Before I carry out the instructions given to me by the infamous MadBastard I’d like to first apologise to my friend Tula. I thought this whole ‘taken’ thing was a joke. Thanks for not telling me…. how was I supposed to know what you were dealing with? *sigh* I’m sorry. I’m just a bit shaken up. I hope we can put this behind us when all this is over.

**********************************************************************************
From: madbastard@gmail.com
To: hexwhore@gmail.com
WE ARE WATCHING YOU
28 Sep 2011 11:57

Good day sir,

I noticed you seem to find pleasure in other people’s misery. I am pleased. Seems we have one thing in common. You have been chosen to deliver this message to TheToolsman via that pathetic excuse of a blog you run.

Go to your room. Check for T-shirt drawer and search for your Manchester United Jersey. You shall notice that the badge is missing. Check your underwear drawer, your pink flower-patterned boxer-shorts has a huge hole in its crotch. Failure to comply with our with my instructions will result in you loosing both your heart and your ‘member’. I jest not.

Now follow the following instructions carefully:

1) Open a new blogpost. Title it ‘Proof’.

2) Write a personal note to the TheToolsman apologizing for your insensitivity.

3) Paste a copy of this email below the apology.

4) Put up the attached picture of ‘her’ and post it at exactly 2:15pm.

5) Go to TheToolsman’s blog. Comment on Taken 3. Simply write: ‘Proof’ followed by the link to the blogpost then ‘the message below.

This message is for TheToolsman:

We have given you proof in good faith. Cross us again & we will not be so accommodating. You have 2hours to carry out the instructions delivered by ‘the Duck Lipped one’ yesterday. For every 30 minutes that lapses after the new deadline will result in a mutilation. We shall put up pictures of her severed body parts with clock work precision.

You have been warned.

Posted: September 28, 2011 in Uncategorized


I loved heR first you see.

Way before any of them even knew heR. I didn’t know it then, didn’t even understand the concept of love at that age, I’m not sure I fully grasp it now but I know this to be true.

I first met heR when I was ten.

A lost & lonely little boy. I met heR in my english class, I wasn’t even paying attention but the minute I saw heR I was hooked. Totally. Irreversibly. Undeniably. Hooked.

That was how this love affair began. It was innocent, it was deep, it was beautiful. ShE was the first person who took me seriously, the first to truly understand me. ShE was always there, even when I shut everyone else out. ShE loved me & I heR. I never told heR but I’m sure shE knew….even then.

We were soon parted, I went off to university and even though I tried to stay in touch we grew apart in time. I stopped writing, I lost heR. I didn’t even notice that shE was gone. That shE had walked out of my life completely, left without a trace.

I found her again back in 2010 I think; on blogsville of all places, while scrolling through some dude’s blogposts, Kelvin’s blog. We reconnected once more. Slowly at first, unsure if would last this time. So many words I couldn’t say, should have said but didn’t.

You see slim & I have always jumped in & out of each others lives. This time was different though, this time we were actually friends, confidants, mutual shrinks. She encouraged me to start writing again. Reminded me how good it felt to weave stories out of nothing and create something beautiful. She stoked the burning flames of passion in me till they consumed me.

I’m not here to explain to you why I love heR, or that I knew before others so I should have sole rights to heR heart. A lot of people fell in love with heR before me. I’m not even going to tell you about all the wonderful things we do together. Yes shE’s unfaithful, sharing heR gifts like Mrs. Santa Claus, giving it up for small doses of attention, but I don’t care.

I’m not jealous, I can share. I’ll never stop loving heR though, no matter what. So say what you like. Put all her lovers in a box and call us talent-less fools. I don’t care, nobody loves heR like I do. I’ll never leave her, not for a day.

I love wRiting.

______________________________________

(If you clicked on the link on KWAL’s blog then this little note is for you)

HAHAHA HEEEEDIOTS!!! Shey u wanted ‘inside scoop’ ni? Unfortunate perzins like u (Oloriburuku n’iyen). May your friends never sell you out for cheap publicity in Jesus name.

This post is dedicated to slim & kelvin. I love you guys but I’m tired of seeing your love life trending on twitter. 😛 Thanks for getting me to write again and introducing to other fascinating writers on blogsville. WordPress rocks yo!!!

