Your Stories. My Stories. Our Stories. Please forward all enquiries to seunodukoyaofficial@gmail.com.

Archive for July, 2014

Midweek Fix: How Things Are

The truth is…sometimes things don’t go according to plan.

I have been working hard at some things for a bit, and the thing about me and hard work is is… I tend to neglect the things that matter.

Like this blog; for instance.I And a couple other things I’m not at liberty to say.

Yet.

But anyways, there are any always things to see, new things to learn about and experience. New mistakes to make, new hurdles to go over. And the ever-constant opportunity to learn. To grow.

I do things sometimes that horrify me. Things that shame me – that make me feel like a hypocrite. Things that seem to make a lie of everything I believe in. And then I fall.

But then – I forgive myself. And pick myself back up. And continue trudging – not because I feel it’s all okay now; the initial shame and soul-fatigue has worn off. It would all have been for nothing.

But in my more lucid moments, I think back on those times – what I did wrong, where I missed it and how to be clear on not repeating those things I did. I take responsible for all my mistakes and work hard on being better.

That’s not to say I still don’t mess up. That’s not to say I have it all figured out. I still stumble and fall – sometimes in the exact same place I fell minutes before. But I am picking up things…stuff to help me not fall so easily and so often. Stuff to make me; to take me closer to the man I see myself becoming daily.

For reality is nothing but yesterday’s imagination.

I’m talking with some special people right now – people who matter. I’m answering questions about Saving Dapo and I’m excited. I’m looking forward to so many new things, so many new experiences while being grateful for constant ones.

Things are where I’d want them to be – but things are where they should.

It’s a new year.

I’m grateful. Thank you Lord.

Advertisements

Time I

Tap tap tap

Shiny red nails rang on the table, sending all sorts of signals into Chris’ left temple. Watching the woman sitting across him from under shaggy eyebrows, he muttered in distaste.

Women. Hell to live with or without.

He was – or rather, had been practicing the ‘without’ part for some time and he did like it, even though he longed for company of the other kind sometimes. The tap tap tap came again and he was reminded why he had decided; eleven months ago, to try the without part of the story.

Without her.

Agnes. Hell in a skirt, hell on a man.

He looked up from his feet and met her eyes. There was a mocking smile on her face, a smile that said I know what you’re thinking. Sorry I can’t help you.

“I’d rather die,” he mumbled half-aloud.

“Chris? Is there a problem?”

He turned slightly in his chair to face the head of the department. Looking at her creased the middle of his forehead. Temi looked like she had been force-fed into a meat wringer sometime in her teenage years, and as a result she wore her clothes with as much aplomb as a clothes hanger. In them she looked like she could play hide and seek in an empty tin of sardines – no disrespect to the tin.

“Chris?”

He liked her voice, however. She sounded like Omawunmi did whenever she was talking in between her songs. He could listen to her all –

“Chris!”

He sighed. “You don’t have to yell, Temi. You’re scary enough looking like you look.”

Her jaw muscles clenched and his hand flew to his mouth as he converted the snort about to come out to a cough. Gently, muscles trembling, she put the marker she’d been writing on the board with on the table beside the MacBook she was sharing slides from and left the room, marching quickly and efficiently.

Chris inhaled.

“What are you doing, pretty boy?”

He hated the way the fine hairs on the back of his neck stirred as though a soft wind was blowing through them. Arranging his face into a look of disinterest, he cocked his right eye in Agnes’ direction.

“The girl acts as though someone forgot a bee in her skull after her last lobotomy. If she keeps on with me I’ll probably have to help her remove it. I just can’t guarantee I’ll be as professional as a surgeon would be.”

“Ouch,” Agnes mouthed, red lips forming a pained ‘o’. “That’s a woman you’re talking about.”

Chris snorted. “Makes no difference to me. If she can work as rough as a man, she’s earned the right to play as rough as a man.”

He eyed Agnes skeptically. “Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly become an anti-feminist. You’re poisonous enough without adding that to your resume.”

Agnes chuckled, pink appendage darting out to lick dry lips. “I’m not anti anything darling. In fact, I’m pro everything except anything that’ll hurt Agnes. That’s the only thing I’m anti about.”

