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SHADES

abused-woman

Nothing could ever dim from my memory the calmness of that cool afternoon. It was right after my second lesson when my Uncle Frank came to whisk me from boarding school.
“Oroife, Your uncle is here to see you”. My teacher; Miss Okere called.
With a huge smile spreading across my face, I popped out of my seat in my timberland boots and walked out like I was about to miss my flight. Miss Okere gazed after me with sad eyes but I was too over the moon to notice.

When I got out, My Uncle Frank was standing by his wife; my favourite aunt.  I ran as fast as my legs would let, to give her a bear hug. That was when I noticed that they had come with a Soldier escort. My innocent mind was too lost in excitement to worry about the soldier. I jumped into the car, and in seconds my aunt was feeding me with as many cookies and candies that my body would allow. I ate so much that I slept off; forgetting to ask why I was taken home unexpectedly.
I woke up to the cry of a baby. I was heading to my aunt’s room to ask whose baby that was when I saw a number of people in the living room, crying and shaking their heads.
 *Did they find a baby in a dumpster? *

I thought, as I went to find my aunt. She was in the kitchen making tea.

“Aunty what’s happening?” I asked

“Oh you are awake.”

“Yes. The cry of the baby woke me up” I said twisting my face in displeasure.

“Sorry dear. Babies can be loud.” she smiled sadly then asked  “do you want some tea?”

“No thank you ma. So whose baby is crying?” she stayed quiet as if she was giving my question a moment of silence, then she spoke

“That’s your brother”. My eyes lit up again
“Mummy is back?” I squealed and began to run out. She pulled me back gently

“Your mummy is not really back.”  I looked at her, my mind lost in a sea of confusion.  “Your dad went to get your mum and new baby brother from the Airport” she looked at me forlornly before saying her next words “they had a fatal accident. Miraculously, your baby brother survived”.

My innocent mind couldn’t grasp the idea that my beautiful mum was gone, I started to shiver then opened my mouth to let out a primal scream. My drew me close, holding me in her arms as if that would make things better.
I never got over my parents death but I learnt to live with their absence.

I christened my brother Ifeobi (love of parents). Very poetic; I know. I grew up loving my brother so much that I was convinced he was the reason I still had breath in my lungs. I felt like he was a message from our parents. Their one final gift to me before they left the land of mortals.

* * *

Right now, I’m in the United States of America because….Do I really want to write about this? Well, I’ve heard that writing takes some load off so here I go…

After my parents death, I spent so many nights soaking my pillow with hot tears. On those nights my aunt would come in and wrap me in her warm arms.

But this one night, she wasn’t there to offer the warmth of her comfort.  She was away on Pilgrimage to Jerusalem and this is how my horror began.
Uncle Frank chose to step into her shoes that night’ offering me faux warmth and comfort but the moment I began to doze off, I felt his hands in my underpants and I knew that was the last time I’d feel my innocence.  I was only 13 but that night became the first of many, I wept like I
had lost my life. My clothes were drenched in tears, I forgot I was bleeding. My eyes felt like a tumor. I could only breathe with my heart, it needed air.  I had nowhere to go. He was all the family I knew. He always seemed helpless whenever he came to me. I  couldn’t tell aunty; I didn’t want anything to jeopardize my her marriage so I kept mum. Cold days and
colder nights rolled by and I knew I was losing a part of me, my sanity.

And  although my parents christened me  Oroife (the thing about love) because they had me  long before they got married and they could foresee what a beautiful young woman I would be, I changed my name to Charlotte,  something easier for my American friends. Even with my parents long gone, I have everything any young girl can ever want, lovely clothes, good shoes, access to money. They left enough wealth to last me and my brother a lifetime and I’m glad Uncle never kept it from us. But all these could never repair my damaged emotions.

I’ve met a few friends here in the states but I miss Ifeobi so much, I hardly comb my hair. I’m leading my class in school as a law student. It’s where I pump all my energy. A discipline I chose because one day, I’ll reveal who Uncle Frank truly is, and I will persecute him.

My Baby brother will also become a soldier, and I’ll make sure he wields the gun that snuffs life out of my uncle at his execution. Perfect! Isn’t it?
I won’t ever get married, Uncle Frank ruined any form of attachment for me and I hope my brother saves himself from a world of hurt and doesn’t get married either. The only love that exists in the entire world is the one between me and Oroife; every other love is claptrap.
Oh I must tell you, I have a neighbour, I know loves me; He has never said hello but I know he wants to. I see it in his eyes. I have written all about him here (https://laryoo.wordpress.com/2013/10/20/call-me-crazy/).

