The fact is that I must take a much needed step back to reorganise my life. For two weeks, I have churned on many story plots trying to find the right words with which to carve out a most intriguing and spell binding tale. Alas, the words fail me and I am bereft of tales to tell.
I am two weeks into the first semester of my final year and staggering under the sheer weight of responsibilities, commitments and plans that I am in a constant battle to see realised. Everything dances just within reach, enough to remind me that they aren't.
*Sigh* the trials of a woman with an imagination on steroids. I am fatigued and yet emboldened. And definitely in need of a vacation.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Mikhaila's proposal
"You have to help me get to where I need to be. I kind of gave him the impression that I knew what I was doing and now he thinks that once I get the position, I know what to do."
In her desperation, she was talking too fast and Souman was trying his best to not only follow her side of the conversation but also process the information she was passing on.
"Why would you lie about a thing like that?" he had to ask.
She bit back on her statement and had the good graces to look a bit ashamed. "I really wanted it so I..."
Souman sighed. It was not her fault. She was not the first person that he knew who was trying their darnedest to be where she was trying to go. And it seemed that she had somehow led Martineau to believe that she deserved to be there.
"Do you know what you are asking me to do?" he asked her again because he was quite sure that she didn't.
"Yes," she nodded profusely, her long braids swinging back and forth in their high ponytail, "you have to help me." then she arched an eyebrow, "or are you helping someone else?"
He returned the look, "Maybe"
"Souman," she sighed, moving closer, her breast brushing against the sides of his arm, "Please Souman..."
Even though he sighed and feigned irritation, he knew that he would give in and give her what she wanted. He also knew that with all his help, she would not look back even for a second once she was within Martineau's grasp. And yet, what could he do. He was helpless against Mikhaila. He was even grateful she had only asked for what she had asked for because he knew that had she asked for more and the impossible, he would have given it to her.
Thus began their sessions for two months. She would come over after classes and he would coach her for four hours. Initially, it was for twice a week but towards the end, it was almost everyday. Everything he knew, he taught her and she was a quick and effective learner. Sometimes, when he watched her replay something he has shown her, he was no longer sure if indeed she was the novice she had claimed to be.
The last time they met, she was quiet. And so was he. Things had changed. He was now angry at himself for having invested so much time and effort because for her, it had been only been about the sessions but for him, it had been so much more.
"Thanks so much Souman." she whispered, her small voice floating from behind the veil of her hair to caress his ear. It hit him like a slap. Tensing he moved away so his thigh was not touching hers.
"When do you meet with Martineau?" He knew he should not ask but the words left his lips before he could stop himself.
"Tomorrow at nine..." she rubbed her eyes, "Funny, I was so looking forward to it."
"And?" he asked, his ears perking up, hope causing his heart to jump in his chest.
"I....I...." she shrugged and never finished her sentence. And that was how they left it as she got up, got dressed and left.
He did not know why he had suddenly been paralysed with misery. It had suddenly enveloped him and crippled him to his bed. Work, he did not get to not; fortunately it was a weekend. He just lay in bed, clothed in his boxers and the memories of Mikhaila.
He remembered how the first time, when he had taken her as carefully as he could she had taken a sharp breath and then quickly covered her mouth as if in apology. He had had to kiss her fingers away, coaxing her to relax and focus on his lips until he could begin to move and take her with him where passion was leading. Or the smile on her face the first time she made him scream his incoherent release against the contracting muscles of her throat. He remembered everything. Every gasp, every moan, every touch, every chuckle, whisper and soft scream. He even remembered the time she had been laughing so hard that she had farted and how he had laughed himself silly at the mortified expression on her face.
He remembered it all. As well as the fact that the only reason she had come to him was because she had lied to Martineau that she so much more sexually aware than she was. From the corner of his eye, the green lights on the digital clock said that she was probably continuing that lie with a very convincing performance. He curled up on his side and tried to go to sleep.
Her cold hands on his back propelled him awake. Her eyes blinked back from him from behind a screen of braids.
"What are you doing here?" he looked at the clock. He had only been asleep for thirty minutes.
She shrugged and moved to take peel her jacket off her small shoulders. The lace of her corset peeked out at him.
"You know you did not lock the front door. Has it been like that since I left?" She asked.
He nodded.
She took off all her clothes except for her panties and crawled beneath the sheets with her back to him.
"I did not go to him." she whispered, "just in case you are wondering."
He nodded and pulled her form against him, burying his face in her hair with gratitude.
"I propose you never do." he said to her.
"I agree" she replied.
