Jewel from the ghetto

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    • #17492
      arthur peace

      Author: Àdùkẹ́

      EPISODE 1

      Somewhere in Agege, Pink Roses Beauty Shop, 9.15 a.m.

      SHAKIRAH CAME INTO THE salon in tears. She had a black eye that could hardly open, a swollen cheek, and lips twice their size–no thanks to the beating she received from a vicious street thug on her way to work that morning. She looked pitiable and her over-bleached skin reeked of the smell of two or more cheap bleaching creams mixed together for optimal result. The moment the other twelve or so apprentices of Pink Roses caught sight of her, they were curious to know what happened. But when she opened her mouth to talk, she felt a lump in her throat and the words stuck. She swallowed hard, tried once more but a loud cry broke free instead. As she struggled to narrate her ordeal, Kasumu, The Scorpion, walked in.

      Kasumu, popularly known as The Scorpion because of the big scorpion tattoo he had on one of his upper arms, was a hard and feared street boy who had a crush on Shakirah and was a friend of the house in Pink Roses Beauty Shop. He had a rough jaw and bloodshot eyes that were not wider than slits sitting beside each other and gave an impression of someone permanently high on a mixture of spirits and marijuana. A deep machete scar crested the left side of his face. His lips were as dark as hell. However, as tough and mean as he was, Kasumu had a weakness–Shakirah! And a soft spot that surprised those who got close enough to see this contradiction in his personality.

      At seeing Shakirah, his eyes narrowed and his face hardened. A lone vein stood out on his forehead like a streak of lightning. He clenched his fists.

      “Shakirah,” he snarled in his deep, husky voice, “who did this to you?”

      Shakirah made an attempt to answer, “It … was …” She sniffed. “It … was …” But the sob choked the words in her throat.

      Kasumu studied her and he could tell instantly that it was the work of a street thug. “Can you recognize him when you see him?” he probed. Shakirah nodded her head in response. He bit his lips slowly. “Good. Let’s go!” He grabbed her by the hand and lead her out of the salon. His strides were like those of a fierce combatant and Shakirah had to practically run along to keep up with him. Outside, he mounted Shakirah on his motorbike and the next second, they vanished into thin air!

      Ten minutes later, they were at Orita Junction, a notorious spot where the deadliest street boys hung out. The culprit and two other boys were sitting on a bench with a heap of marijuana and bottles of Chelsea dry gin in front of them. Two of them were busy wrapping the marijuana into sticks while the third was already smoking his and oozing thick smoke into the air. He followed each puff with a sensational whistle that instantly drowned in the blaring noise from a music shop nearby. Thick haze of the hemp hovered momentarily in the air before disappearing into the atmosphere. But not before the breeze blew the choking smell across Shakirah’s and Scorpion’s noses. Shakirah quickly covered her nose while Scorpion sniffed in the smell with pleasure.

      “That’s him.” Shakirah pointed to the dreadlock-haired assailant, still covering her nose with the other hand.

      With the speed and force of a swift storm, Scorpion advanced, grabbed the bench and flung it and its occupants away. The unsuspecting boys rolled off in different directions. The marijuana heap scattered in the air and the bottles of hot drinks shattered on the ground.

      Spark, the bellicose culprit, sprang to his feet. He spat out in disgust like a venomous viper. He vibrated in anger. His biceps rose and the veins of his head stood in aggression. He charged towards Scorpion and threw a swift left punch at him. Scorpion ducked. Immediately, he swung the right punch with added intensity but again Scorpion dodged. However, the move exposed him enough for Scorpion to bury a powerful punch into his side and followed it immediately with a deadly uppercut to his jaw. A mixture of spittle and blood flew out of his mouth and reeling off balance, he scrambled to the ground on all fours like a whipped dog.

      He got up on his feet again. He wiped the blood tickling down a corner of his mouth with the back of his palm and gnashed his blood-soaked teeth in anger.

      “Ah! Emi Spark! O wa jẹjú mi lábẹ́tẹ̀ mi,” he screamed in a mixture of Yoruba and street slangs, “ìyá ẹ́ máa kù leni” (Ah! I, Spark! You came to defile me in my hood! Your mother must die today.)

      He picked up an empty beer bottle and smashed it on his own head. He shook the head viciously and beat his chest like an angry gorilla. “Awọ́n father ẹ́ ń duro de ẹ́ l’ọrún. Oya, dàgbéré!” (Your ancestors await you. Now say your goodbye!) He screamed as he charged with full force towards Scorpion with the jag-headed bottle remnant in his hand ready to stab Scorpion to death.

      Scorpion stood still, unperturbed. Eyes intently fixed on the advancing opponent. He studied him carefully and calculated his next move. Spark headed for Scorpion’s heart but again Scorpion effortlessly ducked and quickly picking up a plank from the ground, he smashed the bottle off his hand. The hand dangled loosely back and forth from the wrist. Spark grimaced and recoiled in pain.

      Instantly, Scorpion matched up to him and sent a punch to his left cheek. He staggered backwards and Scorpion followed it with another one to his right. He staggered further backwards. Scorpion followed through with another and another and yet another until the last one sent him reeling to the ground. Caught in a swirl of vertigo, he crawled on the ground aimlessly in no particular direction. All he could see were tiny specs of bluish-purple lights dancing in front of him. His lips were puffy and battered. Two of his teeth had flown out in the process of the beating. He groaned in agony.

      Then, Scorpion removed his belt and whipped the hell out of him. Squirming in pains, he struggled to his feet and took to his heels staggeringly. Scorpion chased after him and sent down heavy lashes on his back each step of the way until he fell few inches away from Shakirah. He cried like a child begging Scorpion to spare him.

      “Ahhh! Áláyé … Máa ṣe bi o ṣe to. Máa jẹ́ ojú abùró ẹ́. Baba, jọ̀ wo ṣe fun abùró ẹ. Mi ó to yàjú si ẹ́.” (Ahhh! Lord … Please don’t pour the full wrath of your might on me … Don’t humiliate your younger one … I didn’t mean to disrespect you.)

      “Not me … Her.” Scorpion replied pointing to Shakirah. His expression mean. His voice affirmative.

      Spark immediately crawled to Shakirah and held her legs with both hands in submission. He begged for mercy, “màmà, ẹ jọ ọ́. Mi ò ni ṣe ìrú ẹ́ mọ.” (Mama, please I won’t ever do that again.)

      Shakirah stood imposingly over him with arms akimbo, face thrown sideways, and leg placed on his head as if it were a foot stool. “Begin licking my feet now!” she commanded him with an air of authority. It was time to make him pay for what he did to her.

      Meanwhile, the two other boys who were with Spark had fled the scene. One of them ran to Don Baba, the fierce leader of their gang, who immediately summoned the remaining members of the deadly gang to gear up for battle. He roused their spirit with a speech akin to the ones given by generals on ancient battlefields. They roared in a chorus with eyes glowing like a burning fire, brandishing all sorts of deadly weapons. They were ready to cause mayhem. No one dared crossed into their territory to desecrate their hood unless the person was prepared to die! They were now blood-thirty and ready to shed as much blood as necessary to reclaim their pride.
      “That bastard’s days are numbered!” Don Baba said. His expression was stone-cold and the defiance in his voice was scary.

      Back at the battle scene, the disfigured Spark licked Shakirah’s feet meticulously like nothing else in the world mattered. A crowd had formed a circle around them enjoying the ongoing drama.

      Suddenly, heavy sounds of smashing bottles and screeching sound of machetes scratching against the ground rented the air. The cacophony was amplified by the chants of about fifty daredevils who were out for blood.

      Immediately, everyone scampered off in different directions almost causing a stampede. Shop owners closed their shops in a jiffy and roadside merchants hurriedly packed their wares. People knew better than to linger around. They knew that another bloody street brawl was brewing and in less than five minutes, the streets became a ghost town. The stage was set for blood bath!

      Scorpion and Shakirah turned around and saw the approaching armed gang. Shakirah ran behind Scorpion trembly…

      To be continued … Watch Out for Chapter One, Episode 2!

      …My Story, My World.

    • #17514
      Johnson Jemimah


    • #17540


    • #17607
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 2

      Shakirah ran behind Scorpion trembly. But Scorpion’s eyes narrowed and his face grew firmer. He scanned the advancing mob analysing their Achilles heel. A corner of his mouth reshaped itself into a wry smile as he clenched his fists in readiness for battle. ‘Action time!’ A voice echoed in his head.

      Surprisingly, immediately Don Baba spotted Scorpion, he halted in his tracks abruptly and raised his hand to motion the rest to stop. They all stopped at once and lowered their weapons in imitation of Don Baba who had already done so.

      “Scorpion?!” Don Baba exclaimed, perplexed. He switched glances between Spark and Scorpion and finally settled it on Shakirah. He then raised both hands in the air and stamped a foot on the ground like a soldier saluting a senior officer.

      “Double tuaile, Scorpion baba!!!” he hailed him in a familiar street slang. Then he turned to Spark who was writhing in pain and scolded him, “Spark, you don’t know Scorpion?!” His voice was deep, gruff, and scary. He pounded his fist against his palm. “Fool, you didn’t recognize the Alpha of the Hoods, The Slay King of the Zanga, Destroyer of the Insolent Ones, the Breaker of Bones, The Nemesis of Molesters, Terror of Defiant Bastards, and he who instils fear and humiliates the haughty ones?! And you disrespected him? Idiot!” He barred his teeth.

      “I didn’t know it was him, boss. I’m sorry.” Spark began to cry harder; the magnitude of his folly just fully dawned on him.

      “If not that you’ve been dealt with already, I should have had you whipped for your insolence.”

      Don Baba turned back his attention to Scorpion and pleaded in Spark’s behalf. All the other boys joined in too, “Respect, baba. Two hands in the air for you, baba!” They equally mollified Shakirah.

      After acknowledging Don Baba and his boys, Scorpion and Shakirah climbed on his bike and zoomed off leaving behind a cloud of dust.

      “Boy, you went too far this time around …” Don Baba drew in the smoke from the thick marijuana tucked between his index and middle fingers, “way too far,” he told Spark as he puffed the thick smoke into his face.

      * * *

      Somewhere in Banana Island.

      “But mum, I told you I am working on it,” Yemi Williams answered his mother on phone in his American accent.

      “Exactly what you’ve been telling me for years. You are not getting any younger you know,” Mrs Williams countered.

      If there was anything Yemi hated, it was the constant nagging of his mother, especially now that he was running late for a business meeting with a prospective client.

      “Mum, please can we talk about this later? I’m running late for an important appointment,” he replied as he placed some documents into his briefcase with the other hand.

      “And why can’t we talk about it now? You are always evasive whenever I bring up this topic.”

      “Mum?” he said and pouted.

      “And you just pouted your mouth at me, Yemi. That is a naughty thing to do!”

      “Mum, I didn’t.” He picked up the briefcase and hurried towards his car.

      “Yemi, you did. Don’t forget I’m your mother and I carried you in my belly for nine months,” she said rolling her eyes.

      “And mum, you just rolled your eyes at me, too. ” He opened the door of the car and dropped the briefcase on the back seat.

      “I did?”

      “Yes mum, you just did and don’t forget I’m your son and I stayed in your belly for nine months.”

      “Naughty you! But Yemi, on a more serious note, I’m worried about you. You are not getting younger and most of your mates are already settling down. Remember Bolaji, my friend’s son and your classmate in primary school? He already has two kids and Tunmise got married a few months ago. But for you, you haven’t even brought a girl home let alone settling down. Is it that the girls are not coming or you are too busy to pay attention to them? And I’ve been telling you about Nicole but you …”

      “Nicole? Mum!!!” he cut in with a shrill voice.

      “And what’s wrong with Nicole?” Mrs Williams drawled.

      “Mum, can we drop this topic, please?” He turned to his gateman, “Abdulahi, please open the gate.”

      “What did you say?”

      “Not you, mum. I was talking to my gateman.”


      “Mum, I’ve got to go now. Talk to you later. Love you. Bye.” He rushed the words and quickly ended the call before his mum could say any other word.

      “Hello … Hello … Yemi … Hello … Are you still there, Yemi … Hello …” She looked at the phone screen and realized that he had ended the call. “Naughty boy. I wonder when he’s going to bring a girl home.”

      “Agnes, I’ve told you to let the boy be. He’s not a small boy you know. I know he knows what he’s doing,” Mr Williams who was reading his early morning newspaper and was listening to the conversation told his wife.

      “Let him be? And until when? Will it be until I’m too old and my bones are too weak to back my grandchildren?” she snapped at him.

      “You worry too much, Agnes. I’m sure you will meet her when the time is ripe.”

      “I don’t even know why I’m having this conversation with you. If this was how long you stayed before marrying me would you have had him when you did? Perhaps, you would still be buying diapers by now.” She hissed and left for the dinning room.

      Mr. Williams followed her movement with a corner of his eyes. He turned the next page of his newspaper. “Women, they will never change.” He shook his head slowly.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the next episode!

      NB: The book will be up on online stores shortly for those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released.

      …My Story, My World.

    • #17608
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 3

      YEMI TAPPED ON THE steering wheel of his car impatiently. He had been stuck in traffic for so long that he was beginning to lose his patience. He hissed, then blamed himself, “Oh, why didn’t I leave home in time? Damn! I forgot I’m no longer in the States.” He tapped harder on the steering wheel. “I should have known you can’t predict traffic on Lagos roads!” Yes, he truly forgot he was now in Lagos, Nigeria.

      Yemi, a tall, fresh, and good-looking young man with an American accent, was born with a silver spoon. He was the fourth child of the wealthy business tycoon, Mr. Adesoji Williams. Yemi, like his siblings before him, was whisked off to the United States of America after he finished his primary education in Nigeria–an occurrence that had become the tradition of the Williams family. The Williamses had a philosophy and it was simple: the best heritage any responsible parents could give their children is the best education. And they believed that such education could be best given outside the shores of Nigeria.

      Ever since, Yemi had been in the States with occasional visits to Nigeria. He had been schooled in Harvard University and had secured a good job to become a successful young man. Though he had spent most of his life in the States and had an American citizenship to his credits, he had never forgotten whom he truly was–a Nigerian first and every other thing was secondary; he was proud of his African heritage.

      Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that at age thirty, he decided to return to Nigeria to set up his own company. Being from a wealthy and renowned family made getting his consulting company started and running kind of easy. That, however, didn’t mean he didn’t work for the success he now enjoyed. His father’s goodwill and connections only paved the way; they didn’t do the magic.

      It was his hard work that had brought him in contact with the clients, a group of foreign investors, he was to meet this morning. But the traffic was threatening to make a mess of it all. He checked his wristwatch for the umpteenth time in the last two minutes and he realized time was fast running out. He wished he could tie down the hands of time or better still, grow wings and fly but he was no Superman!

      Just then, he noticed that several vehicles in front of him were taking a right turn into a rough road. He watched the first, the second, the third, and by the time he counted up to ten vehicles, he was convinced that they were all trying to take an alternative route to beat the raging traffic. Without a second thought, he joined them.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the next episode!

      NB: The book will be up on online stores shortly for those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released.

      …My Story, My World.

    • #17661

      Nice write up

    • #17789
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 4

      The road was very bad and bumpy. He ordinarily wouldn’t have driven his brand new Range Rover sport edition on such a bad road but he didn’t have a choice. The road and several others like it took him round the heart of Agege, a lively ghetto. As they made one turn after the other, he was stunned by was he saw. He had never been in a ghetto before. The closest he had ever come to it was watching it on the news and not witnessing it first-hand as he was now.

      He could hardly comprehend what life would be like living in such conditions. It was over-populated and rowdy. The houses were cramped together with little or no space between them and he wondered how the people got enough ventilation. Overcrowded tenement bungalows were a common sight. Debris-clogged gutters and stagnant pools of muddy water breeding mosquitoes in their numbers could be seen every now and then. The smell of fresh pepper, tomatoes, and vegetables on display by the roadsides saturated the air. Commercial motorcycles and tricycles popularly called ‘Okada’ and ‘Keke Marwa’ or ‘Keke Napep’ respectively littered the whole place emitting thick choking carbon monoxide into the atmosphere and producing noises that could harm the eardrums.

      Overwhelmed by what he saw, Yemi momentarily forgot about his appointment and allowed himself to be absorbed in the scenery. That was when he caught sight of a beauty shop and it sucked him in completely. His lips parted in admiration, “Oh, my God! Look at that!” He shook his head slowly in wonderment.

      The shop stood in shack contrast to its environment. Its branding distinguished it from the several other hairdressing salons he had seen in the area. It wasn’t spectacular though. It couldn’t compare with the ones in Ikeja, Lekki, Victoria Island, or Banana Island neither. But for an area such as this, it was attention-grabbing and the owner was worthy of commendation!

      She branded the shop with beautiful pictures of young ladies he presumed were her apprentices. He knew this because the pictures were not those of dashing models or ‘photoshopped’ images of some beautiful foreign ladies. They were pictures of local yet gorgeous ladies! His eyes hovered on the shop for a while and settled on a sign post that read: Pink Roses!

      He said to himself, “Pink Roses? Impressive! What a great show of ingenuity and originality.” He rubbed his chin. “Who could have thought someone could think out of the box in a place such as this? What a sharp contrast! And for her to be proud of our own local ladies is highly commendable.”

      As he followed the cars in front of him, the image of the beauty shop stuck to his head like leeches. His admiration for the shop and its owner was never lost in the rowdiness of this lively ghetto. Her African pride impressed him the most and was worthy of emulation. He had seen several professionally branded beauty shops in the high-brow areas of Lagos but none had ever compared to Pink Roses in terms of originality. Many of them rather showcased the faces of foreign models and celebrities. The ones that came close usually had the pictures of Nigerian celebrities or Nollywood stars and not ordinary local girls!

      Soon they connected the main road again having cut off the traffic jam behind. How happy he was that he followed the vehicles that made the turn. Not only did he make his appointment promptly but he, for the first time in his life, saw first-hand what a ghetto truly looked like. More so, he saw the beauty shop that stirred his imagination in a way he never imagined.

      On his way back home later in the day, he thought about his telephone conversation with his mother earlier in the morning. He wondered why she couldn’t be patient with him instead of nagging him to death over the matter. The issue of marriage was not what should be taken lightly—it’s a lifelong contract that could make a very bad mess of one’s life if not gotten right and he felt that his enlightened mum should know better.
      He had seen too many marriages crumbling like a pack of cards in the first few years in the United States for him to rush into one; divorce over there was as common as taking a cup of coffee. For him, Nigerian ladies over there was a bad choice. Most of them were far too wayward to spend the rest of one’s life with. Back home, getting a suitable girl wasn’t an easy task either. But his mother chose not to understand that. He only hoped she would someday.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the next episode!

      NB: The book will be up on online stores shortly for those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released.

      …My Story, My World.

