If you were born in the 90s, come let's laugh together

Rubber band was our medium of exchange in those days. Having bundles of rubber band in stock was equal to having millions in your bank account. I lie?

See, I remembered using rubber to collect food items from my neigbour's children, especially those whose mother were selling "eja yinyan" or roasted fishes. My cousin would give up his food for me because of a dozen rubber band around my wrist. A trade by barter.😅😅😅

We heard of devilish people who trapped children with rubber band for ritual purpose. We learnt about our mates who were turned to yam in orita meta or road intersections when picking up a rubber. Maybe those stories were fabricated. But we believed them, so we were warned by our parents not to pick up rubber on the ground. However, some stubborn kids would urinate on the rubber band before picking them. As legend would have it, urine could prevent any bad luck.

The champions at winning rubbers were held in high regards like celebrities. We hyped them on the street. We called the champions in street A to compete with champions in street B. It was fun.

One thing about kite was having bundle of thread.

Making of kites with graceful flight required special skills. Some children had Masters and Phd at making kites.

We used to buy dozens of thread with our food money and join them till it became so full. We wanted our kite to sail high till it reduced to a dot in the sky or seen no more. We wanted the kite to travel far. One of my mates told me he flew a kite from our house in Sango Ota and it was seen high up by a friend in Lagos. As children we believed all these things.

We learnt big, big words in the dictionary to include in love letters. Girls of those days were excited by grammar. Haha. We memorized sweet words to write in love letter more than our classroom subjects. We qualified the girls with sugar, butter, roses, butterflies etc more than children of 21st century. The dustbin would be filled to the brim before we composed a perfect love letter. Some people begged the professional love letter writers among their peers. They even paid them. Those were good old days when getting a girl had a lot of "Try agains" like sitting for JAMB.

Girl's reply was always full of insults. But if she liked you already, you won a jackpot. She would reply with sweet words as well. Most times, these girls would insult you even if they liked you. Of course, they would play hard to get.

 So after she has received the letter and we didn't get a reply, we began to fret and feel shy around them. Your friends would push you to ask her if she has seen the letter and what she feels about you. Or you start proposing to her orally. But since this was a daunting task, your friends would boost your moral. Moral high! Moral high!!

Boat was one of the leading paper craft by children of the 90s. We made a varieties of boat. It was an enviable skill to make a boat that would sit comfortably in a pool of water. We sailed these boats mostly in a flood after heavy rain. We watched as our boat sailed away and we might as well send the boats a message to God by dropping a letter inside them.

Share with your friends and laugh together.

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Your stubborn child is prone to be more successful. Check out the facts.

When a child is stubborn, he/she is prone to be more successful. If your child is strong-willed or hardheaded, don't despair.


You are probably weary of that child and you are so frustrated and forced to say "I don't think I am the one that gave birth to you sef. Maybe they gave me the wrong baby in the hospital. You don't hear word!"


Most parents are struggling with this. In some children, stubbornness can be curbed to a minimal level through continous scolding and beating.


But when you see a child who does not want to yield despite using our African restore-back-to-factory reset weapons such as cane, spanks etc, don't worry too much. Most of these kids have their own good sides which can be nurtured through proper guidance and patience.


You just have to be careful as a parent to do away with any harmful things around the house.

Because If you ask them not to touch that thing, they would go right to that thing and be like "What exactly will happen if I dare it?"


The same way they attempt things that people of their age group find daunting or too tasking. They walk straight out of the box. They pursue their goals. They are resilient; relentless in their pursuits.


(Their counterparts who are passive or quiet are also goal getters, scholars but the stubborn ones are too fond of pushing beyond the boundary)


As they grow up into adolescent age, and as a student, the common traits exhibited by such kids include, rule breaking, defiance, Inattentiveness and impatience.


"The study published in the Development Psychology journal, followed 700 children from the age of 12 to 52. It looked at how behaviour in late childhood could predict participants' success later in life and whether or not stubbornness was a factor in achieving throughout adult careers."

"The team then examined which personality traits were most common in the children who grew up to be the most successful.
The results showed that children who frequently broke the rules, defied their parent and were a responsible student were the ones who went on to be high achievers and earn the most in their careers."



The quoted statement was issued by a English researcher, Emma Henderson | Twitter @Emmalouisehendy

Wake up, African men! See the 8 ways you can save your 21st century marriage

Whether you like it or not, as a man of African descent, you need to accept the fact that relationship is not what it used to be in the times of our forefathers. Here are the ways you can tell if you are the cause of the problem in your marriage.