In her desperation, she was talking too fast and Souman was trying his best to not only follow her side of the conversation but also process the information she was passing on.
"Why would you lie about a thing like that?" he had to ask.
She bit back on her statement and had the good graces to look a bit ashamed. "I really wanted it so I..."
Souman sighed. It was not her fault. She was not the first person that he knew who was trying their darnedest to be where she was trying to go. And it seemed that she had somehow led Martineau to believe that she deserved to be there.
"Do you know what you are asking me to do?" he asked her again because he was quite sure that she didn't.
"Yes," she nodded profusely, her long braids swinging back and forth in their high ponytail, "you have to help me." then she arched an eyebrow, "or are you helping someone else?"
He returned the look, "Maybe"
"Souman," she sighed, moving closer, her breast brushing against the sides of his arm, "Please Souman..."
Even though he sighed and feigned irritation, he knew that he would give in and give her what she wanted. He also knew that with all his help, she would not look back even for a second once she was within Martineau's grasp. And yet, what could he do. He was helpless against Mikhaila. He was even grateful she had only asked for what she had asked for because he knew that had she asked for more and the impossible, he would have given it to her.
Thus began their sessions for two months. She would come over after classes and he would coach her for four hours. Initially, it was for twice a week but towards the end, it was almost everyday. Everything he knew, he taught her and she was a quick and effective learner. Sometimes, when he watched her replay something he has shown her, he was no longer sure if indeed she was the novice she had claimed to be.
The last time they met, she was quiet. And so was he. Things had changed. He was now angry at himself for having invested so much time and effort because for her, it had been only been about the sessions but for him, it had been so much more.
"Thanks so much Souman." she whispered, her small voice floating from behind the veil of her hair to caress his ear. It hit him like a slap. Tensing he moved away so his thigh was not touching hers.
"When do you meet with Martineau?" He knew he should not ask but the words left his lips before he could stop himself.
"Tomorrow at nine..." she rubbed her eyes, "Funny, I was so looking forward to it."
"And?" he asked, his ears perking up, hope causing his heart to jump in his chest.
"I....I...." she shrugged and never finished her sentence. And that was how they left it as she got up, got dressed and left.
He did not know why he had suddenly been paralysed with misery. It had suddenly enveloped him and crippled him to his bed. Work, he did not get to not; fortunately it was a weekend. He just lay in bed, clothed in his boxers and the memories of Mikhaila.
He remembered how the first time, when he had taken her as carefully as he could she had taken a sharp breath and then quickly covered her mouth as if in apology. He had had to kiss her fingers away, coaxing her to relax and focus on his lips until he could begin to move and take her with him where passion was leading. Or the smile on her face the first time she made him scream his incoherent release against the contracting muscles of her throat. He remembered everything. Every gasp, every moan, every touch, every chuckle, whisper and soft scream. He even remembered the time she had been laughing so hard that she had farted and how he had laughed himself silly at the mortified expression on her face.
He remembered it all. As well as the fact that the only reason she had come to him was because she had lied to Martineau that she so much more sexually aware than she was. From the corner of his eye, the green lights on the digital clock said that she was probably continuing that lie with a very convincing performance. He curled up on his side and tried to go to sleep.
Her cold hands on his back propelled him awake. Her eyes blinked back from him from behind a screen of braids.
"What are you doing here?" he looked at the clock. He had only been asleep for thirty minutes.
She shrugged and moved to take peel her jacket off her small shoulders. The lace of her corset peeked out at him.
"You know you did not lock the front door. Has it been like that since I left?" She asked.
He nodded.
She took off all her clothes except for her panties and crawled beneath the sheets with her back to him.
"I did not go to him." she whispered, "just in case you are wondering."
He nodded and pulled her form against him, burying his face in her hair with gratitude.
"I propose you never do." he said to her.
"I agree" she replied.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Greener Pastures
Labake picked through the huge tray of rice slowly. She sought malformed and darkened grains and flicked them off her tray onto the dirt beyond the verandah where the chickens helped themselves to them as a meal. Her head was bent and face hidden but it would have been apparent to anyone watching her that all was not well. For one, her normally proud shoulders were slumped and she seemed surrounded by an air of fatigue and sad defeat.
Her daughter, Eyiwunmi was no where to be found. For the past three days, she had been avoiding her mother and Labake in turn had been ignoring her thirteen year old. The house had been shrouded in a foul and uncomfortable silence since their bitter exchange of words when Eyinwunmi brought her daugher home from the taxi car park whn she returned from her trip to Lagos. Both were in a place emotionally that in their darkest nightmares could have imagined that they would be.
