First all, introduction.

themowrites.wordpress.com

Before I say anything, just know that I’m hoping that once I’m few posts into this, I find out that writing this “first blog post” is the hardest part of starting a blog. Not because I feel like getting started is difficult, and not because I can’t think of anything to blog about. I just don’t like feeling like this post has to be a certain way because it’s the first post.

So I suppose for the for the first post, I should tell you a little about myself. But first, let’s take a selfie 😌.

I’ve done researches for things like, “what to include in your first blog post,” so I’ll be working from that. Infact maybe I’ll just interview myself. It seems less awkward to me, and I’ll just tell myself I’m filling out one of those surveys everyone keeps doing.

WHO ARE YOU?

My name is Anjorin…

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Floating

I’ve been away for a long time, relapsing into myself – the dark nooks of myself. I’ve had my skin pecked at by vultures and been close to the end more times than I’m comfortable with. All that is in the past, for I am reborn, like a phoenix and I will write again. Stay tuned. 

Floating

I’ve been away for a long time, relapsing into myself – the dark nooks of myself. I’ve had my skin pecked at by vultures and been close to the end more times than I’m comfortable with. All that is in the past, for I am reborn, like a phoenix and I will write again. Stay tuned. 

Flash fiction

​Tolu and Bisola are as good as happily-ever-after gets. Family friends since childhood, same schools, same lesson teachers so no one was surprised when they started going out, or when the courtship turned into a marriage. It’s been two years since they said their I Do’s in the church at Eko market. And things have been swell, until Tolu lost his job in Okoye, Sani and co, the law firm he was so proud of. The firm wasn’t making money as it used to, recession and all, and Tolu’s job was one of the things that had to go. And that’s when everything went downhill. He started neglecting his wife, going home late and the only thing he finds comfort in nowadays is in the bottom of a bottle.  Sweet Bisola wouldn’t report to either of their parents, she didn’t want to be one of those women who had to call daddy and mummy to solve all of her marital problems for her. And yet, she didn’t know what to do, or how to help him. There in lies the problem.
       One Saturday morning, after waiting up all night for her husband to return from whatever miserable place he had gone to drown his sorrows, she decides that enoygh is enough. It was time for action , and time for her darling Tolu to face the music, as they say. She picks up her keys, has an epiphany and decides she wouldn’t be needing it. Where she was going was trekkable. She dresses up hurriedly and leaves her house. She heads for the bar, just around the bend from where their flat is. The bar which which was named the bar (very meta) was where Tolu usually went to drink and relive his ‘glory days’ with other former co-workers who were let go as well. Also, it was the only place he could afford considering the stipend he gets from his wife for his day to day ‘activities’ . She walks through the termite infested doors and quickly scans the surrounding. Tolu wasn’t around, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. Then she spotted a group of Tolu’s friend in the corner, who were drunk as hell at eight in the morning. She could tell by the way they slurred their words and by their language. She walks briskly towaeds them and ,

“Where is Tolu?” She asks

“Tolu…Tolu….who is that?” Ajani replies

“Oh…oh, Tolu. He’s with that ashewo girl……the one that has a big yansh, what’s her name again, John? You visit her regularly” Kola says
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was as if someone was pouring hot acid into her ears, but this wasn’t the place or time to break down. As she was about to leave, Tolu walks – actually, staggers – in. He had one arm around a skimpily dressed woman, and his other hand was on her breasts. The men in the bar whistled and some cheered. She walks across the room, towards him, looks him dead in the eyes, lets him see the fury in her eyes. She raises her hand up and lands – one, two, three, four – slaps across his face and leaves.

Here’s to you

​Here’s to the free lanes 

And the breeze that comes with. 
Here’s to the ‘go – slow’ , 
The stream of sweat flowing across one’s forehead, 
Past the brows 
And down the cheeks.

Here’s to the guys & the girls 
Who combat climate change 
In their own way.
Armed with weaponry, 
Ranging from baskets of gala 
To plantain ships, to cold drinks.

