Sister Vanilla

 

The sisters from Our Lady of Fatima convent walked into the church shortly before benediction began. Sister Vanilla was a novitiate and a young beautiful one at that. I call her Vanilla because she scented of vanilla. Unlike the other sisters who were frocked in the traditional habit, Sister Vanilla and four others were garbed in a dowdy white shirt and an ill-fitting dark skirt which was gathered at the waist – the uniform of novitiates I reckon. But no amount of hideous clothing could’ve concealed Sister Vanilla’s true beauty. The outlines of her hips and full bum kind of managed to show despite the skirt and the extra extra-large blouse couldn’t screen her enormously endowed bust. She’d a face that could hold anyone’s gaze a second or two longer than necessary and a figure that could get the beholder to think things; those things.

My heart rose and fell when Sister Vanilla stopped next to the row where I sat engrossed in wondering thoughts and asked if she could join me. Sure why not? I could even give up my space for her. But the church wasn’t filled and such display of chivalry was uncalled for.

Sister Vanilla sat next to me and my tummy swarm with butterflies. Throughout benediction, I thought of nothing else but how closely I was sitting to the world’s most fetching sister. Her voice was as lovely as her face and when she chanted those Latin hymns, she sounded like Lark the song bird. I’d no hymn book so we shared hers. We shared her prayer book and bible too. But I’d my own bible.

Was Sister Vanilla feeling the same way I was feeling sitting next to her? Was I having the same effect on her like she was having on me? Most certainly! Else why did she choose to sit next to me of all the spaces in the church? Why didn’t she stick with her fellow Sisters?  She was developing a thing for me, I was sure and I felt duty bound to tell her the feeling was mutual. I’d walk right up to her after benediction and tell her I feel the whole world about her. She would tell me she’d been waiting for me to say that all her life. We would hug and kiss and tears would spill down our cheeks then I’d slip a ring on the middle finger of her left hand. Two weeks later we would wed in the same church and my! I’d save her the sorrows of living a celibate life.

When benediction was over, Sister Vanilla joined her Sister friends once again. I’d hesitated about telling her how I felt about her when I’d the chance, now it was kind of late for presently she and the other sisters were waiting for the mother superior by the bus which would convey them back to the convent. A seminarian joined the sisters by the bus and was making small talk. He must have said something funny for the sisters all burst out laughing. Sod him! It should’ve been me, see? I was watching the sisters from a distance but I can swear Sister Vanilla was giving the seminarian ‘the eye.’ Or was I just imagining things? Perhaps it was me she was giving ‘the eye’ after all. But I won’t know; I was far off.

The moment I summoned the courage to walk up to the gay Sisters and request an audience with Sister Vanilla was the same moment mother superior chose to show up. Soon enough, she was behind the wheel and before long the bus cranked into life. The mirthful sisters waved gaily at the seminarian, then boarded the bus. I watched heart brokenly as the bus drove pass me; out of my sight. Why was I thinking of Sister Vanilla after all? I should’ve known she was already taken – God sure takes the good ones.

© Pever X 2012. All rights reserved.

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Beans

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Papa is a bloody cop. The Police Band is his life. Mama
left because he loved the band more than her. Now I’m
stuck with him. The judge thought it will be best for me
– I’m worse for it.
Today is school day but Papa whisks me along to the
County Jail, wants me to watch the band play for the
Police Chief, who is visiting. He didn’t bother about
breakfast. Rather spoke to the jail cooks who served
me this horrible beans when I complained of hunger.
Can’t wait to see Papa play. There’s devil beans in his french horn.

Oteri

 

Orteri used to live on our street. He loved singing. After High school, he grew dreads, bought a guitar and set out to pursue his musical dreams. He couldn’t be convinced to study further, get a college degree and a decent job.

Sometimes, especially when Orteri perfected a song, he would go from house to house and play for anyone who would listen. His songs were very nice and each time he strummed his guitar and sang along in his rich baritone, there was always a look of satisfaction on his face and a smile that always lurked at the corners of his lips.

Other times he wouldn’t sing, but just talk about his music and how close he is to hooking a big deal. He would talk about starting a band and becoming popular like Cool and The Gang. He was always positive.