    • #17790
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 5

      Fortunately, Yemi won the deal. His clients wanted to set up a cement factory at Ewekoro. The project, subsequently, took him through the route on a regular basis. As time went by, Yemi became so fascinated by Pink Roses that he deliberately used the bad road even when the traffic on the main road didn’t justify such bumpy rides. Each time, his admiration for the salon grew stronger and he never missed the opportunity to look at the beautiful faces that adored the exterior of the shop.

      On a particular occasion, he got so carried away that he stayed in the middle of the road longer than necessary while admiring the alluring beauties. The action resulted in a drama that would have surprised him if he had seen the end of it. He was startled back to the present by the boisterous honking of the horn of a commercial bus (popularly known as ‘danfo’) driver.

      The reckless driver cursed as he wheezed past his SUV, “Ọga Ade, shey you no go carry your motor comot for road before I brush am?” he shouted in Pidgin English. “You better go get driver if you no fit drive for road.”

      His conductor, realizing the nonsense his boss was spewing out, cautioned him immediately, “Ah, Ọga mi, Baba Aláyè lélèyí o. Oshapranpran o! Range lélèyí o. Élèyí o kin ṣe ‘my car’ o. Ẹ́ jẹ́ sẹ́mpẹ̀ kí a màa jẹ gbẹ́sé ooo!” (Ah, boss, this one is a rich man o. This is a Range and not just any car so take it easy if you don’t want to land us in trouble!)

      The passengers in the bus lent their voices to the conductor’s warning, “Alákọ́rì, o jẹ náa dádá ko to ra. Gbogbo bus ẹ́ ko ra ìná ẹ kan to ba kọ́lu!” (Stubborn guy, you better think well before hitting it. The totality of your bus when sold is not enough to buy one of its headlamps, so you better be careful.)

      “Ehn ehn, tell am o. Me, I cannot come and wear shekesheke (handcuffs) as bangle ooo.” The conductor complained further in his rough voice.

      The driver said nothing more but responded by stepping hard on the accelerator. The bus jerked forward violently. It bounced up and down in a break dance fashion as he sped off the bumpy road. The passengers collided against each other as it threw them up and down in rhythm with the bus. They cautioned but he paid no attention. They screamed but it fell on dear ears. They began to curse but he reacted by sizing them up from the rear view mirror and pumped the accelerator some more. The engine roared and the shouts grew louder:

      AYILALA OOO!!!

      A little pandemonium followed. Some passengers began banging hard on the body and roof of the bus but the psycho of a driver carried on his ‘business’ unaffected by the bedlam going on behind him. He must definitely be high on ‘paraga’ or ‘monkey tail’ (strong locally brewed alcoholic drinks).

      That was the day Yemi, completely unaware of the chaos that rocked the bus that almost damaged his car, noticed a picture of one of the ladies. She wasn’t as conspicuous as the others but she was definitely the most gorgeous amongst them! He was seeing it for the first time and he wondered if it had always been there. She was dark and strikingly beautiful. She wore a smile that was innocent and natural; charming and inviting. And a set of dimples accentuated her delicate beauty. She was an exquisite sight to behold; a hidden beauty.

      Yemi whistled. “Oh, goodness!” His eyelids fluttered rapidly several times. “How come I haven’t noticed this Princess of Enchantment all this while?” he heard himself saying aloud despite himself, “This is definitely a super model!” He stroked his hair. “Damn! Were she in the States or even Victoria Island here in Nigeria, she should be gracing the catwalk by now and adoring the face of every billboard in the city.”

      For the first time since he discovered the beauty shop, Yemi faulted the judgment of the owner of Pink Roses. Such a captivating damsel should never had been pushed to the background. She deserved the most conspicuous space of all.

      Since that day, all other faces faded into obscurity. Yemi saw nothing else. No one else. Only one person–the girl he had come to name, ‘Hidden Beauty’. And each time he looked at her, he felt an unexplainable pull towards her synonymous to the force of gravity; it seemed that she was always beckoning on him. He initially laughed off the feeling but soon realized that he couldn’t easily flush the image off his head. Even when he was miles away, it stuck to his mind like a placenta to a foetus. He was increasing becoming drawn to the Hidden Beauty he had not yet met. Soon, fascinating images of her began littering his dreams.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #18055
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 6

      Two Weeks Later, Pink Roses Beauty Shop.

      THE SALON WAS A hive of activities as the girls busied themselves with one task or the other. Shakirah then entered carrying shopping bags in both hands. She sported a pink camisole on a three-quarters-length denim jeans and a pair of pink Nike Air trainers. She tied her denim jacket round her waist and wore her sunglasses on her forehead, almost forming a hair band for her hair. She chewed her gum noisily as it was her custom.

      Risi, her best friend, was the first to welcome her, admiring the shopping bags in her hands. “Bestie, this your waka sweet today ooo. Na only you get all dis bags?” She peered into the bags. “Oya, open dis thing make we check them out nah,” she continued in Pidgin English.

      “Babes, gist plenty o. Na Alhaji carry me comot o …” Shakirah began.

      “Which of the Alhajis? Alhaji Kazeem or Alhaji Usman or Alhaji Cash Money?” Ngozi wanted specifics.

      “Alhaji Cash Money, of course! Who else would it have been?”

      Auntie Funmi, a mother of three and the owner of Pink Roses, watched on as her apprentices clustered around Shakirah who was narrating how she had had a good time with Alhaji Cash Money who took her shopping. Auntie Funmi smiled as she shifted gaze from one lady to the other starting with Shakirah …

      Shakirah, born Shakiratu Ajenifuja, decided to stick to the ‘funky’ version of her name—Shakirah. She was the most senior in Pink Roses and a lecherous ‘local champion’ who paraded herself as a Beauty Queen. For a fact, she might have qualified as one if not for her over-bleached skin that now had some dark patches at places like her elbows, knuckles, and ankles. She was slim, tall, and well-shaped. She wore a nose ring and had four earring holes pierced into her left ear. There was something about her that attracted men—one of whom was Kasumu, The Scorpion. This gave her an inflated ego of a ‘happening girl.’ She had a penchant for chewing gums noisily. But she was generous to a fault.

      Her best friend was Risikatu Ajala called Risi for short. They were birds of a feather. Also with an over-bleached skin and an equally salacious personality. She had a stout and plump structure. Two thick dark facial marks stood on her round cheeks like number eleven. She had a poorly drawn butterfly tattoo on her right breast close to the cleavage and a dot tattooed above the corner of her upper lip. She was outspoken but witless.

      Pink Roses also boasted Simisola. She was quiet and reserved, qualities which made her prone to being relegated to the background often, especially by Shakirah and Risi. She was no doubt the most beautiful of all. She was easy-going and simple; articulate and highly intelligent despite dropping out of school at Junior Secondary School (JSS) 3 because of the financial constraints of her struggling parents. Her case was a foremost proof that intelligence didn’t necessarily have to do with secular education. She was focused and driven by the plights of her family to achieve success in life. She was the closest friend of Ngozi’s and Auntie Funmi’s favourite.

      Ngozi, usually referred to as ‘Omo Ibo’, was the only lady from the eastern part of the country in their midst. Having been in Lagos for a long time, she understood and could speak the Yoruba language very well, though her use of the language was heavily laden with her thick Ibo tongue. She was very fair and voluptuous; morally decent and had a good heart. She and Simisola were very fond of each other to the extent that people called them sisters from different mothers. She could be very dramatic at times.

      There were also Taiwo and Kehinde, the identical twins who did things and shared everything together. They went everywhere together. They were the inseparable clowns that brightened the salon with their humour. They were usually fun to be around.

      Deborah, Abike, Bukola, Lolade, and Tolani also added colour to the shop. They were equally very pretty and were part of those whose pictures branded the shop.

      Auntie Funmi’s eyes came back to Shakirah who was now sharing the items with her colleagues. Just then, two customers entered. The short recess was over.

      “Alright girls,” Auntie Funmi called on her ladies, “time to get busy.”

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #18614
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 7

      Somewhere Far Away in Osun State, Ajele Village, The Fatundes’ Residence.

      Mr and Mrs Fatunde (Simisola’s parents) were eating a plate of eba and vegetable soup which lacked any meat or fish (they could hardly afford such luxury at this time) when they heard a loud bang on their door. It was as if the person was determined to bring down the door.

      “Iya Simisola, open this door now before we break it down, thief!” They heard the dreadful voice of the extra-large Iya Afusa. She had lead an angry mob to their doorstep.

      Simisola’s mother’s heart skipped a few beats. She held her chest and started fidgeting. “Ye, mogbe! Iya Afusa, the trouble marker!” She reluctantly opened the door. Her heart thumped against her chest like the huge bell of a Catholic cathedral.

      “Come out, onigbese (debtor) … Iya Simisola, onigbese … come out ooo and give us our money, ole (thief)! Today is today. We must collect our money today; all of it,” Iya Afusa called out at the top of her voice. “We gave you our association’s money for safe-keeping but you squandered it and started telling us stories,” she continued ranting with dramatic gestures.

      “Yes ooo. Give us our money.” The mob echoed Iya Afusa’s piercing words.

      Simisola’s mother was the treasurer of her trade association and had kept the contributions of the association for years without any problems until one day. On that fateful day, she had come back from the market to see that her room had been burgled. The thief had broken into the mud house through the window and had made away with all her savings including the association’s money. She had suspected Adelaja, Iya Afusa’s good-for-nothing son, and his cohorts but she had no evidence to back her suspicion. Ever since, she had been paying back the money from sales of her farm produce. Her husband had been of tremendous support in contributing all he had to the repayment of the debt. This was responsible for their present financial predicament and why they had to make do with vegetable soup without any meat or fish. But every now and then, Iya Afusa instigated other members into causing trouble with the poor woman.

      “Ah, please my fellow members. I didn’t spend the money,” she explained, hands jammed into her armpits. “You all know what happened to it and you know too that I have been struggling to pay up as much as I can,” she pleaded.

      “Lies!” An angry woman shouted from the crowd.
      “And who is your follow member? God forbid,” another woman roared snapping her fingers over her head in disgust. “We have annulled your membership long ago. Who would have a thief as a member?”

      “Ah! It’s not what you people think. Please give me some more time and I promise to pay up the balance.” She began to cry, placing one hand on her head and biting the index finger of the other. Merely seeing a mob at her doorstep had humiliated her and provoked her to tears.

      “How, much time do you want again, ehn? Haven’t we given you enough time already?” Iya Afusa countered, untouched by her cry. “The time you begged for the last time expired a fortnight ago and you are now begging for more time. We need our money.” She wagged her finger furiously in front of Simisola’s mother’s face. “I am warning you o, Iya Simisola, I’m warning you. Don’t try me. You better go inside now and get our money if you don’t want trouble. You know me ooo, Iya Simisola you know me. If you asked for it, I will give you double!”

      “We all know that times are hard now, please, my people, I will pay up,” she pleaded further.

      Her husband tried to intervene but Iya Afusa shushed him up disrespectfully, “Hush!” She sealed her mouth with her forefinger “Will you please keep your mouth shut? You useless husband of a thief! It is your wife we have business with and not a good-for-nothing man like you.”

      Simisola’s father was too shocked and humiliated to say anything further.

      Then, Iya Afusa saw that her hand was soiled with soup, a sign that she was eating when they arrived. She laughed hysterically clapping her hands as she did so. “Pekele pekele! Look at the person that claimed that times are hard. Look at her hand. Is that not vegetable soup? She doesn’t have money and she is eating vegetable soup. Wonders shall never end.”

      She then removed her gele (headgear) and tied it round her waist. With that, she pounced on Simisola’s mother and dragged her to their midst. Within a twinkle of an eye, they had torn her cloths and started beating her. Another person went over to where she displayed her pepper, tomatoes, and vegetables for sale and turned them over. The rest stamped on the produce squashing them on the ground. Her husband rushed in to save her but Iya Afusa shoved him away like a piece of paper. For someone the size of Iya Afusa whose thigh alone was bigger than the whole of Simisola’s father’s body, tossing him away was like a piece of cake.

      Ademola, Simisola’s younger brother quickly ran to call Chief Balogun, one of the village elders, who came to the scene to quell the mob action. He mollified the angry women who agreed to leave on a condition that the money would be ready in two days. Urged on by Iya Afusa, the women threatened that nobody, not even the king, would be able to stop them from carrying out their wish should they return and the money wasn’t ready. The women left and Simisola’s mother broke down in more tears.

      After the family put themselves together, Simisola’s mother put a called across to Simisola. She narrated all that happened and the threats of the women. Simisola was moved to tears. She pacified her mother and promised to send down the money she had been saving to pay up the debt. Her mother was relieved and thanked her very much. She prayed for her from the bottom of her heart. After that, her father collected the phone and picked up the prayer from where his wife left off. In fact, if prayers were answered instantaneously, Simisola’s life would change so drastically for the better that it would shock all those that knew her! Such was the intensity and magnitude of the prayers she received from her parents on that day.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #18615
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 8

      Back in Lagos.

      Simisola headed home to get the money. On her way, she thought about the ordeal of her parents at the hands of Iya Afusa and her ‘gang’. She could picture how the scenario played out. She knew Iya Afusa so well and knew what she was capable of doing. She was the bully of the village and everybody, including her husband, feared her. They had been stories of how she had beaten her husband to a pulp on several occasions. People had taken her case to the king too many times that the king and his chiefs had grown tired of her matter. She was the fish bone stuck in everybody’s throat in the village. If she had threatened to let heaven loose by the time she and her ‘gang’ returned and didn’t get their money, then she was sure to do just that. Simisola cringed at the thought. But she relaxed when she remembered that her savings could cover the debt. She had planned to use the money for something else. Actually, it was the money she was saving towards setting up her own beauty shop. As important as that was, saving her parents from the looming chaos was more important at the moment. She smiled and quickened her steps. She just had to get the whole thing sorted out at once and put the matter to a permanent rest.

      She soon got home. Immediately she opened the door, she was greeted by a terrible feeling that something was wrong. She paused. She squinted. Her gaze darted from one corner of the room to the other. But everything seemed to be intact. A deep sigh of relieve escaped her mouth. “Thank God,” she uttered inwardly. She walked briskly to the drawer she had converted to her vault; it housed all her valuables. She scanned the full breath and length of the room and shut the windows to be sure nobody was watching her before opening the drawer. She had to be careful. She had to be discreet. It was her life savings so it had to be well protected.

      As she was about to insert the key, she noticed the drawer was loose. Her heart pumped at an alarming rate. ‘Oh God, please don’t let this happen,’ she prayed silently. She quickly pulled the drawer and hoped it stayed intact but it gave way effortlesslyit had been broken! “Ye! Mogbe!!! (I’m finished.)” She screamed and then froze. She stared at the empty drawer, shaking her head in quandary. “No, no, no.” She gulped in air. Her body felt cold. She took some wobbling steps backwards and collapsed to the floor!

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #18621
      Tony Cruz

      Nice one

    • #18714
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 9

      Same Day, Not Far Away.

      The day was bright. It was a Thursday morning and Yemi did not have to go to the project site early, so he left later than usual. Just like other days in recent times, he decided to use the bumpy road not because traffic was heavy on the main road but because he wanted to indulge himself in the pleasure of watching the salon–it was fast becoming an addiction to him. By the time he approached the shop, it was fully alive.

      For the first time since he discovered the shop, he saw the pretty ladies outside the confines of the pictures on its walls; he saw them in person bustling with vitality. They were going about their business unaware that a pair of handsome eyes was watching them. He watched as their hands did magic to the customers’ hairs and nails. He saw as they chatted freely with each other. Someone made a comment and the rest laughed. The glow in their happy faces warmed his heart. He admired the tremendous sense of camaraderie that existed amongst the girls and between them and someone he presumed must be their boss. The gesture touched a soft spot in him and he fell more in love with the shop and those who worked in it.

      Then without a second thought, as if sucked into the eye of a hurricane, he pulled over in front of the shop. The instance the noiseless Range Rover came to a halt, the shop came to a stand still with it. Heads turned! Everyone stopped and watched with keen interest as the tall, fair, handsome Yemi came out of the SUV. His skin was as smooth and fresh as a new born baby’s. He looked every inch of an ‘Aje-butter’ that he was. Everyone admired him. Even the heads of the customers spun at his presence. He was breathtakingly gorgeous.

      The ambience of the salon caught his fancy and the sweet smell of the hair creams and shampoos romanced his nose. Some smelt like candies but the scent of the relaxers were less inviting. The sight brought back memories of his childhood when he used to follow his mum to the salon. He smiled as he remembered how stubborn he was then, pestering the poor woman until she wouldn’t have any choice than to take him along.

      He greeted and everyone reciprocated. Auntie Funmi, wondering what a cute guy would be doing in a ladies’ salon, approached him, “Hello sir, how may we help you, sir?”

      “Um … Um …” he started to stutter. He did not know how to start. “Um … I want to see …” He groped for words. Auntie Funmi watched him expectantly with raised eyebrows. “Um … I want to see … my wife.” He eventually forced himself to say in his American accent. That wasn’t exactly how he meant to say it but that was how the words flew out.

      “Your wife?” Auntie Funmi was confused. There was no woman in the salon presently whose husband she didn’t know and Yemi was definitely not one of them! “Sir, I’m not sure your wife came here. Perhaps she entered somewhere else. Could you describe what she’s wearing maybe someone might have seen her by any chance?”

      “Hmmm … Ma’am …” He clasped his fingers together and smiled like a nerd. “I haven’t met her personally too.”

      Auntie Funmi was completely lost. “You haven’t?!” She turned around to look at Shakirah who was as confused as she was. “Sir, please can you make yourself clear. I am completely lost here.”

      “Actually,” He was gradually regaining his composure. “I … I am referring to one of your ladies, ma’am.”

      “Ooh!” Auntie Funmi said with her mouth forming an ‘O’ shape that refused to close.

      All the girls froze and exchanged glances in astonishment. The comb in Shakirah’s hand fell off and her mouth imitated the shape of Auntie Funmi’s.

      “And who amongst them is this fortunate girl, sir?” Auntie Funmi probed now smiling. She wondered how such a good looking man that exuded confidence easily lost his nerves when it came to expressing himself about one of her apprentices.

      “Well, I …” But Risi didn’t allow him to finish before she jumped forward and paraded her stout and plump structure up and down. “That will definitely be me,” she said in a voice far from being sexy.

      “Hey, hold it, Risikatu! You better pack well. How can you come here and lay claim to Bros Oyinbo (Americana) when he is not blind and can see true beauty here?” Shakirah silenced Risi and pushed her aside. She then took over the centre stage, flaunting her purported beauty and lovely shape. She bragged about how she was the best and most deserving. Risi, her best friend, hissed and eyed her angrily.

      As if the drama wasn’t enough, all the other ladies took to the stage one after the other and strutted like models on the runway. It was as if an impromptu beauty pageant was arranged for Yemi. The customers whose hairs were abandoned midway were too carried away by the drama to complain. In fact, they enjoyed every bit of it and were interested to see the end of it. Yemi who was equally surprised by the turn of events, watched on as the girls sashayed in front of him. Truth be said, most of the girls didn’t disappoint in terms of glamour and carriage. Neither did they betray the beauty of the images that branded the exterior of the salon. For a fact, they weren’t at all photogenic–they were actually more attractive in person than in the pictures.

