The Northern Prince Part 6b

Jamal Mujahid was sexually frustrated. Rabi worked the morning shift now, making it hard for them to spend time together. Dirty talk on the phone was not the same and eventually they both had to concede defeat to her crazy schedule, his workaholic attitude and cancel their room in the Hilton. Jamal had become accustomed to their routine: last room on the 14^th floor, sex, wake up to her beside him, order room service, more sex, freshen up, shower sex, kiss goodbye, groping in the car. Sex with Rabi was amazing and the most potent high he had ever experienced. Deprived of it Jamal suddenly found himself with nothing to occupy his mind but thoughts of when next he could strip her naked, touch her till she quivered, suck on her nipples. He was losing his marbles. He needed a way to blow off steam.

With nowhere to go, Jamal found himself home more often. At first it was awkward Nabila had obviously cultivated a routine that involved her being alone in the house. They stared at each other like children who needed to talk but had nothing to say. Slowly as his presence became more regular she relaxed. He had to admit that she was no longer so annoying; and had taken it down a notch. Gone were the tantrums, sulking and complaints. She smiled when he ate at the table and didn’t bother him if he was in no mood to talk. She was also very concerned with his headaches

“It is not so bad now. You were right it was dehydration. Why are you smiling?”

“You just said I was right” Nabila grinned. Jamal shook head for her, and in that fraction of a moment he figured he probably didn’t hate her anymore.

A hot Thursday afternoon Jamal returned from work to find Nabsy taking a nap on the couch. She slept a lot these days; or maybe he just noticed that because he was home more often. Normally, he would walk past her and up the stairs but her face looked puffed up

“Nabila me ke damun ki- what is wrong with you?”

“I have a headache” she said stirring awake

“Since when?” Jamal peered closer; she looked awful and was breathing heavily

“Tin tini fa- a long time”

“Asibiti- hospital” Jamal reached for his car keys

“Ba na so- I don’t want to”

“Nabila you have been inhaling fertilisers for weeks now. It could be any one of those chemicals you use in the garden. Dan Allah mu tafi- lets go.”

If Nabila wasn’t so lightheaded she would have heard the shadow of concern in her husband’s voice. Jamal heard it; he definitely no longer resented his wife. They lived together peacefully and she actually bid him farewell to work each morning. Nabila tried to rise up but fatigue kept her grounded. “Yanzu- now” he ordered beginning to fear the worst

Jamal drove Nabila to the hospital, having to stop along the way as motion sickness prompted nausea. He parked and held her head as she threw up on the side of the road. He handed an almajiri ₦500 to clean it up and continued on his journey as slowly as possible. He was really worried now. What does she have? Is it contagious? Patiently he sat in the waiting room outside the doctors’ office; glad he knew the GP and could call ahead. Jamal thought about what his father in law, Dr. Danjuma Bello would do to him when he found out Jamal let his daughter get sick, inhale those bloody gardening fumes all day.

The man would have him assassinated; his body would be publicly burnt or drowned at the bottom of Jabi River. Jamal suddenly felt very hot and he pulled on his collar. He jumped up when the nurse informed him the doctor would see him now. Walking in he found Nabila sobbing into a handkerchief and the doctor consoling. Seeing Jamal’s frightened face the doctor spoke “It is good news Jamal. Do not look so worried.” Jamal glanced from his face of mild amusement to Nabila’s of sadness. He did not know who to believe.

“I will leave you two to talk” with that the doctor excused them

“Are you sick?” Jamal asked quietly

“No”

“Alhamdullilahi” Jamal exhaled the breathe he didn’t know he had been holding

“Then why are you crying?”

“I am perfectly fine. Nothing is wrong with me” Nabila said with heavy eyes. “Nothing” she repeated. For a second there she had thought, with the fatigue and nausea and heavy smells, she prayed that maybe, perhaps.......

Jamal looked confused “Ki na kuka- you are crying” he explained hoping she would clarify that point for him.

“Can you excuse me for a while?” Nabila said politely

Jamal was worried by the formality in her tone, maybe she was in shock or something. He was just glad he avoided untimely death and would live to fight another day. He stepped out and waited for her to calm herself and get ready. As he drove home, Jamal insisted she stay away from her garden for a while and if she must return to caring for it alone, she had to wear a gas mask. Nabila did not argue.

Over the next week he watched his wife go through a variety of emotions. She was herself, then weepy, then sleepy. Jamal did not know how to deal with this complex layered Nabila so he was extra careful. He thought of what the doctor said on their way out “Take good care of her.” Jamal said he would, so over breakfast as Nabila helped butter his toast she asked if he would invite his squash buddy for lunch after their game on Saturday. Squash, the sport he had taken on to combat his intense longing for Rabi. If Jamal were ever to recommend an aid to sexual desire, bouncing a hollow rubber ball repeatedly against a wall was definitely it.

That Saturday Ikenna Nwosu strolled into his new friend’s house. Nabila was in her garden unable to stay away. She held the hose and watered her African lilies, remembering her promise to twine the stems on her baby’s crib. Ikenna called to her

“Mrs. Mujahid”

Nabila waved “Ikenna yade. How nice to see you again” Jamal looked confused, “when did you meet my wife?” Ikenna thought about making a joke but Jamal didn’t seem to have a sense of humour right now.

“Her father consults with the UN and I was with the Minister of Health during a meeting”

“How many Minsters are you friends with?” Jamal asked

“All of them.” Ikenna responded calmly

Jamal focused his attention on his wife, “It was like a month ago. Baba and the Minister left to discuss privately so Ikenna and I had time to talk.” As she spoke Ikenna winked at her to rile Jamal up.

“My friend try that again and you are out of this house wallahi” Jamal warned. Nabila laughed

“The garden is lovely Nabsy” Ikenna continued ignoring his friend. He gazed admiringly at the water feature as it trickled over white stones. The colours were so vibrant and the floral scent strong. He patted her on the shoulder “seriously impressed”

Jamal was yet to get over the fact Ikenna called her Nabsy, what was that? He didn’t remember the last time he called her that. Jamal still didn’t care what Nabila did with her time, but by Allah he was the only one in this marriage that was allowed to have an extra marital affair. He looked as Nabsy excitedly explained her planting technique to a very interested Ikenna.

“That is really cool” he nodded steadily “Do you think this will work on uneven terrain”

“Well not this exact pattern but definitely. You can plant anything once you understand the soil you have to deal with” and Nabsy began to describe what Ikenna could do with his back garden, something about rolling hills, low hedges and climbing vines. Jamal hated being excluded from the conversation

“Kai lets go in” he announced loudly squinting at the sun

They sat down at the table when the chef served pounded yam and efo. Ikenna smacked his lips loudly and complimented the cooking, asking if he would be available to take up another shift

“You tried to steal my wife and now you want to steal my cook” Jamal said without a smile

Nabila didn’t understand what had gotten into Jamal. That was the second time he had referred to her as ‘his wife.’ She didn’t want him to wreck her master plan

“Did you get round to calling my friend like we discussed” Nabila asked Ikenna

“It slipped my mind. Give her my number to buzz me”

“No way. You are the guy. You make the call”

“I might forget. I am so busy with work”

“You are always busy with work”

“Beginning to sound like my ex-wife” Ikenna warned

“Maybe she had a point.” Nabsy mirrored his tone

“You used to be married?” Jamal asked shocked. Nabila looked confused “I thought you guys were friends?”

“Guys don’t talk about stuff like that” Ikenna said

“Call Amaka” she ordered

Ikenna handed over his phone and Nabsy imputed her friend’s number along with a reminder to call.