FreshPrinz Out.

Posted: September 8, 2011 in Musings, Short Stories

Guilty

Posted: August 11, 2011 in Short Stories, Uncategorized

As written by BoukkieO:

He walked briskly on the pedestrian bridge, not that people would think anything was out of place if he ran, but he walked, like every other hasty passer-by on the streets of Oshodi. He got off the bridge and resisted the urge to run to the BRT bus stop, he settled for the brisk pace. He stopped in front of one of the vendors to get a ticket. Why was the guy this slow? He paid, snatched the ticket from the vendor -a move with left the vendor shouting “oga, take it easy na, haba!”- and hurriedly entered the bus. He couldn’t be bothered with the vendor. He made his way to the back of the bus and sat quietly in a corner. Now if the bus would just fill on time. He adjusted his baseball cap so it would hide more of his face, and looked down to see if the over-sized jacket was concealing his shirt. Ah, people were entering the bus now. He needed to appear normal, so he turned his face to the window, the view that greeted him brought a sad smile to his face; the hawkers, with trays of ‘robo’ and ‘dodokire’, pure, poor and bottled water, advertising their wares at the top of their lungs, the muffled voices of men over PASs calling out destinations: “Obanlende! Yaba, Obalende!”. Half-filled buses with passengers either fanning themselves or dozing, middle aged women selling ‘paraga’ (local gin) in the corners, hairdressers way-laying young ladies, begging to make their hair, making promises of expertise and quality. The garage touts harassing drivers with weed – deepened voices: “oga, oya now, e fun mi l’owo”, the cars and buses driving past at top speed and the scared pedestrians running as far as their legs could carry them across the street. These people had freedom, they had lives. He didn’t, not anymore, he wouldn’t, never again. He still couldn’t explain what possessed him. As the bus started moving, he put his mind on replay.

In his mind’s eye he pictured huge frame that housed their wedding picture; they were all smiles and hopeful eyes. They had been the perfect couple then, crazy in love, resolute in their believe that love would be enough. No one would’ve thought that two years later, their marriage would be in the deplorable state that it was. He was once in love with her, madly even, but somehow, resentment had set in. Was it because she had a job and he didn’t? Even when he was working, she earned more than he did, and consequently, she paid most of the bills.

They had disagreements more often since he lost his job. In fact, these days, their disagreements often lead to fights. It never mattered who was right and who was wrong, no one ever backed down. She’d hit him first, he’d hit her first; it didn’t matter, he would beat her black and blue. He admired her way with make-up though, a lot of things a little powder and lipstick can conceal. He smiled sadly and turned to get a bottle of Vodka, that had been his repose lately. The colorless liquid made him forget his sorrows and float in mid-air. He remembered their last fight. He had gone out the previous night to blow some of the money he took from the account she opened for Pelumi, their beautiful one-year old. The child was the only thing that could bring some semblance of a smile to his face these days. But she was at his parents’ so things were not smiling at all. Funny thing, Jane still wasn’t aware that he took the money. He came home that day drunk as hell. He had to leave his car at the bar and let his friend drive him home. She was waiting, sitting on the sofa with her eyes fixed on the screen, but she was seeing nothing. Immediately the doorbell rang, she jumped up and opened the door to a staggering, red-eyed husband.

“My God! Where have you been? What is this stench? I’ve been…”

“Please, stop the racket, I have a headache.”

“What is this now? You’ve never been this drunk, is it this bad? Is this what you’ve turned to?”

“I’ll tell you one more time; stop that noise” he said, raising a finger threateningly.

“Alcohol won’t help you! You best dust your papers and start looking for a job. Small thing now, you’ll be yelling that you’re the man of the house, what sort of man…”

Whack! A slap across the face, and then, wham! A blow, and then another…Her face was still bluish black and her cheek was slightly swollen when she went out that morning. He didn’t like beating her though, but usually felt better after he did.

So there he sat, drowning in the bottle and trying not to think of what to make of his life. She unlocked the door from outside and walked in with a bag of groceries. She dumped the bag on the ground and made her way towards him. Was he drunk or did she look angry? Oh well, he couldn’t be bothered.

“Deji! Deji! How dare you?”

