S.A. David's Blog, page 3

Micaela

Ah!
Oh!
Micaela left me for Joel
I wallowed in flabbergastation
At the hour which was a day to Noel
It was like an excruciating castration
As she voiced her deep belly
That I am not like her new boo
That Joel gave her many a flashy mint
And I am just a pen
But for Micaela I trimmed flat my belly
To my ears her voice was a pleasant coo
For her stream, I gave my red pint
Yet she ceased to be my hen

She was single in September
She dated Dayo in October
She enjoyed a civil union with Albert in November
She cherished her domestic partnership with Adichie in December
While single she kissed Cole in same September
While with Dayo she was engaged to Onyeaka in same October
While with Albert she almost married Alhaji Idris in same November
While with Adichie I met and loved her in same December

I wrote Micaela many poems
I parceled her many a scented flower
I wanted to dedicate her many my books
I gifted her a fine diamond ring
She said she loved the poems
She hung my flowers in her tower
She loved my pure looks
She took my ring and yet gave me a ding

She was in Aba in January
And fled to Abiriba in February
Relocated to Chibok in March, to sleep
In April, saga drove her to Enugu so deep
May Day saw her flying to Calabar to dance
June saw her in Lokoja 'cause 'alabar was a horrible trance
In July she projected to Ikoyi to settle
And Ebola drove her to Benin to resettle

I'm looking for Micaela
If I don't find Micaela,
I will keep searching for Micaela
Where is my Micaela?
You may know Micaela
You may have met Micaela
Your sister may be Micaela
Your daughter may be Micaela
Your mother may be Micaela
Do you know my Micaela?
I still love Micaela
And I'm looking for my Micaela

Kunle's Fear

Kunle was still active in dreamland until his mother’s right hand tapped his left arm while he laid on his starfish style.
“Oh no! Not again!” Kunle yawned and stretched his thirteen-year old flesh.
“Wake up Kunle,” his mother’s masculine voice mixed with her thick Yoruba accent echoed “it’s five thirty and you should be in school by six fifty.”
“Mummy,” he hesitated and continued “I’m not sure I can go to school today.”
“Oh my God!" She carried Kunle on her laps and looked deeply in his eyes. “Why?” "Timi and Monica have been gossiping me since the beginning of the term,” he said with his fatigued and teary eyes “I can’t take it anymore.”
“Gossips are like ants” she caressed his head “the moment you spot one, there are already many anthills around but don’t look for them because if you do, you’ll find them and they in turn would bite you and cause you pain, and pain would cause you to lose focus.”
 “So what should I do mummy?” he said with inquisition. 
“Ignore them and keep moving.” She replied.
 “Really?” he sighed. 
"Yes.” She smiled.
 “What if the ants chase me and try to rub their formicine in my face? “Kunle said with a worried face.
“Kill them. “she said with a blank face.
“Kill them?” Kunle echoed.
“Yes, “she wriggled “ but be discreet because most ants are harmless.” 
“Wow! “ Kunle smiled “you’re the best mummy in the world.” 
“You’re the best son on earth ,” she kissed his oily forehead “so now come out of your pyjamas and prepare for school.” 
“Sure thing mummy!” he said.
(Culled from 7 Flash by S. A. David)

Happy October 1

Our fathers went through slavery in the hands of those lions.
Our mothers, their wives, were usurped by the foxes.
They came with the bible and the bomb.
They led them to work their plantation in the new world.
After sapping more than enough, they left in 'sixty.
They led them to work their plantation in the new world.
After sapping more than enough, they left in 'sixty

The civil war imploded- we saw it.
Some eastern earth was scorched.
Many fell into a long last sleep.
We've seen all the crises- some, with their lives
Everyone embezzles all they can.
The congregation of haram threatens to tear the green white green.

The New World gives a 2015-ultimatum
Despite, she is 54.
She will wax stronger, I know
She will take over Africa, I believe
She will be a G8 someday, we pray.

Do all you can to celebrate
It's your day, you have no other demonym
Let the cigarette sticks be green white green
Let the bottles be green
Let the apples be green
Let the stew be green
Let the beef be green
Let the beans be green
Yes, green earth
Happy October 1
Happy birthday Nigeria!