“She must really be something” Ikenna conceded

“She is already too good for you” Nabila said.

“That is true” Jamal agreed. Heaving a sigh of relief that Ikenna would be focusing on other females.

Ikenna laughed good-naturedly and enjoyed his meal. He tipped the chef, and made Nabsy promise to further discuss his landscaping, thanking her for a wonderful afternoon.

“I like him” Nabila announced as she got ready for bed that night, lowering herself gently to avoid triggering dizziness

“Because you foresee double dates in the future” Jamal responded sarcastically

“Most of your peers just follow you around like lap dogs but Ikenna is on an even keel. You’re good for each other’s ego. Maganin ka wallahi- he’s your medicine”

“How long was he married for?” Jamal asked

“Five years” Nabsy responded

“Where is his wife now?”

“In Switzerland where he left her” Nabila pulled the covers “With half his net worth”

“Ki che Allah- swear to God” Jamal exclaimed fully awake now

“Wallahi. You know how it is there now; the wife is entitled to half of everything”

“So he left the country for her as well. Ba zan iya ba- I can’t do that” Jamal shook his head to emphasis his point

“She was the reason he stayed as long as he did. Offers from Central Bank had been coming in for years, but she didn’t want to move here. So when the marriage dissolved...”

Jamal and his wife talked about Western ways till they fell asleep. Gossiping like school children. It was the first time, in a long while they had gisted.

The next squash game Jamal’s curiosity got the better of him so he asked Ikenna if he had a girlfriend, all under the pretence of protecting Amaka

“You are going to have to be more specific. Will this be the IMF contract or the bail agreement?” Ikenna replied smiling

“It’s not like you are short of flesh and blood women. All you do is stare”

Ikenna wielded his racket like a light sabre. “You know how Nigerian women are now; anyone you date at this age will be expecting a ring within a year. As a recent divorcee, that is just not happening”

Jamal nodded in agreement. Any man in his early thirties was not considered to date for fun. It had to be leading somewhere.

“What’s your marriage like?” Ikenna asked

“I am the husband and I have a wife” Jamal answered straight faced

“No aboki” he knew Jamal hated that name “I mean what is it like, the same person for five years. Same face every morning and all that. Heaven or Hell?”

“You were married once. How do you remember it?” Jamal asked back

“I don’t remember much. I worked too hard, sometimes not returning home till midnight.”

“Just as you do now” Jamal added.

“But we are talking about your marriage. I can’t figure it out. Most husbands I know either gush about their marriage mentioning their wife in all conversation or complain and hit on everything in a skirt. You do neither.” Jamal’s blackberry beeped with a text message.

“I have to go” he said suddenly jumping up. Scrambling his things together he nearly tripped on his way out the door.

“Bros is everything alright?”

“Yes yes. Good game” Jamal gave thumbs up yelling as he ran down the hall and out the sports complex. He raced to his car and sped out the parking lot at break neck speed.

The image of the words on his screen was glued to the forefront of his mind.

You have no idea what I would do to you if you were here. Rabi

Jamal grinned like a Cheshire cat and stepped on the gas. Rabi was just getting off work and Jamal was already waiting for her in the vacant parking lot.

“What took you so long?” she giggled as she got in

Jamal put up the tint windows and reached for her breasts. Rabi leaned into his palms and laughed her husky laugh. She purred when he slid his hand down her scrubs.

“Yes just like that” she whispered in his ear. She was always so responsive to his touch and when Jamal found the silkiness of her centre he felt just how eager. Rabi gave a moan and held on to his wrist her nails digging into skin. He turned on the radio when Rabi straddled him and rolled her waist atop his fingers not bothering to bite her lip. She was so vocal

“Just there. Yes! Oh faster.”

Jamal lay back as Rabi bewitched him with her kisses, pulling down the elastic of his gym shorts and releasing the hard on that had been causing a strain in his pants from the moment he got in his car. She squeezed the engorged head and kissed away the grunt she knew would emerge from Jamal. They shed their clothes in seconds; there were no zippers or buttons to contend with today. Rabi bit his earlobe and murmured nasty promises. Things she would do to him, for him, with him. Releasing his touch from within her; she licked her nectar off his index finger. Nestled between pink pursed lips; she sucked with a promise to replicate elsewhere.

“Bee Bee” Jamal grunted her name breathing fast

He grabbed a fistful of her ass and buried his face in her breasts, rolling his tongue on her nipple till she begged him to bite. Hard just the way she liked it. Jamal took each dark knob and sucked and pinched and kissed. He thrust into her. Hard, fast, deep till she clutched her chest, it was hard for her to breathe now. The AC was on but they were both perspiring, skin got slicker and Rabi relished licking his neck and burying her face in his curls. She spun around with him inside her into reverse cow girl and bounced her ass for his pleasure; smacking herself and calling out his name. Jamal growled like an animal. She made him call her name and he made her call his. Taking turns to set the pace they satisfied each other till their bodies unable to cope longer shivered in release.

“I really needed that” Rabi whispered when she came

“Me too” Jamal said sleepily “Don’t you ever leave me again”

“I’ll try my best” Rabi promised as she settled into the curve of his shoulder and slept.

Sunday saw Nabila in her garden picking flowers for the living room arrangement. “Nabsy are we fighting” Amaka appeared out of nowhere

“Ki hakuri” Nabsy apologised rising to hug her. Amaka side-stepped her embrace

“Sorry now” Nabsy pouted “It has been a crazy couple of days”

They made up and Nabsy stepped back to admire Amaka. “You look nice today” she complimented her skinny jeans and red scoop neck top. Nodded in appreciation at the tiny braids and tugged on her hoop earrings. “That reminds me I have to be somewhere. Can you give me a lift?”

“Yeah of course” Amaka answered confused at the subject change. She brought Nabsy up to date on the twins as she followed directions eventually pulling up in front of a large bungalow. The house was startling white and looked like a giant sugar cube. She walked in behind Nabsy and heard her respond to a male voice.

“What a surprise” he said

Amaka was confused, didn’t Nabila say she had to be here. Why was he surprised?

“I want you to meet someone” Nabila giggled excitedly “This is Amaka” she pulled her into his view. What a view it was. He was dark like the Ghanaian chocolates Amaka indulged in. He had distracting eyes; very bright and mischievous like he was always thinking naughty thoughts. In a Chelsea jersey and cargo pants, he hovered above them both and had to lean in to view Amaka properly. It made her feel dainty and tiny. She loved it.

“I have heard so much about you. Informed that it would be my pleasure for us to meet” he held on to Amaka’s fingertips smiling widely. He didn’t finish his sentence. His eyes did.

Amaka blushed like a 14year old. Think of something witty to say...think think think. But all she did was giggle.

“Amaka darling, this is my friend” Nabsy failed to suppress her smug smile

“Okay” Amaka nodded like a bobble head doll

“Ikenna Nwosu” Amaka pulled her hand away like she had been scalded by hot oil. This was Ikenna Nwosu? The little rat bastard that pointed out her lack of dignity. The one who insulted her. The one who made her cry. Amaka turned around and walked out

“Maka wait” Nabsy ran and got in the car with her “What was all that about?”

“Why would you put me in that situation?” Amaka’s fingers gripped the steering wheel

“What do you mean? I thought you liked him”

“Why do you care huh? Nabila why can’t you learn to butt out of my life”

Nabsy stared at her friend shocked. “I’m-m s-sorry” she stuttered

“So he is your friend” Amaka’s voice rose as the events of that night came back to her. “You weren’t there when he said those things to me”

“What things?”

