you say?" He asked lowering his head so his eyes would catch his wife's who now had her face burried in her palms.

Without saying a word, Mr Salami sprang up emitting toxic air from his posterior. He tucked his hands inside his underpants scratching himself intensely with closed eyes until he dropped another thudding and enormous gas from his butt that sounded like a faulty generator:"kporrrrr kprooorrrrr kporrr".

He strode across the room picking his boxers which was stuck in-between his butt cheeks. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his bizarre hungry wife sniffing the polluted air as if it was an aroma of what she was craving. He burst into a teary laughter almost reeling on the floor.

"Why are you sniffing my fart nau, you this hungry woman?" He laughed as he managed to say.

"It's not funny jor! But I kind of enjoy it".

So do you still want the eba garnished with native mango and female monkey intestine?"

"I think I'm satisfied with your fart." She drawled.

Mr. Salami burst into laughter again as his wife joined him.

Three years later, this clown of a couple were sleeping soundly on their matrimonial bed when Mrs. Salami woke up Suddenly, panting hard with beads of sweat seated on her forehead. Mr. Salami who seemed to have awoken by her sudden shriek asked her: 

"What is it?"

But Mrs salami giggled: "ewo chineke nnam!" 

"What is it?" He asked again.

"My love, we forgot to pick the kids from school".

There was silence for a moment, then Mr Salami broke it with his hysterical laughter as his wife joined him. They laughed so hard that their funny eyes began to moisten with tears. 

DIARY OF A PREGNANT WOMAN.

©️ London Lucky Talbot ✍️

Dining with the devil and adventuring into dark arts was the nightmare Matteo had every night.

In one of his dreams, he had seen himself conjuring dark spells on his minor playmate, Edward their neighbour's nerdy son - which result was demonically hideous; he turned him into a goblin-like creature, a devilish or rather funny looking creature with pointed nose and ears like a rabbit, with a height as short as an elf.

He enjoyed every moment of torturing this little boy in his dream, and when he woke up, he realised it was just a dream but wished it wasn't.

A part of him had started craving for dark stuffs, the hunger overwhelmed him and a 13-year-old Matteo started asking his parents to buy him satanic spells books  which to his amazement, they didn't argue; they nodded hypnotically and days later the books were bought from no where.

Then, Matteo started having nightmares after nightmares by reading these books where he saw a satanic creature in black ugly hood offer to distill in him power of immortality, and without hesitation and rather enthusiasm, he accepted it with all his vulnerable heart, and then woke up the next morning with a pair of horn poking through the sides of his forehead, his beautiful face now grotesque, his eyes as red as vampires' and two ugly fangs swording out on his upper gum.

Rather than screeching, he smirked at himself on the broken mirror hung on his wall. And without looking at his scattered bed, he strode out from his room and bumping into his parents at the door as they passed directly through him without seeming to notice him at all.

Struck with surprise, he swung his hand trying to touch them but his hands seemed to be waving only the air. He followed them quickly back into his room and, he saw his body lying dead, swollen and rotten; zillions of maggots swimming and feasting on him. Then he saw his parents clapped their mouths and eyes with their hands shaking and reeling in horror.

He lifted his gaze to his wall and saw an invisible hand scribbling some creepy words with blood: 

"You asked for immortality and immortality I've given you. Make it to the coven at once to meet your counterparts and fellow minions scattered on the face of the earth. Our adversary isn't resting, boy. Welcome to the church of Satan, Matteo. From your high lord and master, Lucifer."

"J..ESUS!" Matteo screeched as he woke with a start. It's been all a nightmare. His parents came rushing to the room, held his hands and prayed like never before.

They baptized him with anointing oil and gave him some to drink, and that ends his demonic nightmares; Matteo was saved from the demonic possession.

©️ London Lucky Talbot ✍️

 SOULMATE

Am I not drunk

With your scintillating words

Flowing like the river of Babylon

enticing every beautiful piece of me

Am I not lost

In chaste of your beauty

In the veil of your sheen visage

Glowing like the shooting star

Am I not the forebear of bachelors

Who swore to never fall

But fell like the wall of Jericho

On the template of your loving soul

Am I not with my senses

When you took off my lenses

To have a lips to lips ride

On the pale road in-between the bridge

To the end, where pink hops on grey 

Am I not the broken soul

the banjaxed

the ruptured

You picked and fixed anew?