Ellen Degeneres

Tinuke fixed her eyes on the repeat broadcast of the proceedings of the upper house of the Nigerian National Assembly which exhibited on NTA News 24.
Ms Remi joined her daughter, reached for the remote zapper and switched channel from NTA News 24 to Cartoon Network.
“Mom,” Tinuke said inquisitively “why is Nigeria hostile to gay persons?”
“Mum,” she frowned “if one has freedom of worship to either be a Christian, Muslim, Jew, Buddhist or pagan: why can’t one have freedom to marry whoever or whatever one loves?"
Ms Remi’s eyes became stunned, “because one wants one to fit into society. Dinner has been served. Let’s go eat.”
“But Ellen DeGeneres fits into society. Doesn’t she?” Tinuke said.
“So you’ve been watching the Ellen DeGeneres Show even after I asked you to stop watching it?” Ms Remi retorted.
“No mum. I haven’t seen the show for almost two months now.” She crossed her chest. 
“Good girl. Shall we go eat now?” Ms Remi stood and attempted to leave. 
“Doesn’t she fit into society?” Tinuke belabored
Ms Remi sighed, “People fear what they don’t understand and hate what they can’t conquer. Join me when you’re hungry.”
(Culled from 7 Flash by S. A. David)

Love Metre

Wura returned home at exactly 6.P.M.. She walked pass the living room, greeted her mother, did not suffer unnecessary exchange of pleasantries gladly and headed straight to her bedroom. Mrs Danielle was thrown into confusion. She thought Wura was up to another mischiefas she could not comprehend the palpable gayety which stayed on Wura’s face.
Eight weeks ago Wura had given up on life. Despair became her companion. She could not wait for doomsday’s arrival; that was why she had to predate it.
Curious, she stood from the couch, entered her slippers and made her way to Wura’s room. The mirth did not leave Wura’s face even as she stood before her mirror. Her joys knew no bound when her ears heard the slap slap sounds of her mother’s indoor footwear coming towards her room because she loved to share her happy moments with her. 
“Today seems different Wura.” Mrs Danielle said almost a question.
Wura sighed, “Yes mom. Today is the first day of the rest of my life.”
“How so?” Mrs Danielle said with high curiosity.
“Mummy,” she smiled “ have you ever been in love after love and knowing that this time it’s for real?”
“Sure fire?” Mrs. Danielle quickly snapped.
“Kay and I,” Wura smiled “our love metre reads ninety three point five percent.”
(Culled from 7 Flash by S. A. David)

"Oscar Pistorius! No Wonder Shakespeare Says All Lawyers Must Be Killed" By Victor Okpanachi