Silence

“How could you withdraw money from Pelumi’s account without telling me? And what did you use the money for anyway? Still putting your signature on all the bars in Lagos or are you spending on women now? Have you added womanizing to your list of problems? What?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, besides, she’s my daughter, and whatever is hers is mine” he was glaring now.

“Yea, she’s your daughter alright; only thing is THAT’S MY FUCKING MONEY!! So because I made you a signatory you think you can just withdraw the money in the account?”

“Lower your voice or you’ll be sorry” he said deceptively calmly

“What will you do that you haven’t done before? Beat me up?” He walked away from her into the kitchen, trying to get away from her, from the noise. His head was already banging.

“Don’t you walk away from me, I’m talking to you!” she yelled, as she stomped after him

“Woman, leave me alone!” he barked, but she wasn’t deterred. She kept up the raving, ranting, name calling and finger pointing.

“Girl’s gonna turn out to be a slut like her mother anyways”. Thwack! A stinging slap across his face. “How dare you call me a slut, it’s your mother that’s the slut, do you hear? Your moth..”

In one fluid motion, his hand found the butcher’s knife lying on the kitchen counter and he plunged it into her, then he hacked, and cut. There were blood stains all over him but he didn’t see. He left the knife in her neck. Five minutes later, the blind rage and all traces of alcohol gone, he realized the magnitude of what he’d done, so he grabbed a jacket hanging over the kitchen door, and jumped out through the window.
He took the back gate out of the building, ran through bushes until he found the road and made his way to a bus stop.

The passenger sitting next to him was tapping him, forcing him back to the present, seemed like had been tapping him for quite some time. He shook himself out of his reverie and turned to face him.

“Bros, are you ok?”

He realized that a single tear had fallen down his cheek and he quickly wiped it.

“Where are we?”

“Ojota”

He got out of the bus, without answering the concerned passenger and entered the bus park. He had no specific destination in mind, until he heard “Kano, Kadun, Last bus!”

He entered the bus; he needed to get far, far away from what he did, far away from himself, far from the nightmare that was now his life.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

As some of your must have figured out already this story was actually inspired by real events. On the 24th of June this year a 30yr old man stabbed his wife to death. Why? Nobody knows. Stories like this one make me wonder why people stay in troubled marriages for that long. I’m not advocating for divorce but you have to admit that it’s a better option than suffering silently in an abusive marriage.

We’d love to hear your comments on this story and your opinions on abusive relationships in general and the issue of divorce. Thanks.

Awero 2

Posted: August 5, 2011 in Short Stories

First of all I’d like to congratulate Ms. Funke Osisami for winning on our challenge from yesterday. MallamSaywerr should have probably won based on his theory BUT he’s a ‘friend-of-the-house’ & as such was disqualified (sorry femi). Now, moving on to today’s story, here’s Alero 2, the final story by @BoukkieO.
______________________

Awero awoke to the sound of shouts, wails and footsteps. She knew what the lament was about, this was the second time in three weeks that the procession would pass her house; the second time two men would be found dead in the forest.

“Awero!” Her mother wailed as she ran into her room, “Come and see o! They have found two more dead men in the forest”.

“Ehen? Who and who is it this time?” she asked sleepily as though she didn’t already know.

“It’s Moshoodi o, moshoodi the mechanic and Ojo, iya alakara’s sister’s son.”

“Eeya!” she said drily and turned her side as though to continue sleeping.

“Which kind of thing is this ehn Olorun? Ah, I’ve always suspected that there was something in that forest” she rambled on as she left Awero’s room to go back and join the growing procession outside.

Awero was glad to be left alone; she wasn’t really up to her mother’s long commentaries that morning. Three weeks ago, it was Dauda’s body that was found first, by one of the young men who went into the forest to get firewood; it was lying by the Odan tree. When the man moved him and saw that he was dead, he went to call his friends. On getting to them, he met them staring at another dead body – Chief’s. Oddly, Chief’s body had started to rot. They carried both bodies to the village center and the wailings and the laments began.

Some women didn’t even see what the men were carrying before they started jumping up and down and crying. Chief’s wives graced the scene with various octaves of wailing and shouting: “baale mi o, baale mi o! (my husband, my husband)”. Awero didn’t go to the village square to look at the bodies; she felt sorry for Dauda, but not Chief. The pig got what he deserved. She heard about the rotting; “Good” she said inwardly, “that would teach him not to cheat young girls in his next life”.

