Felix Brambaifa's Blog, page 6
November 2, 2012
Excerpts from my book Just Stories
It is basically a book of three separate stories, each with their peculiar theme and message, to give readers the opportunity to feel its content, i will be posting excerpts from each of the three stories below. It is currently on sale at Amazon.
Ekadi
Chapter One
It is often said that when a man courts trouble his life must as a matter of fact become the curse of Job, an everlasting episode from which the eyes of God takes on a deliberate policy of ignorance over the problems oppressing his peace of mind, allowing the imposition of constant drama of discomforts that even the weakest of deities would have hurriedly peeled off that follower but this was never to be the case with Ekadi because sometimes the hands of God would only be made visible in a man’s life only when the man willfully opens the window to allow the sun through the darkness that troubles him. This reality was the taste to be left on the tongues of those few aware of the troubles whenever Ekadi became the subject matter. He was born poor as if to add more horrid colors to the existing ones; he lived a poor life and received an income a lot of men in that same poverty would spit on but to demonstrate his confused humility he would go down on his knees after long hours of servile labor and thank the gods when the normal response aided by his mortal vexations should have been moments of tirades directed towards them. As a child he had lacked the financial means that would have made education accessible to him, added to this failure his parents were the sort who because of poverty had gone the whole mile of weaving ridiculous lies of how school was very unnecessary, a simple ploy enacted to hide their inadequacies and so growing up became nothing but aborted chances in that regard. Living to the expectation of his father meant becoming a carpenter himself and so the road into adulthood was shaped to carry the hammer and pincers, a decision that gave his curse a monstrosity that would breathe not even a moment’s peace which had now created the motive driving him into the middle of monstrous labor and like a trained donkey he did his part with utmost silence. The sun was again angry and this time like before he complained. The carpentry workshop was his greatest achievement, the inherited property handed down from his father and one venture which over the years had only succeeded in draining his vitality,
Eze Lane
Chapter One Whenever physical constructions become as ugly as was the case with Eze lane then it was important to note that the people responsible for its everyday life shared in that fate, an ugliness which in every way was their habits, ideals and tradition. It was as small as could be imagined, snaking its way deep into the disorganized curves that were just too small to have names of their own. The feet to trek its distance for certain was destined for many dead ends but with good direction would cut access to another lane with similar structure and decadence. If poverty and misfortune had never before stayed together then Eze lane would be the first home elated playing host. The houses within its jurisdiction were the sort breathing life through poverty; penury was the other side of their lives as hidden talents were the other side of most human beings. They lived life in ways quick to give the impression that they enjoyed their financial backwardness, which in their case was the progenitor of the moral decay that was the constant and recurring chapters in their lives. It is said that when a people freely accept poverty they unconsciously make it the master over every single part of their existence and this was the case as Eze lane was now the beauty of that curse. Noise was everything, it defined them as a people and showed how deep the chaos in their lives was well sited and properly accepted. It was not just the children crying out, fighting one another or playing their time to the game of shout and shout that was responsible for this chaos but the adults who were also involved in the madness, so experienced in it that discussions were nothing until noise making was melted to the surface of it all. Eze lane was like a fool’s cupboard in which the content may look worthy but lacked real substance. From that child on his mother’s chest to the adults with wife and kids, the disease of the mind, the lost of morality and the want for the abnormal like God’s degree on man to multiply was abundant in all quarters. No.11 Eze lane was in every ways the same with the other compounds still standing despite the unhealthy nature of their foundations. It was not a very conducive place to live in but the tenants were never to be seen complaining, the problem of electricity shortage was also part of the life endured. Their poverty gave them no choice to choose from but the mouth for constant prayers, thanking God for their life in which their poverty was still at the level their stoicism was still willing to accommodate despite the plenty odds.