“He said I had no dignity. Me.”

“Ikenna said that? When?” Nabila kept glancing back at the house

“The night I called him...said he had better things to do” Amaka could feel the weight of unshed tears

“You called him?”

“Femi had just hung up on me as well...”

“Femi called” Nabila interrupted “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because!” Amaka shrieked “You would have judged me. All you do is talk and talk but it is not your life. Is it a crime to love the father of your children? You get in your car and drive home to your husband” She gave a bitter laugh “You don’t know what it is like”

“Amaka you don’t know anything about my marriage”

“You and Jamal have worked things out. I had to come hijack you from your house only to be brought here and embarrassed”

“How was I supposed to know what happened? I am not psychic Amaka and I am tired of apologising for things that are not my fault” Nabsy opened her door and stepped out

“Well excuse me for having a bad day. Go back to your perfect life”

“You are acting like a child”

“Maybe it’s from hanging around my children all day” the minute she said it Amaka wished it back. Nabila turned around and walked back into the sugar cube house.

That evening Amaka moped around staring at her phone. She never lost her temper, it just wasn’t her. She had contemplated various ways to apologise, and steeled her heart for the retaliation she surely deserved. God knows, Nabila had the ammunition.

“Mommy why are you sad?” Chiamaka ever observant climbed into her lap

“Because I was mean to Aunty Nabila and I want to say sorry”

“Why were you mean?”

“I was upset and sometimes adults want everyone else to feel the way they feel”

“That’s silly.”

“Grown ups can be silly. Go play with your brother” She smiled and stroked her daughter’s head.

Amaka walked into the kitchen and dialled Nabila’s number

“Nabsy I am so sorry for my behaviour this afternoon. I never should have said those things to you. I don’t know what came over me; I did not mean a word I swear. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“I can’t discuss this over the phone”

A half hour later, Nabila was at her front door. They shared a tight hug

“I am sorry”

“No I’m sorry”

“You love Femi and that is okay. You never have to justify anything to me. Do you understand?”

Once the twins were tucked in, over chocolate biscuits Amaka agreed Ikenna was a hunk and congratulated Nabsy on her good taste “but he is a jerk.”

“Doesn’t that just make him hotter?”

“No Nabsy. It makes him a jerk” Amaka pinched her

“Why haven’t you touched your coffee?”

“I’ve sworn off caffeine”

“Blasphemy” Amaka slapped her hand on the kitchen counter “You sin against Nescafe. Why would you do th...?”

“I’m three weeks pregnant”

Amaka spat out her tea.

By S.B

RIP DAGRIN!

I am sure most of you have heard the terrible news that Yoruba rapper Dagrin aka Emilomo Lan, CEO of Miosofunyin Entertainment passed away earlier today. I am so so saddened by this news as I am a HUGE fan of Dagrin, and have been for a long time.

What hurts me the most is that I have been meaning to do an article on break out stars of 2010 about him, Nneka, Ice Prince and Jesse Jagz for a while now, and I have just been procastinating as usual. This WAS HIS YEAR!
I cannot stress how HUGE a fan I am of him, all my friends were starting to say I have found my new 9ice. I love people that rap in local languages as it gives it a great flavour.
Actually, one of my twitter updates a couple of weeks back was "I think I officially own Dagrins songs just waiting for him to release some more". He was one of those artists who sounds great on other peoples tracks because he always brings a certain raw edge to it, which is why he was so in demand.

He was a lyrical genius as well, so gifted with sending across raw life lessons and telling his life stories, on a mad beat and packaging it as a "party song".

His best song WITHOUT QUESTION is Ghetto Dream ft Sossick, the title track of his album below:



It tells of his life struggles and the different dreams he had to leave the ghetto. For those who do not understand Yoruba, here is what the song is saying:

Verse 1
There have been countless times that I have gotten up and fallen down
Countless people have called me useless
Countless clubbing where I could not afford one red bull
Countless coloured t-shirts but only one red shoe
Countless witches and bad belle people
Countless times I played free shows
Countless times people have told me to give up, told me I am local and my way isnt hip-hop
But I was determined and I was focused
That is why my name has spread like staphylococus
Countless troubles, countless insults, countless times I have eaten concoction without no salt
Countless times I slept dreaming of being a celebrity, when I wake up I continue my hustle on the street
Its a pity, when will I be able to buy an Infinity or Amanda, to invite you all to ride

Verse 2
I have a dream to live in Aja as my resident
I have a dream to be Nigeria's president
The money they get is what encourages me
The curses people reign on them is what discourages me
I have a dream to be a pastor or priest
But I cannot stop drinking and smoking
I have a dream to be like pastor Chris
But I am carried away by the "effizy" of Ludacris
I have a dream to be smart like Wole Soyinka
But the problem is these ladies seem to distract me
I have a dream to go to school and be a professor
But lack of money stopped me, like bus at its stop
I had a dream to play football like Kaka
Maybe someday they can sign me to Barca
But everytime there was training they would need money
And at that time my pocket was empty


The words sound 100 times as better in yoruba and flow poetically. DEEP STORIES OF STRUGGLE.

Another song of his I love is Thank God with Omawunmi.

His feature on Champion by Pype is outstanding, where he calls him self "Barack O'Grin"(He seemed to have an obsession with Obama, but who doesnt?)

The first song I ever heared him on was on KSB's Turn me Around with Sheyman, I loveddd him on this, and the line where he says "God I want to drive a bently, and have money like Mike Adenuga, all the things you have done for me are not enough, its not that I am greedy, but you said we should as and we shall recieve" Genius:

He has a number of features, but Pon Pon Pon is his first official video from his debut album Chief Executive Omoata(CEO) which recently dropped.



And of course his most popular song KONDO! The song that took him from a wannabe to a true club banger. The most popular chorus this year:
"Mumy has gone to the market, Dady has gone to Lokoja, my siblings have gone out, I;m the only one at home, come and get some KONDO( which means "batton or stick" literally but I am sure you get where he's going.....lol
How many guys have invited girls to come and get some Kondo because of this probably countless......






It is not often that we hear rags to riches stories in Nigeria, where hard work actually pays off, but Dagrin showed that anyone can do it, as long as they are persistent and talented. He created his own unique style, flowing in Yoruba, one of the very few rappers today that do that. He did not imitate anybody and this is what lead him to success. I am so deeply hurt by his tragic and untimely death, especially at the height of his success. As you can tell I am a big fan.


May his soul rest in eternal rest, and may his music live on.












Amen!

Miss B

The Northern Prince Part 6a

Published Northern Prince on Naijastories.com for a competition and got bad reviews from the judges ;-((

Oh well, you guys seem to really like it, and J.K Rowling got rejected by 14 publishers before she made it so we'll keep writing! Enjoy

Nabila Mujahid blinked against the light as she arose. The morning unfurled in all its glory splashing red and gold beams on white clouds. She tossed the sheets off her like a woman with something to accomplish today. Mentally going over her chores: exercise, weeding and watering her garden, buying bedding plants...Unconsciously she ran her fingers through her hair, perhaps she should get a steam treatment. Maybe a sauna massage also. Will that heat be good for the baby? She had to check first.