From the corner of eye, Labake saw a form coming towards her. She looked up slowly, mentally preparing herself for the conversation from yet another visitor come to welcome Eyiwunmi back from her trip and to see for themselves what a person just returned from Lagos looked like. For almost every one in Igede Ekiti, Lagos was the mecca of all cities and Labake and her daughter were much envied for the opportunity that the girl had had to visit and stay for a whole month. Even Pastor Ajidagba, the town priest had only stayed for four days. So, Eyiwunmi was the town's hottest topic especially as some witnesses had indicated that she had arrived clad in oyinbo clothes and her head full of oyinbo hair.
It was Motunrayo or Mama Olumide as she was called by everyone and Labake's friend for twenty of her thirty eight years. She walked with a limp, her right leg deadened from a deforming case of polio when she was two. In left hand was her signature walking stick that she leaned heavily on as she hobbled her way over to her friend. Labake neither put her tray down nor rise to meet her friend. Motun smiled softly to herself as she reached the shade of the verandah.
"Ore mi, bawo?[1]" she asked in greeting. Labake raised her head and Motun gasped when she saw that her friend had been crying.
"Ha!" she exclaimed, "Mama Wunmi, don't be like that..."
Labake shook her head slowly as if with profound sorrow, "How can you say that when one's own child decides to put pepper in her eyes?"
Sighing, Motunrayo lowered herself onto the verandah floor so that her legs were spread out in front of her. She reached over and placed her hand on her friend's thigh.
"Wunmi came to me this morning and told me what happened...."
"Did she say what she said?" Labake interrupted, "Did that ungrateful thing tell you what she said?" she put down the tray suddenly and began to tap her feet in anger. "You were right, I should never had let her go to her father's house. Trust him to turn him against me."
Motunrayo shook her head, "She has not been turned against you. She just wants to go live with him."
Labake rested her head in her hands, "What can she know that she is doing? All she sees is the flashy, flashy things. She does not remember that he has not come to look for her since she was born." she turned to her friend, "remember, he almost did not come for her naming ceremony?"
Motunrayo nodded, memory causing her to sigh.
"And that woman...!" Labake grimaced, "Does she think that Beatrice will be nice to her? She spent only one month and thinks that living with them will be pleasant. Omo yen kan se oju aye ni.[2]"
"Be e ni" Motun nodded in agreement, "But I say you let her go."
Labake whirled on her friend, nearly unsettling herself on her small stool and upseting the tray of rice. "Iru kantan kantan wo lo n so yi[3]? What kind of nonsense are you talking? Have you been listening to me?"
Motun smiled, "I have heard you and I agree with you. I have also heard her and agreed with her. She says her father has told her that he will start to pay for her school fees and all her expenses. Think of the better life she will be able to get when she goes to a Lagos school. How much can she grow here? And maybe seeing her has reminded him of his responsibilities. O sa mo bi awon okunrin se je.[4] Out of sight is out of mind."
Labake hiss was her only response.
"Yes she has been enticed by the life in Lagos," Motun continued, "but she also deserves to have a relationship with her father. We thank God that he is not dead. He is alive and she should take anything he can give. You know you can use with the help. I mean, look at where you are...." she gestured towards the old and fading bungalow that had once belonged to Labake's late father, "where we both are."
Labake looked at her friend as if she was just seeing her. "Sometimes, I wonder at you. O ma n jo mi loju sa.[5]"
Motunrayo smiled, "If I don't tell you my honest thoughts, who else will?" she looked away from her friend and out into the small yard where the chickens were making an issue over the rice, "let her go. It will all be okay."
*************************************************************************************
Eyiwunmi pinched herself to stay awake. It was already 11.30 pm and she had school in the morning, yet she could not go to sleep. There was no way she would survive the beating that Beatrice would met out if she came into kitchen and found that Eyiwunmi had stumbled off to bed. She tried to amuse herself watching an ant make its laborious journey across the kitchen floor bearing its find of a grain of garri. She tried not to think of her mother and their house in Igede.
"Wunmi!" Beatrice's voice barked through the house and by reflex, she responded, her body jumping up and breaking into a small sprint in order to reach the woman before she got riled which was quickly and dangerous.
She made her way through the narrow corridor and into the Blue Sitting Room where Beatrice and her two partner's in crime, Alhaja Dubai and Sisi Lanko were cackling over another one of their ribald jokes. Trays of half eaten chicken lay discarded infront of them and the air reeked of heavy perfume, alcohol and cigarettes.
