***Chronicles of a Runs Girl*** (Completed)

[center] The policemen listened to our story as told by Mama and asked us if we wanted to come to the station to make a statement. “He is on the bridge!” Mama shouted at them. “You can still catch him!” I was thinking the same. One of the officers explained their position: “See ehn, just go and do thanksgiving that he did not succeed. By now he would have run away. How do we know where to catch him?” Mama pointed out that we could take them to his hotel room but the same officer explained that “hotel people don’t like that kind of trouble. They won’t even let us see the man. Just go home and you too, stop doing ashara.” We stayed with the policemen, partly out of having been placed under arrest and partly out of not wanting to be alone, and we listened to them tell stories of girls who had barely escaped ritual killers, just like we had. When they were ready to leave we realised we were also free to go. We begged them to drop us home and, surprisingly, they obliged. When we got to the boys’ quarters on Peeple Road that we share with four other girls, there was no light. Clara, whose real name is Nkem, opened the door for us because they had locked the padlocks from inside. “From where you ashewos dey come from this night?” she asked and thus unleashed Mama’s impatience to narrate our ordeal all over again. Clara woke Toyin, Toyin woke Beatrice, Beatrice woke Antina who woke two other girls I didn’t know and who had taken my spot and Mama’s spot on the mattress. Clara lit a kerosene lamp and the girls listened in silence as Mama embellished the story with magic rings and hidden charms. At the end of her tale the girls exchanged looks then burst out into laughter. I was trying to see the humour when one of the strangers explained it to me. It wasn’t a new thing; in fact, many sharp girls had fallen for the same trick. The boy wasn’t a ritual anything; he simply didn’t want to pay us and he tricked us into running away. The girl, whose name turned out to be Kenny, assured us that if we went back to the hotel we would be told that the occupant had checked out, probably on his way to Abuja as he claimed. To say I was pained is an understatement. But Mama preferred her own interpretation and hung on to the ritual story, no doubt, to be repeated to many a girl in the days to come. I only wished that she would leave my name out of it. I was still smarting from being played so deftly when Kenny asked if we had checked our bags. Mama asked why, but I had clocked. I opened my bag up to the glow of the lantern and searched frantically. I emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor and searched the inner pockets. My money was gone. That morning, as I lay on the crowded mattress, seething with anger and loathing the alarm that would soon go off to wake me up to get ready and go to school, I prayed to God to let me see that boy again. I didn’t tell God what I planned to do with him when I saw him. My name is Amaka, by the way. But people call me Juliet. [/center] [hr] [color=maroon]LINKS TO AVAILABLE EPISODES[/color] epsode 2&3 epsode 4 epsode 5 epsode 6 epsode 7 epsode 7contd" epsode 8 epsode 9 episode 10 epsode 11 epsode 12 episode 13 epsode 14 epsode 15 epsode 16 epsode 17 epsode 18 epsode 19 epsode 20 epsode 21 epsode 22 epsode 23 episode 24&25 epsode 26 epsode 27 episode 28 epsode 29 LAST EPISODE

Hmmmm, wat a chronicle.. so wat in gwads name happened nxt uh..

Wow! wat an intro...