Jamal Mujahid sat at his dining table scoffing down fried plantain while reviewing a new contract deal. Unexpectedly his wife joined him for breakfast, singing her greeting. He glanced at Nabila as she stroked her hair. She had no idea how much she looked like her sister when she did that. Sipping his tea, he wished it was Rabi wearing the ivory silk chemise and staring at him
“Kin tashi - You’re awake” he said in mock horror.
“I wanted to see you off to work” Nabila answered acknowledging it was 7.00am
Jamal wanted to raise an eyebrow but his head felt heavy. It hopped between numbness and hyper sensitivity. If he didn’t know better he would think he was waking up with a mild hangover but all last night afforded him were flashes of a vivid sexual dream he had about Rabi. Jamal squinted and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Are you alright?” Nabila asked concerned
“It’s just a little headache”
“I think you should drink some water. Maybe you’re dehydrated”
Jamal considered the possibility. Nabila sipped on her glass of water as the cook promptly laid out a plate setting for her. Minutes later he returned with the pancake and scrambled eggs she had requested
“That was quick, thank you” Nabila said smiling. Both the cook and Jamal stared at her in shock. Nabila unaware munched on her breakfast heartily, humming as she refilled her glass with orange juice.

Amaka Nwafor cursed silently under her breathe as she dumped Chiamaka in the bathroom to have a shower. Urging her daughter to brush like the wind and insisting Chibuzo dress faster. They were running 30minutes behind schedule and that meant they were very, very, late. Those minutes would have been spent setting up lunch boxes, running the school bag inspection for pencil cases and homework, preparing an omelette for breakfast and leaving the kids to enjoy their fruits in front of the television while she put on her makeup. The new time constraint would not allow for normal procedure today. Instead they would all have to munch on meat pies in the car while she prayed they made it past rush hour traffic.

By 12.00 noon Amaka was worn out. She conceded that she would spend the remainder of her day chasing the lost half hour, desperately trying to claw it out of every spare minute. The twins were irritable on the school run, grumbling about missing their show and asking if they could have ice cream instead of the cold meat pies she rummaged out of the fridge. Stuck in traffic, Amaka applied her makeup in the rear view mirror and the twins were 12 minutes late into their first period. She rushed to the school hall to see that the non-teaching staff meeting had begun without her and had to remain behind with the Headmistress to review minutes she missed. This in turn made her late to her first admission visit with the Al-Bashir’s from Kano. Hausa royalty did not take kindly to waiting around so she spent longer explaining the school facilities to them and insisted on showing little Aisha around herself. It was Amaka’s break time but she had a stack of paper work to go through. Although she worked at the school her children attended Amaka hardly set foot in their classrooms in light of being fair and minimising bias. She was grateful for her job which accorded that the twins be granted immediate admittance, school fees at a generous staff discount and the gift of spending all day with her babies. For this reason, Amaka avoided using her position for leverage whenever she could help it.

It was more appropriate for the children to come into her office; as was allowed with every other pupil at Elite Primary School. At 12.01pm Chiamaka came in, followed 5 minutes later by Chibuzo. Amaka had insisted they be placed in different arms so they made friends outside of one another, this sometimes meant different break times. They sat on her chair and played with the lever, took turns spinning each other around and conned her out of lollipops. For a while Amaka watched them and felt angry at Femi. How could any parent choose to miss out on this? Because Femi had a choice, they were not living in squalor. He did not have to go America to make his fortune. What drove him away was his ego. A need to prove his parents wrong, that he could make it on his own. Four years later and he was still trying. He had not even called his children in over five months. It was alright now, when the twins thought mommy was a superhero and daddy some sort of prince in exile but they were getting older and soon “daddy will be back soon” will cease to be enough.

After the twins left, Amaka allowed the feeling of loss to overcome her, engulfed in all she had to do on her own. All that had to be accomplished before she could put her feet up today. She missed Femi and wanted him home. But all she had were stories buried in nostalgia. Living her life for what once was. Amaka wanted her children to know how funny and charming and handsome their father is. How he was always the life of the party.

Femi, the only man she ever hugged, kissed, made love to, bore kids for. He was her first everything. And he could not find the time to send a bloody email, a ‘thank you for raising the kids’ text. The last time they spoke, she chastised him for not checking in regularly enough, inquired as to why his number never went through. What if we need you? She asked him
“Maka it’s you hun. As long as you’re with them I will never worry” he replied confidently.
Amaka sighed. She just wanted the chance to feel like a woman after a day of being a mom. It has been so many years since she felt sexy or went out on a date. She flipped to the next page in her day planner and saw Chibuzo had written in purple crayon I Love You Mom. Amaka wiped a tear from her eye and went back to work.
At the end of the school day, Amaka walked her children to their respective after school activities. Chiamaka had changed into her uniform for girls scout and Chibuzo excitedly ran into his music class. With a wave at their teachers, her colleagues, Amaka walked back to her office. The end of the day finally arrived and Amaka drove home exhausted. The kids had their baths while she stirred spaghetti, blended tomatoes for the sauce and fried meatballs. She tossed salad, knowing she would have to threaten before its eaten. The twins told her about their day and re-enacted the scene from Lady and the Tramp; slurping the spaghetti strings one at a time and making a mess. “As long as you clean it up” was her only warning. After homework they were awarded one ice cream scoop each and watched Jungle Book till bedtime. All three knelt by the bed to pray and Amaka remembered how frightened the twins used to be of ‘Now I Lay Me down To Sleep’ because the final line spoke of dying, “If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” Seeing no reason to put her babies through that, Amaka suggested they recite personal versions, of what they would like God to do while they slept. On their insistence, she helped make it rhyme.

Chibuzo led the first half of his prayer:
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
See me safely through the night,
and wake me with the morning light.

Chiamaka continued with her second verse:
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord, my soul to keep.
May angels watch me through the night,
and keep me in their blessed sight.

Amaka kissed each forehead goodnight and retired to her parlour to watch Grey’s Anatomy. She prepared sandwiches for the lunch boxes tomorrow, placed ice lollies in the freezer, ironed school uniforms, Nabsy called to chat, a quick double check that all the doors were bolted and she soon knelt by her bed reciting her night prayers:


This night I lay me down to sleep
I give the Lord my soul to keep
If I should die before I wake
I pray the lord my soul to take
Four corners of my bed
Four angels over head
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John
Bless this bed I lay upon
I lay my head on our lady's knee
Jesus come this night and save me
Heart of Joseph I adore thee
Heart of Mary I implore thee
Heart of Jesus pure and just
In those three hearts I place my trust.