I’m calling the police; I just left my neighbour in a pool of blood.  Help! I don’t know what’s wrong with him.

By Oyindamola @TheTailor and Seyi @sunkit1

Hi Readers,

I know the weekend wasn’t so pleasant with all the terrorist attack. And I find it hard to believe Kofi Awoonor died in one of these attacks (sometimes I forget these people are human).

So, Remember how I told you about a funny story on Friday? Well, This is it; It’s Moskeda’s Purge, and I hope it cheers y’all up. Enjoy 😀

Send entries to loonpurge@gmail.com hola me on twitter @sunkit1

got_suya_spaghetti_top_tshirt-r4abc510c205b4361a65a3f7a69e64a04_8nhmm_324

Suya of Revenge

Aaaaah! Suya!

This story cracks the hell out of me each time I remember it. Okay, so on this particularly evening, I was with my sister, my cousin, my aunt and my dad. In those days, my dad was a terrorist and I mean this with a big grin. He terrorized us for a while until we learnt the art and switched it back on him. That was to be years later, though.

That evening, we were just from church. My dad was driving and on our way home, he stopped at this junction to buy some stuff from a store across the street. We ladies sat back in the car but whilst waiting, a nice aroma, scent, smell, whatever you call it, came wafting in and invading noses. If we were cartoon characters, we would have floated right out of the car and followed that aroma. Our heads followed though, and turned to a suya spot which was just beside us and we all began to salivate.

“Let’s buy suya!” someone said. I can’t recall who. But we all agreed and put our kobo-kobo together to come up with N25 which was something in those days. Being that I had plans to sample the product, I got down and went a’buying. I sampled and waited as the guy cut and wrapped the order but as I stretched my hand to pay, I heard my dad’s car start and before I could turn my head, I saw them driving off. I was surprised but I did not panic. “They will come back,” I said but as I saw the car zooming off far away, the tail lights going further and further, I was like, “wait o, these people have forgotten me.”

“No, it’s not possible,” my other voice said. “They will come back.”

I waited for like two minutes and when I didn’t see the car heading back up from the darkness, I allowed myself to panic. My next emotion was anger. I was angry at my fellow suya lovers in the car for not informing my dad that I was not with them, I was angry at my dad for not noticing my absence, I was angry at the long distance I had to walk to get home and the fact that the only cash in my hand had gone into the now useless suya; but I was angry most of all that no one would tell my dad that I was not in the car until he noticed my absence which might probably be when he got home. Long and short of the whole story was, I was screwed.

I started heading up home, the once lovely street not looking so lovely anymore. In those days I loved busy streets at night. They gave me hope that one day I would grow up and live independent like the adults who roamed around them with no care in the world. But for that moment I had to settle with being an adolescent and slapping the street alone. I hastened my steps and started nursing thoughts about eating the whole suya spitefully but I held back and decided revenge would be a suya eaten cold.The plan was to go home, eat it slowly in front of my not-helping accomplices without sparing them a piece and after I was done, I would painfully relate my trekking ordeal.

So, with a renewed purpose I urged on, even looking forward to walking by the lonely and creepy cemetery road that led to my house. I walked for like seven minutes (wasn’t really checking my watch) and got to this bridge that meant a landmark for me. That’s how I do in my life. If I want to walk from my bedroom to the kitchen and I feel it’s too far, I pick a landmark. When I cross it, I feel elated and find strength to finish my journey. The landmarks are just mentally marked points though. No soul searching or any weird thing happens there. Please, it’s just from the bedroom to the kitchen.

I crossed the bridge landmark and from afar, I saw my dad’s car racing towards me and I was like“this does not look good.” My dad drives like a movie star. I love that man. When he’s mad, he and his car become Fast and Furious.

The car scarcely made a turn as the passenger door flung open for me. I got in and my dad, without a word, snatched my precious Suya of Revenge and flung it over the bridge. I swear, I could hear it splash into the water. I looked at him aghast and my anger was refreshed but I said nothing and went into heavy sulking mode. I exuded heated fumes from my pores and hoped he choked on them but for where? The man was still driving like 007 oblivious of what I was thinking. Throughout the ride home, all I thought of was my suya, my suya, my suya of sweet revenge and malice. I wanted to strangle somebody. Dad first!

We got home and I stormed out of the car and slammed the door. Now, why did we slam doors in those days? Did it help our point? Nope. But just last week I slammed the door at my husband. It felt good, suffice to say.