1. Appearance


A 21st century African lady cares much more about her appearance. That is why you would find make-up kits in their handbags. They are inclined to displaying their "assets", though not entirely, when they are married. It makes them feel good when a man glances back at them and drool. It boosts their self-esteem and they want to gist their husband about it, so he wouldn't take them for granted. They want to tell him how a man has stared at them till he stumbled into a roadside drainage.

A way to say "Hey, Mr man, just count yourself lucky for having me all to yourself."

The 21st century women are influenced by their role models; the sophisticated female artistes, the models, and actresses, who, irrespective of their marital statuses, dress to "kill". Unlike the historical African women, western culture has prevailed over the African culture. Some men restrict their women's provocative dressings to the confinement of their homes, except in cases they are going out together. It might strike some conflicts, except of course if the woman is our "Sister" in the Lord.

As an African man, you have to adjust to this trend. All you need is build some trusts with your woman. Even some modest or religious dressers hide behind the cloak of decency to fornicate. Don't confuse modesty for faithfulness.

2. Career

As a man, it is advisable you don't share in the archaic belief or slogan that a woman only belongs to the kitchen and "zi-oza room." Haha. It is an insult to the 21st century women. This is an era when women want to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with men in every endeavour of life. Women don't want to be subjected to the task of caring for children and domestic chores alone; they have big dreams just like you. A dream to become great and be adored like those larger than life figures they see on TV screen and international magazines. A typical 21st century woman want to be independent. They want to be highly educated like their man. So don't make the mistake of caging a 21st century woman like a goat. Modern women generally want to convince the world that what a man can do they can outdo it, which is very close to reality now. Women are of course making waves in political arena. You can check here for some list of great women leaders.


3. Jealousy/insecurity.

The 21st century African women are equally jealous as the historical women. But advancement in technology makes the modern woman become more alert. Don't take up an offence when she scrolls through your mobile phone if you want peace to reign. Women don't really feel secure anymore (men are worse but wouldn't admit) because they know what is happening in the age of internet. People steal your heart at a glimpse with the exhibition of mouth-watering "assets" on social media. Some 21st century women would check the profile of a handsome dude on social media and shoot their shots without hesitation. The women, few of them, knows better than to get close to their man's mobile phone to avoid a heart attack. As a man, tell your woman something sweet like:

"Omolola, you are the best thing that ever happens to me."

Tell her that any intimate conversation she ever encounters between you and other women on your phone is you catching fun and "nothing" more. Tell her that no one can take her place, even if you are surrounded by a million women. After all, you can't do without chatting up an opposite sex. It would make her feel secure at least. A woman likes to be placed so high or prioritized. So do just that and mean it!

4. Love-making

A 21st century woman has gone wild when it comes to love making. They are bored with old styles. The "world" itself is getting bored and so it spins surprises at us, like rain falling at abnormal period of the year, same applicable to other climates. Women don't want a man that pounces on them like a chicken and gets off as quickly. That's very selfish.

Ancient African woman were only accustomed to one love-making style. A man on top, missionary, which in fact symbolized the supremacy of a man over their women in African society. Now, women aspire to dominate, just like they do in their various careers. They want to be on top. If an ancient African woman had suggested this style to her man, she would be labelled a prostitute. Most significantly, a modern woman's body needs to be worshipped, from the tip of her toes to her crotch, up to her torso. Let her spirit lift and travel uphill. Learn to know her "alarm bottons". Let the fountain flow from her spring and show that you value her body. Kiss her "downside lips" as much as you would her normal lips. Do it passionately. Explore. Make love anywhere in the house, in the kitchen, against the wall, use the floor, the stair case, the bathroom. Let it be fun that it is. With this, a modern woman would think twice before divorcing you in any circumstances.

5. Gisting and catching fun


A 21st century woman don't want a man who only smiles when he wants to make love. They want to rub minds with you and air their grievances. They want to gist you about their interests. Don't be a dragon of a husband whose presence would make a wife and children recoil like frightened cats.

Women want to gossip with you about anything. Most amiable couples are gossipers in nature. Funny, isn't? Most women now wants a man that can play with them like kids do, which was considered insane in ancient African society. Only a few couple did that in the confinement of their chambers in those days. The modern women want their hubbies to sneak up on them from behind in the kitchen and tickle them or grab their waists; pillow fights etc.

Modern women have always dreamt to play the perfect love role they watch on Hollywood and Bollywood movies. They especially envy the European way of life, which has come to stay. If a man can spare his time for this, his marriage is bound to last forever. Take your woman out, like you always did during your courtship.


6. Ego

At the beginning, you must have let her learn your likes and dislikes. You can reproach her gently whenever she oversteps that boundary. Let her know that no one is perfect, but she has to be apologetic. Some modern women have bloated egos. So this is a way to curtail it. You just need to admit to your own mistakes as well. Respect her. The submission would come naturally. Reciprocate the "sorry" language. It shows that you care about each other's feelings. We were all raised in different homes, from different backgrounds. Learn to deal with her demon, for every woman has their natural demon.