“Yeah – you love yourself and yourself alone. We all know that,” Chris blurted, hating the bitterness that weighed his voice down. “Look -forget about it okay?”

“Oga Chris?”

The office boy stuck his around the door Temi walked out through earlier. “Madam Temi say make you join am for office.”

Chris didn’t even twitch. “English, Joe.”

Joe cleared his throat. “Madam Temi says you should come and go and join her in her office.”

“Thank you, Joe. Tell her I’ll be right there.”

The office boy nodded and retraced his steps as Chris looked at Agnes with a question on his face.

She smiled. “The only way to know is to ask, bobo. So go ask.”

Chris stood up and buttoned his jacket, easing himself out from behind the table. “Here goes,” he whispered at Agnes.

She smiled and fluttered fingers in his direction. “Dont hurt her too much, dear.”

He nodded and bounced out.


Wahala Dey

 

 

I must have had sex with somebody in my sleep last night – and it was not my wife.

 

 

I know this because it was crazy. Unusual.

 

 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying sex with my wife is boring – but when you’ve been married to the same woman for six years, things become a little routine.

 

 

Note; however, that is not an excuse to cheat. I do not endorse unfaithfulness – though it has come to that point in my life that I stare at every…well; almost every young thing that comes into my office in a short skirt. And Abuja being what it is, and jobs being what they are, and the times being what they are too – well, you can imagine I have plenty young things to stare at.

 

 

Still, call me boring but I didn’t think an hour – or even a night of sex was worth hurting my wife over. Maybe that’s ‘old-school’ or ‘stupid’ because she may as well be cheating – but what she does is her business.

 

 

But wait – that’s a thought.

 

 

What if she is cheating?

 

 

I choose not to think about that. She is a wonderful wife.

 

 

But while I have tight reins on my body, the ones on my mind are not so tight…

 

 

And so I fantasize.

 

 

There’s this particular pretty young thing that finds an excuse to walk into my office abruptly – and then hurry out, swinging hips acting like they are independent of her. I mean, they were like well-oiled swivel doors, like the back and forth movement of a waltzing couple, like…

 

 

Okay. I have to stop there.

 

 

The P.Y.T’s name? Alice.

 

 

Honestly, who in this country names their daughter Alice?

 

 

Every time someone called her name, I expected someone to add a ‘In Wonderland’ rejoinder – you know; like they used to do on NTA back in the day when the program was being presented. And honestly, no offense to all the Alice’s out there, but I think it’s a pretty unimaginative name.

 

 

‘Unimaginative’ stops at her name. Everything else is…

 

 

I swallow thickly just thinking about it.

 

 

I have to ask my boss exactly who it is hired her, what her job is and exactly what I need to do to get her fired. He puts a fatherly hand on my shoulder and says; “Ike, she is the new administrative assistant. And if only you took a look at her CV, you’ll see how lucky we are to have her. Go ahead, look at the CV – that is; if you can look past her chest.”

 

 

I start guiltily and frown at him, but the damage is done. He pats my shoulder condescendingly, laughs in my face and says: “Problems with the wife?”

 

 

I cannot answer. He starts to walk away – and then pauses. “It’s been what, five years?” At my guilty silence he laughs again. “Be a grown up, Ike. Have a little fun. Who’s to complain?”

 

 

I walk back to my office with bent head and seared conscience.

 

 

I mean, everybody has their indiscretions – but I didn’t expect my boss to be so blatant about something like that. This is someone who was proud of rubbing our nose in the fact that he had a strong and growing family.

 

 

Well, I want a strong and growing family. What I have now however; is an overactive imagination and an itch that won’t go away.

 

 

So I jejely struggle with myself till it’s closing hours – and then hurry home. I don’t even want to have sex with my wife; I’m afraid I might get carried away and scream the wrong name. I’m still young and virile; the last thing I want is to be castrated.

 

 

So I take a couple of cold showers and I convince myself I’m fine. Spend some time in front of the TV with the kids, and then she comes home. My wife, I mean.

 

 

We have dinner together and it’s almost like old times. After we’re done, she clears the table while I send the kids to bed. And then I join her in the kitchen, help with the dishes and all – and then I realize I’m looking at a behind I barely recognize.

