AFRICAN STORIES

Story by VICTOR DANIEL

My memories of my mother are becoming more blurry as I grow older. But I remember certain events that touched my life so much that I still feel the reverberation even as I get older.

There was this time, I was 7 I think, I was a truant in school. I would always leave the class at free periods, wandering around the town with my friends. I was reported To her by the teacher on one occasion. My mother was the typical African mother. Her hand worked faster than her mouth and she was quite dramatic, lol. I remembered she beated me silly, but then it didn't change me. I would still sneak out of class hoping I didn't get caught. I would eventually get caught. I get reported to my mother and get beaten up by her repeatedly. So, one day she considered a different approach.

My mother was a very emotional woman. I remember seeing her cry often, sometimes when she scolded me and I cried she cried along. Especially at the point when I became her only surviving child.

So on this day I had repeated my usual offence and I was reported to her again. She took me home. On the way home I had already consoled myself to be mentally steady for the combos of slaps and wires that were going to rain on my skin. We got home and she took me inside her room; locked the door and pulled a wire. Tears already welled in her eyes and her voice was shaking when she spoke to me. She said to me:

"Victor, I'm tired of beating you. You are probably never going to change by being beaten. I don't know if I had made a mistake by the way I raised you. Maybe I have, maybe it's my fault. Take this wire, and flog me, if that is what it will take for you to change."

By the time she finished saying this, strings of tears already glided freely down her face. Then, then, mummy put the wire in my hands and pulled her blouse. Only her bra was left. "Victor, flog me, please."

That day, standing in the room alone with my mother, holding that wire and watching my mother offer her bare skin as a penance for my correction, I died multiple deaths inside of me. Guilt, shame, self resentment and pity plagued my soul. I started crying; wailing in fact. I dumped myself on the ground and cried. It was a scene to remember; mother and child, alone in the room washing the iniquities of the child with tears, that hurt more than the strokes of whips. I think I cried that day more than I did when she eventually became a butterfly.

That day, till the day she was buried, I never gave her any cause to hit me again. That day, without hitting me, I changed.

I will always love you, wherever you are.

CRUSH'S DAY OUT

STORY: by Vechi Allen Vechilz

 I'm alone here come in, she said.
 Being that humble and quiet boy I never wanted to get into trouble all though one mind wanted me to go in,
 so I stared at her for seconds turning to minutes
 then she said again baby come in naah.

 Jesus my brain sparked and I was like "really she called me baby" knowing that she was my crush who is even far far older than me
 after a while I decided to go in,
 i then opened the door, dusted my freaky shoes , and walked inside the house slowly.
 When I went in,
 then we started chatting and "OMG" she was so funny, cracking jokes that could make a baby laugh all day.

 while our conversation was going on, she saw a pimple on my face,
 and she was like "wait wait vechi let me see your face", because of my shyness, i was just blushing staring at her for a while.
 she then said again, do naah before I change my mind.
 I then hurriedly stretched my neck like a Giraffe towards her face,

 when she came closer to me, trying to remove the pimple on my face,
 my junior was already on attention, with style I tried to cover it with my hand .

 Then she moved closer and closer , humble me having that intention that she wanted to help remove my pimple kept calm and did as If I didn't care , although I also had negative thoughts on my mind too.
 on the process of the pimple remover her lips accidentally collided with mine.

 then my head got big and I was like "finally this dream is coming through "
 by then I was already turned on like security lights on the watch.
 then I grabbed her waist kissing her gently, "within me I then planned to take of my nicker ".