7. The financial aspect

A 21st century woman don't want a man that always hides his financial status. Be open sometimes even if you are secretive. They don't want a man who imposes it on them to pay their children's school fees just because they are well paid at their workplace. If she must take such responsibility, it should be a voluntary act or when the husband is financially incapable. They want a man who knows his right/responsibility in the house. They want you to indulge them with gifts if you are a rich husband. Most of them are fashion freaks. They want jewelry and the new shoes they have come across on fashion mags. As a man, you need to take them out for shopping. Surprise them. Every woman likes surprises, no matter how little the gift. Most 21st century women get fretful or impatient when you are financially down. If you are qualified in the item 4 (Love-making) a woman would still endure.

8. Privacy/breathing space

Everyone needs a time alone. As a husband you need to understand your woman. Don't force yourself on her when she doesn't feel like playing with you or having intercourse with you. Just give her some time. It may take some hours, sometimes a whole day. She may be moody. We all have things that suddenly turn us to a calm pool of water. Sometimes it's our spirit that just demands the distance, not out body. That is why we are humans. Though, this state of mind and soul is always mistaken for a kind of irritation or quarrel against the other person.









Thanks for taking your time to read through. May we all have a happy and fulfilling home. You are free to share your views. Follow on tweeter @Tokst_ar

How to make your online dating end up in marriage

Love is very sweet. Love is the greatest thing in the world, yet love is like a boiling water which must be handled with carefulness lest it splashes and leave an everlasting scar.


Almost everyone has that online girl or boy who is the reason of our online presence. Some of us don't have only one because we don't want the fatal heartbreaks that come with love (Except we are on casual relationship). Many even break up online without seeing at all. Yet this online love is two years old or more.


Here are the things to keep in mind when you want that your online damsel and that handsome dude to be your dream come true.


Expect less


Expect less. Don't think people's real life image would always mirror their online image. During a date, If the person is more gorgeous, beautiful or handsome, than expected, it's a bonus. Programme your mind to a minimal level. We always make the mistake of taking our imagination too far when we meet that Miss Beauty or Mr. handsome on Facebook, IG and other social platforms. I have met people who are finer than their dp. And likewise people that are nothing compared to what I see on the online photo album. That is called "camera injustice"

Phone camera is a weird gadget. Let us not mention the crazy filter apps churned up on Google play store. Video chat creates better justice to our real look more than snapshot.

Have you ever taken a selfie that looked more like who you wished you are rather than your true self even without applying filter. And "click" we save it and smile...Hmmmn. see me o. See beauty?...Oh see fine boy.

Camera or filter, especially, lies to us and we love the way it lies. Rihanna should make a remix of "I love the way you lie" for filters. It doesn't mean that Camera doesn't tell the truth. Of course, it does. Note that everyone is beautiful in their own way. The most valuable beauty is inside us. Our asset or intellect or moral value are examples of inner beauty.

So everyone posts their best look online, male and female alike.




True Identity


While online, we interview each other on several events that shape our lives to what is it today.

We chat from 8pm to 3am and even more. The realization of the flying time would shock us.

He would be like "Just now, 3am?"

And she would be equally surprised she has stayed that long online chatting you. That is chemistry. It is an unconscious thing. Two hearts merging to become one. But in all these interviews, or interaction, remember to be truthful in everything you say. Financial status, location, family etc. Sometimes we lie to save face. But be 95% honest if not 100%. Don't forget to mention your height, 5ft or 6? Because this is one of the illusions camera make.

This is common to the female folks. Most ladies are infatuated over height.

When you finally meet, she would be like "I thought he is even taller than this?" This may let the feeling dwindle right away. This is one of the features of high expectation.


With all these things at the back of your mind, there is a high chance that your intimacy would be strengthened and you can get married if that is your intention.



A similar post  Wake up African men! See the 8 ways you can save your 21st century marriage

The flaming stone (Episode 4)

Click here for Episode 3

Akanbi was not convenient, like he was being tapped by invisible hands. 

Something is wrong somewhere, he thought. He left the gathering of hunters and left for his chamber, which was a calling distance from the ceremonial field. Getting inside, he looked around his room. “I think she’s in danger,” he thought aloud, his finger tapping on his teeth. He’d been thinking of finding Abeni a permanent protection. The bracelet had expired within the three days of his absence. And it was specially made for those warriors. He knew they would come for her. Very soon, the dance would start and Abeni was not present, he wondered. Today, he planned to declare Abeni as his heart desire before the large crowd—which included the royal chiefs, the kingdom scepter-carrier, Ewatomi and other royal folks, even from the neigbouring villages. Like him, Abeni must be recognized across the nine kingdoms.