Fifteen years later, Orteri wasn’t anywhere close to realising his dreams. No deal was in sight. He infact started a band, which didn’t last long enough to make any impact. He now plays at the Ritz, one of the bars downtown. Its not a big affair but he makes money enough to buy his meals and change his clothes and guitar strings. He still wears that smile on his face whenever he plays. Twenty years after, he still would. He is working his dream, he is happy. That’s all that matters to him.

My Traffic Warden

The innocence of her face was what struck me the
first time I saw her. She was dark and her eyes were
sad. She didn’t exactly look sad but she didn’t
exactly look happy and groovy either. She was a
Police Officer; a traffic warden. Every day, I will spend
hours at Tara junction just to watch her face as she
commandeered traffic. She was beautiful and looked
smart in her black uniform. Sometimes I noticed fear
besides sadness in her eyes. But her beauty had a
way of trifling those sore emotions mirrored in her
eyes. Every night I will dream I and the traffic warden
are walking down the aisle, only to wake up to the
futility of it all. Then I will walk to Tara junction yet
again and there I will see my traffic warden in all her
regal beauty and splendour.
She wasn’t there when I came to Tara junction
yesterday. I reckoned she was moved to another
station. I vowed to find her anywhere she has been
moved to on the face of this planet.
This morning, I am watching the news and the
newscaster is reading out a sad story of a lady
beheaded in her apartment two days back. Then the
picture of the unfortunate lady comes up on screen.
It is my traffic warden.
Pever X 2013 (All rights reserved)

Memoirs Of Sokoto I

stock-photo-vintage-vertical-photo-of-a-hand-of-a-man-writing-in-a-diary-with-a-fountain-pen-24108307FARUFARU
“Farufaru” was how I pronounced Farfaru. It makes me chuckle ceaselessly now; my great expectations. In my visualizations before I got to camp, GTC Farfaru was a grand and impressive orientation camp with stately ultramodern buildings and facilities and not one grubby helluva place with tons of flies, terrible pit toilets already brimming with shit and make shift bathrooms. Christ, it was so demeaning to have to do the essential part of your toilet in the full glare of all and sundry, even the girls did it.
At this rate, camp would have been loads of fun for guys who had no compunctions about peeping. Just imagine watching all those cuties strip and wash like in the movies. I personally had no qualms with putting scruples behind me and becoming a peeping Tom. But the gentlemen corps members were admonishing for bathing outside rather than in the muddy, dirty, makeshift bathrooms, sadly they stopped. Whatever was the camp director’s problem with ladies being so generous? “Busy body”, “I Too Know,”Shey?
Cutting short the peeping fun was ominous, an augury that camp wouldn’t be heaps of fun and so it turned out to be. Despite so, I was determined to salvage the tedium of camp. That was when I began to seek the company of pretties. But it was a pretty dumb move in itself I must say because those girls were bent on debiting my pocket money, transport allawe, bicycle allawe and federal allawe. Haba, what will I have again chikita’s when fried rice and chicken was going to empty my pocket.
As a sharp guy, it wasn’t long before I sensed my wrong move and locked up. Many guys got smart like me. So the chicks that would rather die from ulcers than spend their own money to buy fried rice and chicken began to hustle food from the kitchen together with the impecunious guys. You won’t believe it cos it may not happen elsewhere but it happened in Farfaru. Trust me the girls pushed guys – I don’t mean small guys like me, I’m talking of huge and powerfully built guys – out of the queue to get their meals.
Man O’ War training was little fun compared to parade, especially when something funny happened. There was this day I laughed until my sides ached. A girl was climbing Jacob’s ladder when we heard “praaaah.” I thought she farted but no, it was her trousers torn at the groin, along the seam. It was hot so she wore no undies and we all saw it, dark and all… God she was horribly mortified. She would have been saved this shame if NYSC doesn’t go for inferior kits after collecting seventy five thousand naira for each one.
On the day of endurance trek I got a girl without buying the requisite fried rice and chicken. In fact, Linda bought things for me that day for a change: Gala, Coke, Fanta awara and all. All I did was encircle the small of her back with my arm as we trudged along to steady her because she was so exhausted. Sometimes I allowed my arm to wonder even beyond her waistline, savoring the sensual feel of her wide hips and mind boggling butt, all in the name of steadying her. She didn’t complain, was rather thankful and I kept up with my game, rest assured I would see the fruitful end of it. But no; Linda didn’t recognize me afterwards. I no carry last sha. As a sharp guy, I had done quite some touching at the right places. Sometimes I threw my arm across her shoulders and guess where my hand rested; on her chest. Sometimes it probed the soft orbs there on. That’s enough for my trouble aint it?
Finally, camp came to an end. It wasn’t loads of fun like I had come expecting but I was yet to face something real remote from fun. It was when our posting letters arrived. Kebbe was the local government I was posted to – the end of Sokoto State. But my PPA wasn’t even in Kebbe headquarters. It was in Kuchi, a good one hour and half drive from Kebbe, approximately three hours’ drive from Sokoto town. Kuchi is situated in the heart of Kebbi state and I would later discover to my horror that it is the home of snakes; you can call it Snake Island.