Okoro
CHAPTER ONE
What in the name of stupidity could actually make a man pay for his own suffering if not the sort to make heaven grumble and God in his mercies feign ignorance to the troubles of man. A stupidity that could make a new born child suddenly acquire the gift of talking, only to say. “Foolish” Okoro had seen times and experienced moments, he was a man fully advanced in age. Some said sixty, others said sixty five but whenever it was his chance to give credence, he would say “I was already a mature man before Nigeria saw independence”Whenever he was around his presence would create an ambiance of relaxed peace and his friends hungry for his stories made laughter the plaudits for his never ending lies. He was a story teller with an archive reaching back into his youthful years. He was a man that could tirelessly count words but never spoke of the matters that most mattered to them, for he lived alone despite his wealth and old age and so they wondered why.
The compound had two gates. Each gates stood at both ends. One was large, the other was small and the compound had this inner u shaped passage that connected the two. He was merry as always and felt his blood boil; he rubbed his hands in sweet expectation. Knowing the compound held what he had in many years helped through time and maturity and would eventually own. The woman welcomed him. He sat down feeling important, his eyes was constantly fixed on Agnes who had long rushed to his side since his arrival. She smiled and talked little but in all she showed the very signals of excitement that he had hoped and expected. He was a man who knew how things were done and so had not come empty handed; a polythene bag filled with beverages and bottles of sealed refreshment spoke on his behalf. He understood things, they discussed, and they laughed.
Ekadi
Chapter One
It is often said that when a man courts trouble his life must as a matter of fact become the curse of Job, an everlasting episode from which the eyes of God takes on a deliberate policy of ignorance over the problems oppressing his peace of mind, allowing the imposition of constant drama of discomforts that even the weakest of deities would have hurriedly peeled off that follower but this was never to be the case with Ekadi because sometimes the hands of God would only be made visible in a man’s life only when the man willfully opens the window to allow the sun through the darkness that troubles him. This reality was the taste to be left on the tongues of those few aware of the troubles whenever Ekadi became the subject matter. He was born poor as if to add more horrid colors to the existing ones; he lived a poor life and received an income a lot of men in that same poverty would spit on but to demonstrate his confused humility he would go down on his knees after long hours of servile labor and thank the gods when the normal response aided by his mortal vexations should have been moments of tirades directed towards them. As a child he had lacked the financial means that would have made education accessible to him, added to this failure his parents were the sort who because of poverty had gone the whole mile of weaving ridiculous lies of how school was very unnecessary, a simple ploy enacted to hide their inadequacies and so growing up became nothing but aborted chances in that regard. Living to the expectation of his father meant becoming a carpenter himself and so the road into adulthood was shaped to carry the hammer and pincers, a decision that gave his curse a monstrosity that would breathe not even a moment’s peace which had now created the motive driving him into the middle of monstrous labor and like a trained donkey he did his part with utmost silence. The sun was again angry and this time like before he complained. The carpentry workshop was his greatest achievement, the inherited property handed down from his father and one venture which over the years had only succeeded in draining his vitality,
Eze Lane
Chapter One Whenever physical constructions become as ugly as was the case with Eze lane then it was important to note that the people responsible for its everyday life shared in that fate, an ugliness which in every way was their habits, ideals and tradition. It was as small as could be imagined, snaking its way deep into the disorganized curves that were just too small to have names of their own. The feet to trek its distance for certain was destined for many dead ends but with good direction would cut access to another lane with similar structure and decadence. If poverty and misfortune had never before stayed together then Eze lane would be the first home elated playing host. The houses within its jurisdiction were the sort breathing life through poverty; penury was the other side of their lives as hidden talents were the other side of most human beings. They lived life in ways quick to give the impression that they enjoyed their financial backwardness, which in their case was the progenitor of the moral decay that was the constant and recurring chapters in their lives. It is said that when a people freely accept poverty they unconsciously make it the master over every single part of their existence and this was the case as Eze lane was now the beauty of that curse. Noise was everything, it defined them as a people and showed how deep the chaos in their lives was well sited and properly accepted. It was not just the children crying out, fighting one another or playing their time to the game of shout and shout that was responsible for this chaos but the adults who were also involved in the madness, so experienced in it that discussions were nothing until noise making was melted to the surface of it all. Eze lane was like a fool’s cupboard in which the content may look worthy but lacked real substance. From that child on his mother’s chest to the adults with wife and kids, the disease of the mind, the lost of morality and the want for the abnormal like God’s degree on man to multiply was abundant in all quarters. No.11 Eze lane was in every ways the same with the other compounds still standing despite the unhealthy nature of their foundations. It was not a very conducive place to live in but the tenants were never to be seen complaining, the problem of electricity shortage was also part of the life endured. Their poverty gave them no choice to choose from but the mouth for constant prayers, thanking God for their life in which their poverty was still at the level their stoicism was still willing to accommodate despite the plenty odds.