"I need to set out for her place right away,” He sighed, his arms akimbo.

At the threshold he stumbled across his mother. Seeing the moving muscles on his torso like a million infant snakes, she said, “I saw the way you left your seat. I hope nothing is wrong.”

 “I will be right back Maami” He said and proceeded. And his mother recited his oriki or lineage panegyric: 

The son of the sun,

The mighty child, 

more than a thousand warriors...

In a few strides he was out of the compound. She noticed the spring in his steps, like a fierce dog chasing a bush meat. 

“Look at him. Just like his father,” she sighed.

 Meanwhile, the last masquerade was approaching the field, a multicolour costumed, a fire pot on head. The drummers began to stir the air with earth-quaking tempo. 

Ghun. Ghun. Ghun. Ghunla-Kunla. Ghun-kunla. Ghun. Ghun....

 Forth and back the masquerade surged like gusts of wind. Like the excited crowd, Ewatomi wouldn’t stop cheering—not exactly for the entertainment but Abeni. She had paid some maidens with tangible cowries on the day before. Their assignment was to mess Abeni’s dress after a merciless beating. She had got a spy for her, the hair-doer, who extracted the information about her festive participation.

 A moment ago, one of the maidens had come, “My princess, the job is done.” She had smiled in response, “Let’s see how she will dance today, that useless thing!” 

This moment, at Ayandele’s compound, Fadekemi was patting Abeni on the back. Her dress had been stained with palm oil and dust. There was no other dress to dance with. There was none again. Fadekemi didn't have any new cloth either. She insisted that Abeni should go with her, at least to see the events. But she wouldn’t go. She kept weeping. In the past seasons, Abeni had won several wears as prizes in dancing occasions. And she would share them among her mother and sisters. Otherwise, none of them would have more than two to three dresses in their baskets. A moment later Akanbi reached the compound. And with suppressed anger he asked what was amiss. Abeni explained how she was beaten and messed up, how Yomade had run to call for help, but there was no one in the surrounding. 

“How many of them?” Akanbi fumed. 

“Six.” 

“It’s alright. Change to any other wear. And come along.” 

“Abeni. Please, let us go,” urged 

Fadekemi. Slowly she stood up and walked inside, followed by Fadekemi. Akanbi was beholding the beauty he couldn’t wait to taste.

Likewise, Abeni never ceased to think about him, wished he would come and ask for her hand in marriage.

 *

 This time, it was almost dusk.  Abeni was now dressed in a casual wear, craning her neck in the crowd. At the furthest end, close to the gathering of priests, there was a dwarf tree littered with metallic objects, slaughtered male dog, palm oil and fronds. It was the Ogun’s shrine. As soon as the dancing was over, when the drums had subsided, Akanbi went to meet the orator, a fellow hunter, whispering to him. The orator was fully aware of the following drama. The orator splayed his palms to halt the drummers. As if the gods were in support of Akanbi’s action, no bird, no goat, or even hens could cry. The silence was so loud that one could hear another person’s heartbeat. As Akanbi approached the crowd they began to give way, as a forest would give way to fire. He grabbed Abeni by the right hand. And she wanted to whisper to him, to inquire his intention. But she imagined the silence, how the most dead whisper could echo from ears to ears. She lowered her head till they reached the mid stage.

 “Long live the elders of Oloyade!” Akanbi saluted the royal gathering, the priests, and the village grandees.

 “Ase-e-e!” chorused the crowd. Abeni began to tremble in his hold. 

“I have waited for this special moment,” he began, “In order to seek the grace of Ogun to introduce the flaming stone that had struck my heart. She is Abeni, Ayandele’s first daughter...”

 He paused for a moment. There was a loud murmur, hisses, finger snaps, silent mockeries. Ayandele was baffled, his mood oscillating between bitterness and joy. His depression relied on whether the kingdom would cast his family out. How he was going to seek another refuge. Yet he was proud to have a person like Akanbi as his son in-law. His fatherland, Elekuro, was among the distant kingdoms, beyond the Awoyaya river. There was no going back and the way forward remained vague. He sighed. 

“Abeni was nominated among the Ogun festive dancers!” Akanbi roared, “But some people conspired to afflict her! They messed her dancing costume and beat her! They deserve to be punished or not?” 

A grumble of protests filled the air as Akanbi showed the bruises on Abeni’s back and arms. The chiefs were nodding at each other as if to say, “Yes. They deserve to be punished.”