© Damilare David

 

THE MAKING OF A DEMON (1)

By Adoki Favour Igoni 

Please don't judge me, 

stop pointing fingers at me and whispering silently whenever I walk pass you in the street. 

See, 

it wasn't my intention 

to give my heart the permission 

to be a bank of depression 

suffering from the oppression 

of this addiction 

that sprang out from the seed planted in me, by the demon who ripped me off my innocence even before I knew what it was. 

This seed that has refused to wither

growing in all weather, 

This seed that left me battered and shattered, 

This seed that gradually turned me into a shadow. 

This seed that made ME a DEMON 

So cry not if I haunt you, 

Curse me not if I make you feel what I felt at the early stages of my transformation, 

For all must go through what I went through 

ALL MUST BECOME DEMONS.

SUICIDE WAS NEVER MY INTENTION

The thought of suicide whispers in her gentle voice

 She Stands beside me to make a choice

My mind becomes occupied by noise

Hoping to decide not her choice

I confide in her for my life was not in poise

She  always stood by my side telling me lies,that I might rejoice

Am petrified when she's dressed in turquoise

She has come to deceive me

I battle everyday wanting not to receive and conceive her lies

The world perceive not my struggles

She's desperate to achieve her aim

Am in grieve hoping never to believe her lies

There came a day

On my bed I did lay

Fearing i may eventually pay her to slay my soul_

The way had no obstruction

She was planning to do a giveaway of death

Try it,move it,Go on

Just a noiseless step at a time

Will lead you to a timeless world

Where your pains becomes painless

And your body is left breathless and souless

At that moment I was left totally defenseless

For her words were so affectionless

The world isn't yours to live forever

Accept my offer,you will regret never

Your depression will give you more unbearable fever

If you chose not to become clever

None had come to deliver you not ever

 

Take this apple of amnesia

And you will forget everyone as far as the existence of the continent Asia

To those I opened up to willingly

Had closed my case cheerfully

Paying no attention to my depression while leaving me suddenly

Much closer she came stretching her hand to take me from the world

My hand in her hand she smiles without uttering a word

In an unknown flight,i found myself on board

Almost severed was the cord connecting my soul to my body now subjected under discord

The very third attempt she had promised will bring Concord was just a lie

I want to be saved Lord i cried in my struggle for life aloud

My life I cannot afford to lose to her lies

Suicide was never my intention

Depression made it an unwanted decision

An apple of amnesia did I eat due to my frustration

Suicide was never my intention

It only made matters worse by giving pains to loved ones unintentionally due to my thoughtless  decision

The pains will never end as she promised

For my soul got so distressed

For the short moment of a near death experience my soul did regretted

She took advantage of my weaknesses to get me tormented

Suicide was never my intention

Her lies held me under subjection

A serum of truth gave me a second chance saving me from eternal condemnation

Hear me Suicide is not an option

She lies to you to keep and steal your soul leading you to destruction

SUICIDE IS NEVER A SOLUTION!

Yagazie have started seeing a therapist three times a week. Sometimes he spoke about his session, and other times he did not, but always he wanted to hear about her new life; how well she had adjusted to her strangely familiar environment.

Mom had once asked Kosisochukwu on one of her regular visits, “'Kedu ihe o na-eche?’ What was he thinking?” Because it baffles her, how a young boy like Yagazie would want to kill himself!

“Suicide has never been the end but the beginning of pain,” Kosisochukwu said. Although, she never wanted to judge Yagazie’s action but she just needed to respond to Mom’s inquest.

The report from World Health Organization (WHO) on (September 9, 2019) revealed that suicide is topping the chart as the number one killer with an average of one person every forty seconds.

Even if that is a global index painting a general picture, a recent survey shows that there is a surging height of suicide mortality rate in Nigeria, although many of the deaths are kept away from the public arena.

“It did not happen!!” Kosisochukwu had often told herself this for the first few days and yet endless, elliptical thoughts of what could have happened churned in her head. She was sleepless at first, “What was on his mind?” she would lie awake at night, thinking and turning, her mind held hostage by thoughts of what could have been, until she fell, finally, into a drained sleep.

Although it was impossible to comprehend, but it did happen, Yagazie had tried to kill himself.