© Pever X 2012. All rights reserved.

Lettered For The Other Me

Angom

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lettered For The Other Me:
By Major R. T. Agee

Broken, shattered, joy cloys.

Forced, out, defaced, smiles vex!

They scatter, you gather, on and on…

Angom you make my laugh happy!

On the deep of a tidal mind joy buoys.

Thus i swear! to make your vex smile

For together,my brother,on and on,

We will share many happy laughs!

[*Angom-my brother]
Agee Tertsegha{2012}

Memoirs Of Sokoto II

diary

New Year Resolutions of a Sokoto Corps Member.

Okay, I won’t be talking of the snake in Kuchi. I’ve had no recent rendezvous in Gidan Baki so needless to bore you with what you already know. As for that brother of mine from the other mother who calls himself Jeff or is it Eugene? He isn’t worth sparing a cursory look for the queer write up which apparently alluded to me. He’s got a cheek alright, as well as the lips and lips do nothing but flap.
We really enjoyed Christmas in Kuchi. You guys missed out on the imaginary fried rice, chicken and salad we ate that day as well as the beer we drank in our dreams.
But I believe you enjoyed yourselve sat home too. And when you were having nice times, I guess it never crossed your minds you’d have to return to the humdrum of Kuchi. Well, here you are, back with us again. For the Batch B’s, you better not be feeling like a batch A cos you’ve got five grim and dreary months to spend in this helluva place with the snakes.
Oh I’ve forgotten I promised not to say a word about the snakes and yes Gidan Baki. But wait, have you seen the fair one since she returned? You’d be stunned. The break did her tons of good; she is looking radiant. Did you see her coiffure? Now you would agree I’m a real guy, spending tons of my local allawe on my heart throb, I’m not a skin flint. We spoke yesterday; I mean the fair one and me. She told me her New Year resolutions. Top most on the lengthy list was her resolve to love me even more than her Mama – I’m a lucky dude.
So what are your own resolutions? Some corpers said bollocks about saving and returning home with N 120,000. But I held my sides from laughter when one of the Batch A’s with just the requisite minimum balance of N 500 was thinking of going home with N 50,000. In just two months? Please don’t starve yourself to death o; ‘I no wan hiya sey.’
On a more serious note, I think some corps members are driving themselves too hard. You can’t hama during service year in a place like Kuchi with a niggardly allowance of N 15775, where at least N 6000 is on insha allahu basis.
You didn’t ask of my own New Year resolution. Simple; to do the things I used to do ten times more. So it means if I will love my girl – the fair one – ten times more and that guy I dislike, I will hate him ten times more. I will spend money on my girl ten times more and if I didn’t spend a dime on my home boys, then I won’t do it ten times more. Quite weird but those are my resolutions. Have you made yours? You have to cos resolutions make us better people. Access yourself, make a good resolution this year and stick to it like a leech would stick to its host. Observe it as though your very existence depends on it.
Lastly I think I owe you an explanation over our exodus from Asibiti. It’s not about the snakes like most of you think, I’m not scared in the least of our string-like friends and you all know it. I left to Gidan Baki cos that’s where love reigns supreme and rapture is unbounded.
Wishing Nkasi sound health and you my fellow corps members all you wish yourself this year 2010.