Okoro
CHAPTER ONE
What in the name of stupidity could actually make a man pay for his own suffering if not the sort to make heaven grumble and God in his mercies feign ignorance to the troubles of man. A stupidity that could make a new born child suddenly acquire the gift of talking, only to say. “Foolish” Okoro had seen times and experienced moments, he was a man fully advanced in age. Some said sixty, others said sixty five but whenever it was his chance to give credence, he would say “I was already a mature man before Nigeria saw independence”Whenever he was around his presence would create an ambiance of relaxed peace and his friends hungry for his stories made laughter the plaudits for his never ending lies. He was a story teller with an archive reaching back into his youthful years. He was a man that could tirelessly count words but never spoke of the matters that most mattered to them, for he lived alone despite his wealth and old age and so they wondered why.
The compound had two gates. Each gates stood at both ends. One was large, the other was small and the compound had this inner u shaped passage that connected the two. He was merry as always and felt his blood boil; he rubbed his hands in sweet expectation. Knowing the compound held what he had in many years helped through time and maturity and would eventually own. The woman welcomed him. He sat down feeling important, his eyes was constantly fixed on Agnes who had long rushed to his side since his arrival. She smiled and talked little but in all she showed the very signals of excitement that he had hoped and expected. He was a man who knew how things were done and so had not come empty handed; a polythene bag filled with beverages and bottles of sealed refreshment spoke on his behalf. He understood things, they discussed, and they laughed.
October 31, 2012
An Excerpt From POETICAL ORATION
Writing they say is a gift, through which a content of great message is relayed towards a set audience. It demands skill and the perseverance to instill discipline upon raw talent. But yet as a tool we see it constantly been used by the untutored in heart,with absent compassion for the gift of written words. Thus, it is to remind us that the magic of the written word is universal and its expressions diverse.It is the spirit of the man that desires this freedom, to create through the creative content of the mind on a plain piece of paper with a pen to serve as wand in that magical construct of vivid thoughts. So it comes as a necessity that our expressions as unique individuals must be allowed, to find purpose in the distant appreciations of unknown readers and possibly friends. On this basis i must now befriend your minds with a soon to be released book of poetry titled POETICAL ORATION, here is an excerpt....
The Present
She drinks from the cup of griefIn despair does her aspiration dwellMoments of mirth are forever briefHer pain is beyond what words can tell
Her solitude by fate is cruelly forcedSeeking solace but none would dare come Peering into shadows she wonders if cursedTo suffer without assist the inevitable storm
The night enters and she falls to great fearHer lamp kindles but her heart is coldSometimes her strength holds back a tearYet the drama of pain must constantly unfold
But what offence must now yield such crueltyBy what command does her pain linger soThis decreed grief cemented for this eternity
To be continued....
The Present
She drinks from the cup of griefIn despair does her aspiration dwellMoments of mirth are forever briefHer pain is beyond what words can tell
Her solitude by fate is cruelly forcedSeeking solace but none would dare come Peering into shadows she wonders if cursedTo suffer without assist the inevitable storm
The night enters and she falls to great fearHer lamp kindles but her heart is coldSometimes her strength holds back a tearYet the drama of pain must constantly unfold
But what offence must now yield such crueltyBy what command does her pain linger soThis decreed grief cemented for this eternity
To be continued....