Here’s to mental fatigue, 
To the frustration creeping in 
Through the cracks

Here’s to you; 
For persevering 
For not falling off the wagon
For fighting your demons 
For being victorious 
Here’s to the entering the tunnel 
And coming out the the other side.

I’d be okay.

​They say it’s been a month,

Or is it two?

I don’t know, 

The days seem to roll into one another. 

They ask me how I feel, 

Ask me if I’ve eaten to my fill, 

Look at me with eyes dripping of pity, 

Eyes that scream ‘you poor thing’

I feel stuck,

Like my legs got caught in the mud. 

But this too shall pass. 

I feel like I’m in a dream, 

Trapped in a horrible reverie cycle. 

I remember : you, 

You and I, 

Our spark, our fire. 

I tried to forget you

I really did. 

Deleted your pictures

And your messages

And that video you had me send to you

Because your makeup was on fleek

But it didn’t work, 

None of it did.

So much for the i love you’s 
And the forever’s 
So much for I’d always be here 
So much for love
So much for passion
So much for art
So much for me having your heart
So much for your  heart would always be where I’m  at
So much for here
So much for there
So much for distance

A Dance.

​   I live with my brother, and two other families in an uncompleted house in the slums of Mowe, a place in Ogun. The house is a four bedroom bungalow, each family owning a room and the last room is used as a kitchen ; each family has their own corner. The walls are thin, almost as if they are suffering from an eating disorder. For a roof we have a concrete floor with metal rods poking out of the corners, which tells you the landlord wanted/wants to build a structure taller than what he settled for. I don’t really know my neighbors, the other families, even though my brother and I have been staying here for almost a year now. I only catch glimpses of them from what the walls would let me know, and the wall let’s me know a lot. It lets me in on their dreams, nightmares, miserliness and excesses. It also lets me know the latest gossips; how Aduke, the only ‘miss’ in the house spends her Friday night on the streets of Ikeja searching for men willing to pay to be pleasured, how Iya Elemu threatened Baba Elemu with death, should she ever catch him pants down with her daughter again. 

    I can’t remember which day it was exactly, whether Friday or Monday. I woke up very early that day and got dressed. That day was the beginning of the other days, the other days that led to this very moment. I was already outside the building when I ran back in to pick my wallet. I trekked to the busstop and hailed a bus headed to the University. The bus was full to the brim, and I felt one of the fishes in a Sardine tin. I sat next to a robust woman in Aso-ebi. She looked like she would burst. I heard her complaining as I took my seat, but my mind had wandered far away, I had gone to that place where minds go when they are tired of reality. When I snapped out of my reverie, I spared the woman I was sitting next to one more look. She was dark, not the kind of that dark that makes you think ‘Black is Beautiful’ . Her darkness was the kind that only the fierce Lagos sun could bring about. Well, Lagos sun and PHCN, is that still what they call themselves? Her face looked like a child’s colouring book because of her badly but heavily applied make-up which weighed on her face. 

      I got to the University and asked for directions to where the admission list was posted. When I got there, I was met by a whole bunch of other students who were also seeking admission. I know the drill, it’s one you never forget no matter how old you are, like riding a bike. In a matter of minutes, after some push here and some shoves there, I was in front of the board with my index finger on the board searching for my name, and there it was! Finally. It wasn’t the course I wanted but it was something. My parents had told me that if my name wasn’t on the list that year, I was to join my brother selling gala on the streets of Lagos. Even now, i cringe at the thought.

   I boarded a bus back home with the last money on me. I didn’t even remember that I had not eaten, my stomach was filled with joy. At berger, the bus stopped and picked up more passengers. One of them was Aduke.  I called out to her, and she looked at me- up, down, right and left – and twisted her nose up and down as if I smelt of shit. I regretted calling out, but fate was on my side because as I was about to drop, I heard a woman screaming and pointing to me. My first instinct was to run, and so I did. I had not gone far when I realized she wasn’t pointing at me, she was pointing at Aduke. Apparently, Aduke had stolen something from her – money or jewellery, I can’t quite remember. Agberos came out from every corner, pouncing on Aduke and beating her to a pulp but they didn’t stop there, someone got a tyre and another got petrol. Sola ‘one-eye’ , who helped me out of a police cell earlier that year provided the matches. The fire danced on her skin, danced to the hum of the wind and sway of the trees. She looked at me, beckoning me to help her but I didn’t. I didn’t freeze out of fear, I just opted not to help and she knows. She knows I know she knows. 