Amaka had barely settled beneath her duvet when her phone rang. Not wanting to wake the children she answered immediately. Lo and behold it was the prodigal husband
“Maka” his gruff voice clearing the day’s exhaustion from her bones
“Femi. What is going on? Where have you been?”
“It’s okay. Everything is fine. You worry too much” he sounded like she was overreacting
“It has been three months Femi. Three months!”
“I just ran into a little problem that’s all. I did not want to worry you darling”
“When are you coming home?” Amaka asked like many times before
“Soon” Femi replied like many times before
“Please just come back. I miss you. The kids miss you”
“When it all works out; it would all have been worth it. You’ll see”
This was not about her. It was about his stupid battle of wills with his parents. Amaka could not believe a man who had not seen his children since they could barely make sentences, was talking about his absence being ‘worth it.’ Where was he when Chiamaka ran a high fever at 2am? Where was he when Chibuzo fractured his arm playing with his friends? Where was he when her parents told her she would always be alone? Amaka had a long day and could feel the bile rising in her throat.
“Femi don’t bullshit me. I want a specific answer”
“Amaka what has gotten into you?”
“You Femi. You have gotten into me. You don’t seem to appreciate me or how hard this is”
“Of course I do sweetheart. I love you and I wish I could be there but...”
“But what? Eh Femi? The only person preventing you from being here is you”
“That is not fair”
“What is not fair is you choosing your ego over your responsibility as a father”
“Why are you saying these hurtful things?”
“Femi come home. Please I am begging you.”
“Maka let me just hammer this big one.”
“Let me wake the kids then. So they can hear your voice”
“I have to go” Femi interrupted her. “We’ll have to continue this another time. Take care.” With that the line abruptly cut. Amaka stared at the receiver in her hand and felt engulfed in hopelessness. She did not know when next Femi would call and she for one was tired. She had to face the fact that Femi may never return; at least not until he was good and ready never mind those who needed him. Amaka was tired of putting her life on hold for someone who wasn’t even her husband. It has been four years and while she had kept her promise, could she really say the same for him? Before she knew it the twins would be off to boarding school; she would have to learn to have a life.
Inhaling a deep breath Amaka dialled the stored number on her phone.
“Hello” a tenor voice answered
“Hel-lo” Amaka said slowly her voice shaking. She had never done this before
“Yes?”
“Am I speaking to Mr. Nwosu?”
“This is Ikenna. Who is this?”
“I got your number from...”
“Oh my God another one!” He exclaimed
“What?” Amaka sputtered confused
“Listen lady. Get a life. Have some dignity for Chrissake.”
“Dignity” Amaka echoed
“Yes dignity. It’s what prevents women from calling strange men at work”
“Work?” It was 10.30pm
“I am a very busy man” Mr. Nwosu continued. Hinting at Amaka to go away
“I’m so sorry to have disturbed you” Amaka apologised out of habit
“Don’t be sorry. Don’t call me again”
There was a click, then dial tone. Amaka stared at her phone. “I have suffered” she whispered to herself before turning to sob softly into her pillow, careful not to wake the kids.

The weekend meant one glorious thing to Amaka. An extra pair of hands. They came in various forms; a neighbour, a best friend. This Saturday it was the honour of her would be in-laws, The Cokers. Femi’s parents lived in the centre of Abuja, not far from Nabila’s parents, The Bellos. The twins went to visit roughly once a month and were always excited to go, mostly because of the swimming pool in the backyard. They packed their swimming trunk and swimming costume complete with inflatable toys before Amaka had even gotten up. They assaulted her in bed jumping and chanting “mommy let’s start going.” Amaka too tired to argue, called to say they were on their way and only offered an apple for breakfast knowing the kids would want to jump straight in the pool once they got there. She drove in and was met in front of their impeccable home by both Kunle and Lade Coker. As always Amaka was embarrassed by the act, it always felt like she kept them waiting. She strolled to the couple, knelt good morning and stood aside while they fussed over the children. The twins stayed long enough not to be rude before running towards the pool and diving in without a care in the world. Lade Coker shouted for the housegirl, Bisi, to take station by the water and watch over the twins. Amaka was led into the house and placed on the sofa like a trophy.
“Thank you so much for letting the twins swim around”
“Why of course” Kunle Coker said. He spoke what Amaka liked to call Old English. Dragging the last syllable of every word and ending it with a lilt. The first time she met him, she knew he was an Oxford man
“It is lovely to have the children over” Lade chipped in softly. Her non-verbal communication being she would like to see them more. Amaka did not know how to explain her need to be the primary care giver so she didn’t bother
The silence went on for longer; but it was not uncomfortable. That was what Amaka liked about the Coker residence; there was never any useless chatter. If there was nothing to say; nothing was said and it was perfectly acceptable. She laid her head back and closed her eyes
“When last did you hear from Femi?” Lade asked with slightly wet eyes
“Last night”
“Oh. So he is alright?”
“Yes ma. He sends his love”
“No he doesn’t.” Kunle said “No need to be polite my dear, we know our son. He is an egomaniac, not even his children could make him return”
“Big Daddy...” Lade cautioned
“It’s true” Kunle insisted. Amaka did not protest.
She watched Kunle reach across the sofa and pat his wife’s hand. It was brief but filled with affection. He was so tender with her. Amaka always told Femi that he took his parents for granted. He insisted that based on the Nwafors every family looked golden, Amaka did not argue.
However years later saw an absent Femi and still she stuck to her guns. The Cokers were good people, genuinely good people and it was unfortunate they were blessed with a son that refused to acknowledge that. Kunle Coker was a retired lawyer, a self-made millionaire, and tried really hard to instil the lesson of hard work but Femi wasn’t interested. He was surrounded by peers who spent their parents’ political and ill-gotten money without a care in the world and labelled his father as a kill joy because he was kept on an allowance. Fast forward to University and Femi paid no attention to his studies, too busy on the lookout for the next big thing. He barely graduated very nearly getting kicked off the course.
When Amaka fell pregnant, Femi pushed his father for a loan totalling millions of naira. Kunle instead offered him a job. Femi viewed this as a clear power play and the discord began. As Amaka waited to be rescued from her parents’ house in Anambra State by her knight in shining armour, and married to the love of her life. Femi continued to argue for money, calling his father unsupportive of his dreams even pushing for his inheritance upfront. Kunle refused each tactic, insisting Femi grow up and with that battle lines were drawn. Femi promised to return from America wealthier than his father, he swore on it. “Then I will marry you,” he said to Amaka, “in a big wedding that all your sisters will be jealous of.” Amaka didn’t care about that, but Femi obviously did.
Lade got up to fetch Amaka something to drink ignoring her offers to help. She could tell how lonely the woman was. She just wanted her family all together, Amaka could relate with that.
“Where is Sade?” Amaka asked Kunle
“Ah she’s resting” his eyes lit up when he spoke of his daughter.
“Is everything alright?”
“Eh her Autism is more manageable now” Kunle cast his eyes to the ceiling
“Or we’re better with dealing with it. We’ve had eighteen years of practice” he laughed. Amaka joined in. For all his money and good intentions in the world Kunle was given two children: a son allergic to hard work and a daughter who was confined to her own world
“Here we are my dear” Lade dropped a tray of wafers and a bottle of Fanta with a glass on the table beside Amaka. She made to pour
“Ah Big Mommy please” Amaka rushed to stop her nearly toppling the tray in the process.
“The girl can pour her own drink” Kunle scolded gently and patted the cushion next to him for his wife to sit”
Lade was so eager to please that it ended up putting Amaka on edge. She sympathised with the woman’s pain; her only son never contacts her and her daughter had good days and bad. She viewed Amaka as a surrogate and sometimes was too kind, almost as if to make up for Femi’s flights of fancy. It always seemed like the woman was grooming her for something, it took Nabila to help Amaka see it.
“You are her saviour” Nabila said that night two years ago
“She is hoping you’ll be the one to tame Femi and bring him to his senses”
“I have no control over Femi” Amaka protested
“Not the way she sees it. You are the good girl that will help her son settle down. As long as you are around, Femi will come home. That is why she is so nice to you. You are her life line to her son. The day you leave, you take the grandkids and him away”
“She has Sade”
“You know it’s not the same”
“I’m going to check on the kids” Lade announced gravitating towards the sound of laughter
“More like watch over them” Kunle said when his wife was out of ear shot. Amaka smiled
They sat in silence, with occasional chit-chatter about work and the twins and current affairs. Kunle spoke slowly and without burden. There was no emotional blackmail involved, nor exaggerated lip service. Mostly it was silence, beautiful calming silence that Amaka rested in. She liked Kunle Coker. Just as she did the first time she met him, he pointed at her four months pregnant tummy and said boy-girl twins. He was right.