 “Before that, there is a mystery to be unfolded here!” Akanbi bowed to the chief priest, “Long live our elders....When I met Abeni, I asked our priest to consult the oracle. I remember the word of my late father. He said I must consult the gods if I meet my desired woman, if there is any disaster in our future union. So that a sacrifice would be offered to appease the gods. After the consultation, Baba said I must journey to Elekuro land, the mighty kingdom. I was required to give a message to their chief priest. I wore my hunting garb. On getting there, I met the priest and introduced myself. When I delivered the aroko, he said the village would be excited for the good news. Their king was seriously ill. His sickness can never be remedied, because of his misdeeds. He was near his grave already. They’ve been looking for their rightful king for over a decade. And the gods has never revealed his whereabouts until now. He praised the gods for accepting their recent sacrifice. Elekuro has been in disaster—strange death and diseases have overtaken the land...” Akanbi took a pause, during which the villagers rippled in confusion. Abeni stole a glance at his face, amazed. Ayandele left his drum and folded his arms. Aside from his blind wife, it was only Abeni that knew the true story. And since Abeni’s childhood, according to the sage advice, he would intimidate Abeni by saying“You must not tell anyone that we hail from Elekuro. If you do, you will die!” Back in those days in Elekuro Ayandele was known by a very few people as he was very poor.

“Tomorrow,” Akanbi pointed at Ayandele, “The people of Elekuro will come for their king. According to the priest, your wife will recover her sight.” 

The villagers began howling like a frantic river. Elekuro possessed the most powerful magic and warriors, greater than the entire kingdoms in the territory. Amidst the pandemonium, Akanbi drew Abeni close, raised her head. His fingers roaming her tearful cheeks; she shuddered and shed more tears. He wrapped his arms around her, patting her back, her head on his chests. A moment later, the orator called for silence. If any of the conspirators was at the festival, Akanbi announced. They should reveal themselves. Otherwise, such person would be afflicted with deadly illness. When at the third warning there was no response, Akanbi started reciting incantation. He was commanding the wind and earth to come in unison. To hearken his voice. For the earth has never denied the word of a rabbit. As long as the wind was in contact with those....

 The wind had begun to wail when Akanbi was interrupted. The six girls had sped onto the field, screaming. “Hehe! Please! Please!” They cried almost at once, falling on their knees,” It was the princess that sent us!”

 “Hahahaha!” Voices rose in tumult, the crowd burst in alarm. It’s clear to the villagers that it was due to her jealousy. And more, she was a tyrant. Ewatomi had buried her face in palms. What had she caused to herself? No shame was greater than this. How could she have known that Abeni was a princess—a great princess. To her, Akanbi was no longer a dream fulfilled. He would forever become the prince of Elekuro. The six offenders were seized by the Ogun priest. They must be severely whipped in the public. The judgment of the king was futile in this case. All the priests had joined heads together and concluded that it was a shame to their king and the entire royal clans. For the first time in so many seasons the festival was ended abruptly. Adepitu was shivering when the news reached the palace. He was pacing up and down. 

“Ayandele,” he thought. “The king of the giant Elekuro kingdom?” He bent his head. His daughter was in trouble. She would be forced to pay for her deed. She must also be whipped in the public. Or else, Elekuro might declare war, which might reduce Oloyade to nothingness.

***

 The story was being told, even after a century, about a jealous princess who committed suicide. And about the powerful hunter who married the princess of Elekuro after he was made the warlord.

THE END

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The claws of shadows (Short story)

Turning a new leaf  (short story)

The buried passion (short story)

Treasure and the lucky digger (Novella)

The pride of a bride (short story)

The vengeance of omoge omi (short story)

Divine diary (Novelette)

Flame of honesty (short story)

Breaking the fear(short story)

                                                         

The Flaming stone (Episode 3)

Click here for Episode 2

“Go whip her, right now!” The warrior commanded his second. He gave the commander a look as if to say, “You must be mad! Why can’t you?” 

But he dare not utter such word. He was the superior among the three. Over thirty warriors in the kingdom. Ewatomi had sent those with the least magic wealth, as the target was a common villager—now the warrior regarded Abeni as a witch. A very powerful one. The victim was still on the ground, his chest heaving. They both ran to him, calling incantation, touching his head with an antelope horn. Like the after-surge of ocean, the heaving began reducing to gentle waves, to a regular breathing. Abeni was watching in wonder, still cuddling her mother. The neigbours—those who had gathered around on hearing the uproar—stood far behind the warriors, murmuring to each other. 

“she must be a witch?” remarked a middle-aged woman.

 Somebody shrugged, “Who knows?”

 “We never can tell,” said an old man, “it might be a coincidence. Possibly, the warrior is suffering from a certain disease.”