@mray @tdak @tenniebenson @khola mke una cm o

@japhola @tonia @pinklady

@kedike @precy @dabcy @Japhola, @Olesev @somkhid @Anitcham @kemkit @Besty @Daintyshewa @komh @Babi @victoriouschild @lawman @charlywizzy @SeniorG @Borwerleh @Mr Fabulous @Blesinlayla @barmedhele @D00zie @Mosesmichael @Felzy @Emmazzy @Simzy @kholade @petraify @Valentine @mike carter @Blessed @GeeAdore @Allan jr @Zainet @IAmDrake @Oyefestus @John walter @shola aba @Benedict @Romanus. @Starlet @Oladoja Muhammed @Fabzgrace @Blackstud @bsam @shugarlips @murshan @olaswag3 @otumala Israel @taiwo @jummybabe @nizzy @lawman @davick @davin @emmabrous @chiwendu @ebube @kemkit @victotiouschild @richiebill @treasure @soniamimi @mosesmicheal @japhola @ibrams @holaryinkhar @itzpweety ify @swissbliss @ayomi @mae-d @ivie @fherahoney @emmazzy @iog_tosinlee @kelvinmag @ibn bashir @donpaschalo @joseph @dexterity @hilary @oludear @Japhola, @Daintyshewa @komh @Babi @victoriouschild @lawman @pizzaro @charliebryn @charliewizzy @SeniorG @Borwerleh @Mr Fabulous @Blesinlayla @barmedhele @D00zie @Mosesmichael @Felzy @Emmazzy @Simzy @kholade @petraify @Valentine @mike carter @Blessed @GeeAdore @Allan jr @Zainet @IAmDrake @Oyefestus @John walter @shola aba @Benedict @Romanus @Oladoja @Tenniebenson @khola46 @Anitcham @Stephanie @Mray @Lollybabe1 @Dahcutebae @Delight @Rhennyjay @GeeAdore @Tonia @Hameyeenat @InemLove @Promzy @Mohjisolah @Charliebryn @Charlywizzy @Japhola @Jencute @Jenny @Doublewealth @John451 @Kniphemi @VibratingWind @Emmanesth @Horpheyehmy @Valking1 @Pweety @Kpumpy @Justify @Gracy @Olami @Promise @Sylvia @Besty @Bsam @Youngestprince @Simzy @DonMikie @Portable @Olaking3 @Harddy @Henry @Hardeywummy2 @Blakstudd @Prince @Kingsbest @Flames @Mhzzrblayse @Azeeco @Temmymofrosh @Sandra @Escysegzy @Olusegun @Sandy @Adewunmi @Adesewa200 @Adesewa @Kaysmart22 @Cherryserah @SexyNikky1994 @Tenniebenson @Anitcham @Stephanie @Mray @Lollybabe1 @Dahcutebae @Delight @Rhennyjay @GeeAdore @Tonia @Hameyeenat @InemLove @Promzy @Mohjisolah @Charliebryn @Charlywizzy @Japhola @Jencute @Jenny @Doublewealth @John451 @Kniphemi @VibratingWind @Emmanesth @Horpheyehmy @Valking1 @Pweety @Kpumpy @Justify @Gracy @Olami @Promise @Sylvia @Besty @Bsam @Youngestprince @Simzy @DonMikie @Portable @Olaking3 @Harddy @Henry @Hardeywummy2 @Blakstudd @Prince @Kingsbest @Flames @Mhzzrblayse @Azeeco @Temmymofrosh @Sandra @Escysegzy @Olusegun @Sandy @Adewunmi @Adesewa200 @Adesewa @Kaysmart22 @Cherryserah @SexyNikky1994 @Tenniebenson @Anitcham @Stephanie @Mray @Lollybabe1 @Dahcutebae @Delight @Rhennyjay @GeeAdore @Tonia @Hameyeenat @InemLove @Promzy @Mohjisolah @Charliebryn @Charlywizzy @Japhola @Jencute @Jenny @Doublewealth @John451 @Kniphemi @VibratingWind @Emmanesth @Horpheyehmy @Valking1 @Pweety @Kpumpy @Justify @Gracy @Olami @Promise @Sylvia @Besty @Bsam @Youngestprince @Simzy @DonMikie @Portable @Olaking3 @Harddy @Henry @Hardeywummy2 @Blakstudd @Prince @Kingsbest @Flames @Mhzzrblayse @Azeeco @Tenniebenson @Anitcham @Stephanie @Mray @Lollybabe1 @Dahcutebae @Delight @Rhennyjay @GeeAdore @Tonia @Hameyeenat @InemLove @Promzy @Mohjisolah @Charliebryn @Charlywizzy @Japhola @Jencute @Jenny @Doublewealth @John451 @Kniphemi @VibratingWind @Emmanesth @Horpheyehmy @Valking1 @Pweety @Kpumpy @Justify @Gracy @Olami @Promise @Sylvia @Besty @Bsam @Youngestprince @Simzy @DonMikie @Portable @Olaking3 @Harddy @Henry @Hardeywummy2 @Blakstudd @Prince @Kingsbest @Flames @Mhzzrblayse @Azeeco @Temmymofrosh @Sandra @Escysegzy @Olusegun @Sandy @Adewunmi @Adesewa200 @Adesewa @Kaysmart22 @Cherryserah @SexyNikky1994 @calisto @hbk @frank @davick @whistler @sirp081 @kristen @liciacutes @whistler @murshan @wind @mojhisolar @charlywizzy @scholes junior @seyifunmi @kingsengine @aaron @tony @ruth @besty @shaxee @kemkit @jenny @leo @john @williams @softtouch @hoelhay @christopher @opeyemii @oluchi @maurice @abdulseries @olamy4fun @hameyeenat @stanny39 @harnuholuwa @jhorlade @somkhid @ruth @flames @loveth @peace @chinanza @ty @mrsolace @kingsbest @ib_dreams @frankkie @crusher @wind @maxblaze @jclash @pholaryemmie @dozzle @donvalley @donpaschalo @joseph @fridex @davin @nash @kuks @ewomazeal @nizzy @ebube @okklad @justify @funmilayo1 @loveth @donb @iksqueency @smilie @borwerleh @hollar @kolababs @ogbara @franklin @vasty @walexidey @damzitayo @chikere @anita @iamchris @wisdom @thankmic @christopher @jummy @maurice @herbyhorlarh @magdalene @esejerro @roes @pearl @chernor @priceocity @mature @swissy @omodunbi @sam @ibrams @dhemilade1 @oyindamola1 @samdee @others u are invited