      After watching attentively, Yemi shook his head and said, “She’s not here.”

      “Not here?!” They all chorused including Auntie Funmi. “Then who?” The disappointment on their faces could not ne missed.

      “There she is.” Yemi pointed to the picture of the Hidden Beauty that was on the wall.

      “SIMISOLA?!!!” They all squealed in unison highly taken aback by the biggest upset of the morning.

      Simisola was the least conspicuous, the most reserved, and the most unlikely to be picked ahead of others going by their judgment. No one doubted her beauty though but they took her quiet and reserved nature as a disadvantage!

      Shakirah and Risi were more than flabbergasted. They couldn’t hide their emotions. Risi twisted her mouth and frowned her face, an expression that left no doubt that anger and disgust in cahoots with envy had pitched a tent in her heart. Shakirah, on the other hand, folded her arms across her chest and chewed her gum violently reflective of the whole gamut of explosive emotions building up in her. Her eyes were cold, hard, and flinty. She assumed she was the favourite. Was she not the ‘happening girl’ in the area? The rave of the moment? The one whom all the men in the area were dying for–top on the list being Scorpion, the Alpha of the hood? Who else was better qualified to have this golden apple?

      Auntie Funmi smiled. Deep down, she was happy for Simisola.

      At that very moment, Simisola walked in…

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #18715
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 10

      “YES, THAT’S HER!” YEMI pointed to Simisola, his eyes as bright as the sun.

      All eyes became fixed on Simisola as she walked into the salon. The stare was so much that she got embarrassed to the point that she almost tripped over. She became more confused when she saw the ‘Aje-butter’ that just pointed at her, smiling from ear to ear as if he won a lottery. She was forced to speak out, “What’s going on here?”

      Auntie Funmi answered, “This bros here …” She indicated Yemi, “said he was looking for his wife and that you were the one.”

      Simisola was taken aback. “I? His wife? How so?”

      “Well, he was simply saying he is interested in you.” Auntie Funmi hit the nail on the head and turning to Yemi, she reconfirmed, “Am I right, Mr … erm …?”

      “Yemi … The name is Yemi,” Yemi responded, “yes, you are absolutely right, ma’am.”

      Simisola raised her brows in surprise. “Oh, I see,” she answered casually and went further inside to sit down quietly at a corner of the shop.

      Auntie Funmi looked at her closely and realized something was wrong with her. She walked up to her. Yemi followed her movement with his eyes. “Simisola, is everything alright? You look bothered to me,” She asked.

      “It is my mother ooo …” she said and began to cry.

      “Your mother?!” Both Auntie Funmi and Yemi exclaimed at the same time. “What’s wrong with her?” Yemi probed further empathetically. He hastened to where she was sitting.

      After a while, Simisola took a deep breath and narrated what just happened amid sobs. She explained how her mother had gotten into trouble and how her life’s savings which she wanted to use to settle her mother’s debt had been stolen. She expressed her fear of what might happen to her parents in the next two days without the money.

      “Damn! Are you serious?” Yemi reacted. Simisola nodded her response.

      “What a pity! So, how much are we looking at here?”

      “One Hundred and Fifty Thousand, sir,” she replied drying her tears with the back of her hands.

      “You mean, One Hundred and Fifty Thousand Dollars?”

      “No. Naira, sir.”

      “Oh, my bad! Sorry, I forgot I am now in Nigeria. Just a minute, please.” Yemi excused himself and hurried to his car. Simisola’s gaze followed him as he walked out. That was when she realized that he was the one who parked the sparkling black Range Rover Sport outside the shop. He opened the safe and brought out his cheque book. On his return, he sat on a chair next to Simisola. He crossed his legs and using his laps as a table, he began writing a cheque.

      “Do you have a valid means of identity?” He asked Simisola without looking up.

      “Valid identity? What do you mean by valid, sir?”

      “Oh, I mean either a driver’s licence or an international passport or a national I. D card or a voter’s card?”

      “No, sir but I have my work I.D card–Pink Roses I.D, sir.”

      “Okay. That will be fine. Can I have it please?” Simisola checked through her wallet and handed the identity card to him.

      “Hmmm … Simisola Fatunde. What a beautiful name.” He took in the details on the card. “Now tell me …” He returned the I.D card. “You said you kept the money at home where it was stolen. Why didn’t you deposit it in your bank account? It’s not safe keeping money at home, you know.”

      “I don’t have one, sir.”

      Yemi stopped dead and looked up for the first time since he began writing the cheque rather appalled. He couldn’t comprehend that some people didn’t have bank accounts and still kept money under their mattresses at home in this time and age. “You don’t have an account? That’s ridiculous!” He had forgotten he was in the ghetto.

      A customer who seemed enlightened spoke up, “Sir, this is Nigeria and it’s not everyone that has a bank account. In fact, it may surprise you to know that the number of the unbanked population is far more than those with bank accounts.”

      “Oh, I see. My bad!” Then he turned back to Simisola and held out the cheque to her. “Sure you can handle this, right?”

      She nodded.

      Auntie Funmi added, “Simi should be able to handle that. She’s the most intelligent lady around here.”

      “Perfect. Here’s is a cheque for N200, 000.00. You can settle your mum’s debt and keep the rest for yourself.” He covered the pen and put it back in his pocket. “I have written behind the cheque that you should be paid with Pink Roses I.D card so I don’t see you having issues at the bank.” He opened his cardholder. “Hmmm … here’s my complimentary card. Just in case they are trying to make trouble, give me a call.”

      Simisola whooped immediately the cheque touched her hands. She quickly dropped down on both knees and kept thanking Yemi until he got embarrassed. Auntie Funmi followed suit.

      “No! No! No! Get up, please. That isn’t necessary.” He urged them to get up in his American accent.

      Simisola’s face shone with joy as she sat up on her seat once more and stared at the cheque as if it were a bar of gold.

      Yemi continued, “Well, since you don’t have a bank account, I think we need to open one for you. Do you mind if I come pick you on Monday to open one for you?”

      “I don’t mind, sir. That will be fine.”

      “Okay, expect to see me on Monday then.” He thanked Auntie Funmi and bidding everyone good bye, he walked to his car and drove off.

      Simisola and Auntie Funmi who had seen him off to the car waved continuously at him until the vehicle got out of sight, “Bye-bye.” They kept saying like a stereo placed on auto-reverse.

      Simisola hugged Auntie Funmi several times. Her happiness knew no bounds and it was understandable. At a time she thought the worse was going to happen, an angel surfaced from nowhere and came to the rescue. She looked at the cheque again and raised her eyes towards the heaven in appreciation. Though she didn’t utter a word, the gesture said it all and God must had understood her perfectly. She pondered how fortunate she had been. The amount stolen from her drawer was One Hundred and Seventy Thousand Naira and now God had given her Two Hundred Thousand Naira in return! How thankful she was. It was then she remembered her parents’ prayers earlier in the day. She was convinced that God just answered the prayers!

      When she and Auntie Funmi returned inside the shop, they were met by a loud applause from the customers and her colleagues who were blown away by the drama that just played out. It felt like a scene from a Nollyhood movie. Ngozi ran up to her and gave her an affectionate hug.

      “Congratulations, girl. You are a very fortunate girl,” One of the customers said.

      “Thank you, ma.” Simisola blushed and quickly looked down to hide her grin.

      All the other colleagues came round her, admiring and congratulating her except Shakirah and Risi. Taiwo and Kehinde, the clowns of the house, came to the center and started mimicking Yemi’s American tongue.

      “Mehn … Yeah, mehn … Simisola is gonna go to America … Yeah, mehn.” Taiwo started.

      “Shurrup, Taiwo!” Kehinde countered. “It’s not ‘yeah mehn’, it is ‘yo mehn!’” And everybody burst into a resounding laughter.

      “Yo, you are right, mo’ mehn …,” Taiwo continued, “It’s yo mehn! So, yo mehn … Simisola catch Oyinbo.”

      Everybody chorused, “Yoooo mehn!” And the guffaw took over the entire shop. Ngozi’s response was very dramatic and everybody squealed in one accord, “Omo Ibo, you too?!” They all laughed again.

      It was obvious that everybody was happy for Simisola and wished her well except Shakirah and Risi who stood aside. They watched in disdain as Simisola’s beautiful face exuded happiness and how the other ladies clustered around her. The envy in their eyes was so intense that if stares could kill, Simisola wouldn’t have lived to see the next second!

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #18746
      Lucky Ben

      I will love to read this novel

    • #18773

      Nice compilation

    • #18786

      <p style=”text-align: left;”>An opportunity for the guy</p>

    • #19146
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 11

      Later that evening, Simisola went to Auntie Funmi to have a word with her.

      “Auntie … Hmmm … about what happened in the morning.”

      “Yes, what about it, Simi dear?”

      “Hmmm … I’m just a bit afraid. I’ve been thinking about the whole thing.” She sat down next to the ever inviting Aunty Funmi. “A strange man walked in riding a big jeep and said I was his wife. He then gave me huge amount of money and promised to come and pick me on Monday to open an account for me …”

      “Okay. But I still don’t get your point,” Auntie Funmi reacted with an expression of someone missing out something.

      “I’m just thinking … what if he’s a ritualist trying to entice me with money. You never can tell what all these rich men do for money,” she expressed her fears.

      “Hmmm!” Auntie Funmi sighed. “Simi dear, you have a valid point, you know.” She sat up on her seat. “But what if it’s not so? Remember, you told me about your parents’ prayers earlier in the day? What if this is God’s answer to their prayers? One thing I know is that our old parents’ prayers, especially when said under the circumstances your parents said theirs, always have a way of getting God’s attention quickly.”

      “Hmmm!” Simisola nodded in agreement as she sank in every word spoken by her boss.

      Auntie Funmi continued, “That young man should be in his early thirties or less. He looked like someone who just returned from overseas to me. I don’t see him being a ritualist trying to sacrifice you to his god of money. I only see a young man who was smitten by your dazzling beauty.”

      Simisola smiled shyly. She felt flattered by Auntie Funmi’s description of her beauty as dazzling. At the same time, Auntie Funmi’s assessment made sense to her. She became a little relieved.

      “I think you have a point, ma,” Simisola noted and then asked, “but do you think I should go with him on Monday?”

      “See my dear, I don’t think there’s anything to be afraid of.” A reassuring smile lit up her face. “My instinct tells me he is genuine.” Auntie Funmi thought for a while and advised, “Well, to be on the safe side, I think we could tell Scorpion to trail the car when you two leave. I know with Scorpion around no harm will come to you.”

      “Perfect, Auntie. Perfect!” She hugged her boss. “What can I do without you, Auntie? Thank you so much, ma.”

      The idea of Scorpion watching her back dissipated her fear. She was confident that no harm would come to her with Scorpion in the picture. Now relieved, she went back to her work and thought about what Monday would look like. But first, she had a more pressing issue at the moment. She had to get to the bank as soon as possible to cash the cheque and send the money to her mother in the village…

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #19147
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 12

      There was a BTC Bank branch at Iyana-Ipaja which wasn’t far away. So, the following day, Simisola and Ngozi visited the branch. It was their first time to visit any bank. The air-conditioners were at their best and the air fresheners added a sweet smell to the ambience of the banking hall. The corporate feel of the environment intimidated them. The corporately dressed bankers they saw around added to the tension. They looked and felt completely out of place.

      They saw different queues meant for different transactions but had no idea what the queues were for. They also saw people with big bags and polythene bags entering what looked like an inner office with the sign, ‘Bulk Room’. At a corner, were three ladies dressed in suits behind computers and customers, some filling out small slips, sitting in front of them. A sign with the words, ‘Customer’s Service’ hung down from the ceiling above their heads. They also saw people picked up slips from a stand that stood in the middle of the hall and walked to a long counter at the extreme end of the wall where they filled out the slips. All of these looked strange to them. They became so confused that Ngozi suggested that they turned back and leave.

      “Ah-ah! Omo Ibo, what is that now? Why are you behaving like a village girl? See all these people on the queue, are they better than us? How can we go back after coming this far? I’m confused too but I think if we asked questions we would be fine.”

      “Okay ooo. If you say so.” Ngozi concurred.

      Simisola looked round and saw a smartly dressed security man. “Ehn-ehn, see that security man, let’s go and ask him what to do.”

      Both of them walked up to him and he proved very useful. He showed them what queue they needed to join and what to do. The man’s friendly and helpful deposition calmed their nerves. Simisola who was always eager to learn asked the man series of questions about the different departments and he was generous with the answers. They thanked him and Simisola joined the queue meant for withdrawals while Ngozi waited for her on the visitors chair placed close to the man-trap-door. Before long, it got to her turn and she was paid the money.

      “Babe, biko dote ego ahu ofuma ooo,” Ngozi advised in her Ibo language.

      “Omo Ibo, what is the meaning of this now?” Simisola replied with a frown. “Do I look like an Omo Ibo to you? I beg, speak the language I understand, jor.”

      “All I said is that you should keep the money very well.” She added in Pidgin English, “but you don suppose dey understand Ibo language small small nah, olodo.”

      Simisola rolled her eyes. “Shey, you teach me ni? Yeye friend.” She defended herself in the same language.

      “If you no be olodo, you don suppose catch am small small by now.”

      “Duh! Talk to the hand. Abeg, make we go, jare,” Simisola kept the money inside her hand bag.

      Moments later, they came out of the bank and headed to the garage to board a bus to Agege. Just then, two men started trailing them on a bike. The men would have caught up with them before they boarded the bus if their bike had not failed them; the stupid bike had refused to start immediately. By the time it came alive, Simisola and Ngozi had already boarded the bus. Disappointed, the rider made an attempt to turn back to the bank and pick on another target but his partner urged him to follow the bus. He had seen Simisola collect the money in the banking hall when he pretended to be a genuine customer.

      “Ol’ boy,” he explained, “that babe collect correct dough o. Make we pursue the motor ooo.”

      Hearing that Simisola collected ‘correct dough’, the rider’s ears tickled and he fired the bike without questions. The engine sputtered a few times and blasted off in pursuit of the bus.

      Soon, Simisola and Ngozi got to their destination and alighted from the bus completely oblivious to the disaster trailing them. They turned into the road leading to Pink Roses, deeply engrossed in their ladies’ talks. Suddenly, they were alarmed by the noise of a reckless bike heading their way at top speed. It appeared to have lost control. They held tightly to each other as they screamed their lungs out in fear of being knocked off. Instead, the smoking bike whooshed past them almost knocking them into the gutter by the side of the road. And within the flash of a second, the man seated behind the rider snatched the bag and they sped away. Everything happened as if it was a dream!

      “Ye! Ye! Ye! Ole! Thief! Ole! Thief!” the ladies screamed as the bike disappeared into thin air.

      Simisola jumped up and crashed herself to the ground. The ground was cold. It was coarse. Her body felt it but she was too grieved for her brain to register its harshness. She rolled up and down the road. She wailed inconsolably. “Ah! My mother ooo … Ye! My mother …” She slapped her palm on the ground repeatedly. “What will happen to her now ooo?!” She continued wailing. But there was nobody to console her. Under her very nose, the money was gone and she was back at square one!

      Ngozi, on the other hand, jumped up and down. She held her head. She beat her laps repeatedly. She shouted at the top of her voice, “Somebody help! Ole! Thief! Somebody, please help!” But nobody came to the rescue. They were alone, all by themselves, in their world of disillusionment!

      To be continued …

      *What do you think would happen next?
      *What would happen to Simisola’s mother now that the money is gone again?
      *Would she be able to withstand Iya Afusa’s assault?
      *Would Chief Balogun or even the king be able to save her from the cruelty of Iya Afusa?
      *Would Simisola or Yemi be able to make up for the collateral damage Iya Afusa might cause?

      DROP YOUR COMMENTS PLEASE. If you already purchased the book, please don’t comment.

      …My Story, My World.

    • #19148


      So interesting 😍

      • #25889

        wowww… it’s so nicee… like I’m watching a movie,I love the usage of words a lot… 

    • #19247
      sulaimon Jamaldeen

      nice one

    • #19396
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 13

      “HA! HA! HA! HA!” THE ROBBERS LAUGHED as they zoomed off the scene. They had made a big kill for the day and they were very happy about it.

      “Ol’ boy, that dough na 200K. I see am with my korokoro eyes. We don hammer today,” the one who snatched the bag said grinning from ear to ear.

      “Maga don pay … Oya shout Halleluyah,” the rider sang. “See, if we fit dey do this kain business two times for one week, ol’ boy, we don arrive be dat. We go even build house sharp sharp,” he added.

      “Guy, you are mouthed,” his partner guffawed as he replied. He then added, “Guy, do sharp sharp make we comot for here o. You know say dis place no be our area.”

      They were approaching an inception.

      “True talk. You make sense …” The words had barely left his lips when a powerful bike rammed into them from the side at an incredible speed and knocked them to the ground. Their bike skidded off several meters away with a squealing noise. It smoked and let out sparks of light as it grazed the ground. The robbers were tossed high up into the air and on landing on the ground, they summersaulted and rolled off distance away. Blood covered their bruised arms and faces. They groaned. The pain was indescribable.

      The daredevil who knocked them down screeched to a halt. He walked slowly and deliberately to the robbers who were yet to fully recover from the crash. They watched in agony as each step got closer in what seemed like a slow-motion. He soon stood imposingly over them and signalled to them with his forefinger to get up. He said no word. He didn’t have to. His mean face said it all. The scared robbers gawked at his feet. The look slowly climbed up his body. And by the time their eyes settled on his hard face, they cringed in fear. Their manliness melted away like ice cream exposed to fire. They began to whimper. His face was scary. A deep machete scar decorated the left side. His half-shut eyes were as red as the devil’s and his lips as dark as hell–it was Scorpion, the Nemesis of Molesters!

      Truly, nemesis caught up with them on that day. After Scorpion finished with them, he was sure that they would never again rob anyone in what was left of their miserable lives. Even if they somehow had the motivation to do after healing from the wounds, he was convinced that he had incapacitated them to the point that they would never be physically fit to carry out such feats ever again!

      He picked up the bag, started his bike and rode off.

      Few minutes later, he arrived at Pink Roses where Simisola and Ngozi were brooding over their loss.

      “Does that look like your handbag, Simi?” he tossed the bag to Simisola.

      The bag landed at her feet. She picked it up and opened it in a rush. She saw that the money was still intact. She screamed for joy and jumped at Scorpion who caught her in a warm embrace.

      “Thank you so much, Scorpion,” She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “I’m so grateful.” After Scorpion put her down, she looked at him quizzically and asked, “But how?”

      “I saw the bastards when they snatched your bag and I intercepted them. Well, I don’t think they will ever do that again anyway,” he explained in his guttural voice.

      Simisola, Ngozi, and everyone else vividly understood the final part of his statement; they knew he must had dealt with them in ways unimaginable.