Once again the world was at edge to see what the verdict would be in the Oscar Pistorius murder trial.
Pistorius, a paralympic champion charged with the murder of his late girlfriend Reeva Steenkamp in his apartment on 14th  Febuary 2013, claimed he went to bring in two standing fans from the balcony when Steenkamp his girlfriend slipped in to the bathroom quietly without him realising. He said he heard a noise from the bathroothen believing it to be a dangerous intruder he opened fire on the bathroom door.
The prosecution made reference to one of the recent WhatsApp messages from Steenkamp to Pistorius: "I'm scared of you sometimes and how you snap at me". The prosecution claims the message adds weight to its theory that Steenkamp had fled to the toilet and locked herself in because she was scared after an argument with Pistorius. The trial judge however dismissed the angry WhatsApp messages between Pistorius and Steenkamp in the lead up to her death. She posited that human beings are "Fickle" and she also puts it that normal relationships are "dynamic & unpredictable" most times.
The court therefore refrained from making inferences one way or another from any of the messages. But that very night Evan Van der Marwe a neighbour to Pistorius claimed to have overhead an argument between Pistorius and Steenkamp. However the trial judge Masipa held that Estelle Van der Marwe did not know where the argument came from or even what language it was in, So there was no proof that it was linked to the events in Pistorius home even when four other neighbours said something similar, this position of hers a lot of legal experts opposed to.
Ok, but why would your girlfriend go to the toilet in your apartment at 3am in the night with her phone and then lock the door? The prosecution suggested that steenkamp must have gone to the bathroom and locked the door in trying to hide from Pistorius. One of the neighbors to Pistorius claimed to have heard him shout that very night, "get the f*** out of my house" but Pistorius answered in cross examination by saying he only said that thinking there was a dangerous intruder in his apartment, and as a result opened fire on the bathroom door afterwards, but another question is, how come Reeva never answered to notify him that she was the one behind the door? How come Oscar never thought it could be her there? Yes, he pleads self defense, and entry in to someone's house without permission is Prima facie trespass but as at that time he had not even seen any gun or matchet or any other dangerous weapon with anybody to have put him in great fear, yet he was so quick to open fire on the door, not just a bullet at first to scare or actually warn the intruder but he fired four in quick succession of which three caught Reeva, one to the head, another to the arm and the third to her side. That very night the security man where Pistorius stayed Pieter Baba stated that he called Pistorius to check on him after he heard the gunshots, and that Pistorius told him everything was fine; later at the trial Pistorius claimed that as at the time Baba called him people were already with him. Pistorius earlier claimed that when he discovered he might have shot Reeva, he tried breaking down the door which he eventually did using a cricket bat, so another question is, at what time interval did it take Pistorius to break down the door? And if Pistorius who stated that he broke down in tears when he discovered it was Reeva, how come he told the security man everything was fine that very night? The trial thus far has been drama filled as Pistorius on certain days cried in court,
Other days the court had to adjourn for a while because he was too emotional to answer, and on a particular day Pistorius even vomited and a lot of people felt it was too much acting in court, acting or not Shakespeare says "There is no science or art that can show the minds construction on the face". He was later sent to a psychologist to be examined for a month. If you check twitter with the #tag #OscarPistoriusTrial  or @OscarTrial199 and you read a 100 tweets 85 would tell you Pistorius murdered Reeva, yet he escaped the death sentence? Fair is foul and foul is fair? I tweeted "Res Ipsa Loquitor" meaning the facts speaks for itself and then a friend replied me "Omnia Praesumuntur contra spoilatorem" meaning everything is presumed against the wrongdoer, and I stopped for a moment.
As strong as the facts appear Oscar's lawyer Barry Roux has been up to the task and has clearly groomed Pistorius on how to answer, no wonder Shakespeare says "all lawyers must be killed".
The trial judge Thokozile Masipa I guess was working with the legal principle that states that "It is better to let 9 guilty men go scot free than to punish one innocent man," also, she submitted that there was not enough evidence to prove beyond reasonable doubt that Pistorius was guilty. This legal requirment for criminal cases has brought about much injustices in times past, and maybe its high time we started thinking of a reform.
Well, as Shakespeare says again, "nothing is ever good or evil, but human reasoning makes it so." Maybe we cut Oscar Pistorius some slack as the only third party there was the creator. Reeva Steenkamp's family however stated that they aint satisfied with Thokozile Masipa's judgment and the 15year jail term for Pistorius. They would appeal and all fingers remain crossed as this goes down in history as another great murder trial, time would tell!

Quest From London

T oyin and his grandmother were aboard a British Airways bird, en route for Lagos, on a quest to cast the demon spirit of gayness out of him. Yemisi had been confounded when she discovered that her grandson was a man who liked other men; and since then both had frequented the offices of various psychologists and psychotherapists all in a bid to cure him. Her grandson's personage had been subjected to analysis and re-analysis. He had been asked a myriad of questions that got him puzzled, guilt-laden and penitent simultaneously.