@Abdulrasaq Adetunji @Purity @DaintyShewa @PhineBraim @Seadurf @Konphido @blixin @wise one @dabcy @kedike

nice write up @shaxee

@emmy @ibrams oya make una show

wow! follow i in. thanks @t-dak

U nd ur mama dey do ashewo ni, God av mercy. Were my paddy @tenniebenson @mray @pizzaro @ibrams @temmyjoy @kemkit @japhola gbogbo yin da. Evrybdy cme o

Tankz @t-dak. @marvellous Am here tnkz @babe4biola

Am here,@T-DAK thanls for the invit. This story go be superb ooo,lets go there

Wlc bak @T-dak, @Shaxee ride on

Oga mii @T-DAk where u go hide nah......oya welcome bk....and tanks @Ritagold .....my one and onli.....tanks i hope @emmy wont sit togeda with us...... @Babe4biola tanks darlinq......

@Marvellous, I appreciate. @Shaxee, I can't stop laffing while still @ intro, wat will happen wen it get to d main tori. Ride on dear.

of cos not... We only ve table for two @ibrams

nw that i am here,the story can continue

[center][b] Part 2: A girl's best enemies For the past week Kike had been careful not to leave her phone lying around, and it wasn’t because it was a brand new white Blackberry torch. She had recently netted a new catch and she wasn’t taken any chances with any of the other girls who might want to steal her new guy’s number. Of the many assets girls amass – shoes, bags, gold, lecturers – phone numbers are the most valuable. If you’re broke it can take some time to find someone to buy jewellery from you, and even then the price they’ll offer will usually be dagger short of a mugging. But there’s always a market for phone numbers of guaranteed pay masters – and the prices are standard: Five K for a junior aristo who normally pays about that much for a girl; ten K for one who pays more; and when themugunin question is of the senator type, phone numbers can often sell for as high as 50 k. Even when a girl doesn’t have enough money to pay upfront, a deal can be struck and the phone number handed over to her once she promises to pay after the she has met with the man. So you see, phone numbers are very valuable assets and girls guard them like mothers guard their new born babies. And Kike had good reason to be weary of the other girls. Being her cousin and the one who brought her to the BQ, I was her confidant, and I guess she believes, the one least likely to steal from her - but not so with the other girls. A few days after she first moved in Mama began seeing one of her guys. Till today Mama swears she met the guy on her own but the general consensus is that she stole his number from Kike’s phone. It didn’t help Mama’s defence that she refused to let Kike or any of the other girls go through her messages to see if there was any evidence there. Anyway, Kike had recently been coming back with dollars, takeaway pizza and a distinct air of superiority – the type a girl gets after spending the night in another woman’s luxury home while her cousin, yours truly, and mates sleep on a crowded mattress shared with body odours and bed bugs. And Kike has never been the type to stop short of flaunting her good fortune. She peppered the girls’ jealousy with talks of how he licks her even after feeding her and giving her a backrub with scented oils. And according to her, afterwards all he wants to do is hold her as they both fall asleep. It was too good to be true – a mugunwho only pays to pleasure you and wants nothing in return - but that didn’t stop the girls hating her even more. She was pretty, young, looked butter even if she wasn’t, and like me she spoke good English – at least better than the rest of the girls. I listened as she told them about his Versace bed spreads and I wondered if she was so lost in her own hype that she didn’t see the looks on their faces. Janet, especially, was doing such a bad job of hiding a deadly smirk behind her fake smile. I made a mental note to have a word Kike later, if she’ll listen. Apart from explaining to her why it’s important to cover one’s sprouting corn, I was also going to lecture her on letting a man, who pays for sex, to take his mouth to her. Now, the thing with hiding your phone is, one day you’ll slip. Kike slipped. Exactly when Janet got to go through Kike’s phone, we shall never know. Nor would we ever find out how she knew which of the numbers on the phone belonged to the new chief paymaster. But one night, she, Janet, really put a lot of effort into looking good, and she wouldn’t tell anyone where she going or whom she was meeting. Coincidentally on the same night, Kike’s new guy called to call off a date they had. Looking back now I feel like a rank amateur for not putting two and two together and arriving at Janet-haf-stole-the-boy! But even Kike didn’t suspect a thing. Not even when Janet hugged her affectionately to say goodbye while a taxi waited outside. Not one person, not me, not Kike, not Mama, not any of the other girls, could have imagined all the drama that was still to come that night. [/b][/center]