 before I could unzip my nicker I heard a horn on the gate "PORM PORM ".
 I almost got mad when she said "oh my God!!!, my dad is back " in fact that statement alone made everything worse knowing quite well that her father was an army general, (omo see suicide mission), at that point in time i tried hiding at her room wardrobe, but unfortunately the wardrobe was too small to contain me, so i tried hiding under the bed, (na that one con worse pass) the bed again couldn't cover me.
 oooh Jesus oooh i am finished!!! (i exclaimed with my hands tied together on my head) as i knelt down with sweat allover my face and my head in a fully air-conditioned room "cabashing in tongues " that if god saves me today, I'll never dream of a blow job or something affiliated to it again in my life.
READ ALSO:-FANTASY

 while i was on my knees cabashing suddenly I felt this hard slap on my leg with a familiar voice which sounded like slim saying "vechi!! vechi!! wake up you Don late for class " Abeg borrow me your constitution "
 Then I realized it was all dream, Immediately i knelt down and started thanking God for saving my ass from one big tank of trouble

 ©VECHI ALLEN VECHILZ

By Adetokunbo Ajenifuja

“Benita. When I close my eyes, you are all I see, not darkness. That’s why I call you the light of my life, the light that banished the shadows of my soul. I want you. I really do.”

His voice was silky yet so keen, stealing into her chest for the treasure therein. Speechless, she tilted her head, shuffling her feet on the grass.

The wind teased its sweep, the tree its dance, its foliage pressing upon the teenagers, low enough as if to hearken their words.

“Please, say something.” Kenneth was losing his patience.



“I’ve told you times without number that I don’t feel the same!” She blurted with a blank face, “We can still remain best of friends!”

He regarded her with an I-don’t-expect-nothing-less kind of look. It’s been six months since he started confessing his love to her. There is no gambling worse than wooing a woman, said his late grandfather. You’re not likely to win at the first, second or third trial. But never relent. Never. Alas, you might never win at all and lose to gamblers with good fortune. Kenneth could attest to that now, how much of a loser he’d become.

READ ALSO :-  THE WIFE MATERIAL

“What else do you have to say?” She snapped, picked up her iron pail, and left for the stream. He stared at her. She seemed a suitable model, proud, as fierce as the swing of her wide hips.
BENITA

I was at the stream, feeling sorry for my reaction to Kenneth, my secret lover. My friends were just approaching, four of them. I’d told them about Kenneth, my church member, but none of them had met him. He was now in the company of three boys near the stream, under the mango tree.

“That’s him,” I whispered to my friends, The tallest among them, the one with fair skin.”

“You mean that cute one with…” one was gesticulating to emphasize on Kenneth’s bulky frame.

“Yeah,” I affirmed.

“Oh my God!” Somebody exclaimed.

“No tell me sey you never gree o,”

“I haven’t jor.” I told them.

“But your shakara too much sha.”

“What if he doesn’t ask again?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ve bought the love card I’m going to present to him, as a surprise. I will meet him in church tomorrow.”

***

“On the following day, Kenneth didn’t come to church, so I…..”

“Grandma, but you eventually presented the card to him right?” I’m interrupted by the most inquisitive of my four granddaughters, all seated on the sofa before me.

“What year was that?” That’s the youngest of them, a girl of eighteen.

“…around ’56, my daughter. As I was saying, I headed for his house, the love card in my Bible. On getting there, I met a crowd of people, his mother weeping at the verandah, his father stamping his feet. They said Kenneth died overnight, from severe stomach ache. I broke down in tears, my Bible fell. Staring at the card, I hated myself, cursed myself. I placed the card on his grave, kneeling there, crying, willing Kenneth to hear my love confession, but it is too late.”

“Too sad.”

“Touching.”

“Eeeyah.”

“A super story…”



“Thank you, my children. I’m not asking you to make yourself too available to men. Women are supposed to be
treasures, something expensive. Yet if you love somebody, don’t take too long to show it, because you never know when you might lose them.”

By Ajenifuja Adetokunbo

The cold was growing stronger by each passing moment. So was my feelings for her.