 “Good for him. He should have died!” snarled another man, “He’s the same one that nearly beat my son to death.” 

This time, the neighborhood had nearly become a market place, murmuring endlessly. The warriors began wondering what to tell Ewatomi. She’d ordered them to beat Abeni to pulp, so she would never near Akanbi again. At last, the warriors could revive their comrade, who was now staggering like a drunkard. 

“We are coming back for you!” growled the leading warrior at Abeni. Hardly had they turned around when the crowd scattered, like heap of sand in a tempest.

 ****

 It was a market day, at sunrise. Swarm of maidens, old women, each with a loaded basket on head, men leading goats, chatting and laughing on their way to the marketplace. Abeni and Fadekemi were discussing the incident of three days ago, each with an empty basket held in place beside them. Now pacing beneath a giant orange tree where the commotion of birds seemed to drown the passersby’s. Abeni could feel the breeze, cool and tender like swan feathers against her skin. The sun was a bit shy, almost hiding behind the lavender clouds. Today, people from the eight neigbouring villages would come to buy kernels and other goods. Oloyade was popular for growing excess palm kernels and it was the kernel season. The market was located near the village square. Fadekemi had been away for four days, to pay a visit to a cousin in the neigbouring village. She returned in the previous night. Abeni was telling Fadekemi how the experience had been the most mysterious in her life. She was afraid to sleep during that night, she said—neither did her parents nor her siblings. All were so paranoid. That the warriors might come back. Her father was confused as to why the warriors had come. Much more confused that one was victimized, inexplicably. Thinking aloud, he believed his personal deity, Shango, the god of thunder, must have protected his daughter. He thought they had come to capture Abeni to the palace, but not successful. Not even once did he think of Ewatomi as the masquerade behind the cloak. He thought the warriors were sent by the king. But Abeni knew. She knew it was Ewatomi. But how could she explain to her father, that after all his warnings, Ewatomi had caught her with Akanbi? How could she?

 “What could you have done to deserve that? Did you refuse to salute any of the royal folks while passing by?” That was her father’s question.

 “What was your response to that?” asked Fadekemi. “What do you expect me to say? I did nothing of such, of course.”

 “Anyway, I’m still surprised about the fallen chicken,” she giggled, passing the basket to her right side, “and truly, shango must have protected you. Or what do you think?”

 “I think so,” Abeni sighed, adjusting her bracelets, “hmn. You haven’t heard anything.” 

“Hehe, I’m all ears.” Both friends began to walk in slower saunter. “Akanbi came to my place on the following morning, “she began, gently, “I never knew he had returned from hunting. That moment, my father was heading for the palace to plead with the king on my behalf, for the incident. I was at the verandah, pounding some kernels in a mortar. When Akanbi was seated, he offered him some bitter kola. He told Akanbi he wouldn’t be able to listen to any matter, that he was on his way to the palace. When Akanbi enquired the reason for that, my father explained how ka’abiyesi had sent his warriors to me and the outcome. Akanbi looked surprised. When he was about to look at me, I took my face away. Then he offered to follow my father to the palace, so they would plead together. Baba, I would like Abeni to come with us, he said. My father was afraid that I would be detained in the palace. I’m assuring you. Abeni would come back home, he added. Eventually, my father agreed...”

 “So Akanbi didn’t state his purpose for coming?” 

“Oh, be patient. Just hear the rest,” Abeni smiled, “As I was saying, my father agreed. Getting to the palace, we met the royal highness. After we all saluted, it was Akanbi that spoke on our behalf. He narrated all that happened and pleaded with him to condone my misdeed. Ka’abiyesi looked lost, so was my father. My father must be expecting Ka’abiyesi to rebuke me, but he was calm on his throne. They eventually realized it was the princess. So she was summoned to the gathering. You can’t imagine the shock on her face on seeing me, especially with Akanbi and my father. Then she lied against me. She said I didn’t salute her while passing by. She claimed I was a witch, that I must be stoned to death in a market place. For the spell I cast on the warrior....” 

"Ehn, ehn, this is not a minor issue,” Fadekemi burst out laughing, clapping hands.

 “The chief priest was there,” Abeni continued, “Ka’abiyesi backed his daughter. And to prove the allegation, he ordered the priest to give me a witch-hunting concoction. At last, we returned to the palace. I was declared innocent...”

 “So what was her reaction? I mean....Ewatomi,” she almost whispered. “She wouldn’t come out of the inner palace.” 

“Good for her. She must be so shameful. I hope Akanbi eventually told your father his reason for coming.” 