      “So, what did you do them?” Ngozi was curious.

      “Omo Ibo, nothing serious.” He flattened his lips. “I just taught them a small lesson. That’s all. Just crushed jaws, three or so broken ribs each, and I had to break their hands so they won’t be able to handle a bike or snatch a bag ever again,” he replied casually as if it was nothing.

      “Ah, Scorpion! You called all that small lesson? And what if it was a big lesson, nko? What would have happened?” Simisola reacted, alarmed by his response.

      Scorpion just let out a broad smile and shrugged his shoulders.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #19397
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 14

      Ajele Village, Simisola’s Parents’ Residence.

      Iya Afusa and her gang arrived at the Fatundes’ residence. She had succeeded in talking the other women into unleashing violence on getting there because she was certain that Simisola’s mother wouldn’t have gotten the money. As a result, the women came prepared for vandalism with sticks and clubs in hand.

      When Simisola’s mother heard their noise, she walked out to meet them confidently. Her confidence disarmed the women that they lost control of the situation. She smiled and addressed them:

      “My friends, ah-ah! What is this? The situation has not gotten bad to the point of coming to my house with sticks and clubs as if I were a criminal. Is it not the money you came for? Well, you won’t have to use your ‘weapons’ on anybody. Your money is ready.”

      On hearing that, the women became even more unsettled and looked at each other in amazement.

      “Are you saying that you have our money? All of it?” asked one of the women in disbelief.

      “Liar! How could she have gotten N150,000.00 within such a short time when we all know how hard times are right now? She’s lying.” Iya Afusa countered.

      “So, you now know that times are hard, Iya Afusa? You are a very wicked woman!” Simisola’s mother snapped at her almost poking her finger into her eye. “Well, like I said, your money is ready,” she added, pointing to the black polythene bag in her hand. She began to bring out the money from the bag for confirmation.

      Iya Afusa was dumbfounded. “Ah, it is true ooo. She has the money really,” she admitted in shame.

      “So, can we sit down like gentle women and settle the accounts? I don’t think we need sticks and clubs to count money. Do we?” Simisola’s mother said sarcastically.

      The women looked at each other and dropped their weapons in shame. They were still counting the money when they started hearing a loud noise from the distance. It sounded like the commotion of an angry mob who had just caught a thief.

      The women stopped what they were doing and strained their ears towards the direction of the noise. The noise got closer and louder. They heard the cries and pleas of about four men who evidently were in pains. Their voices were drowned in a much louder noise of a mob singing at the top of their voices, “Oju ole re … ole! Oju ole re … ole!” which when transliterated meant, ‘Here are the faces of thieves … thieves!’ It was a song usually sung for thieves when caught. The women exchanged glances completely lost. Then the scene came to their full view. Iya Afusa was the first to react. She sprang to her feet at once. The pack of money in her hands dropped to the ground. Her jaw dropped and her eyes bulged out of their sockets! It was as if she just saw a demon. But what she saw was no demon!

      Those crying and begging were Adelaja (her wayward son) and his gang. They had gone to burgle another house when the village’s vigilante group caught them. They had confessed to the crime and several other ones in the village including the burgling of Simisola’s mother’s house and the different goats, sheep, and chickens that had been missing in the village. The four men were in bad shape. The stench of fresh blood covered the air. They had been mercilessly gashed by the aggrieved mob. Their faces were covered in blood and gore. The vigilante group–the village’s police force–had not been able to fully prevent the angry villagers, who were bent of lynching them to death, from inflicting them with gory injuries.

      Iya Afusa threw her hands in the air. She shouted, “Ye! Mo ku ooo. Adelaja ti pa mi ooo!” (Ye! I’m dead ooo. Adelaja has killed me ooo!). Her wrapper flew away revealing her underskirt. One of the women quickly picked up the wrapper and covered her up. Iya Afusa dropped on her knees and crawled to the vigilante chief. She held his legs and begged in tears, “Baba Asipa, please sir. I plead for them.”

      Chief Asipa pushed her away. “Woman, I cannot help your son and his friends.” He shook his head vigorously. “They have really caused too many atrocities in this village for me to let them go. Ask them and let them tell you with their own mouths what they have done.” He dragged Adelaja, the leader of the group, forward and slapping him hard across the face, he ordered him, “Oya talk. Tell them all that you and your friends have been doing.”

      Iya Afusa winced at the sound of the slap. She begged further, “Baba, di ẹ́ di ẹ́. Ìyẹ́n tí pọ ju.” (Baba, please take it easy. That was too much.)

      Adelaja started narrating all the crimes they had committed in the village and the sorrounding villages. The magnitude of their crimes got the crowd and Iya Afusa’s cohorts hooting, “Aaah!”, “Ooooh!”, “Ehn-ehn!” as Adelaja and friends recounted each crime. At a point, the culprits started trading blames that lead to a fight amongst them. It took the lashing koboko (whips made from dried animal skin) of the vigilantes to separate them.

      Iya Afusa bit her fingers and scolded her son amidst her cry, “Adelaja … I warned you several times about your association … I told you that your bad company would land you in trouble someday … Can you see your life now?”

      Simisola’s mother there upon faced Iya Afusa and her group, “Can you see? It was even your thief of a son that broke into my house and stole the money that you, Iya Afusa, had mobilized these women against me to cause me pain and humiliation several times over. I am pressing charges. We shall take this matter to the king.”

      At that, Iya Afusa knelt at the feet of Simisola’s mother and begged, “Iya Simisola, please don’t let us do that. Let’s settle the matter here, please. I will pay back the association’s money. You can keep your money, please.”

      “Well, woman,” Chief Asipa cut in, “This is not a case of Iya Simisola pressing charges or not. These are crimes against the village and it is our duty to prosecute the criminals whether anybody is pressing charges or not. So, we are taking them to the king’s palace. We just wanted you to know what your son and his friends had been up to before taking them to the king for judgment. That’s why we brought them here when we learnt you were here; to cause trouble I suppose.”

      “Ah, Baba Asipa, please tamper justice with mercy.”

      “Your son’s case is very bad, woman. Apart from committing all the crimes, he confessed to, the graver crime is that he brought outsiders from other villages to commit atrocities in our village. Everybody knows that this is a great crime in our village.”

      “Ah! Adelaja has killed me completely o. Please just go and bury me,” Iya Afusa wailed more as she threw herself to the ground.

      “We all know the laws of our land,” the vigilante chief continued, “We know that anyone caught committing these crimes shall be given 200 lashes of koboko before being sent to jail!

      On hearing that, Iya Afusa rolled on the ground. She knew d horror of receiving 50 strokes of the dreaded koboko let a lone 200. Her wrapper fell off again but none of her friends made any move to cover her up this time. They had distanced themselves; nobody wanted to be associated with the mother of a thief. She begged harder. Chief Asipa thought for sometime.

      “Well woman, what I can do for your son and friends is that I can plead for them to be given 199 lashes instead of 200.” Chief Asipa said with the body language of someone who had granted a huge concession.

      “Aaaaahhh, 199 lashes!!!” the crowd squinched and cupped their faces in their hands as if they just watched the actual whipping.

      At that, the vigilante chief gave the order and his boys dragged the culprits to the king’s palace.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #25142

      What a lovely write up,nice one

    • #25420
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 15

      Back in Lagos, Monday Morning.

      Yemi woke up with feelings of inner peace and happiness that came from deep inside. The feelings surprised even him. He began to wonder what could be responsible for the feelings. He racked his brains to remember any good news or extraordinary encounter he had in the past two days. But there was none.

      Instead, the past four days had been a period of internal conflict and confusion. So, the plausible reason for his state of mind eluded him. It was when he realized that he unconsciously lingered in front of the mirror and took more time than necessary in deciding what to wear–that inner urge of wanting to look one’s best–that it dawned on him that the joyous feeling might not be unconnected with the fact that he was seeing Simisola today. Upon that realization, he paused, sighed heavily and sat down on his bed. He buried his face into his palms.

      He remembered vividly how he felt after what he did at Pink Roses on Thursday while driving home. He had felt very happy and satisfied that he made the move. He had seen the Hidden Beauty face-to-face and had been blown away by her ethereal beauty which was more disarming in person than in the pictures. She was cultured and appealed to his senses. He had felt like an angel of love touched him at that instance. That night, he had dreamt about nobody else, nothing else but her and the attraction had grown stronger.

      But by the time he woke up the following morning, all that had changed! It was then the implications of his action fully dawned on him. He started to wonder what the hell he was thinking to have walked into a salon of a bunch of local ladies and pulled the stunt he did simply because he allowed his imagination to run untameably wild. He almost slapped himself for it. How could he have ever thought of going out with a local girl? How could he present such a girl to his highly opinionated mother? The gap between them was too wide in every imaginable way. Here was someone at the bottom of the pyramid and he was so stupid to feel that he could change all that by asking her out!

      At the same time, he still found it hard to explain what force it was that pulled him into the shop on that day. It was as if he had no control of his limbs. ‘Maybe God just wanted to use me to take care of her pressing need at that moment in time.’ He had concluded within himself. After thinking hard about everything, he had concluded that there was no point starting what he might not be able to finish. Hence, he had decided to truncate any further desire to start a relationship with the poor ghetto girl. He would still take her to the bank nonetheless to open the account as promised but that would be the end of it. With that conviction, he had shut out every thought of Simisola, the Hidden Beauty, from his mind!

      However, the long hands of love was not yet done with him. By the time he slept on Friday night, he found himself wandering into dreamland once again hand-in-hand with Simisola! The feeling came back again. And it was so elating that he wished he didn’t wake up. He had to admit despite himself that dreaming about Simisola brought him much happiness and pleasure but it didn’t seem right. As a result, he found himself sinking in a catch-22. When it looked like the confusion was going to split his head in two, he had called his best friend, Yinka. Hours later they had hooked up at Shooters Club and Bar, where they normally hung out. He had explained his ordeal to Yinka as they enjoyed their favourite brands of beer. Like words on marble, Yinka’s statement that evening had stuck indelibly to his heart.

      Yinka had told him, “Guy, who says True Love has any particular address? Or is there anybody who can tell you where True Love resides? I bet, not even Shakespeare or Aristotle with all his philosophical wisdom can tell you.” He had taken a sip of his glass of beer and continued, “Friend, if your True Love is in the ghetto, then go for it, man!”

      “Hmmm … Who says True Love has any particular address?” Yemi had nodded slowly as he repeated the words to himself.

      Yemi had always referred to Yinka as The Philosopher and had called him Aristotle several times but never had anything he said in the past made such an impression on him as this one.

      “But mum would prefer Nicole or at least someone in her league.” Yemi had added with a forlorn expression.

      “Hmmm … Nicole, your TV presenter childhood friend? Good call! Well, nice chick, beautiful, elevated status, presentable, Lekki babe, and mum’s favorite … Impressive resume. But let me ask you, friend, have you considered if she would give you the kind of happiness you desire?” He had taken another sip of his beer, licked his lips, and continued, “See Yemi, I have known you for a long time and never have I seen you as happy as since you started telling me about this local chick you saw her picture on one ghetto salon despite Nicole being there all along! It’s your call bro–Lekki or Agege? It’s your choice but let me remind you once more: no one can ever tell you where True Love resides. Your True Love might be in the ghetto for all you care.” Yinka had concluded. He had taken his glass and gulped down the remaining content in a swig. He belched and refilled it from the bottle of Gulder standing next to it.

      Yemi saw his point. “It seems your brain works best when you are downing bottles of Gulder,” Yemi teased.

      “You can say that again, mehn! There is nothing like my Guuuulder.” Yinka raised the bottle of Gulder up to his eyes level and stared at it admiringly and continued, “Yemi, have I ever told you the meaning of Gulder?”

      “G uide U s L ord D uring E very R ound of Gulder! You have told me a million times over,” Yemi replied and they both laughed.

      “Yeah! You got it. Your head is there, mehn.”

      Yemi had gotten home later that evening thinking about Yinka’s statement that was fast becoming his motto. But his mum had called that night and had nagged his head off with talks about Nicole and how she was the best for him. That had shot him into another bout of perplexity and stifled any enthusiasm towards Simisola. Therefore, he had decided to use Sunday to clear his head. He had tried as much as possible not to think about Simisola either positively or negatively. And he succeeded in doing so.

      Fast forward to today, Yemi had woken up with an incredible feeling of happiness that he couldn’t initially explain until he discovered it was connected with Simisola. Perhaps, True Love had decided to pitch its tent at the ghetto this time around!

      He stood up, got dressed, picked up his car keys, and left.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.
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    • #25421
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 16

      Pink Roses Beauty Shop.

      By the time Yemi got to Pink Roses, Simisola was already set. Scorpion too had taken his position somewhere not far from the shop. When Yemi set eyes on Simisola, his eyes beamed, his cheeks glowed, and almost an electrical feeling surged through him. Her beauty took his breath away. He muttered impulsively as he struggled to catch his breath, “Damn! Is there anybody who can tell where True Love resides?”

      Auntie Funmi had insisted that Simisola looked her best. So, on Sunday, she had told Ngozi and two others to work on Simisola’s hair. They had made her hair into One Million Braids that bounced attractively on her shoulders. And now she packed the hair into a ponytail and allowed two braids to stray freely down her temple. She wore a peach gown with matching pair of shoes. Her makeup was moderate but alluring and her perfume was inexpensive but pretty pleasant. She was simply gorgeous, to say the least. Yemi would definitely be proud to walk by her side.

      She smiled at Yemi who had not fully recovered from the stunning effect her beauty had on him. “Good morning, Mr Yemi. You are welcome, sir.” Simisola greeted him.

      “Good morning, Angel. Damn, you look gorgeous!” Yemi responded as he followed her into the shop. He greeted Auntie Funmi and the other ladies.

      “Good morning, sir, they all replied at once. “You are welcome, Brother Oyinbo,” Ngozi added.

      “Brother Oyinbo? Wow! That’s ridiculous. Yemi laughed.” He turned to Simisola, “Are we set?”

      “Yes, sir,” She replied.

      At that, they left and minutes later, they were on the road to the Iyana-Ipaja Branch of BTC Bank. Immediately the car hit the road, Scorpion followed at a considerable distance on his bike. Simisola settled herself on the soft leather seat that welcomed her into its comfort. The interior of the Range Rover blew her mind. She had never ridden in such an automobile before. The best she had ever been in was a rickety car that was as hot as an oven. As the air conditioner flew across her face, she started enjoying the outing that had barely begun.

      “Thank you for the other day, sir,” Simisola expressed her gratitude for his kind gestures days before.

      “Oh, don’t mention, Simi. It’s the least I could do,” he replied and put on the stereo. A collection of foreign R & B songs starter playing and Simisola hummed along each of the songs. “Wow! So, you know these songs?”

      She laughed gently and responded, “The fact that we live in the ghetto doesn’t mean that we don’t know what’s happening around the world. It will surprise you to know how much we know here in the ghetto, sir.”

      “Really? Are you kidding me?”

      “No, sir.”

      “Wow! That’s interesting. So, how’s your mum? Hope she’s settled the issue?”

      “Yes, sir and thanks to you. You saved the entire family from a serious mess.” The apple-shaped air freshener clinging to the air vent released a whiff of fragrance into the air. Simisola drew in the scintillating scent and her nose basked in pleasure. “My mum has not stopped praying for you ever since and I can tell you categorically that God hears her prayers fast.”

      “Really? And what has she been asking God in my behalf?”

      “That God gives you a good wife amongst others.”

      “Oh, that’s a powerful one. I am beginning to fall in love with your mum already. I will definitely meet her someday.” Yemi negotiated a turning.

      “And what will you tell her?”

      “That she stole one of God’s angel as her daughter.”

      Simisola blushed shyly. The conversation was getting interesting and both of them were enjoying every bit of it.

      Soon, they drove into the bank’s premises …

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #25428
      Lucky Ben

      This is nice

    • #25474

      I love this story

    • #25867
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 17

      Soon, they drove into the bank’s premises. Yemi flashed his Exclusive Customer card and everybody began to treat him as a king there upon, starting with the security men. Simisola watched in amazement as a young smartly dressed beautiful lady in high heels ushered them into a cosy lounge tagged ‘Exclusive Lounge’.

      “Tea or coffee, sir?” the lady asked.

      “Coffee will be fine,” Yemi answered.

      “What about you, ma?” She turned to Simisola.

      “I prefer water.”

      “Right away, ma.” The lady left and after a few minutes, a Tea Boy came in with a tray containing a cup of coffee and a bottle of water.

      “How may I be of help, sir?” The lady asked.

      “My friend here …” he said indicating Simisola, “needs to open an account.”

      “Okay, sir,” the lady replied and turning to Simisola, she asked, “Savings or Current, ma?”

      Simisola was lost. She looked at Yemi quizzically. Yemi smiled and answered for her, “Savings will do.”

      “I will be right back, sir.” The young lady left and came back almost immediately with the Account Opening form which she handed over to Simisola.

      “Or would you prefer I fill it out for you, ma?” The lady offered.

      “Don’t worry. I will fill it myself.”

      Yemi was surprised at how well Simisola could write when she started filling out the form without any fuss. He had thought she would hardly be able to read lest write and would have jumped at the offer made by the young banker but she proved him wrong. In no time, she completed filling the form and gave it with the requirements to the lady who collected them and cross checked that everything was in order. She nodded her head.

      “When will her account number and debit card be ready?” Yemi asked.

      “Hmmm,” She checked her watch and rolled her lips momentarily. “Say in thirty minutes, sir. We now issue instant debit cards.”

      “Nice. We will wait then.”

      “Ma, how much would you like to open the account with?”

      Simisola began to open her purse.

      “And what are you doing?” Yemi stopped her.

      “I still have the N50, 000. 00 balance from the cheque you gave me on Thursday.”

      “Keep your money, Angel. I was the one who brought you here so let me finish what I started,” Yemi said. He then wrote a cheque and handed it over to the lady. “Please could you help cash this? Take Fifty Thousand Naira for the account and help me bring the balance.”

      “Thank you, sir.” Simisola appreciated him.

      “Okay, sir. I’ll be right back. Just in case you need anything, please dial ‘0’ on that phone, sir … ” the young banker pointed to a telephone box sitting on a stool close by. “and I will be here in a jiffy.”

      “Thank you, dear.”

      Simisola was moved by the way everyone treated Yemi. Even though she had only been to the bank once, she could tell that Yemi was definitely a big customer of the bank. She compared her experience now with the one she and Ngozi had in the same bank, the same branch just three days earlier and she concluded that the difference was clear.

      “Mr Yemi, I can see that you are a very special customer here going by the way they treat you,” Simisola noted.

      “Well, let’s just say I’m simply an Exclusive Customer.”

      “And what does that mean?”

      “It means that I operate one of their premium accounts that qualifies me to enjoy all the treatment we just received and more.”

      “Wow! I want to be an Exclusive Customer when I grow up,” she teased and they both chuckled.

      About twenty five minutes later, the lady came back with Simisola’s account details and a MasterCard debit card. Simisola signed the necessary registers and they left the banking hall after thanking the lady.