Between us, on the mahogany log, was what seemed a mile but I wished we were skin-to-skin close. Our eyes rested on the pathway leading to the farm. Our minds pregnant with words unsaid. Words stringed with fragments of our emotions. Instead, we spoke with our souls, with our bodies, our eyes. The foliage of the tree had been dripping with iced water, the liquid cascading down our bodies, drenching us. She couldn’t stop shivering, hugging herself, tightly. Her figure was barely visible in the shadows of the woods, under the massive foliage of an orange tree. At least, here was better than the open – the dimmed daylight – where heaven was pouring down and increasing with every rumble of thunder, with every flash and dash of lightning. Praises to this hilly earth. Or flood would have swept us away. The clothing on her were pieces of tie-dye wrappers. One tied round her breasts and another from her waist to her knees – otherwise she was naked. I loved her costume. In it her breasts were always defined, her melon-shaped breasts, as well as the loaded cheeks of her bums. Hers were generous curves…this goddess.

She threw a glance at me. Through the corner of my eyes I caught her. Twice our eyes had met, and then my heartbeat had rivaled the ‘ptarr-ptarr’ of the rain against the plants – our only witnesses besides the gods. Our bodies yearning and this might be the only moment we had, forever. The moment we had craved for many moons – six or seven moons ago – the moment to be together in a lone place. A place where we could make our first love. Her father had admonished her to keep away from men. Intercourse would be too much, until her brideprice was settled. Until her wedding night. Failure to comply, her father warned, would result into destruction for her and such partner. I was incapable to be Anike’s betroth. This I knew. Not that I was too young as a lad of twenty-five. I just needed to acquire a farmland – a large one at that – to grow crops, preferably yams. Or cocoa. I had come from the Ayan, the drummers clan. All her parents wanted was a man wealthy enough to pay her price. Not the son of ‘Ayan’ like me,
popularly called beggars. That’s why I must start farming. With that, I would be able to pay her brideprice worth lot of yams and goats and other items. Then I would be fit to call myself a man.



A man, our people say, is the one who provides more than his woman needs. I was not only bulky but strong enough to singlehandedly cultivate fifty acres of farmland in a period of one market week. My strength had earned me the prize of the best wrestler among my peers, hence I was a popular fighter. Anike had won my heart among many

She threw a glance at me. Through the corner of my eyes I caught her. Twice our eyes had met, and then my heartbeat had rivaled the ‘ptarr-ptarr’ of the rain against the plants – our only witnesses besides the gods. Our bodies yearning and this might be the only moment we had, forever. The moment we had craved for many moons – six or seven moons ago – the moment to be together in a lone place. A place where we could make our first love. Her father had admonished her to keep away from men. Intercourse would be too much, until her bride price was settled. Until her wedding night. Failure to comply, her father warned, would result into destruction for her and such partner. I was incapable to be Anike’s betroth. This I knew. Not that I was too young as a lad of twenty-five. I just needed to acquire a farmland – a large one at that – to grow crops, preferably yams. Or cocoa. I had come from the Ayan, the drummers clan. All her parents wanted was a man wealthy enough to pay her price. Not the son of ‘Ayan’ like me, popularly called beggars. That’s why I must start farming. With that, I would be able to pay her bride price worth lot of yams and goats and other items. Then I would be fit to call myself a man.



A man, our people say, is the one who provides more than his woman needs. I was not only bulky but strong enough to singlehandedly cultivate fifty acres of farmland in a period of one market week. My strength had earned me the prize of the best wrestler among my peers, hence I was a popular fighter. Anike had won my heart among many other maidens, many admirers. And I must do all I could to possess her. I was attracted not only by her beauty but her petiteness.

We used to meet secretly along the stream, same place she accepted my love, before she was tortured by her father. For the past four moons her father had tumbled a bridge between us. The cane scars still visible on her body. Somebody must have told her father about us. He could as well know by himself. Ogunbanwo, who was Anike’s father, was a powerful hunter known across our village and beyond. His magic was very potent, which was the cause of my fear, my restrictions. He had slain a tiger and used its teeth to make a necklace, its skin a hunting garb. He could turn to anything, wild things. He could disappear and appear anywhere at will. He inherited his power from his father who had been a great warrior. It was said that Ogunbanwo had fortified all his children, including Anike, so that no evil could befall them. A man had aimed to slap one of his children only to get struck by lightning. The victim was awake in three days not before feeding on dog’s excreta, the only remedy.