Thank God it’s Friday.

• ​      OBI

      It’s Friday evening, the first in the month and that means the Lagos-Ibadan expressway would be full of commuters -old and young, impoverished and wealthy- trying to get to the different churches for the different programmes that wIll be held over the weekend. The road will be slimy from all the snails. Tolu knows it, and his family knows he’s not coming home today. I, the driver knows it. They will be spending the night at his flat in Surulere. Lola might come around, and he would hear her moans all night long. How could a tiny body take such a battering? 

• TOLU

     This is becoming a routine, a play – one which lines he could recite if he were woken from a deep slumber. He dials her number :

‘‘Hello?’’ She asks. 

‘‘Hi, it is I . ’’ Tolu replies. 

‘‘And who art thou? ’’ She questions, with a smile spreading out on her silky face. 

‘‘Your Prince Charming, your knight in shining armour, your Mr Right. ’’

‘‘And what if I don’t need saving? What if I’m not a damsel in distress? ’’

‘‘My bad, let me rephrase that. It is you who would be doing the saving tonight, saving me from the whims of boredom’’

‘‘I take it you would be staying in tonight? ’’

‘‘Yes. Will you come around? ’’

‘‘You’d have to wait to see, babe. ’’ She replies, knowing he loves suspense. 

    He got off the phone feeling giddy. She always made him feel like that; like he wasn’t just passing time but  time was passing through him. It terrified him too that she made him feel like this, although he keeps reassuring himself that it was just sex and nothing more. He had built himself from the bottom, he didn’t come from a rich or influential family so no one pulled any strings for him. Pinocchio would be proud. He has all he ever wanted, to be a part of a cause bigger than himself – the cause of the rich and famous Yoruba demons. Every Yoruba demon has one or more side – chics, it’s like a job requirement. That’s where Lola- the manifestation of ‘Black is beautiful’ in flesh and bones- comes in. She was a delicacy, one he could afford. 

• LOLA

     ‘‘Moni, make you come see your friend o. She don dey think since I enter this room, and now wey I wan comot, she still dey think’’ Amaka said- no, shouted- while she was on the phone. 

Ever since Lola got the call, she had been deep in thought, contemplating whether to go and see Chief Tolu or not. If she did go, she would have to cancel her date with Ajayi, the sweet boy in her department whom she has been dating for a while now. She decided she would go, she needs money to buy the latest Gucci bag, the one she saw with Tania from Law the other day. She thought of what to tell Ajayi so as to let him down easy. 

‘‘Hello’’ 

‘‘ Hello, bae. ’’ 

He sounded gleeful and she pondered  for about three seconds on whether she should let sleeping dogs lie. She could but it wouldn’t be fair, what if rain falls or a mad driver appears from nowhere and kills the dogs? 

‘‘I wouldn’t be able to come tonight, dear….. My dad was involved in a car accident and it’s pretty serious, they carried him to Luth’’

‘‘Ah, I’m so sorry babe. Is there anything I can do? Do you need a ride? I could be in your hostel in a jiffy. In fact, I’d be there soon. ’’

‘‘No, no! I mean I wouldn’t want you to worry, you’ve already done so much for me. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t think I stood you up. I’d call you later’’

‘‘Okay. Love you, babe ’’

‘‘I know you do’’ She replied with a hint of a smile spreading across her face, giving light to places where NEPA don’t. 

She arrived in front of Chief’s house around 8:30 pm, and she knocked on the gate. Atum, the short Hausa gateman opened the gate for her. This man was old enough to be her father but he said 

‘‘ Effening, Madam. I swear it don tey wey I see you por here, madam. ’’

She could smell he was up to some mischief, he wanted something, money most likely. 