By S.B

Welcome to Lagos

I saw the documentary Welcome to Lagos tonight and I loved it. Here is the preview:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00s3vdm

It was so touching. There is this part where one of the guys talks about how his mother abandoned him when he was young and he was just shifted from various family members just like a burden. He said he never felt wanted and had someone to hold him like a mother would. It was so so touching.
He has a family and the way he shows love for them by working so hard to provide nearly moved me to tears. When he says here is my little daughter, future Miss World I was touched by his optimism and devotion to his family. In the end he has a little birthday party to celebrate his child's first birthday and it is such a happy moment. I loved it.
It showed both the good and bad side and painted a realistic picture of what life in Lagos and anywhere in Nigeria is like.

You can watch it on BBC Iplayer below:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00s3bmx/Welcome_to_Lagos_Episode_1/


Enjoy
Miss B

Blogsville Drama

Just read the comments on this POST! It definitely made my day. I was Laffing my head off!

Enjoy.
Miss B

The Northern Prince Part 5

Northern Prince 4 can be found HERE

Amaka Nwafor was by all definition a disappointment to her parents. She refused to study medicine as she was instructed; squandered her allowance and worse of all got pregnant at just 19years of age, by a Yoruba boy no less.

Oh yes, Amaka was the blackest of sheep and her parents never let her forget it. Because there is nothing worse than a wild child that started off mild. Amaka grew up obedient and submissive in the Igbo Catholic home she shared with her five siblings. Her father Chinedu Nwafor was an oil tycoon who harboured fantasies of running for office. His wife Ulonna Nwafor enforced her strict rules with a regimen to shame military boot camps. Boys to Men were akin to Satan with their baritones of fornication; form fitting clothes signalled End of Days and make up invited a sponge scrub. Television viewing time was restricted to Tales by Moonlight and Speak out and Kidivision 101. The mere mention of the Spanish soap operas such as: Secrets of the Sand, Wild Rose, or The Rich Also Cry were grounds for beating and prayer interventions. So Amaka lived within this environment and passed her teenage years without a tantrum or a raised voice or a slammed door. That was till she was put on the plane to England.

It began in Manchester University when Amaka denied her offer of Medicine in favour of Psychology. The allure of philosophy, biology and sociology suited her background too perfectly to pass up. Psychology was based in asking why. That was a privilege Amaka was never allowed and she revelled in it. It was a strange new world to her, one where her parents for the first time had no control over her actions or beliefs. It was invigorating, like the first scent of sea after years of drought. In her second semester she met Nabila in a crowded lecture hall and they became partners in a group presentation on Communication Skills.

Then Nabila met Jamal and as those two became joined at the hip, Amaka was left alone with Jamal’s course mate Femi Coker. The Politics and International Relations student found Amaka annoying. Because she hardly ever spoke a word and when she did it was straight out of a text book. It seemed she never had an opinion of her own and clung to her rosary like a life line. But she came with Nabila and Nabila was stuck to Jamal and Jamal was his friend. To cope with the vast amounts of time they were left alone Femi cultivated the habit of teasing her. At first it was just something to do, and then it got fun. It was too easy with Amaka providing material as she knew nothing of Popular Culture. How could she never have heard of TLC? There was her dress sense which resembled that of a convalescing patient, and the fact that she never had a retort. Femi began to look forward to seeing the antique and sometimes kept insults on reserve just for her.

As a guy he never saw the boundaries drawn in the sand till Amaka burst into tears one late afternoon in March. Without the common decency to run into the bathroom as girls usually do she sat there and wept till Femi really felt ashamed of himself. Nabila returned and took her away; Femi saw neither of them for a month and when he found out Jamal’s relationship was suffering as a result he appeared in Amaka’s hall with flowers to grovel for forgiveness. Insisted on taking her out to dinner to make amends and somewhere between the cab ride and the paying the bill Femi saw Amaka in a different light. He had never seen anyone so appreciative of pizza and crispy chicken before. Amaka gazed at their surroundings like it was a candle lit Italian restaurant on the banks of Venice and sipped on her cola like it was a fruity full bodied red wine. At the end of the evening he knew he would insist they be more than friends...

Amaka relayed the story to her children this morning, as she did most days when they insisted on hearing about daddy. She believed they savoured the tale because they recognised every character; that way daddy was more real. Naturally she left out the party animal she became and the drastic make over that occurred as a result of it. Femi’s interest gave her the confidence to relax her hair, wear slinkier outfits and loosen up. Those days of double dating with Nabsy and Jay were the happiest of her life and she loved Femi with a conviction as blind as faith. Even with his flaws and obsession with money. Even as his get-rich schemes investments drained them both of monetary resources, leaving gaping holes in grocery and phone bills. Amaka never stopped believing in Femi and remained his biggest supporter long after his charm wore thin on Nabila and eventually Jamal.

Amaka glanced at the wall clock in her kitchen and bit her lip; they were late but she did not want to rush Chibuzo as he tied his shoelaces for the first time on his own. Her parents would just have to stew and hold their insults for a bit longer. She had not seen or heard from them since Christmas and had been dreading this Easter lunch since the New Year. Chibuzo triumphantly pulled his bow and she applauded and smothered him in kisses eventually dragging Chiamaka in as well. Quickly she bundled them into the car and drove off towards her parent’s hotel. Their insistence on seeing the grandkids was calendar perfect. They only ever visited during the holidays and each time they performed the magic trick of falling in love with twins over again while simultaneously disregarding the mother, their daughter. Amaka honestly only went through this for the children, if anything ever happened to her they were entrusted to her new family of Nabila and Jamal Mujahid. She was estranged from her siblings and did not care to be around them anyway. Amaka took a deep breath as they walked up the stairs to her parent’s hotel suite.

She knocked; her mother opened and in one swift motion pushed Amaka aside bending to swoop up Chiamaka into her arms. She cooed to her in Igbo and beckoned for her husband who had been reading the paper on the balcony. Chibuzo ran to his grandfather and was patted on the back while being told what a man he was becoming. Amaka sat down resting her feet and began the torturous countdown till she could leave. Presents were heaped on the twins before her parents strolled to her.

“Nonye is pregnant”

“Oh” Amaka didn’t care, someone was always pregnant.

“It is a boy by the grace of God”

“Amen”

“Ifeanyi has returned from America they say he is not feeling fine”

“It is well”

“Chukwuma is about to open his own hospital”

“We thank God”

“That boy is just blessed” her parents agreed in unison

Amaka said nothing. The conversation was on thin ice

“If you had married him now...” There it was. It had only taken thirty seconds for her mother to find a nerve and jump on it.

“I mean I don’t understand eh. The man was ready to accept you. After everything” Ulonna Nwafor clicked her tongue.

Amaka remained quiet, she could do this. Survive this afternoon and your duty is done till Christmas.

“God continues to bless you. Yet you throw it away and laugh in His face”

“I hear the Governor’s daughter follows him around like a lost goat” her father added

“So many women want to marry him now. Rich doctor like that.” Her mother ran her eyes over Amaka’s face. Disappointment deepening frown lines.

“How many women with children have the chance to marry? Eh how many?” Ulonna questioned her voice rising

“I don’t know what we ever did to you” she eyed Amaka like nothing would give her greater pleasure than to punish her as she used to.

“It is not your fault. It is the devil. He must be cast out” her father mumbled

“Chukwuma called my children born sinners and told me I must answer for mine on the Final Day” Amaka cut in

“So?!” Ulonna eyed her. “That is why you chose to jeopardise your children’s future. They could have a father by now”

“Not one who loves them”

“You are waiting for that fraudster to come back? That useless Yoruba boy to return from America” Ulonna dusted her palms together and folded them under her breasts.