      Yemi took her to the Automated Teller Machine (ATM) and put her through how to change her PIN (Personal Identification Number) and how to use the machine for other transactions. Simisola was very thankful. She really enjoyed her experience at the bank. The fact that one of the corporately dressed ladies whose looks had intimidated her on Friday when she came with Ngozi was at her beck and call and had called her ‘ma’ countless times made her feel on top of the world.

      As they got back into the car, Simisola saw Scorpion mingling with the customers on queue for ATM withdrawals in a bid to disguise his presence. She started feeling bad. Yemi had been so nice to her that she started feeling regret over not trusting him and arranging for Scorpion to trail them. She wished she could tell Scorpion that she was in safe hands and that he could go back home but there was no way she could do that without blowing the cover.

      “You surprised me back there, Simi.” Yemi’s voice interrupted her thought.

      “Surprised you? How sir?”

      “Sorry to say this but I didn’t know you could read and write. I wasn’t sure you could fill the form correctly. And that handwriting of yours … Oh, damn!”

      Simisola smiled. “I noticed that.”

      “You did?” Yemi was taken aback.

      “Yes, sir. I saw it in your eyes. And why did you think I wouldn’t be able to read and write well? Because I am a poor apprentice in a salon in the slum?”

      “Um … Um …” Yemi was touched by her question and he felt ashamed of himself.

      “Well, I dropped out of school at Junior Secondary School (J.S.S) 3 not because I was a dullard nor because I didn’t feel like going to school anymore.” Her face grew dull. “I was actually the overall best student in the ‘Junior WAEC’ in all the schools in my Local Government Area that year. In fact, nobody was able to beat the record I set for the following three years. I actually wanted to be a lawyer …”

      Yemi’s eyes grew wide and he covered his mouth with his palm in shock. “So, what happened?” He inquired.

      “I had to drop out of school because my parents couldn’t afford sending me to school any longer. More so, I am the firstborn child of my parents. I have to help take care of my siblings and I can only do that if I learnt a handiwork and start earning money in time.” She twisted one of the straying braids round her finger. “I completed my apprenticeship a year ago but have to stay back at Pink Roses until I am able to save up enough money to set up my own shop.”

      Yemi felt a wetness in his eyes. He was so moved by the story that he had to fight hard to hold back the tears that threatened his manliness. He berated the fact that nobody could have sponsored the education of such a promising child. “I’m so sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

      Her lips shaped themselves into a benign smile. “Mr Yemi, you don’t have to. Do you know that I now enjoy my hairdressing work more than school?” The spark in her eyes returned. “It gives me joy that I have a job that makes people beautiful and proud of themselves. And who knows? I might not have met someone like you had I continued with school. I still read a lot though. So, don’t be surprised when you see that I know a lot of things you never imagined my little ghetto brain could handle.”

      “Interesting! You are such a wonderful lady.”

      For a moment Yemi was lost in thought. Seated beside him was such a cute, intelligent lady who could have been an extraordinary lawyer if she had had the opportunity. He had underestimated her level of intelligence and misjudged her ability to grasp concepts he once thought were bigger than her level of exposure. But not any longer–that was a genius seated beside him! He was sure that her Intelligence Quotient (I.Q) could be nothing short of extraordinary.

      Yemi turned his head sideways and looked at her again. She was smashingly pretty in her gown. Nonetheless, he could tell that her wardrobe was poor. He wondered how mind-blowing she would look if her wardrobe was elevated a bit.

      “Sir, where are we going? You’ve left the road leading to Agege behind.” Simisola’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

      “I know. We still have one more place to visit.”

      “Really? Where sir?”

      “Just wait and see.”

      “Okay ooo. I’m waiting ooo.”

      Soon, Yemi drove into a plaza and parked in front of a high class boutique. He took Simisola inside. They shopped for all kinds of dresses, shoes, accessories, and underwear. It was a complete wardrobe makeover for Simisola. The dresses were those befitting classy ladies. Simisola felt her insides vibrate; not for fear or pain but for joy that knew no bounds. Her life had taken a 360 -degree-turn in just four days that she felt like shedding tears of joy. She remembered her parents’ prayers again–the ones said on the very day she met Yemi–and she could testify that their prayers were being answered at an alarming rate!

      As they got out of the boutique with hands full of shopping bags, Yemi saw Scorpion hanging around somewhere in the parking lot. Their eyes met. And that was when the unexpected happened!

      Yemi stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes darted searching all over Scorpion. He squinted. His mind did a quick re-run of the journey so far. He remembered that he had spotted Scorpion with his bike close to Pink Roses when they were leaving earlier. His rear-view mirror also caught a glimpse of him as he negotiated a turning sometime later. Yemi also recalled that he saw a bike that looked exactly like Scorpion’s when they came out of the bank though he didn’t see Scorpion himself. And now there he was standing at the parking lot!

      Yemi knew something was amiss. He looked at Simisola and saw that she was squirming. His gaze raced back to Scorpion and he was also unsettled. He completed the puzzle in his head.

      “What!!! Simisola, you had us trailed?! Oh, goodness! You thought I was going to kidnap you or something? Simisola, you didn’t trust me? Damn!” Yemi was furious.

      “Erm … Erm … I’m … sorr … erm …” Simisola began to stammer.

      “I am disappointed in you, Simisola!!!” He dropped the bags in his hands and walked away.

      The shopping bags dropped off Simisola’s hands. Her mouth dropped wide open and the muscles appeared too weak to close it back. She held her head. “What have I done?!” she questioned herself rhetorically as she stood riveted to the spot. Just few minutes ago, she was thanking God for answering her parents’ prayers to the minutest details. She was elated that her life had made a good turn but within a twinkle of an eye, all was crumbling at her very feet right under her very nose!

      She looked at Scorpion who was more stunned than she was. She turned her glaze at Yemi and watched his back as he walked away. She wanted to call out after him but her lips could only twitch. She was completely morose.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #25868
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 18

      WATCHING YEMI WALKED AWAY was too much for Simisola to bear. So, she ran after him and caught up with him. She held his hands and dropped on her knees, “Mr Yemi, please I can explain …”

      “There is nothing to explain. There won’t be any need for that,” Yemi responded. She looked up at his towering figure. Surprisingly, Yemi bent low and raised her up. He continued, “It’s okay, Simi. I quite understand your fear. I don’t blame you.” He smiled reassuringly. “Up till this morning, I was a stranger to you. I was just one crazy guy who barged into your shop and called you my wife. I gave you money and came to take you out today … It all seems strange, I know. So, I don’t blame you for having us followed in case I tried to do something funny.” Then he laughed and added, “Intelligent thinking!”

      Simisola heaved a sigh of relief. “So, you are not angry?”

      “Not at all, Simi,” he replied and pulled her cheeks like an adult would pull the cheeks of a naughty child.

      “Thank you for your understanding, sir. I am really relieved. When I saw you walked away I was scared you were walking out of my life and I felt so bad”, she said with the innocence of a child.

      Yemi grinned. “I only wanted to see your reaction.”

      “Hmmm? You got me there.”

      Yemi walked up to Scorpion and held out his hand to him for a handshake. “Hello Mister, now that you know that I know you are trailing us, so there’s no need of spying on us any longer. You can join us. We were actually on our way to that eatery to have something to eat,” he said pointing to a Mega Chicken outlet opposite the plaza.

      Scorpion shook Yemi’s hand vigorously with both hands and bowed low as if he was shaking the President. “Thank you, sir … Thank you, sir … I am grateful, sir.”

      Yemi grimaced as he absorbed the pain caused by Scorpion’s powerful grip. The palms were hard and the irritation of their rough surfaces almost burst the pores of his skin open. Afterwards, Scorpion helped put the shopping bags into the car and they all strolled across the road to the eatery.

      They treated themselves to a wonderful time. Simisola enjoyed herself like no other but Scorpion enjoyed himself the most. He was given the freewill to order whatever he wanted and he used the opportunity to the fullest. Yemi insisted that Simisola bought takeaway packs for the other ladies at Pink Roses which she did with special orders for Auntie Funmi and Ngozi, her bosom friend. By the time they were done, Scorpion’s belly was bulging out and he belched every ten seconds. Simisola could not help but laugh at him each time he did.

      Scorpion followed them to the car and opened the door for Simisola. Yemi dipped his hand into his pocket and counted Twenty Thousand Naira from the pack of money he brought out. He handed it over to Scorpion. “That’s for taking the pain to keep your eye on my friend, Simisola.”

      Immediately Scorpion collected the money, he jumped up and stamped his legs on the ground. “Double tuaile, Baba Oyinbo. You get mouth, baba. Thank you very much, sir. Baba, you too sure. Tuaile, baba!”

      “You are welcome, Mr …?”

      “Scorpion. Call me Scorpion, sir …”

      “Scorpion?” Yemi turned to Simisola with raised highbrows. She responded with a smile.

      “Yes, baba. Scorpion,” Scorpion reaffirmed with pride. “You are too much, baba. In fact, your head is there. Triple tuai …” He couldn’t complete the statement as another round of belches seized him. Simisola laughed again.

      The ride back to Pink Roses was smooth. Scorpion rode in front of them like an escort of a government official clearing the road.

      “Mr Yemi, thank you so much, sir. I really enjoyed myself today. I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

      Yemi turned to look at her and then asked, “Can I ask you for a favour?”

      “Please go ahead, sir.”

      “Please can we stop this ‘sir’ and ‘Mr Yemi’ stuff? They make me feel uncomfortable. Can you please call me Yemi?”

      “Ah!” She covered her mouth with her palm.

      “Ah what?”

      “That one is too big for my mouth ooo.” She shook her head reluctantly.

      “Too big?”

      “I just don’t feel comfortable calling you by your first name, sir.”

      “Yes. I asked it of you.”

      “Okay, sir … Oh, sorry … Yee … Yemi.”


      Simisola blushed like a shy little girl. “Thank you so much, Ye … Ye … Yemi. I really appreciate all that you have done for me, sir … oh, sorry … for me.”

      “Don’t worry you will get used to it.”

      “I hope so, Yemi.”

      Yemi’s lips extended into a smile as he thought to himself, ‘She is learning fast.’

      Soon, they arrived at Pink Roses. It was getting late and Yemi’s home at Banana Island was still far. He dropped Simisola off and left immediately without entering into the shop. Scorpion helped Simisola with the shopping bags inside the salon.

      “Ah, Auntie Funmi, Baba Oyinbo is a ‘correct’ guy. Simisola has caught a very big fish,” Scorpion said as soon as he caught sight of Auntie Funmi in the shop.

      All the other ladies flocked round Simisola as she narrated all that went down during the outing. She then handed everyone the packs she bought for them. Shakirah and Risi, as usual, stayed at a corner with arms crossed and eyes full of envy and animosity. If only they could send thunderbolts.

      Simisola then went into Auntie Funmi’s office and intimated her of how the outing went. Auntie Funmi almost fainted when she heard that Yemi busted Scorpion’s cover. However, her admiration for Yemi soared when she heard how he handled the situation.

      As Yemi drove home, he replayed in his head the events of the day. He realized that he had not been that happy in his life in a long time. His feelings for Simisola now was strong and the attraction enormous. His eyes beamed as he thought about it. He remembered the few times he had gone outing with Nicole. He noticed that what he felt then could not compare at all with what he felt today. He squinched his face at the thought. He now understood the real meaning of true feelings. Spending time with Simisola had opened his eyes to many things he didn’t know about her before. This had changed not just his view about her but also his view about the ghetto as a whole and its products.

      Yinka’s statement now made more sense to him than ever before. ‘Who says True Love has any particular address? Or is there anybody who can tell where True Love resides? Friend, if your True Love is in the ghetto, go for it, man!’ That was the most powerful statement he had heard in recent times. He grinned. ‘Yinka is definitely The Philosopher and he deserves a carton of Gulder,’ he thought.

      Yemi now became convinced than ever before that his feelings for Simisola was real and that his own True Love resided in the ghetto and he had found her–there was no question about that!

      He was ready to go for it! But what he didn’t realize was that getting his True Love wouldn’t be a piece of cake!

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #25881
      sulaimon Jamaldeen

      touching story

    • #26184
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 19

      Victoria Island, Shooters Club and Bar, 7. 25 p.m.

      Yinka raised his glass of Gulder, looked at it with longing eyes and downed the remaining content of the glass in one gulp. He licked his lips and robbed his stomach in satisfaction. “Wow! Nothing compares with my bottle of Guuuulder,” he said and belched. He refilled the glass and continued to listen to Yemi who was floating in the air as he narrated his experience with Simisola.

      Yemi and Yinka sat down at their usual spot at the bar. It was a table at the far right corner of the bar that made it easy to see whoever was going in and out of the bar. The bar smelt nice. The aroma of the goat pepper soup ravaged the air. The beers were chill and the bottles sweated.

      There was an incandescent glow in Yemi’s eyes as he told the story. It was obvious that he derived as much pleasure in telling the story as in experiencing it. At a point, he paused, looked at Yinka admiringly and continued, “Yinkus the Philosopher, the Aristotle of our time, you’re the man, mehn. This thing I feel, I have never felt like this before. Thank God I listened to you, bro.”

      “I’m glad you did, bruv.”

      Yemi turned towards the barman and called out, “Barman, two bottles of Gulder for my friend.”

      On hearing that, Yinka’s eyes brightened as he hailed Yemi, “Yemiscoli, correct guy. Your head is there!”

      “Yinkus the Aristotle! Mehn … you deserve a carton of Gulder but I don’t want to be responsible for your drunkenness!”

      “Yemiscoli, you know I don’t get drunk easily on Guuuulder!” He pulled in his lower lip. “Mehnnnn, if you have ever taken a bottle of Gulder before, then you will know that there’s no other beer like Guuuulder.”

      Yemi smiled. “But Yinka, I wonder why you don’t have a pot belly by now with you Gulder intake.”

      Yinka laughed hysterically. “Pot belly? Yemi, what you don’t know is that Gulder and my body have developed a chemistry that is second to none. It will never harm my body.”

      Yemi laughed. “Talk of a drunk man,” he teased.

      “Nope! Talk of a wise man; wisdom of Aristotle.” Yinka took a sip from his glass cup and licked his lips. Both of them laughed. “Yemiscoli, have I ever told you …”

      “The meaning of Gulder?” Yemi interrupted. “Yes! One million and one times.”


      “Now, back to where we were. Bro, I think I have eventually found my True Love. How ironic! Who would have thought that my True Love could pinch her tent in the ghetto? Wow! This world is full of surprises.”

      “But I told you that True Love doesn’t have a particular address. I’m happy for you brother.”

      “Thank God you opened my eyes to it. But Yinka, there’s a problem.”

      “Problem? What problem is that?”


      “Mum? What about her?”

      “Mum prefers me marrying Nicole. If not Nicole then it will take someone in her class to get my mum’s buy-in. And Simisola …” He paused. “Hmmm!” He sighed. “Simisola is way too low for mum’s standard and I smell trouble; a big one at that.” The glow in his eyes disappeared.

      “Hmmmm!” Yinka placed his glass cup on the table and relaxed his back on his seat. “Now tell me, what’s so special about Nicole that makes her the golden apple in your mum’s eyes?”

      Nicole was a childhood and family friend of Yemi’s. She was the daughter of Mr and Mr Abimbola, best friends of Mr and Mrs Williams. Her father was a wealthy real estate mogul with properties in prime areas of Abuja, Lagos, Port Harcourt, Dubai, London, and the United States of America. Like Yemi, Nicole was also schooled in the United States of America. She had a successful career as a TV presenter and commanded a massive followership both in the brick and mortal world and on social media; she was the star so many loved. She had loved Yemi since their teenage years.

      Since Yemi and Nicole were little children, their mothers had agreed that they would marry each other when they grew up. The women believed that such consummation would further strengthen the bond between both families. Nicole had often heard this from her mother, so she had grown up with a subconscious feeling of being Yemi’s rightful lover and owner.

      Though they had been close friends, Yemi had never taken his mother’s talks about marrying Nicole seriously. Nicole was a fair, beautiful young lady who preferred her natural hair to the artificial ones most ladies wore about. If beauty was the sole criterion for marriage, one would have wondered if Yemi had grown nuts in his brain not to have reciprocated Nicole’s feelings for she was as pretty as a goddess.

      “That’s interesting. So, it’s more like you two were betrothed to each other from childhood.” Yinka inferred.

      “Exactly! That’s the point and that’s why mum is so particular about Nicole. She has her reputation with her friend to protect. I enjoy this little freewill because of dad. Thank God is was just an informal arrangement between our mothers and not our fathers.”

      “This is not looking good, Yemiscoli. But if you asked me, in this time and age I don’t think our parents should be the ones dictating or arranging our marriage mates. At the same time, I can’t advise you to rebel against your mum either.”

      “So, what do you advice I do?”

      “Hmmm …” Yinka poured himself some more beer. The tiny golden bubbles sparkled and the foam rose to the brim of the cup. He gulped it down and licked his lips as usual. “I think what you have to do is to groom Simisola up to your mum’s standard. That’s all. If that means you have to hire a tutor or something, fine. So, by the time you present her to your mum, you would have elevated her level considerably.”

      “Wow! Pretty idea! How come I haven’t thought of this?”

      “You are not the one who drinks Gulder. Remember?”

      “I’ve always known that your brain works best when taking your Guuuulder.” He turned to the barman again, “Barman, two more bottles of Gulder for my friend.”

      “Yeah. You can say that again, Yemiscoli my man.”

      “You’re the man, Yinkus the Aristotle!”

      Yinka belched and they both laughed heartily. Yinka reached for his glass of Gulder once more. Yemi watched as his best friend licked his lips and belched after downing another glass of the beer. It still beat his imagination how Yinka had been able to keep his stomach flat despite his fondness for Gulder. Anyways, one wouldn’t have expected less from a frequent user of the gym. Yinka enjoyed exercising as much as he enjoyed his bottles of Gulder.

      Yemi had met him while in college in the States and had fallen for his superlative reasoning ability–for which he earned the moniker, ‘Yinkus the Aristotle’ back in college. More so, they shared the same sentiments about being proud of their motherland. They had become bosom friends ever since. When Yemi made known his intention to return to Nigeria, the idea sounded good to Yinka and they both relocated to Nigeria. Yinka lived a few blocks from Yemi in Banana Island and they engaged in early morning jogging and other exercises at the gym together.

      At about 9.30 p.m., the two friends left the bar. On getting home, Yemi whistled and swayed happily, whirling his car keys round his forefinger on his way to his bedroom upstairs. After some short ecstatic dance steps, he crashed into his bed. A joyous grin escaped his lips as he thought back to his outing with Simisola. He was elated that Yinka had again provided a solution to his problem. He was enthusiastic that Simisola had the intelligence needed to make the task of grooming her to taste easy. He picked up his phone and called Simisola. She picked at once and the two were locked in a conversation that was not only long and intimate but that took them to the world of fantasy and daydreams.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #26185
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 20

      Yemi visited Pink Roses from time to time. One Saturday afternoon, he decided to stop by on his way back from the project site but Simisola was not around. After both Ngozi and Yemi tried her phone severally without results, the overly zealous Ngozi suggested she took him to Simisola’s house. The idea sounded good to Yemi and they both got into the car and left. After driving some distance, Ngozi advised that they parked the car and continued on foot as the remaining part of the road wasn’t accessible with the car.