"Who abused you?"
"Is he a relative or a friend?"
"Were you enticed?"
"Is your grandmother overbearing?"
"Don't you feel it's sinful to lust after a youthful man like you?"
"Don't you want to have children that will call you daddy?"
"Are you aware that two males cannot procreate, that two males cannot have children?"
"Have you ever thought you were born this way?"
"If you had a son and you discovered he was queer, would you applaud him?"
"Do you really want to stop being a nance?"
"How do you feel when  you come across the opposite sex in a compromising state?"
After all the psycho-analysis, there was no iota of change in Toyin's sexual taste. He remained as he was before the therapies.
The psychotherapists failed woefully. They have been eating my money in the name of fruitless sessions. Toyin still likes boys. How can God look down from his throne and allow my lineage to be sealed like that? His mother died while she was being delivered of him twenty three years ago. His father who was my only son was killed by the gun of a vengeful lover. She had complained to a friend and fellow worshipper at a Roman Catholic Church in London as she yowled her eyes out because she could not hold back warm saline water from streaming down her dark wrinkled cheeks. 
"Your grandson is possessed by a demon and I know a prophet who can help you."
"Sure?" Yemisi dabbed her eyes and tried to hold back every forthcoming tears.
"He's powerful. All you need do is have faith. He prayed for me and my heart disease of  a decade disappeared in a second."
"I have more than enough faith to move Mountains Everest and Kilimanjaro into the River Thames."
"Anything is possible. Just believe!"
"But where is this prophet?"
"Nigeria!


Y emisi and her grandson, after six hours and twenty five minutes since the British Airways bird lifted off from Heathrow into London's skyline, sighed with relief when the undercarriage of their boarded aircraft touched the earth at the bustling Murtala Muhammed International Airport filled with a sea of souls anticipating either leaving or entering Nigeria. But their hearts still possessed a certain kind of fear and hatred as they could not stop their minds from thinking about the Ebola Virus Disease, or EVD. Everyone, and not just them, had prayed that they should not come in contact with another Patrick Sawyer.
After disembarking, and being through the routine check of the immigration which enabled them to go on and collect their luggage from baggage reclaim, they approached kitted men and women who scanned them for the EVD at the customs. Grandmother and grandson inhaled and exhaled deeply like there was not enough oxygen in the atmosphere when they passed the EVD checkers. Thank God they would not be kept in quarantine to await discovery of a yet existent cure and then death!
They checked into a hotel and planned to resume their quest at dawn.


T oyin and his grandmother set forth at dawn to continue their quest of miraculously converting him to heterosexuality. They had hired a cab to drive them to Ota in Ogun State as they hoped to locate a church called Finger of God Ministry.
After over two hours of safe driving and being trapped in gridlock, they located the church. Grandmother and grandson exuded patience as they waited in line to see the man of God who happened to be the founder of Finger of God Ministry. They had filled forms and answered questions before they were ushered into the reception where they met others who had peculiar situations. Some needed healing because they were ill. Some, most especially women, sought their life partners as they wanted to meet them by a supernatural means. Some women had come to seek fruits for their wombs. But a higher percentage of the people had come so that God would make them rich and wealthy despite the seemingly failing economy of the Green White Green. They all believed their cases were spiritual and could only be handled spiritually by a Man of God, a prophet.
Time was moving very fast, and the patience in Toyin and his grandmother evapourated faster than steam left a boiling kettle. Yemisi approached a church official, drew him to a corner and fixed ten pound sterling in his hand. The church official understood and grandmother with her grandson were next in line for a miracle.
When they sat before the prophet, Toyin's grandmother explained that a friend in London had recommended that they find him. She poured her heart out before the prophet and Toyin began to wonder why his grandmother was wearing her heart on her sleeves. He is a prophet and by God he was suppose to tell them why they had come to him and not vice versa.
After being all ears to Toyin's grandmother, the prophet prayed with them in English, Yoruba, and Glossolalia; and the prayer ended with "In Jesus Mighty Name" which prompted grandmother and grandson to dual-dialogue an "Amen."
"The Lord spoke to me," the prophet's eyes had become fierce "and asked me to specially handle this case. But your son is possessed by Abaddon the demon in charge of alcoholism, homosexuality and bestiality on earth.
"He is a very strong demon and whoever he catches with his hook," he continued speaking English with a Yoruba accent "is gone forever. But thank Jesus for sending your friend to you. You shall return with Toyin to London a heterosexal. But first he must undergo a three day deliverance with fasting."
"Thank you man of God. I'm grateful. Toyin will do anything." Toyin's grandmother knelt.
"But the Lord has told me to tell you to sow ten thousand pounds into Finger of God Ministry."
Toyin's eyes bulged out as he began to cogitate how God spent money or needed manmade mints to expel a demon. He was beginning to regret his first experience in Africa, his fatherland.
Does God eat money? Money that would do us greater good in The House of Bruar, The Stand and in City of the Dead? Even James Pringle!
"I will do anything to get Toyin straight. I will not let him close my departed husband's lineage. I would wire five thousand pounds now and the other five after the deliverance."
The prophet smiled and spoke glossolalia.