"Iwo omo osi yi i, se on ka mi lohun ni?![6]" Beatrice demanded immediately Eyiwunmi appeared. Immune to her unpleasantness and smart enough not to point out that she had appeared even before her name could be called a second time, Eyiwunmi dropped to her knees and immediately apologised.
"I am sorry ma."
"Useless girl, mase anfaani osi, ode buruku,[7] " Beatrice spat the words out with speed and ease, "whether your useless village mother has a house like this for you to be dallying in. Abi, what kind of nonsense, lazy girl is this?" she asked of her friends who regarded Eyiwunmi with scorn and disdain.
"You really need to wake up and stop being lazy, "Sisi Lanko told the kneeling girl, her tobacco rancid breath rumbling through the air to assault Eyiwunmi's nostrils. The girl did not even flinch; memories of what had happened the first time she had recoiled from the woman were still fresh in her mind. Instead, she nodded and tried not to stare at the woman's orange skin or her friend's bright yellow hair.
"I don't know what your father was thinking, leaving you here while he travels all over. I am sure he has gone to meet another one of his mistresses. Then he will be bringing his bastard children to come and pollute my household." Beatrice remarked unkindly.
"I have always said you are too nice." Alhaja told her friend, her gold tooth appearing periodically behind black-lined lips. Sisi Lanko nodded.
"Remove these and get out of my sight." Beatrice retorted.
Eyiwunmi quickly rose to her feet and did as she was bidden. As she slowly made her way out of the room and to the kitchen, she heard her stepmother say,
"That useless girl. I should send her back to that useless gold digger of a mother."
Her friend's commiserating mummurs were the last thing Eyinwunmi's heard before the door closed behind her. All she could see was the barely touched piece of chicken thigh that she would pounce on when she got to her room. Dinner had not been given to her and she suddenly felt some comfort as she remembered the small garri she had kept for herself.
Translations
[1] My friend, how are you
[2]That woman is only pretending
[3]What rubbish are you saying?
[4]You know how men are...
[5]You always surprise me
[6]You useless girl, are you wasting my time?
[7] Useless girl, good-for-nothing, retard
Her daughter, Eyiwunmi was no where to be found. For the past three days, she had been avoiding her mother and Labake in turn had been ignoring her thirteen year old. The house had been shrouded in a foul and uncomfortable silence since their bitter exchange of words when Eyinwunmi brought her daugher home from the taxi car park whn she returned from her trip to Lagos. Both were in a place emotionally that in their darkest nightmares could have imagined that they would be.
From the corner of eye, Labake saw a form coming towards her. She looked up slowly, mentally preparing herself for the conversation from yet another visitor come to welcome Eyiwunmi back from her trip and to see for themselves what a person just returned from Lagos looked like. For almost every one in Igede Ekiti, Lagos was the mecca of all cities and Labake and her daughter were much envied for the opportunity that the girl had had to visit and stay for a whole month. Even Pastor Ajidagba, the town priest had only stayed for four days. So, Eyiwunmi was the town's hottest topic especially as some witnesses had indicated that she had arrived clad in oyinbo clothes and her head full of oyinbo hair.
It was Motunrayo or Mama Olumide as she was called by everyone and Labake's friend for twenty of her thirty eight years. She walked with a limp, her right leg deadened from a deforming case of polio when she was two. In left hand was her signature walking stick that she leaned heavily on as she hobbled her way over to her friend. Labake neither put her tray down nor rise to meet her friend. Motun smiled softly to herself as she reached the shade of the verandah.
"Ore mi, bawo?[1]" she asked in greeting. Labake raised her head and Motun gasped when she saw that her friend had been crying.
"Ha!" she exclaimed, "Mama Wunmi, don't be like that..."
Labake shook her head slowly as if with profound sorrow, "How can you say that when one's own child decides to put pepper in her eyes?"
Sighing, Motunrayo lowered herself onto the verandah floor so that her legs were spread out in front of her. She reached over and placed her hand on her friend's thigh.
"Wunmi came to me this morning and told me what happened...."
"Did she say what she said?" Labake interrupted, "Did that ungrateful thing tell you what she said?" she put down the tray suddenly and began to tap her feet in anger. "You were right, I should never had let her go to her father's house. Trust him to turn him against me."
Motunrayo shook her head, "She has not been turned against you. She just wants to go live with him."
Labake rested her head in her hands, "What can she know that she is doing? All she sees is the flashy, flashy things. She does not remember that he has not come to look for her since she was born." she turned to her friend, "remember, he almost did not come for her naming ceremony?"