So, I slammed the door of that car and went to my bedroom. All the culprits were there… looking very guilty and I think, very foolish. I had a picture… no, a recording in my head of me lining them up and telling them how it was doing me. But I didn’t. Instead I asked them why they abandoned me.

“We told him you were not in the car but he didn’t hear us,” my sister said.

“You couldn’t shout?”

“We shouted. We were saying, ‘Sally’s outside, Sally’s outside’ but he didn’t hear.”

My dad had hearing issues. He can like to be deaf for Africa.

You can be going like:“Daddy, please can you pass that spoon.”

And he’ll be like, “Ehn?”

“The spoon!”

“Ehn?!”

“THE SPOON!”

“Why are you shouting?”

And you reach for the spoon and take it and he goes, “What were you even saying sef?”

So they may have been right. The old man didn’t hear then. But I wasn’t letting them off easily. I still told them my mind sha. Trust me to always say it how it’s doing me. I told them. I can’t remember what I said but I said it and went to sleep angry. The next day, we brought the incident up and it was all laughs. Later on, my dad and I laughed about it too and he explained why he did what he did. He said he was simply pissed. I understood. I made him pay me, sha. I think he’s still paying; it never ends.

What pained me most about what happened that evening is that I missed that sweet suya.

LESSON: Don’t go buying suya unless you’re sure of your transport back home.

Sally is a writer and that’s all she basically does. She’s Phlegmatic but would prefer to be known as Melancholic. She is just trying to make sure the world reads her work or she will set its citizens ablaze
she blogs at www.moskeda.wordpress.com
follow her on twitter @moskedapages

Good morning.

Hope we had a good weekend cos I sure did.

This here is Dunni’s Purge. A realistic piece that goes to confirm that trust is really a box of chocolate and you never know what you’ll get.

Please send your entries to loonpurge@gmail.com

Hola me on twitter @sunkit1

dunnie

Sacrifice

I was doing the dishes when my mum announced, “Feyi, you know you’ll be going to the university in few months’ time and I’ll need someone to assist me around the house so I employed a house help.”

“Okay. Male or female?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent.

“Male. He’s arriving next week from Togo.”

“Ugh, Mum! You know I don’t feel comfortable around male house helps. Moreover, how are you going to deal with the language barrier? Both of us can’t speak French fluently.

“See, we are in the twenty-first century”, she informed me, as if I’d just stepped out of a time machine. “Not many people are willing to be menials anymore so I can only take what I get.”

“Yeah, and luckily, it happened to be a boy,” I retorted

She sighed exaggeratedly. “Honey, the thing is I don’t trust the female ones. They’re so naive and gullible. Remember that girl that lived with us when you were ten? I never told you why I sent her away she got impregnated by the barber that works in the next street. I don’t want history to repeat itself. Moreover, boys are more hardworking. Oh, and about the language thing, the woman that helped me get him said he can speak little English.”

He arrived the following week. I had just returned from a friend’s house, when I saw him sitting in the parlour, with a ‘ghana-must-go’ bag on the floor beside him. He was wearing a white robe, like an angel bringing good tidings to my family. He was swarthy and seemed to be of average height.

“Hello, you must be the new house boy.” I said, forcing a smile.

He nodded. I decided to switch to French.

“Comment t’appelles tu?”

“Placide. Je m’appelle Placide.” His face lit up immediately. “You talk French?”

“Um, yeah, I speak little French.” I was about to mount the stairs when an idea occurred to me. “Hey, let’s make a deal. I’ll teach you English, you’ll teach me French.” He nodded his head obligingly, smiling faintly.

Placide behaved like his name. He was placid and meek. He was very diligent and got a hang of things pretty quickly. He took initiative and didn’t have to wait for orders before knowing what to do. My father was usually apathetic to every helper my mum employs but when Placide returned the three thousand naira he had found in the pocket of my dad’s jeans when he was about to wash them, my dad took a liking to him. Honest helpers are as rare as real diamonds.

I kept my word. My mother had neatly stacked my primary and secondary school textbooks in the bookshelf in my room, so I fished out the ones for English and French. He possessed an enviable alacrity and aptitude for learning, which helped him master the English language faster than it took me to master French.

The apprehension I had earlier concerning him quickly vanished, and a bond began to form between us. I became comfortable around him, and would converse freely with him whenever we happened to be together.

“Placide, you seem really clever and dexterous. Why aren’t you in school?” I asked one day, when we were cleaning up the kitchen.

He sighed, “I dropped out of secondary school when I was about to enter the final year. My parents got involved in a car accident few days before school was to resume. My father lost his life, while my mother couldn’t walk anymore. We exhausted all the money we had for her surgery and wheelchair. I couldn’t continue my education.”