It was on a sunny Thursday afternoon while Kosisochukwu was returning from a seminar at Hotel Presidential, Port Harcourt, her phone rang. She stopped along the walk-way to fumble on her handbag for it and, at first, the voice on the other end of the phone was incoherent, she stained her eyes to identify the calling, it was her Mom, talking and sobbing at the same time, Kosisochukwu thought she said Yagazie was dead. But what Mom was saying was “o nwuchagokwa, Yagazie anwuchagokwa.” Yagazie had nearly died.

Nevertheless, while pundits are discussing various causes as to why Nigerians are taking their own lives, what looks like a common denominator is depression; a prevalent ailment that the government and citizens seem to pay scant attention to in Nigeria.

“He took an overdose of pills,” Mom said, as her voice cracked with her own disbelief. “It was God that told me to go home much earlier. It was just God! I saw Yagazie lying on the couch looking so sweaty, sweat all over his body, and immediately I panicked. I was confused by different thought on my head.” Already, Kosisochukwu was shaking. A vehicle horned past and she pressed her finger into her other ear to hear Mom’s voice better. “Where are you now?” Kosisochukwu asked.

“At the hospital, we’re at the hospital, ‘Live Long Clinic’,” said Mom.

“Have they confirmed his situation now?” Kosisochukwu asked.

“The Doctor found some signs of liver toxicity.”

“You said what?” Kosisochukwu asked confusedly, feeling choked by those words, liver toxicity; as a sudden darkened air engulfed her reasoning.

“Kosisochukwu?” Mom asked. “Are you there?”

“Yes” The word had travelled up a long tunnel inside of her. “Mommy, you said, what exactly happened?”

“He swallowed an overdose of Paracetamol. He is in the ICU now and he will be fine. God was not ready for him to die, that is all,” Mom said. The sound of her nose-blowing was loud over the phone. “Do you know he also took anti-nausea so that the medicine would stay in his stomach?”

“God was not ready for him to die, I am coming tomorrow,” Kosisochukwu said.

Nigeria is among the countries with no national suicide prevention strategy and it is something we must key into by reducing access to the means of suicide.

The strategy, according to WHO, includes “responsible reporting of suicides by the media” to avoid the risk of inspiring copycat attempts as well as care for people suffering from mental and substance use disorders, chronic pain and emotional distress.

Kosisochukwu stood on the walk-way for a long time, and imagined Yagazie taking the pills. “What was he thinking? Paracetamol, mere Paracetamol; he must have read that an overdose could kill. Did he think of me or how Mom would have felt at his demise? Ahn-ahn, his bed, his room, would have been empty forever.”

After Yagazie came home from the hospital, she searched his face, his words, for a sign, for a proof that it had really almost happened. She felt her tears and her questions gathering. Why had he done it? She had not asked him because the therapist had said that it was best not to ask him anything yet.

According to WHO suicide ranking, with 15.1 suicides per 100,000 populations in a year, Nigeria is the 30th most suicide-prone (out of 183 nations) in the world and also, ranked 13th African country with higher rates of suicide.

Many of those who have been interviewed in recent times said they attempted taking their lives after bouts with depression. And these, more than ever before, are depressing times, with insecurity and hard times biting even harder, it is not too difficult to understand why many are taking the suicidal route, especially in Nigeria.

Indeed, the harsh economic condition has led to all sort of mental health challenges among the populace that could result in suicidal instincts. Yet, Nigerians must be encouraged to become more open as they grapple with their frustrations.

Many suicide notes are filled with confessions that the victims had no one to talk to. It is on this note I encourage that, trauma centers manned by seasoned psychologists, psychiatrists and sociotherapists be set up for counseling purposes.

Where government fails to set up trauma centers, communities and faith-based organizations should be active in providing care and counseling to members of single parenting household, out-of-job youths, drug addicts and rape victims, as this set forms the bulk of those with suicidal tendencies.

 

I grew up in a slum where every kid smells filthy, always smudged with mud, bullied by the bourgeoisie and feeds on crumbs and left-overs of the rich.

We ran around the streets with our tattered rags as clothes, some of us hawk pure water and buns for our poor mothers. We struggled to feed at the expense of our lives, and from our gloomy windows, we peered at the rich kids with their school bags hung on their backs seated comfortably in their parents luxurious cars with air conditioner, driving to school every morning. But all we could do was to watch behind our façade of misery and poverty.