      As they walked the street, Yemi got carried away by the different sights that welcomed him. He saw sweaty boys covered in dust playing soccer on the rough road. They made small goal posts from stones placed a short distance apart. He watched with admiration as they exhibited great skills with the ball. What really caught his fancy was a small boy who masterfully dribbled those who were much older than him. He was fun to watch. He watched as the crowd cheered the little footballer, calling him names of international soccer stars. He definitely was the ‘Messi’ on the rough ‘pitch’. Yemi, no doubt, saw that the boys enjoyed so much the game he heard some of them called ‘Monkey Post’.

      He also saw kids who wore nothing but pants rolling bicycle and car tyres about and mimicking the sound of moving vehicles as they did so. Some even honked with their mouths. He was so thrilled by the scenes that he didn’t know when he burst out laughing. “Wow! This is great. These dudes are surely having great fun.” He came to appreciate the fact that people didn’t necessarily have to be rich or live in mansions to be happy. Here were people who had very little yet were having a swell time with the little they had.

      Just then, the ‘Messi’ made a superlative dribble and fired a thunderous shot that blazed through the open post. “Gooooooooaaalll!!!” they screamed in celebration but stopped immediately they saw the direction the ball was heading. The dirty ball was heading with rage towards the neatly dressed Yemi and Ngozi!

      “Aaaah!” the boys said as they covered their widely opened mouths with their palms, watching the ball helplessly. A thousand and one thoughts ran through their minds. It was obvious that the muddy ball was going to hit the ‘Aje-butter’ and stain his cloths badly and they didn’t know what reaction to expect. But to their surprise, Yemi controlled the ball like a professional footballer and joggled the ball skilfully without minding the dirt. The boys started cheering, “Eeeeeh … Eeeeeh … Eeeeeh!!” After entertaining the boys with some joggling skills, he kicked the ball back to them and they cheered some more, “Eeeeeeeeeeeeh! Lionel Messi!!!” He laughed and gave the boys a thumbs up sign. He looked down at his shoes. “Oh-oh.” He puckered. They were messy!

      Ngozi smiled and shook her head in wonderment, “Ah, Bros Oyinbo?”

      “Ngozi, what?” He smiled. “I play football, you know.”

      After walking down the street a little more, Ngozi took him through an alley that lead to a cluster of tenement buildings closely packed together. Simisola’s house was the one with whitewashed walls and an open space at the front. The house was a sixteen-room tenement building (popularly called face-me-and-face-you) with two rows of eight rooms each. The rows were separated by a long poorly lit passage way between them leading to an open backyard where a general kitchen, bathroom, and toilet stood.

      The kitchen had several kerosene stoves and mini cupboards belonging to the tenants. In a place like this, it wasn’t uncommon to see some tenants cooking in their rooms, against the instructions of the landlord, in order to maintain some privacy and avoid the rowdiness of such kitchens. Buckets, jerry cans, and drums for storing water lined the walls of the backyard. A narrow gutter carried water from the bathroom down to a bigger one at the front of the house.

      Ngozi and Yemi greeted some women doing their laundry at the front of the house before making it through the passage way. Simisola’s room was the fourth on the right. Ngozi knocked on the door.

      “Who’s that?” They heard Simisola answered from inside.

      “It is me, Ngozi.”

      “Ah, Omo-Ibo, what are you …” She froze as she opened the door and saw Yemi smiling behind Ngozi. “Ah! Mr Yemi? Erm … Erm …” She squirmed in embarrassment. “Please come in … inside, sir.” She wondered what Ngozi was thinking to have brought Yemi to the home she considered not presentable enough for someone of Yemi’s pedigree.

      Both Yemi and Ngozi entered while she shut the door behind them. Yemi took a cursory scan of the room. It stood in contrast to the entire building in that it was tidy and neatly arranged. The room was small. Her bed was at the far end of the room. She had two small chairs and a small wooden centre table. A wall hanger that held her dresses hung above the space next to the bed. ‘Ghana-must-go’ bags that served as her wardrobe rested neatly below the hanger. Opposite the bed stood an old fourteen-inch-television box and a small stereo. A kerosene stove with a pot sitting on it and another one stationed beside it were at a corner of the room. Just before sitting down on one of the chairs, Yemi spotted the drawer he suspected must had been the ‘safe’ that was burgled the first day he met Simisola. Simisola sat on the next available chair while Ngozi sat on the bed.

      As Yemi sat down, Simisola held her breath and silently prayed that the small hidden nail that had decorated the buttocks of her visitors with holes wouldn’t poke his buttocks. The rogue nail had embarrassed her several times in the past. Unfortunately, the nail had hidden itself carefully that Simisola had not been able to remove it. She ordinarily would have been the one to take the seat if not for the few seconds she stayed behind to shut the door and that the unsuspecting Yemi had unknowingly chosen it.

      She heaved a sighed of relief when she didn’t hear Yemi make the usual sound victims of the rogue nail often made. She knew that the silly nail had behaved itself this once. Simisola sat down downcast, fumbling with her fingers. She was too ashamed to look up at Yemi. Yemi sensed her uneasiness and decided to make light the matter.

      “Simi, what a nice place you have here.”

      “Nice place? You call this a nice place, sir?”

      “I am dead serious. It’s looking nice, neat, and presentable.”

      “Oh, thank you, sir,” she smiled and Yemi knew his efforts were working.

      Yemi then saw the half-finished plate of rice on the table, evidence that Simisola was eating before they came in. Her oily lips confirmed it.

      “Wow! Simisola, it looks like you were enjoying yourself before we came in. No wonder my nose was dancing when I came in. Do you mind if I have some? I’m famished!” he said. He wasn’t really hungry. He just wanted to make Simisola feel comfortable with his unannounced visit.

      “Ah! My ‘concoction rice’? I’m … I … I’m … not sure you can eat this, sir.” Her eyelids batted uncontrollably out of embarrassment. She turned to Ngozi. “Am I not right, Ngozi?” She needed a backup.

      Ngozi rolled her eyes and kept mute.

      “Why not let me be the judge of that, Simi?” Yemi insisted.

      She turned to look at Ngozi. Her expression changed into a frown. She eyed Ngozi. Ngozi got the message. She was in effect saying, “Omo Ibo, I will kill you for this!” Ngozi threw her eyes to the other direction as if she didn’t care.

      Sensing her reluctance, Yemi went further, “Well, Simi, it’s okay if you don’t want to share …”

      “Nooooo, sir. I was just worried you might not like the food.” With that, she quickly got up and served Yemi. She didn’t want to come across as someone who didn’t like to share especially not with Yemi after all he had done for her. Yemi smiled. He knew he had just hit the right spot to propel her to act.

      “Here it is, sir.” She presented the food in a tray.

      “Ah-ah, me nko? Is it only Mr Yemi that you will serve?” Ngozi spoke up feigning a frown.

      “You are not serious, Omo Ibo. If you are hungry you better go and serve yourself or you will starve.” She excused herself and after a few minutes, she came back with bottles of Malta Guinness and table water.

      “Where did those come from?” Yemi inquired.

      “Across the street. There’s a shop over there where they sell cold drinks.”

      “Oh, I see. Thank you.”

      Simisola sat down and watched as Yemi began to eat the food. She was praying he enjoyed it.

      “Hmmmmmmm …” Yemi muffled after taking the first spoon with his eyes closed.

      “What is it, sir?” Simisola was scared. Had he hit on a pebble? She was seriously hoping that wasn’t the case.

      “This food is …” Simisola held her breath. Yemi continued, “fabulous! It is extremely delicious. Did you attend catering classes, Simisola?”

      A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She smiled and blushed as she answered, “No sir.”

      “Then, you must be a great cook.”

      “I try a little, sir,” she responded, looking down to hide her grin.


      Ngozi watched attentively as the two of them conversed. She smiled but minded her food. Simisola flushed repeatedly as she watched Yemi did justice to the food. She could tell that he enjoyed every morsel of the meal given the way he ate it and she was happy about that. She was especially impressed by his down-to-earth attitude. Here was a wealthy, high profile man that lived, slept, and ate in luxury, sitting in her small room in an unpresentable ghetto house and enjoying her ‘concoction rice’ as if it was a meal prepared in heaven.

      “Simisola, mehn, if I ate your food one more time, God knows I will become a slave to you.”

      “Ah-ah, Mr Yemi. This flattery is too much.” She blushed again.


      “Yes, sir.”

      “I thought we had an understanding.”

      “That what, sir?”

      “That you will call me Yemi instead of this your ‘Mr Yemi’ and this ‘Sir’, ‘Sir’ of yours.”

      “Yes … but I still feel uncomfortable calling you like that, sir.”

      “And I feel uncomfortable hearing the ‘Mr Yemi’ and ‘Sir’ all the time too.”

      “Okay, I will try, ssssi …”

      “Okay, let me make it easy for you. I think I will have to stop coming around. At least that way, I won’t be hearing this ‘Mr’ and ‘Sir’ all the time.”

      “Ah! You don’t have to do that, Yemi. I will adjust. I promise you, Yemi.”


      After the meal, he spent some more time with the ladies. They cracked jokes, played Ludo game, and watched her photo album together. He made Simisola feel at home in her own home. By the time he was ready to leave, Simisola had so much enjoyed his visit that she wished he didn’t have to leave. But he had to. Simisola decided to walk them to the car. When they got outside, Yemi was few steps ahead of them because Simisola had to lock the door while Ngozi lingered behind a little waiting for Simisola. Immediately, she locked the door, she pinched Ngozi and whispered to her, “Omo Ibo, you no try at all. In fact, I go killed you today. How you go carry Yemi come this jagajaga house?”

      Ngozi whispered back, “You no serious, yeye girl. Na me say make you no charge your phone? When we dey try the phone and the thing dey say switched off. Bros Oyinbo had to see him babe nah; Romeo gat to see his Juliet you know.” She winked. “Apart from that sef, how long you go fit hide your place from am? The earlier, the better. Na wetin Oyinbo people talk be dat.”

      “I go strangle you today, Omo Ibo. Wait make Yemi go finish.”

      “You don forget say na me be Omo Ibo; na me dey chop akpu? I strong kakaraka.” Ngozi waved her fist in front of Simisola. “This one na one blow, seven die.”

      Just then Yemi turned back. “What’s up with you ladies?”

      The two ladies looked at each other quickly and faked a smile. “Nothing,” they answered in one accord and quickened their steps to catch up with him.

      Soon, they were at the car. Yemi entered into the car while Simisola came to his side of the car and rested on the door. She looked straight into his eyeballs. The look was powerful and said volumes. She held his hand and said in a soft, inviting voice that almost sent him into a frenzy, “Thank you so much, Yemi.”

      Those eyes. Yes, those dark, beautiful, and fascinating eyes! They reminded him of an occasion he stumbled into a celebrated model in Miami. His head had spun in circles and had felt like he was floating in the air. He felt exactly the same way now looking at Simisola.

      She rubbed the hand softly. The touch sent bolts of electric charges through him and flung him across oceans and mountains to cloud nine in an instance. He felt like pulling her close and kissing her succulent lips affectionately. The feeling was mutual. They held each other’s gaze. Her searching look spotted something deep inside him; it was an inextinguishable fire and it consumed her in a flash. It sent sparkling currents down her spine and took her breath away. Her legs wobbled. Her strength waned. She could only pray the car didn’t move immediately so that she could regain her strength lest she fell. She had never felt anything this strong before. But wait! On a second thought, falling might be a good idea. It only had to be falling into his strong arms and being whisked away into the land of fairytales!

      And so it was that Love found its target in their hearts, igniting a burning passion that birthed one of the most unlikely relationships in human history.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #27398
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 21

      THE NEWLY FOUND PASSION between Yemi and Simisola made Yemi a regular face at Pink Roses to the delight of all the ladies because that meant a lot of goodies for them. Yemi was generous to a fault and he spoilt everyone of them with gifts. His generosity and down to earth nature warmed his way into their hearts and won him the admiration and respect of everyone. Scorpion too was not left out. Each time he spotted Yemi’s car packed outside Pink Roses, he usually rushed in to collect his own slice of the cake. And each time he left with broad smiles and swollen pockets.

      Yemi did everything to delight Simisola and upscale her level. He got her a two bedroom apartment in Oko-Oba, a far lovelier neighbouring area to Agege. It was furnished to taste. Ngozi moved in with her. He also got her a private teacher who tutored her on not just academics but also in the etiquettes and manners of the rich. Simisola was a fast learner and within a short period of time, the changes she exhibited were ginormous to Yemi’s delight and satisfaction.

      Yemi became completely enthralled by her delicate beauty and she, on the other hand, drooled over him. The more they saw each other, the more their passion spun out of control. Yet the gap between them was massive but no boundaries could stop their love. He was rich, she was poor but their love was not based on economic independence. He was way up and she was at the bottom of the pyramid but no height nor depth could stifle their budding love. He wined and dined with the crème-de-la-crème of the society while she lived amongst the lowly in the ghetto but status was inconsequential. She was beautiful, she was cultured, she was intelligent, she loved him dearly, and he was mad over her–that was all that mattered; nothing else! He lived for her. She could die for him. She was his Jewel from the Ghetto and he was her Prince Charming in the castle. And there was nothing more they wanted than to spend the rest of their lives together. Thus began a new and exhilarating chapter in their lives.

      However, little did they know that the chapter and subsequent ones after it would come with it own challenges, sorrow, and pains!

      The more their love grew, the more the envy in Shakirah spun out of control and the deeper the animosity in Risi took root. The stronger these ill-feelings became, the more danger their emerging love faced!

      Three Months Later, Pink Roses Beauty Shop.

      Simisola walked into the salon with the elegance of a beauty queen and the carriage of a young successful business woman. Her shoulder length Brazilian hair weave bounced up and down adorably. She wore a white shirt tucked into a black skirt sitting just above her knees. They sat fittingly on her body in a way that did justice to her shape and curves. She tied a red flowery scarf round her collar and wore red stiletto heels that added elegance to her charming legs. She carried a red leather handbag in one hand and held her new Samsung Note 4 in the other. Her makeup complemented her dressing with a red lipstick that accentuated her radiance. Her sweet smelling perfume gave life to the atmosphere. She looked like a business executive so much so that those who knew her three months ago would hardly recognize her now and would, no doubt, conclude that her life had taken a drastic turn for the better.

      Immediately she stepped foot in the salon, Taiwo and Kehinde sprang to their feet and began their witticisms. Taiwo was the first to start, “Kenny, Kenny, can you see what I’m seeing, mo’ mehnn?” she mimicked Yemi’s American accent.

      “What ya see, mehn?” Kehinde replied in a fake American accent. She had not seen Simisola but she knew that for Taiwo to have mimicked the American accent it must be related to Simisola. She looked up and spotted Simisola and the drama began full fledge. “Yo mehn! I can see our Americana colleague, mehn. The one and only Miss Oyinbo of Pink Roses, mehn!”

      “Yo mehn, your eyes are working, mehn!” Taiwo replied. She then ‘bounced’ up to Simisola like an American rap star and said, “Simisola, yo mehn, you’re looking gorgeous. Mehnnnnn, bros Oyinbo is doing a great job.” She turned to the others and waved two fingers in the air. She looked like a tomboy in the act.

      “Gbam! True talk, twin sis. I concur!” That was Kenny.

      Simisola smiled and blushed at the same time. “Taiwo and Kenny, you babes should leave me, jor!” she said like a timid child.

      “Babes, me no dey for una American things ooo but all me know be say my bestie na baby okwu, na asampete, na fine gal no pimples! Make una check out my bestie nah. Abi una want try?” Ngozi joined in the drama.

      “Correct talk! Me self concur!” Lolade added.

      “Eeeeeeeeeh-ehh!!!” everyone cheered making a hell of a noise. Some jumped up and down as they made the noise, while some began hitting the table with the combs in their hands.

      With that Taiwo began to dance. Her break dance was hilarious. And Kehinde began to sing. “Simisola, spray us dollar ooo … spray us dollars. Spray us dollars ooo … spray us dollars.”

      Simisola shook her head as her lips parted into a warm smile. “You babes are not serious ooo. It seems to me that you girls don’t have any work to do,” she said as she walked into the salon.

      Kehinde ran after her and held her leg. “I won’t let you go until you bless me with some dollars.” She did it in a very funny way and everyone including Simisola herself laughed.

      There was never a dull moment with Taiwo and Kehinde around. The girls caught their fun as they teased Simisola. The teases were not products of envy but borne out of crystal pure hearts–hearts that were happy for a friend whose life had changed for good and full of hope that their day of serendipity would come one day too.

      Shakirah and Risi, however, didn’t share such sentiments. Instead, their hearts bled with envy. And as they watched on, it got to a point they could take it no more. They had bottled the anger, the animosity, and the malicious envy for a couple of months now and they could have none of it any longer. It was time to act.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #27399
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 22

      Later Same Day, Scorpion’s House.

      Shakirah met Scorpion on his way out. She looked dejected and Scorpion could tell at once she was troubled. His heart melted immediately. There was something about her that had a way of softening him. He couldn’t explain it too but he had come to accept it as his only weakness.

      “Shakirah! What is it? Has someone crossed the line again?”

      She answered his question with another question, “Scorpion …” She paused for maximum effect. “Will you fight for me if you heard that someone is trying to hurt me?”

      Scorpion’s face began to harden, “Shakirah, you know I cannot tolerate that. You know how much I love you …”

      Shakirah quickly cut in. She knew what the next line would be–he would start ranting about how much he loved her and how she had not returned his love. How she was his weakness and how much he was willing to sacrifice for her … blah, blah, blah–and she didn’t want to hear any of it. So, she began to fake a cry.

      “Ah, Shakirah! Please stop crying. Who is the bastard?!” His voiced now huskier than ever before. He began to clench his fists.

      Shakirah smiled inwardly. She knew her plan was working. She knew Scorpion could not stand seeing her cry. Yes, she knew that he loved her to a fault. But she wasn’t ready to stay committed to any particular man at the moment, not Scorpion for that matter. It was her time and she had to enjoy it to the fullest. She was enjoying a lot of attention from men which was paying the bills. She wouldn’t throw all that away for any ‘useless’ relationship except for one. Yes, only one–with Yemi! He was worth more than a hundred of the local scoundrels and hemp peddlers flocking round her now.

      Instead of answering Scorpion’s question, she cried harder. She had to work on his soft spot for her to the point that he would find it difficult to refuse her request.

      “Oh nooo! Shakirah, talk!” he raised his voice and sent a hard punch into the wall. The wall vibrated. His bloodshot eyes squeezed further and he breathed faster as he fumed. Shakirah was right. He couldn’t stand her crying that hard. She was happy that she had been able to get him worked up to the point where he would definitely act. “Shakirah, I said who is the bastard?!!!” he yelled.