Y emisi's grandson had immediately begun the prescribed deliverance the next day. He was locked in a room because he was a special deliverance case. Abaddon and his minions had possessed him for a long time, probably from birth, and Yemisi was convinced that the demon spirits would be extinguished.
At six o' clock ante meridiem, the first prayer session began. The prophet, in a prussian blue jean and pink T shirt, and three casually dressed pastors met Toyin. Their raspy voices sang praise, worship and warfare songs before they entered prayers. They quoted Bible passages and commanded Abaddon to evacuate the body of Yemisi's grandson. They rounded off the first prayer session at ten of eight. Resuming at exactly twelve noon for the second prayer session, they repeated what they did in the first prayer session but this time with the incorporation of whips and canes which according to the prophet had been consecrated. Toyin was flogged and flogged until he had no strength within him to cry. At six o' clock post meridiem, Toyin was bathed with holy water after the prophet ordered the three pastors to each give Toyin three slaps. He said the slaps were from the nine choirs of angels and Abaddon and his minions were still evacuatiing.
On the second day, Yemisi's grandson was no longer hungry. All he felt was weakness and thirst as he panted like a deer did for water. Prayer continued as the first day but with a different ritual. A cross had been with the aid of a rope tied to his manhood before they started singing worship songs. The prophet and three deliverance ministers invoked Jesus to take over his penis and cause it to lust after only the opposite sex. At mid-day, only the prophet met Toyin. He gave him some bitter leaves which he ordered him to squeeze until they shed green juice. Toyin was asked to rub the juice on his penis before prayers were said by the prophet; asking that his heart become bitter whenever lust for the same sex tempted him. When it was evening, the rites for the second day came to an end when the prophet and pastors lashed him twelve strokes before he was asked to rest, imagine, sleep and dream of only women.
On the third day, the prophet and three pastors prayed fervently. Like the end of the world was set at the next minute. They perspired profusely that their salty sweat frequently dropped on the thirsty Toyin who knelt as they prayed for him and wished he could quench his thirst with their sweat. At twelve o' clock noon, only the prophet was available. He had told the three pastors that he alone would end the deliverance. After prayers which lasted six minutes, Toyin was offered a litre of water so he would have the strength to pray violently. The prophet had told Toyin that if he prayed violently the last seed of Abaddon would evacuate his body and genitalia.
Toyin took over the prophet. He seduced prophet. He kissed the prophet. He touched the prophet's groin. He wanked the prophet until they both had sex.
At the very first minute of evening, the deliverance was over. Toyin broke his fast with pineapple and watermelon.


T oyin's grandmother had wired the second installment of five thousand pound sterling to Finger of God Ministry because she was cocksure that her grandson had been made straight as they come. She had great faith. Great faith. All she thought of was how to find a suitable young woman, perhaps a Black Britisher, for Toyin as soon as their feet's soles touched London.
Yemisi did not know that the prophet would build on his germinated relationship with Toyin. They would exchange emails and the prophet would be neck-deep into his amorous affair with Toyin and he would visit London under the blag of a divinely inspired vacation.
Grandmother and grandson had perhaps fulfiled their quest. They would return to London in one piece.
All aboard!