“Hmmn,” Abeni grunted, smiling, “I know what you’re thinking. He didn’t come to ask for my hand in marriage; although, that was my expectation. He only came to invite my father to play at the Ogun festival, which will be held in three days’ time. He wanted me to be among the dancers. He paid my father in advance. I didn’t have a chance to speak with him. He left us on our way home.” 

“I can’t wait to see your performance again.... I wish I could dance like you.” 

For a while, they bantered on who or who was a better dancer before jumping to another topic. 

**** 

From the echoes of gunshots. From the beats of gangan and bata drums and the Ogun masquerades in parades, Oloyade was aware of the ongoing festival. Abeni was dressing up. The masquerades must have finished dancing, she thought. Soon, the maidens would get on stage to dance to bata drum. She was familiar with the rites over the past seasons. Every sixth moon the hunters would celebrate Ogun. As the god of iron, Ogun was revered by hunters— for the progress of the hunting occupation and the success of their tools such as gun, cutlass, spear, arrows and bows. Ayandele was already at the occasion with his ensembles. He’d told Abeni to come when the sun had retired to the southern region, at roughly seven feet shadows. It was almost time. The venue was two neighborhoods away. Yewande was standing at the verandah, waiting for her sister. She was a slender girl of eighteen seasons, the baby of the house. She liked following her sister to any occasion, unlike Romoke who was never interested in outings. They’re now on their way, both wearing beaded earrings and crown-like braids. Sheke, sheke, rattled their waist beads with each movement. Abeni was wearing five colourful bracelets, the red in the middle. As they paced further, the drum was growing louder. Turning to the bushy path leading to the next neighborhood, they met six maidens, one helping the other to adjust earrings or wrapper. They seemed to be heading for the festival. Abeni was familiar with them at the stream. One of them, Wuraola, was having grudge against her.

 “I hope you’re not blind.” Yewande had asked them to give way only to get that rude response. 

Abeni stood aside, gesticulating for Yewande to keep mute. 

“Please, can we pass?” Abeni said in a calm voice. 

“You can climb our heads over!” Somebody said, then hissed.

 “Wait first, what are you talking to?” Wuraola was addressing her friends, turning around, as if searching for something. 

“Would you leave the road!” Abeni said, her patience began to melt. She knew they were looking for trouble and she wasn’t ready to start one. Taking another path was no option. It was a long journey and the dance would begin any moment from now. Abeni was looking around if she could manage the tiny space. The bush was too thorny. It would hurt her skin. How ridiculous. She must take this path right now. She eyed her sister.

 “Follow me,” Abeni spoke with her eyes.

click here for episode 4

Other posts

The Tale of two dying stars

The claws of shadows (Short story)

Turning a new leaf  (short story)

The buried passion (short story)

Treasure and the lucky digger (Novella)

The pride of a bride (short story)

The vengeance of omoge omi (short story)

Divine diary (Novelette)

Flame of honesty (short story)

Breaking the fear(short story)

The Spiderweb

                                     

I shut the door behind me. Against my father's raging voice. To be honest, my father does not need a loudspeaker to address a hundred thousand congregation. The problem is not what I have done wrong, but his voice. It draws the whole neighbours to our compound each time he is scolding us - myself and my siblings. You would see the flock of pepeye coming to peck their mouths into the matter. If this sun crashed in our compound, I bet, they would still find their way here.

"Baba Folashade. Leave this girl. I thought we have talked to her. She said she will scrub it off!"

That's my mother's voice from inside. She's been holding my father from flinging me at the wall. A thunderstorm that he is. Huge in aspect with stubborn muscles.

 I didn't know how Granny saw the drawing at my upper arm. A spiderweb which I had asked my classmate to draw for me. She drew the same for herself but I thought I, Aponbepore, would rock it better. It was Granny that gave me the name Aponbepore, a girl whose skin rivals a palm oil. I like that.

But I didn't like how Granny told my father, "You don't look after these your children. Didn't you see the mark on Folashade's skin. Alantakun of all things, eh! She is calling bad luck upon her head."

I was coming from the kitchen to serve his food on the dinning when I heard them and I had paused.

"Maami" my father said, "you mean Folashade has drawn something on her body..." He was trying to call me but Granny asked him to be patient. 

I  saw Granny showing or rather reminding my father about the traditional tattoos on her arms and legs. 

"These marks you are seeing" she was touching the fading marks, spiralling patterns, on her both arms "during our own youthful days, there was nothing like the kind of marks seen on children of nowadays and our men were attracted to us. Now they have abused everything. You see the gombo marks on your father's face. That's what fetched him his work easily. The company manager had the same marks. He's also from Ogbomosho."

I remember asking Granny why Grandpa had those marks. Granny said, according to her own grandfather, marks were drawn on faces or bodies during slave trade so that parents could identify their enslaved children when they finally met.