© Pever X 2012. All rights reserved.

Same Old Song

For the umpteenth time I saw her staring at me from where I sat at the choir stand, playing away on the keyboard with my nimble fingers which I think God created especially for the purpose of glorifying his exalted name.

Nedoo was worshipping with us for the first time I was most certain for she was the type that could be spotted among a million. I should’ve noticed if she’d worshipped with us even once. I couldn’t have missed those dark slit-like eyes that gazed at me under long lashes.

After service, Nedoo walked up to me, smiled expansively then introduced herself.

‘Kaun.’ I raised a hand to her and she shook it warmly, almost reverently.

‘You’re the musical director?’

‘Yes.’ I smiled smugly. ‘And today is your first time here, right?’

‘Right.’ Nedoo’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘Do you always know when someone is worshipping here for the first time? The congregation is fairly large.’

‘If that someone is pretty like you. Yes.’

‘I don’t know that, Kaun.’ Nedoo’s eyes shone brightly at the compliment.

‘Don’t tell me you’re hearing that for the first time.’

‘No I’m not. People tell me that all the time, but a Music Director has never been one of them.’

I grinned broadly. Nedoo wasn’t only pretty, she was smart like hell.

‘So what brings Nedoo before the Music Director?

‘Nedoo wants to join the church choir, please.’

My heart danced Swange at Nedoo’s request. What was she saying please for? I’d have said yes to anyone who asked to join the choir even if they couldn’t sing a note. As the Music Director of a not so big church, I couldn’t afford to be picky. But Nedoo’s voice was music itself, having her on the choir would be an asset.

Just within minutes of meeting for the first time, Nedoo and I began bantering like age old chums. I realized we’d quite in common. She was an avid reader, so was I. Both of us had the ear and voice for music, though hers was a mezzo soprano, mine a baritone. We were going to be fresh men in Bensu after a week or so. With this, I felt like I already knew Nedoo as much as I know me. I reckoned she felt the same way about me too because, though she didn’t as much as say so, her eyes did. They gleamed with affability and something akin to ardor.

Nedoo was different from all the other girls I’d encountered. When she looked at me, it wasn’t with the sympathetic eyes I’d by now become inured to. With her, I wasn’t just an invalid strapped to a wheelchair. I was a friend, a soul mate, a confidante and everything. I didn’t feel dependent and burdensome like I felt with others. Nedoo was ever ready to help and eager to please.

While with Nedoo I felt happy and larger than life itself, I couldn’t say same about her family. Thought the Hamation’s weren’t exactly uncivil, they lacked the warmth and affection possessed by Nedoo or was it just where I was concerned? Perhaps so, only I didn’t dwell much on this disheartening possibility.

Three years later we were in our final year and still an inseparable pair; always together, in school, in church, everywhere. The bond between us grew even stronger over the years and it seemed like our very existence depended on it.

Though I hadn’t popped the big question yet, everyone supposed I did and couldn’t wait for the big day. On the flip side of the coin, it was glaring to me Nedoo’s family didn’t share the same good wishes and it didn’t seem like they would give their blessing for the much anticipated union. This I was quite sure of. There were also those times I feared I was perhaps deluding myself about the possibility of getting hitched to Nedoo. She was a great friend, yes. But that may be all that there was to it.

I didn’t quite understand why Nedoo burst into tears when I eventually asked her to marry me a week before our finals. It was my birthday and we were having a quiet time together at my place. She’d been in high spirits until I proposed to her. Was that why she was crying? I tried to console her but like the Niobe, she refused to be consoled. It felt quite strange trying to make her feel better when I didn’t exactly know why she was crying in the first place. I was so perplexed she was crying. It would’ve made more sense if she’d rather hurled a truckload of invectives at me.