I believed the rain was falling for me, for us. The gods had favoured us. Mama had sent me to the farm as soon as the wind began. I’d been sent to fetch some firewood she’d gathered there. On my way back, wading through the deluge, I stumbled on Anike under this tree, her basket of dried cocoa lying beside her. We didn’t greet with words but smiles. Hers was a magical smile, the grey of her full moon eyes gleaming with desire.

For seven moons it had not rained in our village. I imagined our hut, how cool its wall would feel tonight, same way I imagined Anike’s wall, that constricted wall and its heavenly warmth. I wanted to worship her. I wanted to touch…to feel her skin, which was as coloured and as gleaming as an oily gourd in the sun.

Our eyes met again and she did not – could not – look away. Come into me, said her eyes. When her eyes beckoned again, and again, I knew my dream would come to pass. I inched closer to her, which she reciprocated.

I pulled off my ‘dashiki’ shirt to reveal my bare chests which the villagers likened to pair of mighty rocks. Bit by bit, our hands clasped together, our body quivered with such startling strangeness my tissues sparked to life. My nerves crackled like kindred firewood. She let out a soft sigh. The feeling was mutual, of course. Instinctively, we sat astride the log.

Slowly, I planted my lips in hers. Full and well formed lips. We Sucked. We wrestled with our tongues. Our necks had grown minds of their own, cocking our heads from left to right. We licked and gulped our juices; as intoxicating a liquid as fresh palmwine. My hands accommodated her melons, those soft mounds, squeezing them, kneading them, until they swelled and grew tight. Her body jerked from each touch as though she was tickled in the armpit. I felt her breaths quickened after mine, invading my lungs, and I was intoxicated more. Her heart beating ten times the normal. I felt it. I felt the pounding. I heard it even.

My hands extended to her waist, fiddling with her waist beads, hers around my back. Our bodies grinded together while I kissed the side of neck, upwards, in slow-steady pace.

Her breasts, which I had stripped naked, began vibrating against my chest, or so I felt, exuding warmth, sticky from the water drops, sucking my cold to oblivion. Their proud peaks piercing my chests, soothing…very soothing, the bulge in my shorts jerking to its final fullness at last. Feeling my hardness against her thighs, she fretted, trying to squirm herself free. But too late. I had locked her legs around my waist and my monster, pulled out, had sought its way between her thighs. Skin to skin, I could almost feel the heat now. But I felt the tickles of slimy things, warm wetness, and the pulsations of hooded fleshes. Swollen fleshes.

“I..I want you…now…Ayanbiyi.” She breathed, moaned actually, clutching onto me as desperately as if she was dying and I held the antidote to her life, to her survival.

I would not have hesitated to grant her wish if all had not been playing out in my head, If all had not been a fantasy.

There she was, my mistress, eyes resting on the pathway, our positions unchanged, everything unchanged, except the bulge in my shorts. We were restrained still by the fear of the unknown

 Many souls gone.
Silence after all.
Tramples of the horses.
Fading of the voices.

Fought with vigour.
Every single hulk.
With complete bravery.
 Conquered all fears.
During the brawl.

Swords swinging in action.
Blades hungry for blood.
Smiles concealed.
After a defeat.
On the battlefield.

Nigh what are we.
To gain Victory.
Faced the enemies.
With the last drops of blood.
But there was a massacre.
And they won the War.

A battle we have lost.
But the War is still on.
For a flee in the battle.
Does not measure our mettle.

Nimbly intoned by the sage.
Those who fight and run away.
Would live to fight another day.

I used to smoke Marijuana, do drugs and alcohol. They didn’t get rid of my problems, but they alleviated my worries and sublimated the pains. I liked to stay alone just listening to music. Because they talked to me. I didn’t like religion, I was never a believer. Not that I worshipped the devil, I just didn’t see the point. I was never perfect, I was nothing close, I had no reason to be. I had lots of problems but I was contented. It wasn’t rosy but I wasn’t broken. I just let life push me to whatever direction it willed.