You Remember, Beulah

You remember the first time you entered Lagos since after the University of London admitted you to do Psychology almost six years ago. It was on a sunny day. Your French plait smelled like citrus even though it had accumulated sweat. Your luggage weighed you down that  you almost wished you were a man after your brain had flashbacked to your high school days precisely the day your Biology teacher taught Genetics and said "Men are XY and women are XX, now who is stronger?" You smiled when a macho dude abandoned his luggage  and helped you roll yours until you got an airport taxi. You did not exchange contacts. You waved a goodbye after you said thank you. At that moment you did not want to listen to anything that resembled Chimamanda Adichie's 'We Should All Be Feminists'. You enjoyed being treated special by a dude not because you were an only child nor because you wanted to debunk the notion by some men that women are weaker sex. You were not a feminist; rather you had always philosophized that men and women should be equal in their inequality.
On Sunday of that week the church which your father had founded and pastored for twenty four years gave you a standing ovation after your mother had testified that you had returned unspoiled, unhurt and with a Geoff. The girls and women in the choir stand and congregation were filled with holy envy as they continuously jammed their hands together for you when you climbed the altar to meet your parents. The bevy wished they were in your shoes. Some decided that after that service they would do all it took to make their complexion glow as yours. They were determined to go the extreme to make their lips carbon copies of yours. They were jealous of your French plait. They wished they had your soprano with which you gave an excellent rendition of Misty Edward's Garden. But the boys and men marvelled at your British accent when you said 'God is great in my life and I'm the express image of his grace.' They clapped. You said 'Hallelujah' and they replied 'Praise the Lord'. The boys shouted their response as they focused their eyes on your orange breasts. They shut their hearing sense and feasted their eyes on your magnificent hour glass shape. Many the boys was ready to have babies from you but only few was ready to pay the bride price.

Your mother had introduced you to the church's youth pastor - Adelaja. He was a handsome young medico who was well-versed in the Holy Bible. She had already begun to silently call him son - in - law. She did not want any other family to have him. She wanted you to fall like a pack of cards for his fine alto, red lips, sexy eyes and hairy body. She perhaps wanted the best for her only child.

The seed sowed by your mother grew as you began to enjoy his company and vice versa. You had imagined yourself in a wedding gown and standing next to Adelaja in a suit. You enjoyed discussions with him. Both of you were a match and the church gossips' tongues have begun to wag like slugs.

"Beulah and Adelaja are having an affair!"

"Adelaja is doing all within his power to get Beulah to marry him. No wonder he's been so close to the mother even before Beulah returned from the UK."

"I knew it! She'd been saving Adelaja for her daughter!"

You remember how happy and proud you were to be the only child of two gifted pastors. Blessed was the night in which your father and mother's love making produced you. You were an express image of grace and Adelaja was blessed to have you as you both had announced your relationship status before you effected the change on Facebook by editing your profile.

Things transpired so fast as 'dating' changed to 'engaged' and then 'thirty days to your wedding'. Your mother had been invited to preach at a Christian Women Conference in the Federal Capital Territory. It was a three day affair which afforded her the golden opportunity to invite some crème de la crème to her daughter's wedding. You had had your bath and were applying make up to your face when you thought you heard foot steps which you refused to take into cognizance. You put out the light, married your bed and before you knew it you had sailed to dreamland.

In your dream you were confused as you went into your father's room, ripped of his pajamas off of him before you kissed him. You awoke from your sleep and found your father on top of you. Your dream became reality's opposite. He had already done it. You did not know you were ovulating. You did not know that one out of the millions of sperms released into you had fertilized an ovum.

You cried. You hated yourself and detested your father more. He cried. He apologised. He confessed that he could not resist the temptation. He said you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. You slapped him. He  cried and prayed you to not tell your mother, his wife.

Incest!

You did not know what you felt for your father. Maybe hate. Perhaps indifference. Your tears were warm and salty. He had taken your virginity. He removed your flower. Your hymen broke and the  blood that stained your negligee and bed spread was proof.

Please think of what will happen to your mother's happiness. She will never forgive me. She may divorce me. Think of my ministry. I've been a preacher for thirty two years. The church I found will be twenty five years in six months. Please this is Satan at work. Please!

You slapped him and yelled him out of your room.

You loved your mummy more and thought well to not destroy her happiness. You did not tell her but she sensed that  cheer had departed your life. She could not dare to suspect what had happened!