‘I need to go home,’ Nedoo said after having a good cry. But that wasn’t an answer to my question. She left me that night as befuddled as never before. Nedoo began to avoid me afterwards. A couple of times I arranged for us to meet but she rather stood me up. On Sunday, none of the Hamation’s was in church either. That was when it registered. So much for thinking love is magical.

© Pever X 2012. All rights reserved.

Tender Flames

thCAQPC9YJHe was a fiercely ambitious youngman, intent on making loads of money and breaking free from the tenacious clutch of want. He resented his papa, who was too contented for his liking, but his mama was his heroin; she was the antithesis of her husband.

Shana did nothing in life without stopping to consider whether or not it was a lucrative venture. His mama was from Eastern Nigeria, so his dogged quest for the bills wasn’t considered the least bit unusual. Shana could do anything for money except swindling, stealing and killing and that was because he was always careful not to allow his desire for money degenerate into avarice.

The youth corps member was a keen mind, smart, enterprising and perhaps cunning and handsome too. He appeared even more handsome in his slinky dark suit -which perfectly molded his well-built frame- as he waited in the marriage registry on Fodio road to be hitched up with chioma, a fellow corps member.

They first meet at the sokoto NYSC orientation camp Farufaru two months back.  What struck Shana about Chioma was not her beguiling beauty, not her curvaceous nubile body or her comely face. It was the simple fact that he saw a likeness of himself mirrored in her, that which drew him to her like metal to magnet.

It was quite easy for Shana and Chioma to get talking and become great friends as they were of like minds; both go-getters and very ambitious, neither of them interested in romance but okay with platonic relationships. It was while they were on camp that the idea of a phony marriage was bred and hatched.

Shana had been the one who suggested they fake marriage and receive the five hundred thousand naira grant the NYSC gave to serving corps members who get married during the service year. Chioma needed no prompting; she was already down with the idea even before Shana explained how they would go about executing it. They both agreed to do it discreetly. Neither of their families was to know until perhaps when the money was paid. Only few people witnessed this sham union. The marriage registrar, two witnesses picked from the street, two area inspectors of the NYSC and handful corps members.

When Chioma thought about the day of her wedding, it was always conducted in a splendorous cathedral, with huge stained glass windows, pretty frescoes by Michelangelo and life size sculptures by Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini and never once envisaged wedding in a cramped dusty court room, with broken window panes, a leaky roof and fans that never worked. She always pictured herself in a white gown, with fitting bodice and lace trimmings, but not her present ensemble – dowdy cream satin gown and a mismatched pair of stiletto. But the money involved was staggering, she could have wedded in rags, in a hole without qualms.

“The marriage isn’t a real one,” Chioma kept reminding herself. She could still live her life as she pleased. The only thing she was expected to do was to act married a few times and split five hundred thousand naira with her supposed husband, then divorce after a year or so. That was THE DEAL.

What Chioma didn’t anticipate was, she would have to act married most times because, she was reposted from her place of primary assignment in Kuchi, Kebbe local government area to Sokoto town shortly after their marriage and to the same school that was Shana’s place of Primary Assignment. The idea was to bring the newlywed together. They were both offered a furnished two room apartment by the school and the one room accommodation that had earlier been offered Shana was revoked, much to their chagrin.

At first Chioma insisted they shared the household chores but was soon to realize Shana was no good in that department. He couldn’t even cook an egg, not to mention sweeping, scrubbing, washing dusting and mopping. In the end, she resigned herself to doing the house keeping solo. Two hundred and fifty thousand naira was worth doing a lot for.

Shana had come to appreciate Chioma in many ways as they stay together. She wasn’t only dutiful, intelligent, smart, beautiful and charming. She was also a good cook and each day, he looked forward to her delectable meals.

As time dragged and they waited for the big money, Chioma and Shana found themselves spending loads of time with each other and enjoying it too. They played scrabble often, argued a few times and bantered tons, sometimes way into the middle of the night before retiring to their separate rooms to catch some Z’s

Day after day, Chioma realize she was less free to do as she pleased. She was the partying type but couldn’t attend parties anymore because Shana who wasn’t keen about partying, wouldn’t accompany her to any and she wasn’t about to go all by herself. The last time she did, he brooded for a week, refused to eat her meals and talked sparingly to her. During this time, their once cozy animated home became like a cemetery to her. She missed chit chatting with him, missed listening to his wise cracks and how he intended to spend his share of the money when they eventually get it.