But then you came along- like a calm. You calmed a storm I didn’t even realize existed. You came like a light that killed the darkness. For once, I felt happy. It was you who gave me a reason to wake up everyday. You were my body my spirit and my soul. To me, you replaced “life”. I became everything you wanted me to be. For you, I stopped smoking because you outrightly hated it. For you, I started feeling comfortable with mixing with people because you insisted I was too uptight. I wanted to be the one good enough for you. For you, I quit drinking, because it went against your moral standards. You told me about Jesus, and how our meeting was some “divine arrangement”. For you, I believed he was real, because I was grateful to him for gifting you to me. For a moment I had you, I had it all…. You gave me love, and you gave me life.

I met your friends, didn’t like me. They liked James, the guy you introduced to me as your friend. He was handsome and clean, brilliant and successful…Highly religious and rich too. He neither smoked nor drank cos he had no reason to. He was fun and he bought gifts for you and your friends. He bought you a gold watch on your birthday but I could only afford a bracelet. I would give you the world if I had it. But all I had was dreams, and a strong desire to be the best for you. You reassured me how much you’d never leave me. I couldn’t do much, but I did all I could. I was willing to cut myself, yes, bleed for you just to keep you. But again, there wasn’t much I could do. I became insecure, but you told me not to worry. You told me he was just being nice and that he was harmless.

Time went by, and you became kind of distant. I talked about it and you dismissed my insinuations as feminine and dramatic. After sometime you started with the attitude. I tried to man-up and not talk about it but then it got the my neck, and I called you up and blurted out. You told me how we needed to take a break for sometime because you needed time and space. I was worried, sad and restless. You told me it wasn’t me, that I had done nothing wrong. You told me it was you, that you needed to sort out some personal issues. You told me not to bother cos you still got me.

Weeks went by, you didn’t call or pick up my calls. I got frustrated, you said I shouldn’t visit but I couldn’t wait any longer. Yesterday was our anniversary, So I walked to your place last night with flowers. Just under that tree in front of your house, I saw you kissing the very guy you told me not to worry about.
Now I’m down, shattered and broken to bits. Nothing left but agonizing memories of you. Back to the comfort of my old companions, whom I left like the prodigal son you told me about. My Marijuana wrapped up with a leaf cut out of the bible you gave me. A spirit on the table and loud music blowing my head off. This ritual I’ll solemnly repeat till I obliterate the faintest memory of you.

Hiding in the dark.
Humans in disguise.
Destroying lives.
Making thousands cry.

Rain of curses.
In the reign of terror.
Sight of darkness.
Here and there.
Everywhere.

Vicious and ruthless.
Are men of the darkness.
No little sympathy.
To all humanity.

Running helter-skelter.
To be vicious free.
Totally obscene they are.
They care less to commit sin

Men of the under world.
Unlawful detainers.
Ruthless killers.
Are all brutalizers.
Destroyer of treasures.

My senses are playing truancy on me
My whole system torments me daily
I close my eyes and those eyes of yours are staring back
Looking into this imagination and of time I lose track
I can swear I hear your whispers in the dark
But I know my mind is the trap
The silence in my head is loud with your words
Eyes like cobalt stare at me through the window
The voice in my head is so very hollow
I feel your breath upon my neck
The palm of your hand on my chest
I see red, the red of your blood
I shudder as you relay your thoughts
Yes you were betrayed,your trust
And they cut you deeply, you were hurt
Your shrill screams block my breath
I smell your blood but it's in my head
I hear the slashing of your tongue
And your soundless cry with your thoughts
I feel your blood in my hand
It hurts me like it has fangs
I see your eyes again,no expression in them
I feel your thoughts again, nothing comes from them
I hear your spirit, your body it leaves
But now it's come to me