 

 

Uh oh. She’s wearing shorts.

 

 

Of course you know I want to indulge in some healthy health-nourishment but she’s understandably tired. So we set off to bed, cuddle and fall asleep.

 

 

But sometime during the night I have this highly erotic dream. I’m having amazing sex with a hugely attractive woman – and she is not my wife. It’s interesting that I know this woman is not my wife – because I don’t exactly catch a glimpse of her.

 

 

It’s interesting because I do not remember details of her body and such like – but I know for a fact that she is not my wife.

 

 

How do I know?

 

 

Well, I woke up sometime in the morning, feeling somehow excited. I don’t mean excited because I did something naughty, I mean excited because something good is going on. I take a moment to figure it out – and then I realize something is tickling my morning wood.

 

 

I look down – and directly into my wife’s face. She is smiling, a hand wrapped round – and she is gently stroking and tugging. All sorts of sensations invade my head at once, and I’m about to throw my head back and scream or moan in pleasure when I catch a glimpse of something shiny in my wife’s other hand.

 

 

She’s holding a knife.

 

 

My moan/scream dries in my throat – only milliseconds faster than my erection. I look at her and she looks back at me; the smile I thought was sexy moments ago looking as evil as all get out. I try to talk – but I can only croak.

 

 

“Baby…?” I sha manage to get out. Her smile gets wider and she fondles me quite lovingly. I shudder in spite of myself.

 

 

And then she asks me, acid dripping from her tongue;

 

 

“Who is Alice?”


Who Knows?

Lost in the woods, I need to find my way home,

But its not so bad here, for once I’m all alone,

No one to annoy, critique or criticize,

Just me and these words that mean my life

I write what I think is right for the right to life

Never mind, that’s just some cheap ass rhymes

You believe that – you’ll believe I came back twice!

But you know what they say sir, twice is nice.

Or is it twice as nice? Whatever, it doesn’t matter,

In love with a girl crazier than Rose Madder,

Found the why to my life, so every encounter,

Every person, every moment – pieces to a puzzle larger

Said I was stuck in the woods; seems I found a map,

A path to a way out, line to my heart,

Through to a city of skyscrapers, and right within the heart,

An ocean of endless splendour, beauty from which I tap.

But who knows?

Maybe I am stuck in the woods, lost and alone,

Hallucinating – drunk; dehydrated to the bone,

But if I die, let it be on my way home.

Random. Thoughts. Locked Up. (more…)


The Weatherman

 

The Weatherman

 

 

They say my love’s like the weather

On that we agree;

The only difference might be how we approach the weather thing

 

 

 

I’m sure they mean I’m inconsistent

I think they’re confused

Who makes the rules?

And where’s the fun if just one type of weather

Is permanent?

 

 

 

My love’s like the weather; look at it like this,

I make the sun shine over you with ease

Help you shine, glow, help you perfect

The best parts of you unmastered yet

 

 

 

Keep you warm, keep you safe and intact

Guide you wherever you wanna go – in fact,

Put that bounce in your step, help you work up a sweat

At the right time in the right place(s), no sweat

 

 

Prepare and refresh you so not a lot can stress you,

Put the water on the laundry, even dry them out for you

But I know when to ease off so the heat won’t test you

I know the exact time to bring the rain in, boo

 

 

 

Those days you need an excuse to stay indoors,

I’ll provide you with them lazy kind of thunderstorms

Keep you under the blankets, imaginations not far-fetched

Be chill; your patience I won’t stretch

 

 

 

With a few snap of my fingers, get you wet

Wanna play stripper? I can make it rain as needed,

Things remain cool – and not to sound conceited

But I’m the silver lining the dark clouds brought in

 

 

 

There’s never a dry moment; even in harmattan

The only thing chapping those lips will be my kisses

Put balm on your back, I got a master-plan,

Rub lotion in your feet, just make those wishes

 

 

 

See? I make loving me kinda too easy

Too much sun? I’ll bring the rain in with a flourish

Say my love’s like the weather – I say and then some!

‘Cause that simply means something good’s always going on.

 

 

Yours,

The Weatherman.