      “Simiso … what?!” Scorpion’s shoulders dropped. He leaned his back against the wall completely confused! “Simisola?! Trying to hurt you? How can that be?” Scorpion asked.

      Shakirah cried some more. After a while, she wiped her eyes clean. “That was my initial reaction too.” She blew her nose and continued, “I couldn’t believe it until it started happening.”

      Scorpion was at a lost as to what to do. He liked Simisola so much for being very caring, friendly, and generous. Simisola and Yemi, her boyfriend, had given him money and gifts several times over. She even had to come to his assistance recently when he was unable to pay his house rent. He knew her to be the fragile one who could hardly hurt a fly. So, he found it difficult to believe that she was capable of hurting someone as wild as Shakirah.

      On the other hand, there was Shakirah, the lady he had come to love so much that he couldn’t watch her hurt, standing in front of him crying and accusing Simisola, the one he adored! For the first time since he was thirteen, he said a silent prayer asking God to give him the wisdom to handle the matter.

      He spoke up, “Okay. So, what did she do or is trying to do to you?”

      She replied in Yoruba, “Ọmọ olori búrùkú yẹn lọ́ jà bábá àláyè mi gba ni.” (The cursed girl snatched my man.) Her voice was full of contempt. “To bá ro pé nitòrí owún jẹ fine girl, ah! Emi Shakirah, máa jẹ ko da mọ!” (If she thinks it’s because she’s a beautiful girl, ah! I, Shakirah, I will teach her a lesson.) She beat her chest.

      “Snatched your man?” Scorpion became even more confused. “I don’t understand. Are you saying Simisola abandoned Mr Yemi to snatch one of your Alhajis with her beauty?”

      “It is Yemi that I’m talking about!”

      “Mr Yemi, bros Oyinbo?” Scorpion’s eyebrows were raised.

      “Yes, Mr Yemi!”

      Scorpion suspected foul play. “But I thought you normally pride yourself as the Beauty Queen of the hood. How come Simisola was able to snatch a man from the Beauty Queen?”

      “Scorpion, are you saying that I am lying?” She began to feign annoyance.

      “Hmmm … Was just wondering.” Seeing her face, he quickly changed the subject, “So, what do you want me to do to her?”

      “Ehn-ehn, now you are talking. I want you to deal with her; in fact, I want her disfigured. I want her beauty scarred such that her sight would disgust Yemi. That’s all that I want.”

      That was the eye opener that Scorpion needed. He knew Shakirah was lying and what trying to do the very thing she was accusing Simisola of. He remembered how Auntie Funmi had requested his help in keeping Simisola save the day Yemi took her to the bank. Auntie Funmi wouldn’t have asked for his assistance on that occasion if Simisola was a fraud.

      More so, that was not the first time he was hearing that same story and request that very day. Risi had visited him hours before and told the same story with just a little variation and had requested him to do the same thing to Simisola! He wasn’t surprised that both Risi and Shakirah thought the same way though. After all, they were birds of a feather and were the best of friends.

      “Shakirah, I am sorry. I can’t do it.”

      “Ah-ah, Scorpion, you can’t? Is it that you have stopped loving me?”

      She moved closer to him. She wiggled seductively in front of him and pressed herself against him, sandwiching him between her body and the wall. He felt an intense heat rushed through him. She fondled his earlobes softly. She moved her lips seductively towards his but changed course as they neared his lips only to head for his ear. He froze and couldn’t move a muscle. Shakirah’s amorous exploit paralyzed him.

      She whispered into his ear, “Don’t you want me anymore?” She didn’t wait for his response. Instead, she locked her lips into his and gave him a deep kiss while she caressed his chest with one hand and rubbed his head with the other. A heavy bolt of current gushed through him and he shivered. He felt his back pressed harder against the wall by the weight of Shakirah’s body that was now pressing harder against his. He felt the soft touch of her protrusions on his chest. He closed his eyes and stretched; it was a reflex reaction to the magic Shakirah was performing on his body. She then moved her mouth back to his ear and whispered again, “You like this? You want it to continue?” He swallowed and nodded his head vigorously like an agama lizard. That was the only part of his body he still had control of–not even his speech! He was a hard man, perhaps the most feared in the hood, but in the hands of Shakirah, he was as feeble as a baby. Seconds later, she pulled away.

      Scorpion started breathing heavily. He had not felt anything like that ever before. He couldn’t explain the passion that just swept through him. All he knew was that the feeling made him lose all consciousness of his environment and even forget his name! That was the first time he was that intimate with Shakirah, the lady he had crushed on for years, and he didn’t want it to end.

      “Scorpion, I can be yours forever if you do this for me. Simisola snatching Yemi away from me means I am now available for you and you alone. We can finally be together. Is that not what you’ve always wanted?”

      Really, there was nothing that he wanted more than that. This was the day he had been dreaming of for years. The day he felt the succulence of her lips and the tenderness of her body. And all that could be his for the rest of his life. All he had to do was to ‘take care’ of Simisola and he didn’t have to do it himself; he could easily get other boys to do itclean deal!

      The more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him until a prick on his conscience reset his brain. Flashes of Simisola’s acts of generosity flooded his head. Then he thought about Shakirah’s request and her sudden change of attitude towards him. He knew that this sudden attraction to him was not genuine but as a result of the favour she wanted from him. He also knew he couldn’t trust her because the last time he checked, she had not yet gotten rid of the many men she was dating or that were made to believe she was dating. As much as he wanted her, Simisola was too good to be betrayed.

      “Shakirah, God knows that there’s nothing I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you …” He paused and let out a smile of satisfaction as if he saw something in the future that excited him. He continued, “Nothing more than for you to carry my babies in those beautiful arms of yours but …” The smile suddenly disappeared and his face became expressionless as he went on, “I can’t do this! Simisola’s been good to me and I know she didn’t snatch Mr Yemi from you.”

      Shakirah lost her cool. She took a few steps back, threw her frontal assets up and down, and turned around in front of him to show off her curves as she blotted out, “So, you want to throw all of this away because of that useless girl?!” She cursed, “You are a disappointment to your generation!” and added, “And let me warn you, Kasumu, don’t ever crawl back begging!” She hissed and left.

      Truth be told, Scorpion almost grabbed her derriere as they shook in front of him but he restrained himself. Though he might be a feared street boy, he still had some conscience in him.

      That night, Shakirah thought about her failed attempt at getting Simisola. Scorpion for the first time had let her down. But she wouldn’t allow that to stop her. ‘There must be another way,’ she thought. Then an idea crept into her mind and her face brightened up. Her lips reshaped themselves into a sinister grin. She was convinced that there was no escape for Simisola.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      2. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #27400
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 23

      Next Day, Orita Junction, Agege.

      Spark sat down on a low fence at the notorious junction with a bottle of Alomo Bitters (an alcoholic drink made from herbs) in one hand and a thick wrap of Indian hemp in the other. He swung his legs back and forth as he released the smoke into the air. His gaze was fixed on three other touts who were busy chasing after and collecting money from commercial buses and Okada riders.

      “Spark!” He heard a female voice called his name. He looked up and upon spotting the lady, his heart skipped a few beats. Merely looking at her brought back memories of their last encounter. She was a reminiscence of the beatings he received from the Slay King of the Zanga … the Alpha of the Hood, Scorpion. She was Shakirah!

      “Mama! Tuaile Iya mi.” He jumped down from the fence, managed to compose himself and hailed Shakirah. He hoped he had not gotten into another trouble.

      “Ọmọ Àyé, ọ̀rọ́ wa o,” she spoke in Yoruba language mixed with street slang meaning, “Ol’boy, we’ve got to talk.”

      “Ehn-ehn mama, ṣe ko si?” he replied in the same language. (Mama, hope there’s no problem?)

      “Ọmọ Àyé, ko kọja àgbárá ẹ. Ọmọ ote kan lo fẹ́ jẹ oju mi. Mó dẹ fẹ da sẹ́rìyá fún.” (Ol’boy, it’s not more than you can handle. It’s one naughty babe that’s trying to double-cross me and I want to deal with her.)

      Spark wiped his mouth clean with his palm, licked and bit his lips slowly before ending the gesture with a smirk. His mind was at rest and he was happy that Shakirah needed his favour. That would mean they were now friends and Shakirah would be owing him a favour.

      “Mama, ki lẹ fẹ ka ṣe fún?” (Mama, what do you want us to do to her?)

      “Ọmọ yẹ́n fẹ máa show aroma. O fẹ máa prove ọmọ ráarè làbá. O fẹ máa bùgá, máa ṣe láù láù. O lọ já bábá áláyè mi gba ni. Mo fẹ ki o bámì jẹ òjú ẹ. Ti íyá ẹ́ ba rii ko màa dàmọ́ mọ.” (That babe is showing off in the hood. She wants to proof that she’s beautiful. She snatched my man and I need you to teach her a lesson such that her mother will never recognize her again.)

      “Mama, kékéré nìyẹ́n. Ẹ máa worry … Ki ni orùkọ́ ọmọ na?” (That’s a small thing. Don’t worry … What’s the babe’s name?)


      Shakirah gave Spark a photograph of Simisola and whispered something into his ears. She then opened her wallet and handed some naira notes to him after which she turned to leave. She took a few steps and stopped abruptly. She turned back.

      “Spark …”

      “Yes, mama.”

      “Ṣo ri ẹ̀wà to ǹ jọ lòjú yẹ́n, mo fẹ ki o pa rẹ!” (You see that beauty that’s getting into her head, I want you to erase it!)

      “Ko si wéré, mama.” (No worries, mama.)

      She nodded her head, smirked, and walked away.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:


      3. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #27926
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 24

      SIMISOLA PACED UP AND down the sitting room on a bright Saturday morning. She had not seen Yemi for two weeks and she was missing him dearly. She knew that his project had been very demanding lately and was taking a serious toll on him. Nonetheless, talking on phone alone was not enough for her; it couldn’t compare with being in his presence. She longed to see his face.

      She picked up her phone and called him.

      “Hello Sweetie,” Yemi answered after picking the call.

      “Hello Dearie, how’s my Cutie doing today?”

      “Your Cutie is doing fine. And my Baby Girl?”

      “Your Baby Girl is not fine at all.”

      “What?!” Yemi jerked on his seat “What’s wrong?”

      “I am missing my Baby Boy dearly,” she answered like a little girl who had not seen her parents for weeks.

      Yemi heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, you scared me, you know. I thought something serious had happened to you.”

      “And is missing you not something serious? I want to see my Baby Boy, jor,” she replied still like a small child.

      “You know I’m missing you too. I wish I could see you as often as before but you know this project is taking a lot of my time lately. It’s the final stage that’s why it’s this demanding now but don’t worry we are wrapping it up pretty soon. Then I will have all the time for my Quiet Beauty.”

      She smiled. Quiet Beauty sounded sweet to her. “Where are you?” she asked.

      “I’m in my office.”

      “Office on a Saturday morning again?” She pouted. “Anyway, I want to see my Prince Charming today sha ooo otherwise be prepared to send an ambulance.”

      “Wow! That’s serious. But you know I can’t come down today. Do you mind taking an Uber cab to the office?”

      “Good. That sounds like it, Dearie. Would you text the office address to me?” she sounded excited.

      “Right away, Sweetie.”

      “You are a darling. Love you, Dearie.”

      “Love you too, Sweetie.”

      Shortly thereafter the address dropped in her inbox. She had not been to his office before but thank God Yemi had taught her how to use Uber and had installed the app on her phone. Uber drivers knew most places and she was sure it wouldn’t be a problem for them to locate his office on Victoria Island.

      Before long, they were at his office at Adeola Odeku Street. She met the secretary who directed her to Yemi’s office. On seeing him, she jumped into his arms. They had both missed each other badly that it took time before they let go of each other.

      She soon settled down and admired the cosy office. The lovely lavender scent coming from the air freshener added a freshness to the air that was inviting. She concluded that Yemi was a man of impeccable taste. Not that she didn’t know that before, what she saw just reaffirmed it.

      She remembered the first time she was at his house at Banana Island–a sight which added credence to his lofty taste and attention to details. She flinched at the memory of her reaction that day; she almost slapped herself for it. She was completely struck by awe that she embarrassed herself. She had only seen such magnificence on TV. So, stepping her feet into such a place and the prospect of being the ‘madam’ of the edifice betrayed all the things her personal tutor had taught her on comportment, etiquette, and decorum. And it paved way for the manifestation of the ghetto girl in her. Yemi had looked at her and smiled reassuringly. Remembering that moment still embarrassed her any day even though she had greatly improved now.

      “What a nice office you have here,” she complimented.

      “Thank you, Sweetie. Just give me few more minutes to round up what I’m doing then we can go out for lunch.”

      “Okay, Dearie.”

      Just then Yemi started hearing his secretary raising her voice at someone, “Madam, sorry you can’t just go in like that. Let me at least inform him that you are here to see him!”

      The lady snapped back, “Then stop me if you can. Excuse me!”

      Before the secretary could do or say anything else, the door flung open.

      “NICOLE!” Yemi sprang to his feet.

      “Hello, Yemi.”

      “Hi, Nicole, and what was that drama outside all about?”

      “Well, if you had schooled your secretary on manners none of that would have happened!”

      “She was only doing her job, Nicole.”

      “And her job is to prevent me from coming into your office, right?”

      “You could have, at least, respected the protocol of the office. It was just going to take a minute or two …”

      “Protocol my foot! Has she not known me long enough for her to grant me unrestricted access to see you?”

      “But courtesy demands that you let her do her job, Nicole.”

      “Well, story for the gods!” she said and sauntered towards the double-seater sofa where Simisola was seated. She talked and walked with an air of arrogance; as if she owned the place and everyone in it. That didn’t diminish the fact that she was beautiful and tastefully dressed though. Her accent sounded American just like Yemi’s. With her carriage, one couldn’t have missed the fact that she was enjoying a successful career and was born into wealth. Her hubris couldn’t be missed either.

      Simisola recognized her at once. She was the pretty TV presenter she had always adored. Simisola stood up and excitedly stretched her hand for a handshake. “Good day ma’am. I’m so delighted to …”

      Nicole snobbishly waved her off. She eyed her from head to toe as if assessing her and walked passed her, leaving her hand hanging in the air. She sat on the sofa and crossed her legs. Simisola felt bad.

      Yemi seeing the tension that was brewing, quickly waded in, “Um, Simisola please meet Nicole. Nicole … Simisola.”

      Nicole rolled her eyes. “Oh, you forgot to add ‘from the slum’. I see, so this is the slut from the ghetto I’ve been hearing about lately?” She then turned to Yemi and continued, “Oh no, Yemi, you disappointed me! A gold-digger from the slum? Oh, you can do better than that, Yemi!”

      Simisola didn’t know what hit her. The words were heavy and piercing. With eyes and mouth widely ajar, she watched and listened as Nicole ran her mouth. She felt a wetness in her eyes.

      Nicole yelled, “When you started behaving funny recently, I was expecting to see an elite, a beauty queen, or a super model that would have been capable of giving me a run for my money and not this … this … this low life, a scumbag from a God forsaken ghetto for God’s sake!”

      “SHUT UP, NICOLE!!!” Yemi screamed. “Enough of these your shenanigans. I won’t stand here and watch you insult Simisola like that!”

      “And then what? You are going to beat me or throw me out of your office because of this ghetto slut?”

      Simisola couldn’t take it anymore. She picked her bag and ran out of the office. She fought hard to hold back her tears. She had expected to have a good time with her heartthrob but what she encountered made her regret ever coming around. She stopped a taxi and left. The secretary at seeing the upset Simisola ran out of her boss’ office knew that Nicole was at it again.

      “I wonder how MD’s and this Nicole of a lady’s paths crossed,” she said to herself as she rushed into Yemi’s office. “Sir, do you want me to call security?”

      “Don’t worry Cynthia. I can handle this.”

      “Well, that won’t be necessary madam secretary. We are done here anyways and I’m on my way out already.” She eyed Cynthia annoyingly, picked her bag and phones, and swaggered out.

      Yemi quickly picked up his phone and called Simisola several times but she refused to pick up.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:


      3. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #27927
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 25

      While in the taxi, Simisola reflected over what happened in Yemi’s office. Nicole’s action showed that the children of the poor had no place amongst those of the elites of the society. She had always known that the dichotomy was wide but Nicole just rubbed it in her face boisterously. Nicole didn’t only embarrass her but also intimidated her.

      But to some extent, Nicole was right. She was only a ghetto girl with no impressive status. What was she thinking? That a poor ghetto girl marrying a wealthy son of a rich man was going to be a stroll in the park? Now she knew better. Someone with the status and background of Nicole was more suited for Yemi and not a poor ghetto lass like her. As the realization dawned on her, she lost the strength to fight the tears that stung her eyes any longer and they broke loose. The taxi driver could only do so little to pacify her.

      Moments later, Yemi’s phone started ringing. He picked up the phone. It was his mother.

      “Hello mum, this is not the best time to talk.”

      “Yemi, what is this that I am hearing about you?”

      “I don’t understand, mum.”

      “That you are now going out with a girl from the slum.”

      “Mum, Nicole told you that?”

      “It’s not about who told me what. It’s whether it is true or not!”

      “But mum, you’ve always wanted me to bring someone home.”

      “Yes, I’ve always wanted that but that doesn’t mean I’ll have to settle for a lassie from the ghetto with no background whatsoever!”


      “Yes! You better don’t ‘mum’ me unless you have someone worthwhile for me!”

      “Mum, sorry I’ve got to go.”

      “Yemi, don’t dare hang up the phone on me!” she yelled at the top of her voice.

      “Okay, so can I go now?”


      “Later, mum.” Yemi ended the call and banged his fist hard on his desk in frustration. “Oh, no! he muttered, I have had enough for today.” He packed his things and left the office.

      Back at the Williams’ residence, Mr Williams approached his wife. “Who was it that got you so upset over the phone, dear?”

      “It’s your son, Yemi.”

      “Oh, still on this issue of settling down?”

      “You won’t believe what I just found out.”

      “What’s that?”

      “He’s bringing a girl from the ghetto home,” she said with so much disgust in her voice and expression that got her husband startled.

      “Oh, I see. That’s good news.”

      “Good news? How’s our son bringing a girl from the slum home good news, Adesoji?”

      “If I am right, you were complaining that he was taking too long to settle down and now that he has finally gotten someone you are still making a fuss about it?”

      “Why won’t I make a fuss about it, ehn? So, you expect me to welcome a girl from a family without history with open hands, ehn?”

      “Agnes, why are you talking as if those from the ghetto are not humans? The fact that God has blessed us doesn’t make us more human than they are. Does it? If Yemi has found love in the ghetto, so be it. I think what he needs now is our support and not this brouhaha.”

      “What?! Are you saying this, Adesoji?”

      “And why are you are talking as if you were from a rich home when I married you?”