Towards the end of the service year, Chioma and Shana became quite inseparable; always together and not because they were acting married couple. Fairies played ping pong in Shana’s head each time he saw Chioma talking with some other guy. Chioma fell ill anytime she noticed Shana was paying attention to some other girl. Once, Shana hit one too many bottles at the Mami market, got sufficiently high and slept out in a friend’s apartment close by and Chioma developed a huge migraine. She was rolling all over the bed when he returned the next day. He rushed her to the hospital and fussed over her until she was well again. He also secretly resolved never again to imbibe so much of the demon drink that would cause him to sleep out. He reckoned Chioma may need his support if she took ill at night again.

There were those times Shana stopped to think he was perhaps developing a thing for Chioma, but he always laughed it off as inane. That was until they received and split the deal money – a day after their passing out parade – and it was time to part ways. Shana didn’t want to see the last of Chioma and for thousandth time, wished their marriage wasn’t phony. But he was never going to mention this to her; how foolish it would make him seem.

Chioma was mirthlessly packing her bags when Shana reluctantly dragged his box into her room to bid her farewell or so.

“I’m done packing,” he announced.

“I’m almost there too.” Chioma didn’t look up from what she was doing as she spoke. She wasn’t about to let Shana see the Sadness in her eyes.

“Maybe our marriage should have been for real,” Shana blurted out after much hesitation. “Jeez! I’m I supposed to say that?” He slapped his head thoughtfully.

Instantly, Chioma stopped what she was doing and rising to her full height, stared at Shana with happy doubtful eyes. Her lips moved to say something, but she was at a loss as to what to say.

“Would you take your wife with you to Makurdi?” Chioma asked eventually, though she couldn’t believe she asked such a question and felt like kicking herself all over. She should have said something like “yeah maybe.”

Chioma’s question caused Shana’s heart to miss a beat. As he gazed into her face, the flaring passion in the depths of her coffee colored eyes found its way to his heart and that moment he realized she meant the whole world to him.

Shana surprised Chioma by closing the gap between them and clasping her in a hug like he would never let her go, for it felt so good to have her in his arms and surrounded by the warmth of her body.

“Let’s go right away,” Shana smirked.

“Not now dumb.” Chioma smacked Shana on the head playfully and they both cracked up. A moment later, they were billing and cooing and both wished that moment would last forever.

Four months later, Chioma and Shana are walking arm in arm, down the aisle to be hitched yet again, this time by a priest, at the behest of the bride’s churchy parents. It was in the splendorous Makurdi Catholic Cathedral, without frescoes, but stained glass windows and life size sculptures; not by Giovanni though. Chioma was gussied up in a white gown, with a fitting bodice, lace trimmings and a long train. Her groom was looking just the way she had always thought he would look.

© Pever X 2012. All rights reserved.