‘‘ Is your Oga around? ’’ She asked, pretending not to have heard him. 

‘‘ Yezz, he dey for inside. ’’

‘‘ But the gen is not on? ’’

‘‘ But light dey. No be Nepa o, madam. Na the thing wey Oga just buy prom (from) America. ’’

‘‘Atum, Atum…. how you know say na from America he buy the thing come? ’’

‘‘Ah, na two oyinbo carry the thing come, they come fix am and test say it dey work’’

He replied, expecting something for the information he gave. 

‘‘Take this for drinks. ’’ Lola said, covertly giving him a 100 naira note and started walking towards the house itself. 

She noticed the Honda parked by the side of the house. It was new, had to be because she knew all his cars. She approached the door and moved to knock but decided against doing so. Instead, she just opened the door and found Tolu in only a boxer and singlette watching CNN. 

• TOLU

     I heard the footsteps approaching, they became louder the nearer she came as though the sounds her heels were making was announcing her presence. The door flew open, and there she stood in all her glory at my doorstep. 

‘‘ You look even more beautiful than I remember, Arewa. ’’ I said, standing up and walking towards her. 

‘‘ And you look older, gramps. ’’ She joked, and planted a light kiss on my face, starting a fire within me. 

Her presence alone was starting a fire, a forest fire. I look at her and I can feel my desire growing. Good thing Obi, my driver is a heavy sleeper because I plan on taking this beautiful angel as many times I possibly can. 

• LOLA

       Dawn creeps in, sending dusk away; like a mother sends her child to his room after she’s done reprimanding him. Lola could see a silhouette of a car as the sun shone through the window. Dust motes flew round the room, enveloping the space. She looked at Tolu’s naked body under the covers as she tiptoed to the kitchen to grab a bite. She heard her phone ringing in the parlour from where it was charging near the wall, she walked over and saw the caller ID, ‘Ajayi ’ . She picked up

‘‘Hello, bae. ’’ He said, sounding morose. 

‘‘Hi, hi. What’s wrong? You sound down’’

‘‘I just wanted to ask how your dad was, is he okay? ’’

‘‘ Turns out it wasn’t my dad. The stupid hospital mixed up the next of kin’s phone number. ’’

‘‘ Oh, that’s swell. ’’ He said, punching his fist into the air. 

‘‘ Yeah, it is. ’’ She laughed cautiously so as not to wake Tolu. 

‘‘ So where are you now, babe? I would like you to meet my parents. ’’

‘‘ I’m actually at a friend’s, but I would be going to the hostel soon. Call you when I’m there? ’’

‘‘No wahala, I’d be expecting your call. And don’t worry, they would like you. ’’ He said and hung up. 

She felt cold all over, as  if she was coming down with an illness. 

• TOLU

       ‘‘ Hey, what’s wrong? I had a nice time.’’

I said, grinning from ear to ear like a boy who was given his favorite ice-cream. 

‘‘ Nothing, Tolu. I just received a call, some lecturer organizing a class to cover for the classes he missed during the week. ’’ She replied, wearing only his shirt which made her look tiny and adorable. 

‘‘ On a Saturday? Such a prick. I’d have Obi drop you off’’

‘‘No need, I’d just take a cab. ’’

‘‘Nonsense. You are a queen and should be treated as such, with red carpets and royal guards. ’’ He said, gesturing with his hands. 

‘‘ Oh, if you insist. ’’ She replied, with an amused look in her face. 

‘‘ Oh? I insist. ’’ He strides to where she is and shoves his lips onto hers. 

   They dress up, have breakfast at KFC and Lola drops off in front of her university. She calls Ajayi, and he was coming to pick her up in his long, grey American car. She had some time to kill so she takes a nap. She woke up to the honking of a car, Ajayi’s car. She freshens up and goes downstairs to meet bae. 