[center][b] Part 3: Full frontal The thing with getting used to suffer-head is that the slightest luxury feels strange - suspicious even. When I went to sleep, there were at least five of us in the room: Kike, Mama, one Tolu girl from next door, Clara, and myself. But now, I was stretching all over the mattress without touching someone’s breasts or having my leg pushed away by someone’s arms. It felt wrong. I woke up to bright light. But even as I anticipated the pain from opening my eyes in the lit room, I knew it wasn’t morning yet. I rolled over on the mattress, away from the glare of the 100 watt light bulb, and I slowly cracked my eyes open. Mama was by the door, in pants and bra, and a hairnet and nothing more. She was holding a phone in front of her face with both hands. I looked where she was focusing on the other side of the bed and I saw Kike, naked as she was born, spread on the worn bed sheet in what she must have thought was a sexy pose. I closed my eyes and rolled over. But how can you go back to sleep after you’ve just seen your roommate taking naked pictures of your cousin? I threw the cover cloth off my body and sat up on the mattress just as Mama clicked, the camera flashed, and Kike grabbed a piece of cloth to hide her body. “What are you doing?” I asked. Kike avoided my face, embarrassed, obviously, and pulled the cloth over the rest of her bum that was still exposed. Mama on her part barely lowered the phone. “Oya now,” she said and hissed. I reached out and tried to pull the cloth away from Kike. Had I been dreaming or was she really having Mama take naked pictures of her? “Oh! Leave her now,” Mama said. I put up my arm to silence her and didn’t let go of my grip on the cloth even as Kike held on tight to what remained of it on her body. “Kike, what are you doing?” Mama answered for her: “What does it look like? We are taking pictures to send to her boyfriend.” “What boyfriend?” “You know now. That her new bobo.” “He asked you to send them?” Kike had gone mute but Mama was more than willing to keep answering for her. “Look, Amaka, this thing does not concern you. Shebi you were sleeping?” I pulled at the cloth to get Kike’s attention. “Did he ask you for naked pictures?” She looked at Mama before answering me. “No,” she said. “So why are you sending them?” It was not the naked pictures I had a problem with, but the fact that Mama appeared to have captured her face as well. Again she looked at Mama and I suspected she’d taken advice from her. I looked at Mama. “Was this your idea?” “What is your own? Go back to sleep.” I got up and walked over to her. “Let me see the pictures,” I said. She hid the phone behind her back and I was in no mood to struggle with her sweaty naked body. “Have you sent him any?” No body answered me. “Kike, have you sent him any?” “Only one.” “And did your face show in it?” I was busy lecturing Kike on the folly of sending naked pictures of yourself showing your face when her phone rang. She checked to see who it was and her face brightened. She pleaded with her arms for Mama and I to be silent then she took the call. It lasted all of one minute during which she said ‘baby’ intermittently: fondly, at first, then gradually in the manner of pleading and trying to get a word in. When with the last, ‘Baby? Baby? Baby?’ it was obvious that baby had said what he had to say and ended the call I asked her what the matter was. “He said he’s coming here,” she said. “He knows this place?” “Yes?” But she looked distraught. “What’s the matter?” “I don’t know. He said he wants to talk to me.” “What about?” “He said he would tell me everything when he arrives.” “Did it have to do with the picture?” It was a longshot but she was giving me little to work with. Clearly some sort ofyanwahad gassed, and if he was bringing it to our home I wanted to know what it was and how to prepare for it. Mama was working with another theory. “You steal for him house?” she asked. Kike didn’t even bother answering her. We heard a key turning in the lock. The door opened and Janet peered in. She looked shocked to find us still awake. “Ashawo, you don return?” Mama greeted her. Janet nodded at Mama, nodded at me, saw how Kike and I were facing each other and she asked “What happened?” Mama brought her up to speed: “Her bobo said he’s coming here. The girl don go shit for him house.” “Ehn? He’s coming here? Kike, he told you he’s coming here?” Kike nodded. “Why?” Whatever it was, I didn’t want Kike to share it with the rest of them. I told her to let’s go outside and talk. “When did he tell you he’s coming?” Janet asked. “Did he tell you why he’s coming?” “I told you, the girl has gone and shit in his house,” Mama said. Kike got up and started getting dressed, obviously in anticipation of her man arriving. [/b][/center]