Amaka quickly glanced at the twins in the other room. Chiamaka’s curious eyes were on her mother and with a huge smile Amaka rose to them. They did not need to hear this. She pulled out a Shark Tale DVD from her bag and sat her children in front of the 35inch flat screen. When she returned her mother was shaking her foot so fast it seemed to have a life of its’ own.

“We are praying for you” her father resumed

“I don’t even know why we are still discussing Chukwuma. That was 4 years ago”

“We know how long it has been”. Ulonna hissed

Amaka looked at the clock; she had only been here fifteen minutes. She was doing well so far, this time last year she was fuming beneath the surface. Now she just couldn’t be asked. Soon they would proceed to her disregard for the place of religion in her children’s lives, touch on their slow progress in learning Igbo, chastise her for moving to Abuja, and for the grand finale inform her she would end up alone because the older the children got the less likely any man would be willing to raise them as his own. Chukwuma was her last and only chance. Sure enough as time moved on slowly, her parents stuck to the script and berated Amaka for all she was worth.

When the kids were done watching their cartoon, they all proceeded downstairs to the restaurant for lunch. Her mother cleared her throat and began her traditional long winded prayer marathon. She prayed God would resurrect Amaka’s faith as he did Lazarus, asked the Virgin Mary coach her against the sins of the flesh, and lead her to a purer path. Amaka sniggered here...she was not sure she remembered how to sin with her flesh. Ulonna placed her grandkids in the arms of the Lord and committed their souls to salvation, pleaded that the sins of their parents not be re-visited upon them. Amaka opened one eye to spy Chiamaka yawning widely and Chibuzo licking ketchup off his finger; she winked at them and signalled they be quiet. Her poor babies were hungry. At home, prayers were a simple “Bless this meal”. Finally, twenty minutes later they could eat.

During their meal Chibuzo reached for a drum stick with his left hand; Ulonna Nwafor slapped his palm immediately.

“Ouch”

“You are a child of God. Use your right hand”

“Big Mommy lets me use any hand I want” Chibuzo sulked

“As long as it’s clean” Chiamaka added

“Well what do you expect from a Yoruba woman” her father sneered

“Dirty people. No table manners” Ulonna stared at Amaka. Amaka returned the glare chewing. It was customary for Femi’s parents to receive insults as well.

At the parking lot, her parents’ placed their palms on the twins’ forehead to pray for them before turning to Amaka with a resigned sigh. They were returning to Anambra next week after a visit at her older sister’s house in Lekki, Lagos. Ada was the golden goose: a lawyer, married to an Igbo man, with two sons and the most uptight stuffy person Amaka knew. The day she found herself that unhappy with her life Amaka made a promise to seek mental help. Unfortunately Ada was raising her children just as their mom raised them; so Amaka assumed the children were unhappy as well. Constant monitoring is not a life. It is prison. Parents turned back to their hotel and Amaka wondered how Ada could know her husband Obinna was a homosexual and still stay married to him. Living in denial and pretending everything was okay must surely be killing her. Surely her sanity was more important than remaining the favourite offspring. For Ada appearances seemed to matter more than happiness and her parents in conjunction continued to ignore the cracks beneath the veneer. Amaka drove the kids to get some ice-cream and celebrate surviving another family lunch.

Evening approached and Amaka was home. She sat with Nabsy in her living room watching Ben 10 with Chibuzo while Chiamaka gave her favourite Aunt a makeover.

“Aunty Sit still” Chiamaka scolded as she parted thick hair to oil it. “Don’t you want it to be fine?”

“Of course I do”

“Then keep your head like this” Chiamaka bent her neck at a painful angle and Amaka laughed

“If you were not the best hair dresser in Abuja, I wouldn’t waste my time coming here” Nabila rubbed her sore neck. Chiamaka blushed and resumed oiling with vigour

“Mommy is it true?”

“Absolutely”

“So I can be a hairdresser? Because grandma said I should be a doctor”

“You can be whatever you want to be. A hairdresser, a florist even a power puff girl”

“Mommy I can’t be a power puff girl. I need chemical X for that”

“Duh” Nabila agreed shaking her head at Amaka. They shared a smile

With the twins asleep after a game of monopoly Nabsy and Amaka got down to grownup talk. Once again, Nabila was trying to play match maker and hook her up. This time with one of Jamal’s business associates.

“Don’t you ever give up?” Amaka spooned ice cream into her mouth. She would blame the missing vanilla tub on Nabila should the twins ask for it.

“I want you to be happy”

“I am.”

“Okay I want you to get laid”

Amaka laughed and took the business card although she knew that no matter how perfect this Ikenna Nwosu turned out to be she would come home waiting for her phone to ring and Femi to say he was returning home to his family. He left to ‘hammer’ and promised he would return soon. That was four years ago but every day Amaka waited for news from New York. Waited for Femi to tell her he was coming home to her and his kids.

The minute Femi was out of the picture her parents forced Chukwuma on her. The only Catholic more fanatic than that man was the pope himself. Spoke down to Amaka like he had a VIP pass into heaven. He was not for her; she tried to explain to her parents but it was difficult to take a stand whilst she lived under their roof and they raised her children. One day she could take no more, she packed up belongings and drove away. Got on the plane and begged Nabsy to meet her at the airport when she landed in Abuja. Right now, mentioning the fact she still loved Femi would only start Nabsy on a fit of insults and a ‘forget about that (insert expletive)’ lecture. So she glanced over the card without registering the details and promised to answer when Mr. Nwosu called. Nabila made her save the number on her phone and insisted they practice her sexy voice. Amaka obliged her

“Jamal and I are thinking of starting a family”

“Oh my God that’s wonderful Nabsy” Amaka jumped to hug her.

“You better put us on that list”

“As soon as you pee on the stick you will be placed at number one” Amaka kissed her cheek. She loved Nabsy and Jay very much and after all they had done to help her she wanted their happiness more than anything. She moved out of her parents’ home when the twins were just two years old and Jay helped her find an apartment within her means. Luckily for Amaka her father had set up a savings account in her name from the day she was born. She cleared it, placed a deposit on her two bedroom flat and loved it into a home. The walls were lined with pictures and artwork, a framed studio shot of her and her babies with smiles as bright as the sun.

The candy paint changed hues in each room, they were dirty dishes from dinner in her sink, Nabila’s Usher CD was loud, and the twins were in pyjamas sleeping on the carpet. The Pocahontas DVD in pause on the TV, Ginseng hair cream and cutting comb still on the coffee table and not one religious memorabilia in sight. In short, it was the stark opposite of her childhood home in Anambra. She loved the disorganised mess that came with children and smiled whenever she came across a crayon be it in their toy box or behind the sofa. That was the life of kids; nothing was sacred. So the sofa was for jumping on, the carpet a spare bed and walls sometimes made better drawing boards. She scolded but was careful not to tame their spirits. She would not beat creativity and wit into submission. Amaka was determined their lives would be unrestricted and fun and free. They were 6 year olds and they would act like 6 year olds.

Before Nabila left she helped carry Chibuzo to his bed tucking him in. “This will be you soon” Amaka whispered as Nabsy kissed his forehead goodnight.