A decade ago, I lost a close friend who was running in-between cars in the market looking for who to patronise his little pure water business. If the beast with 36 heads had cared for the homeless and helpless children, my friend would still be full of life today-- but we couldn't put up with the hunger anymore as our stomachs nagged, it got to a point where Chidera my best friend had to sneak behind a kiosk to steal some snacks, but unfortunately hell smirked at him as he was caught, ripped, whipped and beaten to death, after which they pushed a big tyre on his torso, bathed him with petrol and set him ablaze.

I reel when my fragile heart weeps whenever the horror scenery flashes my mind. I wish God would understand why he had to steal, forgive him and grant him a space in His kingdom. May his soul continue to rest in peace.

You don't know how it feels to hustle as a kid; running errands without getting anything in return while your stomach taut. Worst when you have a blind mother who always feels bad of herself for not being able to provide for her children. Then left with no other choice, you decides to steal and  feed your poor mother and baby brother. That was Chidera's predicament.

I can imagine how he must have felt when he saw heavy sticks all raised in the air and landing thunderously on him as he scurdled and folded himself in horror. Chidera was everything good; he was compassionate, he was smart, full of life and also brave. But because of a poor disorganized mentality of the hood triggered by the ugly beast with 36 heads, chidera was killed.

It's never a crime to be born poor; what I consider a crime is not having a compassionate heart. An orphan in the street once ran to a car I was in, stuck in traffic and without letting him to beg, I dipped my hand inside my pocket and squeezed some Naira notes in his hands. He was so happy that he kept thanking me over and over again, and I was at peace; I was very happy knowing I've made someone smile. But what the poor kid don't know is that I'm also from the street.

If only we can make the world a better place.

I know there are good wealthy souls out there, and if you're reading this, please lend a helping hand to the children in despair suffering in the streets whenever you can. Their only crime was to be born poor.

We might still be in the slum, but we see light at the end of the tunnel. And as the rich kids, we are also the leaders of tomorrow.

Cheers to the ones we've lost on the way!.

#Ikemefuna.

©️ London Lucky Talbot ✍️

 

Edith and Smith

The interfaith service was where I met Edith

Whom my heart yearned for continuously month after month

My love for Edith had caused a warpath

For trouble started by my loudmouth

I was not worthy to be her Beloveth

My heart had died a Megadeath

Having become an addict to Love whose heart receives debit alert all the time

Refusing to be credited even after the fourth year

Elizabeth a sister to Edith

Had requested I bequeath my love for Edith to her

For a goth she had become which was the aftermath of an unrequited love_

I have become stalwart for Edith is my beloveth

Loving her gave me strength

However her decision was swith without ruth

You are without worth she said

Her words had fed me hellbroth

Endangering my health

Sending me to a city of dearth

Why bring me to this labyrinth?

You have become a bandit who robbed me in the path of happiness

I am not a tinsmith

But a tint of your Love will do

I am not an ironsmith

My love for you is ironbound

I am not a jokesmith

My love for you is no joke

I am not a coppersmith

For I have become a copperhead of the North sympathizing with your heart of the South to end this war

I am not a wordsmith

Love has turned me to a wordmaker

I am not a songsmith

My love story has written the best song

I am not a tunesmith

My love will give you a lovely tune

I am not a silversmith

Love has made me silver-tongued

I am not a goldsmith

My love will give you what is more treasurable than gold

I am willing to swear an oath to the heaven and earth

To prove from the depth of my heart how limitless my love is

The path to Edith's heart isn't smooth and not the easiest

If the birth of my love will lead to my death

Draw out your sword from its sheath so I liveth not

For my soul is eternally your betroth

Am underneath the water

Begging to breathe in your love

We both know the truth

This is not a myth

Edith has turned me to a psychopath

My name is Smith

For I am not a smith who forges love

But willing to bath you with peace and cloth you with an eternal love

I am Smith

Who is smitten by Edith

My love is not pennyworth

But a growth of immeasurable wealth and faith

I am Smith

Willing to sacrifice my youth for Edith

©Victoriana precious Benson

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY FEAR.

Dear Fear,

 How have you been? I hope you are not still trying to reenter my kingdom because you have been dethroned and banished.