[center][b] Janet kept prodding wanting to know why he was coming. “Abeg, leave her jor,” Mama told her. “At least we will all get to see the man she has been hiding.” “He’s coming into the house?” Janet asked. I’d not thought of that but at that point I decided to put on some clothes. Whatever had happened, Kike might need me to sort it out with him. I wished I hadn’t woken up when I did. “Ashawo, wey you dey go?” Mama asked. Janet, still clutching her handbag, had opened the door and was about stepping out. I immediately thought she intended to join Kike and me outside. “You don’t have to come,” I told her. Just then the beam of a car’s headlamps hit our faces and Janet withdrew into the room. “That’s him,” Kike said. She pushed past me and I let her go after hurriedly telling her to call me if she wanted me to come out. As soon as she left Janet locked the door and started getting undressed. Mama had wanted to see the guy and she didn’t take kindly to Janet’s action. She queried Janet but Janet brushed her off saying she needed to sleep. She packed her braids into a hairnet and onto that she wound a large scarf then she got into bed and covered herself up to her face. “Please, off the light,” she said. “Wetin dey do this one?” Mama said. Indeed, what was wrong with her? I wondered. A moment ago she had been wide awake and eager to know what’s up with Kike and her man. But I was too worried for my cousin to pay her much notice. I stood by the window trying to catch whatever conversation Kike was having with the man. Someone tried to open the door, found it locked, and knocked. Mama, still in her pant and bra, quickly undid the lock. In stepped a yellow, tall, slim built man in a pair of True Religion jeans, Gucci sandals, and white, blue, and red Polo shirt with a golden crest. He was handsome, if young. And he smelt good. So this was Kike’s hot catch. Not bad at all. Kike was quick behind him, her face contoured into a frightful snarl. The boy gave Mama a quick once over, appeared unimpressed, looked at me, then looked around the room. Kike walked past him to the mattress and started pulling the cloth off Janet. Janet held on tight and refused to bulge. Kike called her name repeatedly and pushed her violently on the mattress but Janet did not stir. Janet, who a minute ago was wide awake. Kike left Janet and stormed out of the room. Janet lay still on the bed. The boy shook his head and started sniggering. When Kike returned she had a pail of water. She poured it over Janet before Mama or I could stop her. Only then did Janet ‘wake’ up. I had never seen Kike look so wild. The pieces were falling into place but the drama still had a lot of explaining to do. “Bastard!” Kike shouted. “Oya, stand up! Where did you go? Where are you coming from?Oloshi!Ole!Omoale!” Janet stood from the mattress with a look of indignation on her face. She was drying water away from her face with a piece of cloth but Kike snatched it from her. “What is all this embarrassment for naw?” Janet asked. “Hello Janet,” the boy said but Janet showed him her palm without looking at him. “So you stole his number from my phone, abi? Ashewo bastard! You stole his number? Shey? Talk! Ashewo! Talk!” The way Kike was bouncing on one leg I knew slaps and punches were about to start flying. Mama got between them before me, thankfully. I looked at the boy. He wore a smug look and seemed to be enjoying it all. “Please, what happened?” I asked him. He obviously didn’t think I was worth talking to. He motioned to Kike and I asked her the same question. Kike burst out in fresh expletives before she got down to explaining all the drama. “This bitch sent her picture to my man. She stole his pin from my phone and started sending him naked pictures. She lied that she met him on a flight to Abuja. Ashawo!” She lunged at Janet but Mama held her back. I was still lost. So, Janet had stolen the pin; sent naked pictures of her to him; hooked up with him; etc., etc. But what was he now doing here? And how did it come out that Janet and Kike knew each other? Mama shouted as if a snake had bitten her. “Ewo! So that is why you asked me to help you take your picture!” She was talking to Janet, and at that point the penny dropped. [/b][/center]