“I’m so sorry. But don’t you have siblings or relatives that can be of help?”

He shook his head. “I have an elder brother but he doesn’t live with us. He’s very selfish. He works in a business firm but never bothers to send money home.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I’ve been doing odd jobs since then, so that I can save up enough money. I’ll send some to my mother− my aunt takes care of her presently– and I’ll use the rest to further my education.”

“That’s good. What do you want to study?”

“Computer Engineering. That had always been my dad’s dream for me.” His voice sounded husky, as if he was crying, but he was doing the dishes so I couldn’t see his face. I walked over to him and hugged him from behind, not knowing what else to say. Comforting people was not my forte.

Days turned into weeks, and then months. My mother successfully persuaded Placide not to return home at the end of the year as he was now part of our family. He celebrated New Year’s Day with us.

The first week of that year was very tiring for me. Due to the previous strike ASUU embarked on, the University of Ibadan ended up starting a new session in January, instead of September. I was to leave the following week, so I was busy buying all the necessary items and packing for school. Placide was somber through out that week, and I had to promise to call him often just to put a smile on his face.

Ziiiip

The sound of a zip being drawn down stirred me one night. I could feel a movement on my legs. Something was tugging at my underwear. “Oh my God, a rat,” I thought. I started and fully opened my groggy eyes only to see Placide over me. He was half-naked, clad in blue-checked boxer shorts, and was looking downwards into my skirt as if he was searching for a treasure between my thighs.

I was bewildered. Why was I still in my clothes and not my night wear? Why was Placide on my body? And then everything started falling into place. I had got back home late the day before. Out of fatigue, I had slept off, forgetting to take my shower and change into my nightwear. I hadn’t bothered to lock my door. My parents had mentioned that they would be attending a vigil that night. Placide had surreptitiously entered…

“Oh my God. What are you doing?” I cried

He looked up at me and blinked, as if he had just had an epiphany. “I…I, um, came to get something.”

“On my body? Jesus. Just get off me and get out!” I said, tears already streaming down my face.

“Feyi, please stop crying. I’m very sorry.”

I looked around me, and picked up the glass lamp, that was on my bedside table. “I swear I’ll break your head if you don’t leave my room this minute.”

He scrambled off. I hurriedly locked my door, and turned my back towards it as I slid to the floor. The tears gushed down in full force at that moment. My mind was whirling with agonizing emotions− Anger. Disappointment. Shock.

The person who I called my brother had tried to… what was the appropriate word for his action? Indecent assault? Attempted rape?

After all the love my family had shown him, he had chosen to repay us with evil.

What exactly did he expect? That I’d not wake up while he tried to sleep with me? Or I’d wake up and give him a go-ahead? Or maybe he was sleep-walking. The more thought I gave his action, the more obfuscated my mind became. I always made sure I was dressed decently at home so as not to seduce him. I could not remember ever giving him the impression that I was attracted to him. He always called me his sister so I never had the slightest idea of him being attracted to me.

I was angry at myself.  My usually keen instincts had failed me. No warning alarm had gone off in my head. I had let my guard down.

I got up from the floor, and got onto my bed. A green wristband beside my pillow caught my attention. It had the letters WWJD imprinted on it. I sighed. I had no idea what Jesus would do, but I knew how he would feel.

Jesus, this is how you felt when Judas betrayed you, right? The difference is that you’d seen it coming. I hadn’t.

I was in a quagmire. Was I supposed to tell my parents or pretend like nothing ever happened?

Hypnos emancipated me from my thoughts, as he cast me into a deep sleep while Morpheus formed dreams of half-naked men in blue-checked boxer shorts.

I opened my eyes, looking into the worried eyes of my mother. “Feyi, are you okay? It’s noon and you’re still asleep. Or did you observe your own vigil at home?” My mother was like that– always trying to joke even when she was worried. I smiled faintly.

“Seriously, are you okay? Your dad and Placide are really worried about you.”

The events that had occurred in the early hours of the morning flashed across my brain. In that moment of truth, I made a decision that seemed to border on folly. I decided not to inform my parents or anyone at all. It would break their hearts, and my father would definitely send him away. I knew how much they needed him. My mother needed him to help her around the house. My father had taken him as the son he never had. I remembered when they’d play table tennis together and discuss sports for hours. I thought of Placide’s mother in the wheelchair. I thought of his late father and his hopes for his son. He needed this job.

