Ruined

Dorcas was looking at the world from the window of her room. She sat quietly on the wooden bench, pondering over her life.  She was heartbroken. She watched as the world moved by. People walked up and down the street. Moving cars revved up and down too, the sound of the angry honking of horns, dead to her hearing. She feared that soon, hardship would yank life out of her. When she looked into the sea of pedestrians, she wondered if any of them had tasted her bitter experience called life. 

She turned her gaze into her room. Her eyes swept through the room. At one corner, was a  thin and worn out mattress laid on the cemented floor. Beside the mattress was a small wooden table. On top of the table was a pile of papers and a small mirror that leaned on the greasy wall. There was also a moulded pot of water in the other corner. She drank from it. The wooden centre table had lost a leg, to which she had used a stool to prod, to keep it from toppling. 

She stood up and made for a ‘Ghana must go’ bag. The bag sat closer to the pot. She tugged out of it; a yellow gown which had seen better days. She was getting ready to move out. Every day was just another she would go hunting for two things –a menial job and John. She would go out with high hopes, that one day, she would find any of the two. She had prayed and fasted. Her first prayer point had been to see John again. John was the man who crawled into her life like a snail. The man who shook his head in pity when he learnt that she was an orphan. The man who had promised to fight by her side. The man who had promised to love her, come rain, come shine. The man who was a wolf in sheep's clothing. She should have known that he was a bag full of lies. She should have known that he was a gold digger, who had come to fleece her and make away with all her life savings. But she thought she had found an undying love in John. 

She would never forget the particular day the manager of the Five Star Hotel she had worked for, called her to his office. She stood a few meters away from the gigantic desk. Her hands clasped loosely just above her knees. The manager scowled at her,  

“Here is your termination letter." 

He stretched his sturdy hand to offer her the white envelop. She froze at the spot as she felt her heart slam against her chest and her legs dissolve under her. Her mouth dropped, but had no words to speak. She knew what to say, but her lips had lost the ability to move. She knew her offenses, even though she had lost count of the times she repeated them.  She remembered those times she was absent from work. John had fallen sick and needed her care. She remembered borrowing money from the hotel which she requested be deducted from her salary when she was due for payment. She felt clearing John’s debt would bring back his charming smiles. The company had had enough. She had to be relieved of her duties. After all, no one was irreplaceable. The company would always find a person as hardworking as Dorcas but not as nonchalant as she was.  

She came back home that day in a somber mood. She met another white envelop on the table. It contained a letter and the content tore what was left of her broken heart. John had written it. Dorcas dropped the letter when she had gained the knowledge that the rent of the two-room apartment had expired and that their relationship was over. 

From that day, Dorcas would roam up and down the small town, walking in and out of restaurants, applying for the post of a waitress, in her yellow gown, without any luck. When the day turned into night, she would crawl back to the dingy apartment with cracked windows. She had harbored and nurtured curses that she would like to rain down on John. She wanted to hurl the curses while he stood and looked into her eyes. That way it would be more effective, so she thought. 

And it came that day. It was a stretchy day. The clouds had parted and the sun had decided to make its appearance. The scorching heat was ripping Dorcas' back as she ambled out of this restaurant. As usual, her request had been turned down. The creases on her face had burrowed into a frown as her flip-flops tapped away on the coal tar. She was about hitting into the street when she stopped on her track as she heard what the manager of the restaurant had said. 

“Who would like to patronize me if I employ an old woman of 35yrs as the waitress?”

Some part of her wanted to go back and tell the manager that she was only but 25yrs. But when she saw her reflection on the glassy window, she stifled the urge. She saw the wrinkles hardship had left on her face. It was enough to have added 10yrs to her age.  

She turned and made a few strides away before she stopped. She struggled to steer clear of the trailing prado SUV, which pulled to a stop some feet behind her. The man that came down seemed to recognize her. He fixed his gaze on her face as he walked up to her, followed closely by a pregnant lady who came down from the passenger's side of the car. Dorcas jaw dropped as she finally recognized the face. She stood transfixed for some seconda. Her heart melted into her stomach and in no time, her eyes filled up with tears. She shook her head and tears flowed profusely coursing her cheeks. Now was the perfect time to rain the curses on him. But her eyes kept sweeping from John to the pregnant woman and back to John. She shook her head again and more sobbed silently.