Now Granny said that spider, especially, is a bad omen. Getting entangled in its web in dream or real life is a bad luck that takes a very powerful herbalist or cleric to cleanse. Drawing it on the body poses more ill luck.

My mouth was agape. But spider web, to me, is a beautiful work of art. I started falling in love with it when I saw the spiderman movie. Such beautiful creature is now a villain to us. Granny had not finished with my father.

"I asked you to put our ancestral marks on these children's bodies to prevent them from bad luck, you refused. You said we are now in a civilized world. The ones they are drawing on themselves is now what?"

"But..but Maami the world has gone far from all that."

"The Same thing I told you about Yemi when he arrived from America with the same marks, with earrings and nose ring. You said it's because of his job as a modern day musician. He even plaited his hair... when he is not a Sango worshipper. How can he ever reason like a real man? How can his head be correct? A true son of Yoruba soil does not emulate a woman. "

Uncle Yemi is my father's cousin. I can't forget the day he introduced his wife to Granny. It was then I realized I was dark-skinned. Uncle Yemi's wife looked like the snow I saw in American movies. Granny later invited uncle Yemi, told him to look for a decent lady, not that Asewo. Uncle Yemi argued that she's not a prostitute. Granny said a lady could not be so light-skinned and be faithful to her husband. "When she is not Oyinbo," Granny asserted. I think uncle Yemi's wife must have bleached her skin to be this light. She was almost like Afin, like Funke, an albino friend of mine in my present class, JSS3.

Funke was always sitting at the front of the class. She told me she couldn't see the board from the back. Sometimes I lent my notebook to her. Her first few weeks in school, all my classmates always avoided her, forbade her, like a curse. And when they realized she's very bright like her skin they started associating with her. 

Funke once told me a story about her family. A story that left a mist of sadness on my skin, that pushed out the ocean in my tear gland.

 It was a story of how her father treated her. How he took her siblings out for picnic or to amusement park without her. "You, don't leave this house till we come back," She quoted her father's warning. That's acceptable for her skin. But he would go ahead to call her useless, good-for-nothing child. He called her white cat. This had caused fights between her both parents. He never payed her school fees nor cater for her needs. Said there wouldn't be any use for her education. Said people of her kind were never employed in companies. Thanks to her mother for sponsoring her academy.

I was telling Granny about it one day. 

"But Funke was very gifted in bead-making o," I said, "When I noticed she didn't come to school for days I went to her house, I learnt that she had killed herself with a rat poison."

Granny grabbed her head in both hands, "Ohh, gbele-gbele oo!" she exclaimed in a language that portrayed shock and pains.

Granny said people of her kind were regarded as idols in the past. Unique beings. She said she must have committed suicide due to depression. I couldn't help but hurl curses on her father. Granny did too. These killing of oneself happened in our neighbourhood on two different occasions.

One was Prof Dee. He always had with him a book and pen, writing numbers, from vehicle plate numbers to house numbers. Some men had tried snatching his book. They blamed themselves they did. He hurled stones at them, chased and pounced on one of them like a mad dog. We learnt that Prof Dee was a graduate, but couldn't secure a job for years and began indulging in smoking, drinking and hard drugs. He always sat alone, looking like a dummy. After a while, he began to speak to himself on the street, laughing at nothing in particular. But, before then, they said he had been a gambler, a lotto addict. This must be the reason he wrote numbers. Many a time his family had captured him but he would always escape. One day, he was speaking to the wall, arguing with a non-existent being. He butt the wall nonstop, like a crazy he-goat, until his head shattered. He collapsed at the spot. Dead.

There used to be a girl, Dammy, about nine years old, three compounds away. Dammy was as quiet and calm as a neglected pool. But this pool was better left neglected, or else she became a turbulent ocean. When her peers came to her, she bit them or tore their cloths with an unbelievable force in her arms. She ran like a mechanical thing when angry. Occasionally she screamed herself out and ruffled her hair, and when calm again, she began breathing heavily. People said she's possessed, that she inherited the witchcraft from her mother. Her father refused to let her mother take her away after a quarrel that led to depart. He said she's a prostitute and could initiate her daughter. One day Dammy had broken a mirror and pierced herself in the heart.

After her death, we learnt from a doctor that Dammy had been suffering from a mental illness. That her condition must have gone worse because of her mother's absence. Worst because she wasn't given a medical attention. The family had, although, taken her to different churches for deliverance. The doctor said it was their ignorance and superstitious belief that killed her.

That brings back to mind the case of my spiderweb. I don't know if to call Granny's belief as superstitious too. But I think, surely, Granny knows quite a lot of things about life.