You know your atrocities, you know how much pain you have caused me, you have made me believe I am useless, you have made me believe I am a failure, you have belittled me, limited me and made nought my potentials before my eyes, you have made me a shadow of my original self, you invited your brothers inferiority complex, self doubt and low self esteem to join in tormenting me, you made me hide in the shell of "I can't do it" like a tortoise hiding from danger, you made my movement slow like a snail.

Helplessly, I allowed you rule cover me in tyranny, I allowed you dictate my progress, I allowed you restrict my potentials, I almost allow you turn me into a nonentity, I believed your lies, I saw you as a god, I worshipped, treasured and feared you, I allowed you make my thoughts suicidal, I couldn't do anything because you told me  I couldn't,  I allowed you commit more and more atrocities against me.

Subsequently, I went deep into the  shell of limitations, stagnancy and failure. I was continuously tormented by your brothers. I wallowed in self pity, unhappiness and conflict of the heart, mind and brain. I continuously believe everything you and your brothers told me. I seeked consolation from the hands of my diary, television and song  but it didn't suffice. I longed for freedom. I saw no future with you.

LIFE was the only thing you left with me. You thought that you have won and that you have rendered me completely useless. You thought there is no hope again for me, little did you know that " As long as a tree still has its root, it still have life". I started searching for redemption. I found salvation. Complete salvation!.  You have nothing but sorrow, limitations, failure and tears to offer me. I am sick and tired of it! I want freedom like a caged eagle released to sour high into the skies of success, perfection, fulfillment and achievement.

Therefore, I ban you and your brothers from my dome. I dethrone you and your brothers from my kingdom. Your ruler ship is over!
Your godship ends now! Complete believe has been  enthroned. I have a new king.  This new king has help me unlock my potential. Do well to send my regard to your brothers.

A LITTLE PRIDE

By Chinenye Ozoemena

A little pride isn't a crime, is it?
If you are a little puffed up, you will not be out of human being.
Being a little respectful to yourself will not kill you.

About three years ago, one of my mom's friends called me to help her create a Facebook account. While, I was creating it, her daughter of 10 or 11 years old said, 'I know Facebook, they use to use it and beg money and card', we laughed loud, especially because of the way she said it with happiness and passion. She went further to say, 'Aunty Osase them(her aunts)  use to do it'. Those sentences she made never left my head. Each time I remember it, I shake my head at how lowly, some ladies/girls/women have brought womanhood to.

The other time, few days to Christmas, I saw a post daring girls to make their hair with their money and leave their boyfriends. I was angry to say the least, I was infuriated, irritated  when I saw "Haha" emoji from some girls.

It is so wrong, very wrong and foolish to go about begging people for card or cash, especially if you are a lady It is not right one bit.

Why not make your money?
Why not work with your hands?
Why not use your potentials?
That voice, is it for fancy?
That cool dancing step nko?
Your brain nko?
Skills nko?

Don't you know your brain has a lot of space? What about filling that space? Make money! And spend it extravagantly if you like.

Asking from males is the most annoying part of the whole thing. You destroy your pride by doing that.
Babe, you have got to wear little pride.

Begging males for card or cash, puts you in a position of being asked for your maidenhead.

Darling, the guy(except for few) that sends you cards or money, sees it normal to ask you for your dignity as a woman. Some will try to emotionally blackmail you.

Come on!
Babe, you can do more than that nah.
You are given the vast universe to explore and satisfy. Please explore it and take dominion.

God didn't just give you earth to live but also to WORK and RULE OVER IT.

Carry yourself with pride and people will assist you carry you.

Hold you in esteem..
Walk with a little pride.
Be puffed up small.

Wake up

 By Chinenye Ozoemena

There was time, I felt useless.

There was a time, I felt I was a failure.

There was a time, I planned suicide.

There was a time, I ran away from people for fear of being rejected.

There was a time, I made Television, Writing and Music, my acquaintance.

There was a time, I dread stepping out the house.

There was a time, I felt a housewife is the only thing I am capable of being.

There was a time, I hated God.

There was a time, I would cry when sent on an errand, that takes me outside the house( you don't want to imagine).

There was a time, The doctor said, I carry  a lot of loads, whereas I don't but the heaviness of my heart constituted that load.

There was a time,  I was lonely.

There was a time, I was a liability.

There was a time, I was a failure.

There was a time, 'wetting my pillow' was a way of life.

There was a time, I was ruled by fear.