Motunrayo nodded, memory causing her to sigh.
"And that woman...!" Labake grimaced, "Does she think that Beatrice will be nice to her? She spent only one month and thinks that living with them will be pleasant. Omo yen kan se oju aye ni.[2]"
"Be e ni" Motun nodded in agreement, "But I say you let her go."
Labake whirled on her friend, nearly unsettling herself on her small stool and upseting the tray of rice. "Iru kantan kantan wo lo n so yi[3]? What kind of nonsense are you talking? Have you been listening to me?"
Motun smiled, "I have heard you and I agree with you. I have also heard her and agreed with her. She says her father has told her that he will start to pay for her school fees and all her expenses. Think of the better life she will be able to get when she goes to a Lagos school. How much can she grow here? And maybe seeing her has reminded him of his responsibilities. O sa mo bi awon okunrin se je.[4] Out of sight is out of mind."
Labake hiss was her only response.
"Yes she has been enticed by the life in Lagos," Motun continued, "but she also deserves to have a relationship with her father. We thank God that he is not dead. He is alive and she should take anything he can give. You know you can use with the help. I mean, look at where you are...." she gestured towards the old and fading bungalow that had once belonged to Labake's late father, "where we both are."
Labake looked at her friend as if she was just seeing her. "Sometimes, I wonder at you. O ma n jo mi loju sa.[5]"
Motunrayo smiled, "If I don't tell you my honest thoughts, who else will?" she looked away from her friend and out into the small yard where the chickens were making an issue over the rice, "let her go. It will all be okay."
*************************************************************************************
Eyiwunmi pinched herself to stay awake. It was already 11.30 pm and she had school in the morning, yet she could not go to sleep. There was no way she would survive the beating that Beatrice would met out if she came into kitchen and found that Eyiwunmi had stumbled off to bed. She tried to amuse herself watching an ant make its laborious journey across the kitchen floor bearing its find of a grain of garri. She tried not to think of her mother and their house in Igede.
"Wunmi!" Beatrice's voice barked through the house and by reflex, she responded, her body jumping up and breaking into a small sprint in order to reach the woman before she got riled which was quickly and dangerous.
She made her way through the narrow corridor and into the Blue Sitting Room where Beatrice and her two partner's in crime, Alhaja Dubai and Sisi Lanko were cackling over another one of their ribald jokes. Trays of half eaten chicken lay discarded infront of them and the air reeked of heavy perfume, alcohol and cigarettes.
"Iwo omo osi yi i, se on ka mi lohun ni?![6]" Beatrice demanded immediately Eyiwunmi appeared. Immune to her unpleasantness and smart enough not to point out that she had appeared even before her name could be called a second time, Eyiwunmi dropped to her knees and immediately apologised.
"I am sorry ma."
"Useless girl, mase anfaani osi, ode buruku,[7] " Beatrice spat the words out with speed and ease, "whether your useless village mother has a house like this for you to be dallying in. Abi, what kind of nonsense, lazy girl is this?" she asked of her friends who regarded Eyiwunmi with scorn and disdain.
"You really need to wake up and stop being lazy, "Sisi Lanko told the kneeling girl, her tobacco rancid breath rumbling through the air to assault Eyiwunmi's nostrils. The girl did not even flinch; memories of what had happened the first time she had recoiled from the woman were still fresh in her mind. Instead, she nodded and tried not to stare at the woman's orange skin or her friend's bright yellow hair.
"I don't know what your father was thinking, leaving you here while he travels all over. I am sure he has gone to meet another one of his mistresses. Then he will be bringing his bastard children to come and pollute my household." Beatrice remarked unkindly.
"I have always said you are too nice." Alhaja told her friend, her gold tooth appearing periodically behind black-lined lips. Sisi Lanko nodded.
"Remove these and get out of my sight." Beatrice retorted.
Eyiwunmi quickly rose to her feet and did as she was bidden. As she slowly made her way out of the room and to the kitchen, she heard her stepmother say,
"That useless girl. I should send her back to that useless gold digger of a mother."
Her friend's commiserating mummurs were the last thing Eyinwunmi's heard before the door closed behind her. All she could see was the barely touched piece of chicken thigh that she would pounce on when she got to her room. Dinner had not been given to her and she suddenly felt some comfort as she remembered the small garri she had kept for herself.
Translations
[1] My friend, how are you
[2]That woman is only pretending
[3]What rubbish are you saying?
[4]You know how men are...
[5]You always surprise me
[6]You useless girl, are you wasting my time?
[7] Useless girl, good-for-nothing, retard
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