You carried on with the wedding. It was the talk of Lagos. Beulah Weds Adelaja was the big story of entertainment news - print, online, television and radio. You were not happy and you were not sad; and your father could not look you eyeball to eyeball while your mother was busy welcoming the illuminati that had graced her daughter's wedding. Your tears was mistaken for 'tears of joy'.

On your wedding night you and Adelaja consummated. He enjoyed it while you hated yourself. He did not bother that you were not a virgin. You could not forgive yourself as you could not stand your father who still mounted the pulpit to preach, pray and prophesy. You suspected all clergymen, even your Adelaja. They could all be bad codes!

You had become sick and nauseous before a medical laboratory scientist confirmed your pregnancy. You knew it was your father's. How could you have been two months pregnant for your husband when you have been married with him for just a month?! You did not know how to break the news to Adelaja. He may be infuriated and begin to punch you. Maybe.

You felt destroyed and wondered how Jesus Christ would take the yoke off of you. You got home before you drank chill water for inside you was hot enough to bake loaves. You proceeded to your matrimonial bedroom and found Adelaja's laptop still on. How could he not have shut it down! You wanted to help him hibernate it when you saw a Facebook message's notification. You were curious and anxious as you clicked it and beheld the texts that changed your life:

'Ade I  can't believe I'm with child for you again. I knew it. I had a feeling that the condom burst that day before I left for the conference. But you said no. You argued with me until I forgot to flush. I can't abort this one. So we need to talk. Come to the office.'

You thought you were dreaming but it was not a dream. You clicked on the sender to confirm if it was just a namesake  but lo it was your mother's Facebook profile!

You laughed hysterically. You wished you were on a movie set. You laughed and laughed and laughed and that was how you ended up in a funny farm, and then in a psychiatric home.

Everyday you try to forget so that you can have a blank memory but no, a voice always talks in your head. Oh, how you want to forget but, no, you remember.

"You remember, Beulah. Yes you do!"

"You can't forget, Beulah. No you can't!"

"Beulah you remember. Yes you do!"

"You remember Beulah. You carry your father's seed. Yes, you remember. Your mother carries your husband's seed. It is true and you remember very well. Yes Beulah."

The voice gets firmer. You cannot forget because you will always remember even though you want to forget. It tells you you are better there. It tells you you like it there. It tells you you do not want to return home, not even to your very first crush in the University of London.

Everyday you laugh and laugh and laugh as you sit on that white plastic chair picking your hairs and rubbing your protruding belly as you remember and regret the sunny day you entered Lagos for the first time since you departed for the University of London.