There was a time,  my best friend and all my friends left me.

There was a time, I ate tears, drank unhappiness and sharing a bed with pain.

I write this with tears in my eyes.
I have always wanted to tell people, especially young people, my story but it will have to wait for now.

I was fifteen when I realised, "Life is not a bed of roses but of thorns".
I was fifteen when I wanted to commit suicide.
I was fifteen when I concluded God does not exist.
I was fifteen when I went running into my shell.
I was fifteen when I started running away from people.
I was fifteen when I lost my radiant smile.
I was fifteen when I believed a housewife was my calling.
I was fifteen when I cut off any form of friendship.
I was fifteen when I became a shadow of my original self.

(If I continue, you will grow weary)

I am out of my shell now.

I was completely out of my shell.

The days of my tears is over.

It is now my time to rule the world.

I have the world at the tip of my finger.

I have not fully conquered but I am conquering.

Taking charge.

Filling the world with my presence.

Making sure I leave my footprint in the sand of time.

The world is mine!

Hey?!
You!
Yes, you.
Are you still dwelling in your pains?
Are you making impact? Have you concluded you are useless? Are you like me? Running from your shadow?
Come on! Face that fear, tell him, you are wiser, stronger and faster.

You were given this world to explore. There is nothing GOD didn't place under you. Make the most of it.

You are the captain of your life. Inferiority complex, fear, self-doubt, low self-esteem are your prisoners and not your lords.

Wake up! You have got everything  you need to be a success, right inside of you. You are to rule and take dominion over the earth.

Every great person you see or read about or heard about had a story, they lived in pain too, they had days when they felt completely useless, they experience those pains you are experiencing and even more. But they woken up and controlled it.

You are born for greatness.
Nothing limits you.
You are the only obstacle, you have
Wake up! And rule!
Stop the pity party and face the task ahead.
Walk pass the sorrow because when you  do, you see the victory.
Wake up! And conquer..
Wake up! And lead.
You are the captain of the ship of your life and not fear or self-doubt.

I have arrived!

By Chinenye Ozoemena

A disease more terrible than Corona virus, that has caused destruction in the lives of many honourable and reputable men and woman, In the lives of some "upcoming" great people and even in the lives of some pauper is what i call "I HAVE ARRIVED". It is very callous.

Let's use David as an instance.

David, a man after God's heart. God himself called David, "A man after my own heart".David, God's right hand man, felt "I have arrived" in 2sam 11:1.

Have you seen it?
No?!
Ok wait let me show you...AT THE TIME WHEN KINGS GO FORTH TO BATTLE, that David SENT Joab, and his servants with him, and all Israel; and they destroyed the children of Ammon, and besieged Rabbah. But David TARRIED still at Jerusalem..Do you see it?

David said within  himself, " I have  tried for God . Look at all the things  I have done for God.I have won so many battles. Even the big guns when it comes to battle are following me . Oh ,i have arrived!. Israel can count battles that I won for them? Let me rest! Joab and others will  fight.  God, understand.

That is it o!

David felt he had arrived.
David was not lying, was he?
Of course, David had arrived.
All the exploit he did made him worthy of "I have arrived".
He has worked for God from his youth.
He abstain from all unrighteousness and anything that stains the soul.
He followed after chastisement,and holiness.
God loved him and blessed his generation.
He  went about his duties without a wavering faith.
He saved God's people.
He hated what God hates.
He worship God with his heart, soul, body and spirit.
He was faithful to God and God's people.
He did justice uprightly.

And the list goes on... but the moment he felt he had arrived, doom consumed him. He fell into the hands of God. We all know it is a dreadful thing to fall into God's hands.

God cursed him in 2sam 12::10-12.
Uncle David, a man after God's  heart, was cursed of the Lord, his household with him.

If you go further, you would see how he was humiliated.
Whatever your achievement may be, however blessed you are; the moment you believe you have arrived, the moment you exalt yourself, the moment you are doing nothing to attain more height, the moment you feel you need not struggle again; your doom is surely hovering around.

You can never arrive!
You keep evolving!
You keep rebranding!
You never arrive!

When you achieve those dreams of yours, and do not improve them, get more dreams, you go in extinction.
You can never arrive! You can only continue arriving.

There is nothing like "I have arrived". You continue arriving.

APPRECIATE YOUR "YOU".