      “But I wasn’t from the ghetto nonetheless. I was from an average family. Don’t you forget that, Adesoji!”

      “And you weren’t from Lekki, Ikoyi, Banana Island, or Victoria Island nor were your parents socialites either! ” He carried his golf pack and started walking towards the door. “Well, I am going to the golf course.”

      “And what about the arrangement with Nicole’s mother?”

      “I didn’t sanction that in the first place, Agnes. I didn’t,” he said without looking back or stopping in his tracks.

      Seconds later he was out of the house.

      “It won’t happen. It will never happen! A girl from a nameless family marrying into my family? It can never happen!” Mrs Williams kept screaming all by herself to herself.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:


      3. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #27928
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 26

      Yemi was driving home when his phone started ringing again. It was his father this time. He picked the call; the hands-free was on.

      “Hello, dad.”

      “Hello, son, where are you at the moment?”

      “I just left my office, dad. On my way home.”

      “Can you meet me at the golf club? We’ve got to talk.”

      “No problem sir. I should be there say in thirty to forty-five minutes’ time.”

      “Okay, son. I’ll be waiting for you.”

      About forty minutes later, father and son were strolling side by side on their way to the bar at the golf club.

      “Dad, I didn’t know you still swing that hard.”

      “Hahaha! Buddy, you think your old man is too old to swing? I would beat you hands down if you were to challenge me.”

      “Hahaha! Dad, you know I don’t do golf. If you were talking about football now, I would have taken you up.”

      “Hahaha! So, how’s your project going?”

      “Hectic, dad. It’s very demanding these days. Hope to wrap it up soon though.”

      “I see.”

      They arrived at the bar and the barman served them the drinks they ordered in no time.

      “Son, I think your mum is not happy over your choice of a woman.”

      “She told you, dad?”

      “I was there when she was talking to you on phone earlier. I learnt she’s from a poor background.”

      “Yes, dad.” Yemi felt more comfortable discussing the matter with his dad. He knew him to be a very reasonable man and full of wisdom. He usually trusted his judgment.

      “Why is that, son? Don’t you know what effect such a relationship could have on your reputation?”

      “Dad, you know I respect you and your opinion on matters very much. But dad, look at me. I’m no longer a small lad which presupposes that at this age, I know what I want and what is good for me. Dad, I have been to places. I have travelled far and wide and have seen things. I have come across all sorts of ladies but I can tell you that I have not come across any like the girl in question.”

      His dad adjusted himself on his seat, crossed his fingers, and listened intently as Yemi continued, “Dad, from the little time I have spent on earth, I have realized that a happy and successful marriage is not dependent on wealth, status, background, ethnicity, colour, race, or locality but on the blessing of God on the one hand, and the individuals involved plus the love they share on the other hand. Dad, you know why people respect you a lot today?”

      “I’m listening, son.”

      “Dad, it’s not because of your wealth but because your outlook towards life is not prejudiced and your ideology that all humans should be given equal chance irrespective of their status, colour, or ethnicity. That is what stands you out amongst your peers and that is what I and others adore in you.” He held his father’s hands. “Dad, all I’m asking for is a chance to truly be your son–a son that shares your ideology about life.”

      Mr Williams looked into his son’s eyes and saw passion. He saw sincerity. He saw conviction. He nodded in admiration of his son’s line of reasoning. Yemi had few minutes to convince him and he had just done a splendid job in winning his dad over. Mr Williams was pleased that Yemi took after him and was not like the egocentric, spoilt children of his peers.

      However, he maintained an expressionless face which gave Yemi a hard time figuring what was on his mind and that heightened the tension in him. Yemi had always known that to be his father’s strongest gift–his ability to keep an expressionless countenance under any circumstances which made it difficult for people to read him.

      Yemi respected his father’s judgment very much and his opinion on this matter could go a long way in determining the direction of his relationship with Simisola. The tension in him was high and his father’s blank countenance and his unnecessarily long pause wasn’t helping at all.

      “So, what about Nicole? You two have come a long way,” his father finally asked after a paused that looked like forever.

      “As friends, dad. As friends. Dad, I’m your son and you know me so well. You and I know that I don’t feel a thing for Nicole.”

      “And I hear this girl of yours is from the ghetto.”

      “True that girl may be from the ghetto, dad but I can tell you that she’s a rare jewel from the ghetto.”

      “Hmmm … Jewel from the Ghetto! That sounds nice.” He paused again.

      Yemi’s face became expectant as he waited for what appeared to be his father’s final verdict. His father opened his mouth to speak and Yemi’s heartbeat soared.

      “What’s her name, son?”

      “Simisola, sir.”

      “Son … you’ve made a wise choice!” his father said and patted him on the shoulder.

      Yemi’s heartbeat normalized at once. He laughed. “Dad, you support my decision?”

      “Hundred percent, buddy. Hundred percent!”

      Yemi stood up and went over to his father. He hugged him tightly. “Thank you, dad.”

      “You are welcome, buddy. One more thing, Yemi.”

      “What, dad?”

      “I’m proud of you.”

      “Thank you, dad. I love you.”

      “That’s my boy. Now, tell me about Simisola.”

      Yemi’s face brightened at his father’s request. Nothing gave him more joy than telling those who cared to listen about Simisola.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:


      3. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #30142

      Hmmm. Getting more interesting and suspending ❤

    • #30159
      sulaimon Jamaldeen

      so wonderful

    • #30209
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 27

      The taxi dropped Simisola in front of her house at Oko-Oba. She searched her handbag for her bunch of keys but couldn’t find it. She couldn’t remember in particular where she must had dropped it so she decided to head to Pink Roses to collect Ngozi’s copies of the keys.

      By the time she got to Pink Roses, it was getting late. However, she met several customers on queue and she knew they were not going to close early. Her frame of mind could not let her concentrate so after staying for a while, she decided to leave. Ngozi persuaded her to wait a little while longer so that they could go home together but she was bent on leaving by which time it was already dark.

      Upon walking for a while on the lonely street, she noticed a strange figure was trailing her. He was well-built and wore his face cap in a way that masked his face. She became afraid and quickened her steps. Then, she noticed the man increased his pace too and she knew she was in great trouble. She started thinking of what to do. All she could pray and hope for was for Scorpion to surface from nowhere.

      She made a quick turn into an alley with the hope of losing the stranger but that was her biggest mistake! There was another man already waiting for her. She turned to run back but it was too late. The first man was already behind her. She became trapped between the two men in the dark alley. The first man brought out a knife. She wanted to scream.

      “Shush! Don’t even try. See lady, you can make this easy for us or if you decide to play tough we can make it real hard!” The voice was as cold as ice.

      She covered her mouth tightly with her hand and started humming her response. She began to shake. The man with the knife started closing in on her. An idea occurred to her. She saw that the second man was farther from her than the one with the knife who was just three steps away from her. All she needed to do was to count up to three. She counted in her head: one step, two, and three! It was time to act! She threw a hard kick to his groin and swung her handbag heavily on his face. He screamed as he fell to the ground and squirmed holding his groin in pain. She jumped over him and started running out of the alley, screaming hard, “Heeeeeeelp!”

      Just then, Scorpion was passing by some distance away and he felt he heard a noise coming from the alley. He stopped in his tracks and went in the direction of the sound. As Simisola was about to burst out of the alley into the open street where Scorpion could have seen her, the men caught up with her and pulled her back into the alley. The one with the knife covered her mouth and held the knife close to her throat.

      “Hush! Easy girl. Anymore sound from you and it will be your last!” She cooperated pronto.

      As Scorpion moved closer, he heard what was like the sound of people struggling with one another. Noting that the first noise he heard sounded like the voice of a frightened lady, he was convinced that a lady must be in trouble in the alley. He clenched his fists as usual in readiness for battle. He walked stealthily towards the danger spot ready to cause maximum damage.

      One of the men peeped and whispered to the other, “It’s Scorpion!”

      “Ah! Nemesis of Molesters? We are done for. What do we do now?” his partner whispered back. The terror in his eyes was visible even in the poorly lit alley.

      “Shhhhhhh!” the first man cautioned.

      The two men held their breaths while Simisola smiled in relief. Scorpion was only about five steps from the men’s nemesis and same number of steps from Simisola’s freedom. The men prayed that something prevented him from coming any further while Simisola prayed that something hastened his steps. Both parties began counting inwardly, ‘One, two …’ Simisola’s heart began to calm down while the men’s heartbeats began to rise alarmingly and sweats began to take over their bodies.

      ‘Three …’ Then the steps suddenly stopped. A mouse and a cat ran out of alley making a hell of a noise as they pursued each other.

      Scorpion laughed. “Wow! All this trouble for a cat and rat fight? Very funny. I almost thought an innocent lady was in trouble.” He turned back and walked away.

      The men heaved a sigh of relief as they wiped the sweats from their faces. Simisola’s heart, on the other hand, sank. She felt like shouting, “Scorpion, I’m here. It’s not cat and mouse’s fight!” But she dared not; the knife was still on her neck.

      Having ascertained that Scorpion had gone out of sight, the knife man slapped Simisola hard across the face. The impact of the slap sent her to the ground. She felt a biting sensation as her face hit hard on the rough surface. “Now, you are going to have it rough, lady. You asked for it!” Angry, he dragged her up and sent her back to the ground with another hard slap. On falling to the ground, she hit her head on a stone.

      “Please … I will cooperate. Please what do you want from me?” Blood started tickling down from the wound.

      “Shut up!” He threatened her with the knife.

      “Alright, sir.”


      She quickly covered her mouth and hummed assurances of her cooperation.

      “Spider, pass me the viper,” the knife man called out to his partner.

      Spider passed him a transparent jar containing some colourless liquid–the viper. Simisola watched on as the man let out a cruel smile and began to open the jar carefully. The moment the lid went off, a whoosh sound was heard and fumes oozed out from the jar.

      “Lady, prepare for a beauty makeover!”

      “Ah! ACID!!!” Simisola shouted with eyes almost bulging out of their sockets in horror.

      “Hahaha! Yes, acid!” He moved closer to her and bent down to sniff her face. “Uh, it appears that you didn’t take your bath this morning. But don’t worry, you are going to have a warm bath now.” His eyes steamed with cruelty.

      Then he began to turn the jar slowly while the other man pinned her down to the ground. She watched as the liquid slowly flowed towards the mouth of the jar. She swallowed hard and held her breath. The liquid got to the tip and flowed out of the container. Simisola closed her eyes. ‘Tumb!’ The acid dropped and Simisola screamed.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      3. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #30210
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 28

      THE ACID DROPPED TO the ground some inches away from her face. Simisola opened her eyes. She breathed in and out faster. She watched the acid made a hissing noise as it ate into the ground mercilessly. A fumed rising from the spot danced in front of eyes as the heat blew across her face. She writhed and cried harder.

      The men laughed hysterically. “So, you think we are just going to do this without catching some fun?” The other man bellowed and they laughed again.

      The man repeated the process. Simisola saw the liquid swam to the tip once more but this time it was positioned right above her face. It seemed the fun was over. Her face became covered with sweats and her blouse stuck to her skin. Simisola gasped.

      Then the man’s phone started ringing. He paused and picked the call.

      “Tuaile, mama!” There was no need for hurry. They had all the time in the world to carry out the nefarious act. In fact, the longer the wait the sweeter.

      “Spark, don’t do it!” the voice from the phone instructed him.

      “What? Mama! We are almost done here,” he protested.

      “I said don’t do it! There’s a change of plan or do you want to get caught?” The voice grew sterner.

      “Okay, mama. If you say so.” He covered the jar and turned to Simisola who was squirming on the ground. “Consider yourself fortunate today, lady. If I were you I would pop champagne.” With that, he kicked her hard across the face and she lost consciousness.

      “Spider, let’s get out of here.”

      “Copy that, Spark.”

      The two guys hurried out of the alley, leaving Simisola’s unconscious body in the cold embrace of the dark alley.

      The Following Morning, Banana Island, Yemi’s Residence, 5. 45 a.m.

      Yemi’s sleep was interrupted by the noise of his ringing phone. He cursed because it was the period the sleep was the most interesting.

      “Oh no! Who’s this calling by 5.45 on a Sunday morning for God’s sake?” But he cautioned himself when he saw that it was Ngozi. Ngozi calling at such odd hour on a Sunday morning did not sound good. The sleep disappeared in a minute as he jumped out of bed.

      “Hello Ngozi, is everything alright?”

      “Good morning, Mr Yemi. Sorry to wake you up this early. Everything is not alright ooo. Simi is in the hospital. She was attacked on her way back home last night.”

      “What?! Attacked? How? Why? By whom?”

      “We don’t know yet. She’s in a pretty bad shape. She is at St. Anne Hospital.”

      “Okay Ngozi, I am on my way.”

      Yemi rushed in and out of the bathroom and shortly thereafter, he drove to the hospital. By the time he got to the hospital, he met Ngozi, Auntie Funmi, and Scorpion there at Simisola’s bedside. Ngozi explained that Simisola was found unconscious in an alley the night before by a Good Samaritan who rushed her to the hospital and then traced her number on Simisola’s phone. That was how she knew what hospital she was and had to rush down immediately. She had been with Simisola ever since and watched as the doctor and nurses fought hard to resuscitate her. Simisola had not opened her eyes since then.

      On hearing that, Scorpion felt like ripping himself apart. He was overcome by an intense feeling of quilt. He blamed himself for what happened. He was at the spot and could have prevented it if he had been more diligent. It pained him that he had turned back just about two steps away from the mouth of the alley. If he had made a little more effort, as little as peeping into the alley, he wouldn’t have only saved Simisola, he would have caught the scoundrels who did this and taught them a lesson they would never had forgotten for all eternity.

      Yemi excused himself to see the doctor so that he could get a report of her condition. He soon came back and explained to the others what the doctor told him. He explained that she was passing through some trauma and would be well soon. They all sat down quietly waiting for her to at least open her eyes. The ward became so quiet that the sound of a pin dropping to the floor could be heard loud and clear. The silence was deafening!

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      3. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #30211
      arthur peace

      EPISODE 29

      At about 11 O’clock same morning, Ngozi was the first to notice some little movements in Simisola’s eyelids. She drew the attention of the others to it. Moments later, they witnessed some more noticeable movements in the eyelids. They fluttered and began to open gradually. Her vision was blurry at first but soon became clear. She switched glances from one face to the other and by the time her eyes settled on Yemi she gave way to tears.

      She began talking fast. Her heart beat too picked up the pace. It was obvious she was still traumatized. “They wanted to pour acid on me … They wanted to disfigure me … Acid … Acid … Acid … They wanted to pour acid on me!” Then she began to shake vigorously until she started convulsing.

      Yemi ran out screaming, “Doctor! Doctor!! Doctor!!!”

      In an instance, the doctor and two nurses ran inside. They ordered everyone out of the room and they began another battle to stabilize her.

      Outside, Scorpion paced restlessly up and down the lobby fuming with anger. He bit his lower lip and repeatedly pounded his fist into the other palm. He had to get those criminals and bring them to his self-administered justice.

      Simisola’s words before the convulsion seized her replayed in his head: ‘They wanted to pour acid on me … They wanted to disfigure me …’ He stopped suddenly as if he stumbled on something. “Wait a minute! Did she say ‘disfigure’?” he was talking to himself, “that was the exact words Shakirah used! Silly bastard!” He marched out of the hospital. He knew exactly where to start.

      About an hour later, Scorpion was at Shakirah’s doorstep banging on her door. She was making up preparing to go out when the noise from the door interrupted her.

      “Who is the carpenter that wants to bring down my door?” she screamed as she walked towards the door.

      Opening the door, she saw Scorpion standing akimbo at
      her doorpost. “Oh, it’s you, Kasumu. I didn’t know you have become a carpenter. So to what do I owe this visit? Hope you haven’t come back begging because I already told you there would not be a second chance,” she said sarcastically.

      “Shakirah! Don’t pretend you don’t know why I am here!” Scorpion said with a snarl.

      “And what would that be? Please update me,” she replied with an equal measure of sarcasm.

      “Don’t tell me that you don’t know that Simisola is at the hospital. At least, your errand boys should have told you they had carried out your wish!”

      “What are you talking about, Kasumu? And what do you mean by my errand boys?” She began to boil in anger.

      “You wanted me to disfigure Simisola for you and since I wasn’t willing to do it, I suppose you got some fools to do it.”

      “Scorpion!!! How could you think like that? You think I am that daft to do a thing like that after you have known about it? You think I want to risk you and other people coming around to ask questions? Well, I’m not that desperate if you cared to know.” She walked back inside and Scorpion followed. “Be kind enough to shut the door after you. Anyway, how’s she doing?” she asked tenderly after she had calmed herself down. It had an effect on Scorpion.

      “Phew!” Scorpion exhaled loudly. “Not too good but the doctor said she would be fine. They almost poured acid on her, you know.” Scorpion too had calmed down.

      “That’s serious! You see now? If I really wanted to disfigure her like you alleged, you think I wouldn’t have pulled through with it? You think I would have let her walk?”

      “Hmmm … You’ve got a point there.” Scorpion began to reason with her.

      “You know, I’ve been suspecting that Simisola was double dating. I think the other guy might have found out about Mr Yemi and he wasn’t happy about it.”

      “Why would she want to do that? With Mr Yemi, she’s got everything every woman wanted.”

      “And you think she is foolish? How long do you think a relationship between a common ghetto girl and a wealthy elite would last? It can’t work. And you think Simisola doesn’t know that too? She’s probably trying to get as much as she can now and when the relationship eventually crashes, there has to be someone–the real one to go back to. That’s what we call getting insured.”

      As reasonable and logical as her argument sounded, Scorpion still was not convinced. He had known Simisola for as long as he knew Shakirah and every other lady in Pink Roses and he was sure Simisola was the least amongst them that could so such a thing.

      “No, no, no, Shakirah. I know Simisola and I know what she can do. She is not like you Shaki! She can’t do that!” Scorpion’s voice was hard and affirmative.

      Shakirah grew hot. “How dare you, Kasumu?!” She raised her hand to slap him but he caught it mid air.

      “You can play on my intelligence, Shaki but don’t you ever toil with my brute force!” He gnashed his teeth and lowered her hand. He took a few steps backwards and waved his forefinger in front of her. “Let me assure you, Shaki, I will get to the bottom of this.” He turned around and walked out.

      Shakirah sank into her chair. Engrossed in a deep thought, she tapped her feet on the ground impatiently. She had had this well-thought out. After she commissioned Spark to do the job, she suddenly came to the realization that it would put her into this very position. Scorpion would definitely come asking questions and so would everybody he told about what she requested of him. That was why she had to pull the plug at the last minute and thank God she did. But she knew Scorpion would stop at nothing to get to the bottom of the matter as he promised. She realized she had to act fast if she was to cover her arse.

      To be continued … Watch Out for the Next Episode!

      NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don’t want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

      1. OKADABOOKS:

      3. SMASHWORDS:

      …My Story, My World.

    • #30217

      Getting hotter 💥

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