Dont Wake Me Up

The weather wasn’t nippy but Mama wouldn’t bath me with cold water, scared I might catch the cold.
After a warm bath, Mama swathed me in a large bath towel and continued tending to my toilet. She did my lustrous jet black hair into a hair ponytail, dressed me in a blue sequined frock and applied make up to my face. When Mama was through, she stood me away from her and smiled proudly. I could see love glowing in the very depths of her eyes and God! I felt so loved.
We breakfasted in the dining room and Mama’s cooking was as wont superlative.
After breakfast we said the grace after meals then I kissed and said me thanks to Mama like I’d been taught to do. I also patted her buldging tummy lightly and Mama smiled to the ends of the earth. Lately I’d been doing that quite a lot. Papa told me Mama’s tummy was buldging so because she had a bun in the oven. I felt like the luckiest kid in the world when I learnt I was going to have a sibling like most kids in the neigbourhood. I promised myself I’d love my kid brother even more than me – it was a brother I wanted more than anything – and would never spank him like my friends spanked their siblings. No matter how naughty he got, I vowed to remain a good big sister.
We hit the road as soon as the breakfast table was cleared and the plates cleaned. We rode in Papa’s Sport Utility Vehicle. Papa drove the SUV so fast he made us catch our breathe every now and again. Mama complained he was driving like a maniac, but I willed him to drive on even faster. We’re visiting Grandma and I was so excited. I could scarcely wait to throw myself into Grandma’s warm welcoming arms.
Grandma was a corpulent and bantering old widow who lived In a Villa at the foot of the Mkar hills. Grandma’s villa home always brimmed with fun loving uncles, aunts and cousins. I always looked forward to every visit to Grandma’s place because every one visit turned out better and more funfilled than the previous one.
I was Grandma’s favourite and she openly showed it. She pampered and showered me with heaps of love and gifts and called me Lambkin.
In mimicry of Grandma, Kaukan called me Lambkin too. Maybe that’s why he was my favourite cousin. Kaukan was about my age. He was tubby and impish but at the same time loads of fun to be with.
Kaukan was a ball of fire. We played from sun up to sun down; sometimes at the top of the Mkar hills, under the blazing sun, sometimes under the rain. Kaukan taught me how to play so many games. He knew a lot of things, sometimes I reckoned he knew everthing on the face of the palnet.
The cocks crow startled me out of dream-full sleep. Shoot! I’m an orphan at St. Xavier Orphanage.

© Pever X 2012. All rights reserved.

Flames

You said you didn’t want to go but Asa wouldn’t let you do that to yourself. He’d have dragged you to the party if that was what he’d to do. As your best friend, Asa knew you better than anyone else. He knew your heart was saying the reverse of what your lips were saying. He knew you badly wanted to be at Chika’s send forth party. Don’t deceive yourself he didn’t know of the ‘not sayings.’ Asa knew you didn’t want to see the last of Chika yet – not ever. But she was due to return to her home state the next day. He also knew you feared Chika would say no to you. No was an answer he knew you couldn’t handle.

Kamimi, you took a fancy to Corper Chika the very first day she started her primary assignment at the law firm. Every lawyer and paralegal at Pepe, Elsie & Associates (PEA) knew this.

You noticed Chika was very smart. You often worked cases together. You were bedazzled by her brains as much as you were with her looks. People often said you were meant for each other. Chika was fair with quite a body and the face of a goddess. Her eyes were the loveliest pair in the world.

That night, when you stepped into Old Barn Resort with Asa, the party was well on the way. It took him quite a while to convince you to come to the party with him despite it was what a better half of you wanted to do. You wore a dark suit, your tie was askew and your handsome face hardened into a scowl. Behind the scowl was nervous you.

You settled in a seat while Asa hit the crowded dance floor with Ivie his girlfriend.  They Jived to Cool and the Gang.

A waiter handed you a glass of sangria but did you as much as sip it? No. You had your eyes peeled for Chika. She was among the throng on the dance floor. She dressed elegantly in a cream tube dress and dark heels. A cross hung from a golden chain around her neck. In her ensemble, Chika was a sight for sore eyes. She always was. You winced when you saw her. It was a sudden pang of jealousy right? She was dancing in Dele’s arms. Dele is the rake from Civil Litigation. The ego bloated sap head considered himself God’s gift to ladies.

Suddenly you drained your glass of wine and signaled to the waitress for more. You wanted to get drunk right?

You were unto your third glass of wine and staring blankly at your shoes when the whiff of Miss Dior teased your olfactory nerve cells and a well-manicured hand dropped on your shoulder. You knew it was Chika; that was her cologne. She asked if you wanted a dance. You said nothing in reply. She took your silence for consent – that’s what they teach in Law School – and held out a hand to you. You drained what remained of your glass of wine then you were on your feet. You took Chika’s hand in yours and you both drifted to the dance floor.

As you began to waltz, Chika melted in your arms and the two of you became one. Your bodies moved in harmony, your hearts beat in one accord. When your eyes met, they said all the ‘not sayings.’ The smile on your faces told you both knew what you wanted.

© Pever X 2012. All rights reserved.