Nabila did not explain Jamal’s reaction the first time she suggested they try for a baby. She no longer argued with him and he had moved back into the Master bedroom. She was determined to have a child and would do that by any means necessary. Nabila needed something from her sister’s office so the next day she insisted they bring Rabi along for lunch. Surprisingly Amaka was hesitant and proceeded to act uncomfortably towards her sister the rest of the afternoon. Even when Rabi complained of missing materials and kits from her store room, Amaka offered bland sympathy. Nabila excused herself when they dropped Rabi off at the fertility centre

“Amaka is everything alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Amaka asked Rabi back

“You seem a little annoyed”

“Really? Do you recommend I rent a hotel room in The Hilton to cool off?”

Rabi did not know what to say and was sure she was making connections where they needn’t be any. “Hotels are not only for that. People go there for lots of reasons.” She responded slowly. Could Amaka know? No, it wasn’t possible. She was jumping to conclusions.

Amaka did not know what to think but she knew the sight of Jamal and Rabi in the hotel lobby made her uncomfortable. She was there for the 24hour pharmacy as a cold had kept Chiamaka awake all night. With two drowsy 6 year olds in the car she saw her friend’s husband and his sister in law stroll out of the Hilton reception and towards their cars. Amaka did not care what century they lived in, there is nothing else that a grown man and woman had to do in the reception of a hotel lobby at that hour. However Amaka never jumped to conclusions giving everyone and anyone she came across the benefit of doubt. Always. It was the mantra she lived by. Amaka trusted her belief in humanity and reigned in her imagination.

She had planned to mention it to Nabila anyway but on hearing that she and Jamal planned to start a family it was clear that whatever was going on was clearly over. As long as it ended well, no one need find out. Never interfere in a marriage no matter the capacity, Rabi knew that. She was a 28year old woman not a child and she had protected her sister Nabila all their life. She would never hurt her. The weekend brought Jay and his offer of lunch, Amaka listened to him. He seemed happy, happier than she had seen him in almost a year. Nabila was close to ecstatic so Amaka decided to swallow her tongue praising God that the age old rule of men returning to their wives held true for her friend. And now they wished to start a family. All’s well that ends well.

It had now been two months since Jamal first turned down Nabila. Two months since she cried herself to sleep. Two months since she decided that she deserved a baby giving what she put up with. Two months since it stopped to matter what the hell Jamal did because she had a plan. Nabila had never been more focused and determined in her life. She read up on conception and followed the rules to the letter. She varied her diet and consumed fish and whole grains. Her water intake was spot on the recommended 2L. She started to exercise; cycling for 20minutes a day. Most importantly she cut the stress in her life. She remained polite but never stressed anyone or herself. Jamal was free to do as he pleased and her mother became white noise. Instead Nabila immersed her free time into landscaping. Gardening helped her relax and drawing out plans for seed dispersal actually made her happy. She had an irrigation sprinkler system installed and dug the earth herself. If it did not look right the first time; she had a go at it again till her shoulders ached. Wore out her gardening gloves, shopped for seeds, built an arsenal of shovels and spades and borrowed tips from Babayaro, her mother’s gardener.

The gift of flowers is one of the few she was blessed with and at her talented finger tips: geraniums, freesia, chrysanthemums, carnations, and ambrosias sprang up bringing to life what she imagined Frances Burnett’s Secret Garden to resemble. Watching them bloom prevented her obsessing about getting pregnant; she would have driven herself mad with a single fixation that powerful. The flowers although diligently planted to receive much light were cleverly mapped out across squidgy lines on the grass so they looked like they sprung up by accident. Everywhere was coloured with something in bloom. Nabila had never been more proud of herself.

Amaka dropped her off and Nabila wished she could confide in her, but it would be too soon. Any sooner and it might jinx her luck. Nabila had previously stolen a fertility monitor and temperature chart from her sister’s office; she had listened with a solemn face to Rabi’s frustration as she complained over lunch about thievery but her determination to get pregnant left no room for guilt. As she kept Amaka and Rabi waiting for her return she stole her final ingredient: some tablets to knock Jamal out. Tonight was the perfect night to conceive. Tonight was the day before her ovulation. Tonight her cervical mucus was thin and clear, she checked. Tonight she was going to drug her husband and coax him to ejaculate into her.

Jamal returned from work and followed his routine: inhaled his late lunch then went out, returning past midnight. Nabila greeted, followed him upstairs and lay down to sleep shutting her eyes. When she heard his breathing measured and slow she stood and lowered the air conditioner to make sure his sperm got really cool. It was better that way. She then waited for an hour. At the perfect time right when goose bumps began to appear on his arms Nabila watched him stir awake. Then drift back almost unconsciously; she had spiked his aromatic tea before he went to bed. Too tired to do more than accept the cold, he lay zoned out. Nabila undressed and climbed atop her husband. She slid his penis out of his pyjama trousers and began to massage it. As he got aroused Nabila listened to her husband make noises she had forgotten could come out of him. His now erect penis throbbed warm in her hands.. She guided his penis into her and began to gyrate atop him, praying for just one of the little bastards to fertilise her egg. Nabila hated the method of this but wanted the results too badly

“Bee Bee” Jamal mumbled

“Yes its Nabsy”

“Bee Bee”

After ejaculation Nabila stealthily rolled off him and lay on her back with her knees to her chest and feet in the air. She maintained that position for longer than was necessary; praying non-stop. Eventually she got up and cleaned Jamal with a cloth wipe, she tucked him back in, increased the temperature of the air conditioner and went to sleep with a smile on her face.

By S.B

Blood and Oil

You guys NEED to watch this!

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00rw5mp/Blood_and_Oil_Episode_1/



Miss B

A Lesson from Sandra Bullock

So awards season 2010 is over and Sandra Bullocks ,with her wins at the Golden Globes,SAG,Peoples Choice,Oscars and even the Razzies, was the golden girl of the season.I have loved Bullocks since Miss Congeniality, then I loved her more at Two Weeks Notice,Divine secrets of the YaYa sisterhood,Premonition,Lake House,The Proposal and of course her performance of the moment in The Blind Side.

But what most people don't realise is that her roles in both Blind Side and The Proposal were initially offered to Julia Roberts, and were only offered to her after Roberts declined it. Even with this knowledge,Bullocks accepted knowing she was second choice,to quote the lady of the moment, upon her notification of an Oscar nomination "I'd take sloppy seconds anytime"

Often times in life,we get chosen second,or we get our second options in situations as opposed to our first,this could range from things as trivial as that Karen Millen coat you had been eyeing on the sale rack but had to settle for the next nicest as the original was too small,to major issues as important as college acceptance/rejections,or the second job option you had to settle for when you got rejected from your dream firm, that you had structured all your major college extra curricular to suit its ideal graduate profile. Or even the second best man because your first choice was already taken.

Our reactions to this default choice varies per individual, some choose to see it as a major failure and continue to wallow in self pity. In this camp is where you find the grown boy who refuses to further his education at an on par domestic university because he got refused a student visa,and wakes up to find himself 25 going on 30 and still applying for that visa. The young professional who makes mediocre work efforts because he only works at Adebayo n co solicitors as opposed to Temples,to the girlfriend/wife who keeps criticising her man's every move because he wasn't her first choice.

While not as frequent,you also find the elite few who decide to pick this new situation and make it the best it can be, like Bullocks transformation in Miss Congeniality.

It can be a daunting task, enduring all the flossing,twizzing,brushing and polishing required to bring out the diamond in these situations. But the reward of the precious stone is only available to the patient miner. So even though its easier said than practiced, in whatever default situation you find yourself in today,with a lot of love,patience and a generous dose of perseverance give it your best and watch it blossom from an ugly stone to a diamond in the sand,bearing in mind, that these situations might end up being the best decision you ever make. Just like it was for Sandra Bullock.

Miss L.C