She still remembered how he handled her roughly in the forest that day, threatening her with a cutlass, well, who is dead now? The other two men, they wanted a piece of her, and they got it. But she couldn’t dwell on that, she wouldn’t. She had one more, just one more to go, and she would be free.

Yeye had come into her room yesterday again after the meeting, saying she was impressed and re-assuring her of their pact. It was with this thought in mind that she got up, dressed and headed for the village square. People were gathered to look at the new dead bodies. Some women stood afar off in groups, spoke and waved their hands over their heads as though to ward off the evil. Men also gathered in groups conversing soberly, hats in hand.

Few minutes later, the bodies were taken away to be buried, and the Baale (Chief/Town Head) came to speak to them. He started an excruciatingly long speech about how the events of the past weeks were saddening and the forest was now a no go zone, and so on, but Awero couldn’t be bothered. Her eyes roamed the crowd, lingering just an extra second on each person until her eyes met his. He was smiling at her. She had been avoiding seeing him; she didn’t want to talk to him before her mission was complete, so she turned her face away.

Dare was a good looking, promising young boy. He was nothing like any of the other men, in fact, he was the only guy she liked in the village, and now, he was making his way towards her.

“Awero, where have you been hiding? I’ve asked after you from your mother several times since I came back from the city; didn’t she deliver my message?”

“Yes, she did”

“So why have you been hiding?”

“I’ve not been hiding, I’ve just been busy”

“Let’s go away from here, so we can talk”

They walked away from the Square and somehow, they got to the paths that lead to her house. Dare did most of the talking, telling her about the days he spent in the city and the things he saw. She told him she needed to get going because she had some errands to run for her mother, so he let her go, but promised he would visit her at the canteen really soon. As she headed back, she spotted Akambi the village drunkard or rather, he spotted her.

“Awe.ro. hehe, hawayu?”

“I’m fine” she said, eyeing him with disgust

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like how?”

“Oya, follow me; I forgot to give your mother money for the rice I ate this afternoon, come and collect it”

She followed a few steps behind the staggering man, covering her nose with her hand because of the stench of alcohol. When they got to his house, she stood outside, but he invited her in

“Come inside na, are you afraid?”

She stepped in quietly, and he quickly locked the door. She knew what he wanted to do; in fact, she thought his movements were rather precise for someone who was drunk. She didn’t argue when he ordered her to lie on the mat. As he did what he wanted with her, she thought about the reason why she was doing this. She had to if she wanted to live. Yes, Yeye had told her that.

She remembered that meeting now, when Yeye had told her to bring five male lives in exchange for hers. Awero knew what to do to accomplish this feat; she was no novice, she had given sacrifices before and this was her chance to move higher in rank. If she failed however, she knew that the penalty was death. She didn’t want to die, not yet. She wanted to stay alive, and who knows? Maybe the gods would favor her and Dare would marry her and take her to the city. So when the drunkard rolled off her, she knew exactly what would happen; in a few minutes, he would begin to choke, and then he would die. She didn’t want to be there when it happened, so she got up quickly, and headed home.

As she got to her room, she felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen; it passed just as quickly as it came, but as she took another step, it came back with greater force. She felt something warm trickle down her legs and she raised her wrapper to the sight of blood; she knew what this meant, she tried to scream for her mother, but no words formed, she was losing strength, so she dragged herself to her mat and sat quietly. Life was ebbing out of her fast, and all her actions and hopes were flashing before her eyes, “but I fulfilled the conditions” she wondered in disbelief, and “Yeye promised.. she promised…”. As she took in her last breath and her eyelids came together for the last time she could swear she heard Yeye’s whispery voice…….laughing.

Awero

Posted: August 4, 2011 in Short Stories

Hi everyone. Today I bring you another beautiful short story written by the talented Bukola Omotoso (@BoukkieO). It is set in a small village that once existed in South Western Nigeria a long time ago.