John raised his dropped head to glance at her face. His hands reached to grab Dorcas’ hands. But she recoiled in disgust and retracted her hands. She ran blindly into the road to make a cross, in a bid to get as far away from Johnas possible. There was an oncoming vehicle. It was too late by the time she saw it. A sharp scream pierced the air. It took some split seconds for Dorcas to realize the cream was coming from the pregnant woman. John’s hand rose to cover his dropped jaw. The oncoming vehicle, in its full velocity, decked Dorcas, sending her flying into the air, and she came crashing onto the jagged edges of the gutter with her head first, bursting like a watermelon. Her brain registered in a faint blur, the image of John rushing towards her, shortly before her eyes closed and her life slowly fizzled out.

By Chukwuebuka Harrison 

Shackles

Kate hated the idea of marriage. She had seen marriage for what she thought it was; hell. For her, marriage was synonymous with ceramic plates. They get shattered into shreds when they fall from a height. She also knew this about marriage – it always started like a sweet gentle breeze, but in no time, grow bitter like a lemon.

As she sat on the cemented floor, her heart filled with sadness, she knew that the hull of her marriage had hit an iceberg. In her muffled cries, she could still feel the draft, slipping through the windows. She paid little or no attention to the cold since it couldn't be helped. With her hands and legs tied, she couldn't possibly have done anything. She thought of ways to escape, but in the end, her mind sank into despair; stark empty as the room itself, with a musky scent of abandonment. 

A shuffle in the hallway broke the long silence. Her pupils dilated, as she struggled furiously her screams muffled by the thick gag around her mouth. She felt a pang of fear rising in her heart and her ribs rose and fell in quick successions. She knew it was about to happen. Death was just some centimetres away from the door.

She knew how it would all end. Her husband would march in with men dressed in red robes. On his order, they would carry her to an unknown location. They would slit her throat on their secret altar. After that, they would heave a sigh of relief because the eyes that have seen and the tongue that would have exposed their secret would be no more. She would cease to be a threat to them.

Kate cringed at this thought. She regretted the fateful night –when she had unknowingly let out a terrified scream upon discovering the dark secret. It was indeed a night she would never forget. It was the night she was scrubbing the room he forbade her to enter. That night, she saw a lifeless woman in the wardrobe. The woman stood erect like an effigy. She was dressed in a white robe and red, blood streaks coursed the insides of the wardrobe. The dead woman's hollow eyes stared blankly at Kate and the skin on her cheek sunk deep into the bones. Kate had screamed some more and her had husband appeared.  

A chubby man whose upper lips bore a dense moustache. His head nearly went bald, save for the thin line of hair that spanned the edges. 

She shook her head with the intention to stifle the thought, but it was only replaced with another. Her mother's voice came alive to her ears. It broke through the deathly silence that reigned in the room.  

“A man like that is every woman's dream,” her mother’s voice rang, “God forbid. You will not bring shame to this family,” she continued, a designer lace fabric Kate’s suitor had bought for her swung across her left shoulder. 

Kate sneered as she sprang from the small wooden bench to stand akimbo. 

Her mother’s hand rose to face her, brandishing a fat black key. “Just to ask your hand in marriage and we own a Prado SUV already,” she paused a bit as if she was choosing her words “you have rejected a good number of suitors and that's enough. I will not allow it this time,” an edge of anger in her voice.  

What started as a shuffle birthed tons of thumping steps. They knocked Kate off her thoughts. The louder the thumping steps, the clearer Kate could picture her death. She was married off to a ritualist. It would have been better if she was married to a wife batterer. Her parent's house would have beckoned and she would have answered. More tears rolled down her cheeks.  

She gazed at the greasy walls with a frown. How she wished the walls had a mouth to swallow her and at least hide her from the impending doom. Her fear grew once again. She sought invisibility. She wished for nothing, but to stay alive. She could feel the cold hands of death. Her transition to the other side of life was just a stone throw. 

With the jangling of keys and the fitting of one into its hole, the door creaked open. She felt her heart jump into her stomach. With what her eyes met, a crease of confusion formed on her face. The men that trooped in were not on red robes but a khaki uniform. She recognized the man that appeared to be apprehended as her husband. Lines of blood trickled from his head into his black pants. His bare chest displayed dense hair which had been forced to lay down by the caked blood.  

Her eyes swelled with hope as her hands and legs got loosened. 

A huge man offered a hand and she rose to her feet. She was going to say thank you, but heard her tongue asked, “Please, how did you find me?” 

Her question was met with silence, but a gentle smile appeared on her face on seeing Ikay; the gateman. He was smiling sheepishly in the green T-shirt Kate had bought for him some days back. The small device in his hand had triggered Kate’s smile. It was a voice recorder Kate had once gifted him.

By Chukwuebuka Harrison

The Servitude Called NYSC

In submission I yielded to the clarion call,

You clothed me in drills and labour

The rigour akin to the harsh whip of our slave masters.