By Chinenye Ozoemena

We often feel God made a mistake creating us "us".
I was walking to a stall down the street with my stick sweet in my mouth...

Yes, you heard me right. I love stick sweets.

Me sef, I tire for me.

Funny enough, stick sweet is a source of "you can do it" to me.

Laugh, if e catch you.

Back to our talk.I was walking when I remembered adults ought not to walk around with stick sweets.

Fortunate for me, I am not an adult.

At 20, you are not an adult? Yes, I am not.
Those that know me in person can attest to the fact that "pikin" should have been my name. At times, while walking on the road, I will just jump or shout spontaneously before I remember adults ought not to do so.

 I am a "pikinadult".
That characteristic among others is what i hated about myself. I often try to behave maturely so as to be accepted by people. It only makes me uncomfortable in my own skin.

My height inclusive. There was a time I prayed in tears for God to reduce my height. I can not even wear heels; If I do, I will become the center of attention and I hated it.

My melancholic nature too; I was and am too shy, I can not talk in a company of three, except I am very fond of the group(I'm better now sha). Whenever we had visitors in the house, I would remain inside the room until they left.

Also, my long neck; some people had called me to ridiculously ask why neck is long.

My walking steps too; it is, people say, "shakaralous"

My slender body; I wanted to be a little fat.

My childish voice; my voice is immature, making some people treat me like a child.

I also hated the fact that I have not gotten admission into the university.

I smile a lot. It gets some people irritated.

The list goes on.
I hated a lot of features about myself. I never appreciated my body, voice, personality and so on. I questioned God.
There were times I concluded God made a mistake creating me "me".

I had a lot of "I wish".

As I walked down that street with my stick sweet, I reminisced on the negative effect this hatred had on me. It dawn on me that I was only looking at it from a negative angle.

You know what?...
My childish nature, i have realised, helped me make friends. Make me feel my skin. Made me easily befriend children. I feel complete behaving like that.

My smiling face, improved my business.
I have seen people that what they need for that day is your smile, then they are all smiles. I am glad I have that contagious smile.

My height and physique, gotten the admiration of ladies and men alike. I have heard comment like "model go fit you", "I like this your height", " I wish say I tall like you". This is the body I hated o.

My melancholic temperament taught me how to read, imagine, and write. I have been able to create pictures in my head, think deep, and build a strong wall of imagination as a result of my solitude. This birthed this writer you see now.

I discovered I am better than so many "so-called" graduates. I remember going for interview in a company and also a school, where my application letter was requested. I presented it but was surprise when I saw the surprising looks on the interviewers faces. They became skeptical, doubting my academic attainment. "Are you sure it is only secondary school you went to?", this particular question built my self-esteem.

A friend told me, "'when I heard your voice, I thought you are the "anything goes" type but when I came close, i found that anything does not actually go'.  My voice is deceptive. I love that!

If I walk for you ehh? You will think I am contesting for a beauty pageant. Brothers and sisters, that is my walking step. Why should I hate it?

While licking my stick sweet, I came to the conclusion, I was not appreciative at all. These are wonderful things about me, why then was I questioning God? Why do I have to be ashamed of licking my stick sweet? Huh? I was only trying to fit into people's creame de la creame. You need not like me and my "me". It is my "me" not your "me". I can never be you.

PS: Learn to appreciate your "you". Until you do that nobody will accept and appreciate you.

You must love yourself for people to love you.

Awhile ago, Biggie assembled all of the housemates to the lounge and as the usual whenever one of them errs, a video of their misbehaviour is played for the rest of the housemate to watch.

All the happenings of Erica’s misbehaviour last night was played for the rest of the housemate to watch which was much to each and every one of them’s surprise… and Erica too could be seen wearing a disappointed look.

These videos made rounds on the internet later today and viewers pushed for the disqualification of the actress, which occurred just moments ago as Big Brother announced it.

Erica's disqualification became inevitable as she already had two strikes from Big Brother and a final warning. However ,her whole misbehavior after yesterday party served as a catalyst for her disqualification as big brother can't entertain such anymore.

Erica is now out of the Big Brother game and has missed her chance of winning the grand prize of 85million Naira, having found guilty of breaking the  house rules and for disregarding the entire house.

On the other hand, Neo was also issued a strong warning for being an obstacle to a fellow housemate which was an infringement to Big Brother house’s rules.