Without further ado I bring you……Awero. 🙂
______________________

She held the mirror away from her so she could see as much of her as the tiny thing would allow. Her face was flawless and her skin was radiant and she smiled at the image that stared back at her; the picture of a 17 year old who didn’t know the ways of the world. Her mother’s call brought her back to earth: “Awero! Answer me and let’s go jo!” Awero took one final look at herself in the mirror and made her way to the front of the house

“I’m sorry Maami” but her mother was not done just yet: “I don’t even know what you keep staring at in the mirror sef, is it more than this? “O ga o! Hmmph.”

And all the way to their little canteen, she raved about how men had been milling about her and how if she wasn’t careful, she would get pregnant and they would have to secretly pack her things to the man’s house with polybag in the middle of the night, but Awero was only half listening; she had a host of other things on her mind.

Soon enough, a skinny man made his way towards the canteen; Awero couldn’t make the figure out in the distance, but as he drew closer, she saw that it was Dauda. There was a competition between him and Sogo to see who would get there first, not just because the food was super delicious, but because they hoped to have some time alone with Awero before the crowd came. The girl was a looker, with curves in all the right places.

They never succeeded in spending time alone with her, because of her ever present and all seeing mother. But that morning, as Dauda approached, Awero sized him up; he wasn’t really that bad, except maybe for the blackened teeth, but that didn’t matter, she didn’t have time. Dauda grinned from ear to ear partly because he was happy he got there first, but mostly because Awero was smiling so pleasantly at him. He secretly thanked the gods for whatever soap he bathed with that morning.

“Awero, ‘Wero! Ba won i?”

“Good Morning Broda Dauda”

“Good Morning Awero, where is your mother?

“She’s at the back”

“Get me two wraps of Fufu. I eat Fufu a lot that is why I’m strong like this” he flexed one scrawny forearm and Awero smiled shyly and left to bring his meal. When she placed his food on the table, he grabbed her forearm and pulled her back to sit on his lap.

 “Awero, you know you’re pretty abi?”. Awero smiled and nodded with her eyes averted. “I like you o. Infact, I love you. I want us to know each other more” then she turned her face to him and said: “really?”, her face contorted in mock surprise.

“Yes o. Ahh, infact I can swear by Ogun, you don’t know how much I love you o” then he touched his index finger to the ground and then put it on his tongue.

“Ok, if you say so, I have to go now, because Maami will soon call, but meet me by the Odan tree at 5 o’clock.”

“Which Odan tree? The one in the forest?”

“Yes broda.”

He nodded, smiled and let her go.

The morning and the afternoon couldn’t disappear fast enough for Dauda, but for Awero, it was a pretty busy day. Chief visited the canteen to eat, he rarely did, but when he did, two things happened; everyone hailed as soon as he entered: “Sheef, sheef!”, and then he would shamelessly flirt with Awero and propose to marry her. Awero’s mother of course always screamed from the backyard that her daughter would not be wife number four.

Sogo was also there, although everyone wondered why he came late that day. The usual banter took place; he even took off his shirt to show off his muscles. He was a good farmer, a hard worker and everyone knew.

Soon it was 5’o clock, Mama Awero had left for the market women’s meeting, the crowd at the canteen had thinned out, the new girl her mother employed was eager to please, so Awero strode away as though she wasn’t going far, as she walked the path to the forest, she looked over her shoulder several times to make sure no one saw her or followed her.

Some meters into the forest, a strong hand encircled her mid-section and the other swiftly covered her mouth.

 “I’ve been waiting for you” He said, and shoved her roughly to a side, and showed her the newly sharpened cutlass that was lying on the grass
.
“If you make noise, I’ll slice you into pieces with that thing, understand?”. Awero didn’t nod, she didn’t make a sound, she just watched with an unfathomable expression as he roughly had his way with her. When he was done, he helped her up, and tightened the rope on his trouser. “Good girl, it’s good that you didn’t…” Awero turned, and went on her way, still without saying a word.

Later that night, as she lay in bed and her mind went back over the events of the day, Awero heard her window move slightly as the breeze blew, but she felt the presence even before the breeze. She didn’t turn, didn’t move, she didn’t need to.

“How many more?”

“Three, my child. Hurry, time is running out” And without another word she was gone, as noiselessly as she came.