Soldiers, camp commandant, platoon officers

All made me weep in regret.

I was issued a meal ticket

Malnourished from food with sparse ingredients

Food meant for prisoners on death row

Perhaps, even, bad enough to wake the dead.

My settlement was a beehive of activities;

Filled with people; teaching, smoking and lounging.

I took solace in the body of village girls

Randomly occupying the honeypot between their legs.

What a pity !

I also sought satisfaction in the bosoms of local girls.

As I agonized that I wasted my time and energy on meaningless tasks,

Like birds beating their wings,

Against the bars of a cage, in a struggle for freedom.

In the end, I was greeted with a paper;

My name was stamped boldly on it

It resembled a certificate

Which signified my freedom

From the chains of modern slavery.

I took it with mixed feelings

Danced away my sorrows into the winds

Filled with happiness, freedom and prospects.

Even the musicians dropped their instruments

To applaud.

By Adetayo Omotoyosi Adeolu
 omotoyorsiiadeolu@gmail.com

To My Unborn Children

Dear Obianuju and Wemimo, 

I know you really want to come into this world, but I do not want you to suffer for my wrongs. I see friends having fun, from having fun they break up, I don't want such for myself. 


See I am trying to build a life for you and the woman I will call my wife. I know someday I will be a father, I am sure by then your mother will be ready. 

Dear Obianuju, you are a girl do not join the class of slay queens, you should make sure you slay academically, financially, morally, mentally and spiritually. Do not sell your body to any man, respect your body as a temple of God. There is still pride in virginity, free your mind from those charlatans who see virginity as nothing but old and not a cherished virtue. 

Obianuju, I promise to get you a good mother, who will bring you up in a Godly way. A mother, who will guide you spiritually and teach you all you need to know about your Creator.

Please discard anything that has to do with tribalism and ethnicity. Always see every other individual as you see yourself. I have been a victim of tribalism, do away with that. Treat every other person you meet based on the content of their character and not where they come from. Settle down and build a family with the man who understands you very well. Don't be an housewife, be a career woman, do not join 'all those feminist' people.

I did not give you a Yoruba name because I married from another tribe- IGBO. Remember, I told you to do away with tribalism.

Dear Wemimo, the man of the house, I hope you will uphold the integrity I have struggled so hard to gather for my name.

Please always treat the female gender with respect and love, under no circumstances should you lay your hands on any female...or anybody for that matter. If you have feelings for any woman, express yourself honourably to her. If she accepts, FINE, If not, please MOVE ON. Do not force yourself on any woman. I am not a rapist, neither are you.

Education is the best legacy, take your education very seriously. Do not rely on just certificates, create time to develop yourself. Adapt yourself to every new change in the world, acquire every skill that interests you, embrace knowledge, learning never ends.

The place of God in your life is so important, however make sure you have a personal encounter with your creator. Do not let all these 'gods-of-men' that call themselves 'Men-Of-God' deceive you. Use your instincts to discern the true ones among them.

Wemimo, you might not be strict like me, but do not let people take advantage of you. I am a philosopher and I can tell you that patience is everything. Sometimes things will be tough, sometimes it will be smooth, you must keep moving. Have confidence in yourself and never allow anybody belittle or put you down.

Finally, prepare yourself for the future and marriage. Work towards perfecting your life and your marriage. As a rule I followed, marry only one wife, do not exceed that. I wish you grace to solve problems, surmount challenges and be a conqueror. 

You are the greatest my dear son.

By Adetayo Omotoyosi Adeolu
 omotoyorsiiadeolu@gmail.com

The Lonely Man

My heart is made of shattered glasses
In which I drenched my loneliness
Ready to cut you in pieces
With the rage of celibacy

Sometimes my shadow
Becomes my only companion
In it, I see myself clearly
Hanging on to the wallow

I once watched at a glance
In my dream, I poured a libation
Swimming across the ocean
And gathering pawn at dawn

Sometimes I don't know
If I should blame Maa'mi
Or blame Baa'mi
That I am alone
Like bank notes in a vault

I met a Miss
She blew me a kiss
But I took the drug of sorrow
And hid in the sands of time

Love is a drug
Sold by those whose hearts are made of stones, 
ready to break my heart made of glasses
Traded on the stock of loneliness

Maa'mi says time will heal me
She told a beautiful lie
The type pitted cities against each other
As the clock stopped ticking

Maa'mi told me to live freely
Like a rich man's offspring
Because soon and very soon
God shall be without a faith

But the world dies abruptly
And with it, my melancholy.

By Adetayo Omotoyosi Adeolu
 omotoyorsiiadeolu@gmail.com