I knew that reporting his actions would not take the pain away. Instead, it would cause more pain for everyone involved. He had not actually defiled me. And I was leaving for school in few days so the opportunity would never arise again. I would suffer in silence, I would endure the pain. Time would heal my hurts and perhaps enable me to trust again. It was better for my parents to dwell in blissful ignorance. It was what I thought Jesus would do he would sacrifice himself for the joy of others’.

I smiled at my mum and said, “I’m fine.”

Placide has returned to his country. The world can finally hear my story.

Oluwadunni is an 100 level Law student of OAU. She is a PhlegMel who hopes her laziness will not hinder her from being a great writer. She only gets enthusiastic about the Word of God, good books, like-minded people and fine guys. She blogs at dunnidoxa.wordpress.com and is @I_am_doxa on twitter.”

I have to say thank you to every writer that has responded, I really appreciate your entries. Y’all make me happy and to everyone that comments too thanks. Other writers out there, Please make me happy and send entries to loonpurge@gmail.com or hola me on twitter @sunkit1
This is Ehi’s purge.  Another deep piece which I’m honored to have on my blog.  All rights reserved.
vanessa_place_40
                                                                                       “Dorothy’s place”

She was in her favourite room in the house
Surrounded by the distinct smell of stale urine and antiseptic
Tiled walls echoing her silent thoughts
Running water masking her tears
Here in her refuge there was peace
Here in her foul smelling harbour there was serenity
Here in her bathroom she didn’t have to think
Not about her past
Not about having to explain why her brother is sitting on the restaurant floor
Not about why her brother has to use the girl’s toilet with her
Not about why her brother is ten years old and still wears diapers
Not about why mommy cries at night
Here in her bathroom she didn’t have to think
Not about her present
Not about why her fourteen years old brother can’t wear his shorts
Not about why daddy can’t look at his boy sober
Not about why she has to be her mother’s mother
Not about why she can’t be her father’s daughter
Not about why tears are streaming down her face even though she’s not thinking
Not about why….
“Dorothy!!”
“Yes mother”
“Your brother wet the bed again you need to change the sheets”
She grudgingly left her cocoon
Staring at the bed
Sheets stained milky white
“Oh mother” she said
“That’s not pee”.
Ehi Enabs doesn’t get much sleep at night, she uses that time to save the world but when she’s not doing that (on laundry day when she has to wash her cape and tights) she tweets at Twitter.com/ehienabs and occasionally she gets published on wahalacentral.WordPress.com. She also takes long walks in her head.

I love this piece by  DankarO ShintO, I hope you love it as much as i do…

All rights to this piece are reserved.

Send entries to loonpurge@gmail.com

Image

Purgatory

A lonely soul, swimming in a sea of seething pain.

A lonely soul, soundlessly crying out for help.

A lonely soul once reveling in primal urges, torture by visions of sins pasts.

My lonely soul….. Begging to be saved.

Rescue me from purgatory, free my bounds that I may right the wrongs of days bygone.

Enlighten the light within me that it can once again burn bright.

Gird my heart that it shall never again take flight from the evils of men and demons alike.

Take my soul to thee, that I may experience inner peace.

Take my thoughts to thine that I may catch a glimpse of thy face.

Your gaze soothes like a flood of cool water on a burning stone.

My soul steams forth its evil intentions even as my heart cracks and my back breaks.

Sometimes my soul revolts, tired of this seemingly endless wait.

Sometimes my heart despairs, rending into ragged pieces as it cannot bear this pain.

But still, Still yet I sojourn in purgatory, knowing that one day thou shall descry my

plea….. Knowing that one day my soul shall know peace.

Heed not the scornful laughter of my foes

Hearken not to the vituperation of those I’ve hurt.

Retire to your revered throne and be adorned with thy crown of mercy.

The scepter of salvation be at thy side even as my case be called.

I stand before you as empty as can be.

I stand before you even as more emptier than the day I was born.

Creator, I stand before you unburdened. Less of a man than the day I died.

A stitch in time is said to save nine. My time I spent as loosely as the wind.

Like the pharaohs of old, hubris was my everyday companion.

A lonely soul, standing before you,

A lonely soul, waiting to be judge,

A lonely soul, hoping for undeserved mercy,

My lonely soul…… begging to be accepted.

Fin.

Twitter handle: @Volturi_Lord

Fareed Zakaria: DankarO ShintO is a err… weird personal friend of mine who has no idea who he is and hopes he never does. He dreams of a better world though, where chickens can cross the road without having their motives questioned. Also he likes hitting things with sticks. He scribbles at WahalaCentral.wordpress.com and hopes y’alll pays him a visit soon.