______________________

Oh so you want more? I told you it was long. No? *shrug* Fear not, the second and final part will be put up at noon tomorrow. In the meantime I’d like you all to try to complete this tale as you see fit. The prize? Well its not zobo & gala (@MallamSawyerr is hoarding all the bottles of zobo imperial), and neither is it a BB 9800 (what do I look like? Ice Fish?). Nope, its a mere recharge card (N1500) to the person with the most interesting ending. Alright then, go on, you know you want to. 😉

Not another Nollywood story

Posted: August 3, 2011 in Uncategorized

I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I feel what she felt? I tried to fake it but my inability to lie betrayed my pretense. She respected my decision to not have sex with her but didn’t know the real reason why.

How I wished I was different. She was nice and kind hearted. However, I couldn’t see her other than how I saw my blood sister. She had tried, I had become close to her family, her brother became by brother, but much more.

I loved her brother, the way I couldn’t love her. I desired him in the most unacceptable way. I was extremely kind to him and in his naiveté was bare with me. He trusted me. He loved me too.

How do I handle this? How do I make him love me back like I wanted? I knew I shouldn’t have but I didn’t care anymore. I was conceited.

It all happened one day when I stayed over at her parents’ guest house just behind their home. I drowned him in alcohol, more than I knew he could handle. We laughed and played and told dirty jokes. I got dirtier and touchy.

He was uncomfortable but he liked it. I got him aroused. I played much more with him. How he tasted so good. His smooth skin felt like silk when I ran my hands all over him.

His lips and genders quivered with every touch and kiss I put on them. I defiled him, he winced with virgin pain yet we went on. It was a beautiful experience; I made love to him like he was my eternal soul mate.

Finally we both made it to Mount Olympus. We were supposed to settle in, bask in the atmosphere of love but he was quiet, deadly quiet.

“Are you ok?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, instead he wept. Not loudly but silent yet pained. He simply stood up and ran out. I only hoped he’d get over it soon.

The next morning was silent. No one came to tell me breakfast was ready, Erogo, my supposed girlfriend neither came to disturb me. I went on ahead to fellowship with my soon to be family.

The sight that greeted me will forever be etched in my mind. They were together as he sobbed and pleaded to be forgiven.

They all looked at me, the ‎​plague I was, I had brought shame to them all. Our wedding was to have been in 1 month.

______________________

A lot of people might not relate to this. I can already see some of you cursing the dude simply because of his sexual orientation and not because of his actions. Its not easy to be gay in this country of ours. All of the gay people I know are too scared to even confide in their close friends or family. Is it right? Is it fair? Should love impure simply because its between two men or two women.

Please use the comment box to share your views and comments. Thank you. 🙂

Like Air

Posted: August 2, 2011 in Poetry

Hello everyone. Before we move on to today’s treat I’d like to apologize for not putting up anything new in a while. July was a tough month for me. Had a lot of weddings and engagements on weekends and a lot of stuff on my desk on weekdays. To make up for this I plan on serving you guys a feast this August.

Now, today’s post was written by a truly remarkable young lady. She’s not a blogger but we’re working on making her a regular on ‘FreshPrinz’s Scroll’. Can I get an amen? No? Bad belle people.

Without further ado, I now present to you Miss Elo Osunde (@EloOsunde). Enjoy. 🙂

*************************************

Like Air:

He is like air
Everywhere but not there
For her, persay
.. So she shares him.
With even the people,undeserving,
Of her.
.. She shares her
With the anonymous fingerprints on his chest.
Until she starts to look like
the stained lipstick
On a married man’s shirt,
Sound like the blinding scream of a hurting womans scent
And smell like the loud colours sitting and plotting on
another woman’s face.
She sips , once more the deception of a ring blessed,
Only to be hidden
in an unworthy man’s pocket.
But this time,
.. She shares them ..
In cups full of tears,
Plates full of sadness,
Stories told in scars
To whoever lends an ear.
Because he’s hammered her apart
She’s broke(n) now
But she longer accepts loans in
“I’m sorry” form.
This time it’s not a dream;
His kisses are like fire
Setting ablaze all the sweetness in
her mouth
Out of reach, he keeps
the sweet
coolness of water
But he is doing her an
unconscious favour
In that through lungs upended like her,
A downturned hourglass,
I finally breathed
And exhaled
Him,
Like air.

*************************************

Comments, questions, interpretations, are all welcome. You can also use the comment box to express your own views on infidelity. Thanks.