• LOLA

    Tall, black and lean, Ajayi was such a catch. He flashed that his award winning smile, the same one he flashed when he won the prestigious Best Graduating Student at the graduation ceremony a year ago. 

  ‘‘ Bae. ’’ He took Lola in a warm embrace, and opened the passenger door for her. 

He started the engine and drove out of her hostel, out of the University and towards the Lagos-Ibadan expressway

• OBI

    Obi honked the horn, and one of Oga’s children opened the gate. Oga opened his door at the back of the Honda to screams of ‘‘ Daddy, daddy! ’’ . Oga would slip Obi a ‘little something’ in exchange for his silence;  Madam must not know about Lola. Madam opened the door to the house. She looked resplendent in her ankara. Madam was just one of those women, those women who were beautiful without trying to. She welcomed Oga and took his suit jacket while Ade, Oga’s second son took his briefcase. I greet Madam and take my leave. As I was about to go, a car honked and I went to open the gate. I would recognize the car anywhere, I was the one who purchased it and I was the one who drove it to Oga’s first son flat. It was a present from Oga. He drove in, and I could see a silhouette of a figure in the passenger seat but I couldn’t make out who the person was. Ajayi cracked open his window and said

‘‘ Brother, how far? It don tey. ’’ 

Before I could respond, Ade had ran in- each leg seemed to lift off the ground effortlessly- to drop the briefcase The figure too stepped out and I could see the horror on Oga’s face. The figure, the dark and lovely figure with the jet black hair was Lola. 

The Lagos Struggle

    

Written some time last year

     The sun is setting. I am just returning to the grotesque apartment that I have come to call home, from yet one of the many hopeless days when I go job seeking. Another day, another disappointment. Many a time, my faith waivers. Why wouldn’t it? I went to school – not particularly the best, but it’s called the pride of the nation for a reason, – excelled at school, and I still haven’t been able yo land a job since I graduated six months ago. You might now understand why I’m simply baffled. Corruption had creped its way so damn high that before most employers even peruse your CV, they ask for ‘‘money for drinks’’ .It’s disgusting and unprofessional. I have walked so much, my soles and soul are both worn-out. As I watch a flock of birds make like a plane and fly, I make a mental note to try a new firm I saw on my way home. The sky is a gloomy blue, in resonance with my mood. I greet Mama Divine, the kind woman who gives me moin-moin every morning free of charge. God bless her. The white pillows in the sky look like a woman who has been pregnant for nine months – they look as if they might let loose any minute now. Perhaps I should sleep for a while. 

       I wake up to the high pitched bawls of Mama Muhammad, my neighbor. Everywhere is pitch black, except for a bulb in the corner which flutters dimly. The sky is crying. She, the moon, has finally accepted that she and he, the sun, can never be together literally and figuratively. Well, except when there is an eclipse but that rarely happens. I hear the voice of the short, fair, 16 year old again. I say, they are like the lion and the zebra in the sense that, the lion when it catches and finishes with his prey, he moves on to other zebras. This isn’t the first time they are fighting, in fact, they are always at each other’s throats. I know because I have a first class ticket to the ring whenever it happens. Their fights are sacrosanct to Muhammad Ali and George Foreman’s Rumble In The Jungle. You know how they say ‘ even the walls have ears ’ ? That’s true, especially here in Bariga. I live in the parts where APC haven’t ‘‘ changed ’’. The walls in the house are so thin, almost as if they are suffering from anorexia. What makes my apartment’s walls unique from other walls in the house is the hole in the wall that demarcates my apartment from The Muhammad’s . With that hole, I can see everything. Their fights, arguments, burning passion, everything. 

       Ali, Papa Muhammad has just returned from the bar at the corner of our street. Late, as of old. I can tell from his slurred speech and the way he walks. Also from the way he screams his wife’s name and attempts to mount her from behind. He has been like this ever since he lost his job as a factory worker, due to the advent of technology. Fractional unemployment. We are both jobless but I’m the only one doing something about it, the only one trying to make like APC and change my situation. 