S. A. David: "I would die a writer."

"I became a citizen of the literary world as soon as I could recite the twenty six alphabets of the English Language off-hand and used them to, correctly and sometimes incorrectly, spell. I was in kindergarten and I used to rip the pages of my school books so I could doodle what I would now call abstracts. But the mindless sketches I drew on paper did not make sense in the eyes of my mother who ensured that I never tore my books again, maybe that was why I never became an artist. When I continued to rip the poor pages of my books to do my regular mindless sketches, even into my primary school level, my lovely mother had to number the pages of my books and if I ripped anyone which she was sure to find out, she would spank my hands with the rod of correction and she would say 'read your reader and stop tearing your books'.
"She unconsciously instilled in me the sacredness of books. Daddy did not bother much about my books as long as I returned with an impressive report card at the end of the term. All he did was to provide our needs and I'm sure he knew he had a wife who cared very much about chidren and so took advantage of it. Albeit he contributed to my rich vocabulary as he ensured that I learnt two new words every day which consequently made me know the meaning of words- words that people had never heard or come across- and the right context for their utilization but I could not tell a simple meaning when asked.
"After my mother succeeded in making me "resent" fine art, I took to reading anything I came across and that was how I stumbled upon My Book of Bible Stories- a Watchtower publication, that summarized the bible, for children. However, before I stumbled upon the Christian Literature, I finished reading the Macmillian English Language text prescribed for my levels before the teacher was done and it made me long to read the prescribed text for the next class. I was already an avid reader at a very early age as the first characters I came in contact with were Simbi, Ali, Agbo, Edet and Idris.
"Reading opened a void that it could not fill. As I read what I came across and what came across me, I found out that my questions were piling with no answers. But I did not give up reading. I continued reading in the hopeless hope that I would some day find the answers to my questions and that the answers would shine light through the deep opened void. I started to write some really offensive stories that nobody ever read because I made sure no one ever saw it.
"Nevertheless in Primary three I stopped writing and I did not know why.
"But in primary five I resumed writing my offensive stories which I either chewed the paper until it became paper mash or burnt it when none of my parents were around. It was at this same time of my life that I started doing some funny journalistic writing also because my form teacher asked every primary five pupil to watch the network news everyday and report it in their own words. Anyone who failed to obey the said instruction was sure to be spanked with the rod of correction. My passion for writing continued until I became a secondary school student.
"In junior secondary school, my writing ceased. For the second time I did not know why, it just ceased and I was just a child doing his best to survive in a boarding school. I was concerned only about making sure I credited Math so as to impress my father who was paying exhorbitant school fees. I wanted to be a doctor because daddy wanted his first child to be a doctor and I bought the idea. During preps, while my classmates read, I drew charts of how my hospital would look. I had the dream of having every department and area of  specialization in my hospital. Maybe my dreams were invalid.
"When I made it to senior secondary school, the passion hit me hard like espresso and nostalgia set in. I wanted to resume writing but did not know where and how to begin. I wanted to escape from a restricted world and I felt writing was the only way out. Then I began by keeping a journal of my dreams and nightmares but that was not enough because my dreams and nightmares were an already-made story which I had no control over, and were not original.
"Mr. Clement taught two subjects - English Language and Literature in English- and while many my classmates found him boring and uninteresting, he was all that was needed to launch me into my dreams. He taught Literature with passion. He gave assignments and I never took them with a finger tip.  Even though I was a science student and I wanted to be a doctor, I read Literature more.
"In class, Mr Clement called up experiences. He made us act the Ministry of Education prescribed plays which included William Shakespeare's Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, Twelfth Night, Othello and The Merchant of Venice which became my favourite of Shakespeare's. We also did Wole Soyinka's The Lion and the Jewel, Kongi's Harvest; Ola Rotimi's The Gods Are Not to Blame, Our Husband Has Gone Mad Again, among others. Mr. Clement opened me up to countless foreign and local literature- prose, plays and poetry.
"One holiday I saw the movie adaptation of J. R. R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings and I was so inspired. It was the best movie I had ever seen at the time and it moved me to discover that I was a playwright and screenwriter. When the holiday was over and I returned to school, the images of Frodo Baggins and Gandalf the Grey, later Gandalf the White, refused to leave my mind.
"Have you seen Lord of the Rings? I would always find a way to chip in this question into any discussion with my friends and classmates in a class divided along cliques of the hard, soft and eccentric- I belonged to the eccentric. However, I was successfully bullied into not mentioning Tolkien's work in our discussions but it still did not take the pictures of Smeagol and the elves off my mind. I had to do something.
"I started to rewrite Lord of the Rings movie as it was done. Let me say "verbatim" and I marvelled at the fact that I could recall the scenes and the dialogue as it was in the movie. Some of my classmates read it and the next line was WHY NOT JUST WRITE YOUR OWN INSTEAD OF WRITING SOMETHING THAT HAS BEEN DONE ALREADY?
"I started writing my original scripts replete with kings and queens who lived in the cities and did not want their children to marry servants. They had enough...to continue reading click here

Our Jewel Is Gone Forever by Kingsley Onwuanabile

AN ELEGY IN HONOUR OF PROFESSOR DORA AKUNYILI

We all watched in utter disbelief as the sun kissed the sea
And the wind hugged the tree

It is obvious the hawk has gone with the chick
The wool has left the sheep
And who shall scratch our back?

The eagle has soared afar
The lion has been caught in a trap

The vultures are beginning to circulate
The food and drug enemies are planning to jubilate

But the angels are already at the gate with a good report
To kiss and welcome our jewel into God's depot

Professor Dora has gone to her maker
To dwell with him and the saints forever