‘‘ Kam ere! Is it bekos I chose you tonight? Komon, spread ya legs. ’’ He bellows, as she removes herself from his grasp and attempts to waddle away. 

Like trying to reconnect with an old flame, he reaches out, and yanks her wrapper off her body. She would have been naked if not that she had a white cotton blouse and pink panties on – they look like something you buy from bend-down-select. How do I know? Story for another day. My eyes widened. I took my golden rimmed glasses off, blew on the lenses and cleaned them with my singlet. I put them back on. She’s on the floor, he’s on her and his mouth is on hers, urging her, forcing her to return the kiss. She’s still struggling, his hands are wrapped around her wrists while he straddles her. If I were her, I would struggle too. I would object to being taken on the cold concrete with the door to our apartment ajar for all to see. Realizing that she would not be able to make him stop, she gives up but still doesn’t return his kisses – not willingly at first. After one or two ifotis, she does. He rips off her remaining clothing, spreads her leg and takes her right there on the floor many a time with the door still open, and her moans and his grunts filling the corridor. When he’s done, he will remove his hard member from her entrance, roll off her and fall asleep on the floor. She will get up with all her might and willpower, accompanied with what’s left of her dignity. She will close the door, take her wrapper, wet it with water and scrub all over her body furiously. She will wake her husband up – he will slap her a couple times – and take him to the bed. Then she will take her favorite green pail and take her wrapper, sneak out of their room and go to the shack that we use as a bathroom downstairs to bath and cry. Sometimes she will do both at the same time. Sometimes, each at different intervals. When she’s done, she would go up, sleep on the same bed as the drunk and back him. I know, for I have seen this scene more times than I can remember. 

       I have asked her why she puts up with him multiple times. She just smiles, says nothing and changes topic. All the damn time. She has sent 4 year old Muhammad, her only child to her mother after one incident when Ali beat him to a pulp to the extent that a thick viscous red gushed out of his cheeks, all because little Muhammad kept yanking at Ali’s clothing hem when he wanted to forcefully mount Amina, Muhammad’s mother. Amina said he wasn’t always like this, that he was a good man but times are hard and Lagos is expensive. Yet, the idiot uses what little money Amina scrambles for, for Star and Ogogoro.

I check the time, it’s past two and I have an interview at right. Chai. I sleep, thinking of how much my life would change if I land this job. 

       I wake up to muffled sounds. I could not determine what it was exactly. It sounded like a heavy downpour and a light drizzle, at the same time. I push my body off the mattress and I hear the wails of women. I run out in my boxers, following the voices. As soon as I arrived at the scene, I did not need to ask why they were tearing up. I knew. Amina hung herself in the bathroom shack. The doctors would apply euphemism and say the rope cut off the air to her lungs, and that’s the reason she’s dead. What they would not say is that she has a lot of bruising all over her body which begs the question, did she and her husband get along? No one would answer, so they don’t ask. In my humble and undiluted opinion, she was dead long before she stopped breathing. What kills you is not what stops you from breathing but what stops you from living. She died at the age of 13, when she stepped into Lagos with her first husband.

Angelic White

This was actually written last year, on Nigeria’s independence. Enjoy

On my face is a grin

And my body is enveloped by an angelic white.

The 55th was seen.

She did not die.

The fat women at the back of the huge white church say she should be married, with rebuking eyes.

But each loaf of bread has different slices.

 

I thought she would be better now,

That she would have fought off all her ailments.

But I also thought we’d have flying cars by now. 

So, what do I say?

Be that as it may, 

She adds one more year in October. 

You choose to cheer her on, or to be sober. I adorn myself in ankara, 

And dance my socks off.

 

I drive through the independence tunnel, 

In a time warp. 

The agriculture flourishes, 

The petrol is in surplus. 

The people are proud, 

And the music is loud. 

With joy overflowing from my heart, I pause.

 

She is an embodiment of all that is beautiful and green. 

She looks like a vixen from a movie scene. 

She smiles, that filling smile, that dentist smile.

Her teeth is an angelic white.