[center][b] Kike confirmed my theory: “When I sent him my picture he recognized the room. That is how he knew she was lying to him. Now he thinks we are playing game with him.” I looked at the boy. A lot of everything still didn’t make sense. So, he realised that Janet and Kike knew each other, and he thought they were conspiring in some way to do what to him? Didn’t he sleep with both of them? What did he expect? Unless… I suddenly felt terribly bad for Kike, and at that moment Janet’s treachery felt exponentially viler. Kike likes the boy; we all knew that. But the boy had also fallen for her. The first slap was so loud it would have woken up Sleeping Beauty, but Janet knew better than to fight back. The boy stepped in before Kike could land a second. “There’s no need for that,” he said. Kike held her arms up to him but he gently brushed them away. He looked her in the face as if he was searching for something, then he looked at Janet and shook his head. He had made it to the door before Kike dashed to stop him from leaving. “Baby please, I didn’t know anything about it. I didn’t give her your pin,” she pleaded. The boy turned round to take one last look at Janet, Janet boned, then he looked at Kike. “I didn’t know you were an ashewo like that,” he said. And with that parting shot, he left. That night Janet did not sleep in the room (till today she denies spending the night in Baba Gori the gateman’s shed), Kike was inconsolable, Mama BBed everyone to let them know what had happened, and we turned the mattress over but it was wet through so we slept on the floor. As I drifted slowly into sleep I kept going over his words; there was something peculiar about what he’d said: “I didn’t know you were an ashewo like that?” Like how, exactly? Are there different types of ashewo? Did he, from time, consider her one - but of the type he found acceptable? Had she now shown him that she was the type of ashewo he took exception to? What makes a girl an ashewo, in the first place? [/b][/center]

"An ashewo like that", does anyone care 2 explain w@ d@ means?

ewoooo....tins are happeninq ooo....Ashewo kobo kobo....... Do me I Do u......man no go vexxx okk @Ritagold love u.....

Tanx dearie@babe4biola

U r all welcme. Question 4 d gods

Uhmmm dis is gonna be a pretty long journey o... Let me see if I can catch up sha...

Thanks for the invitation @t-dak

Wetin dey pain me 4 all dis runs gals dem b say,all d money wey dem dey make,dem no dey use am do better tin 4 dem self,as in build houses,buy cars,invest n d rest,i no just kwn why.....

I guess dis one na bad market oh. but wait oh Asrwo get grade.

hmmmm...ashewo? God forbid.....

Lolz @t-dak....... Asewo get grade na....... Nxt @shaxee

Part 4: Thanks for coming I was marching to the song playing on my iPod and as such I was oblivious of the world around me, and of the car that had slowed down to a crawl beside me. Not until an arm reached out of the front window and pulled my arm bag did I sense danger and feel the need to cry out and flee. But the arm belonged to a babe, a fellow student, and the car was being driven by First Lady, the so-called biggest babe on campus. As my heartbeat returned to normal, the car pulled up ahead of me and parked on the sidewalk, blocking my path. I waited for someone to come out. But it was First Lady and four of her deputies; of course they expected me to walk over to them. First Lady and I are not friends, this I must stress. She’s one of those girls on campus who manage to travel to Dubai frequently, own a neat Tokunbo, and arrange girls for their ‘big boy’ friends. She’s a pimp, for want of a better embellishment. But her real claim to fame is the fact that she was the first babe on campus to get a boob job, and most likely the only – at least that we know of. Over one overseas trip she went from a 34 B to a 36 D, and with her inflated assets came an inflated ego to match, and a flock of worshiper admirers. Exactly why getting a boob job should suddenly make a girl popular amongst her girlfriends still baffles me. Men, maybe. But girls? I leaned to look into the car through the front passenger window and I recognised the other girls - her inner caucus. I wasn’t friends with any of them. Not enemies; but we don’t talk – or greet. I felt them eyeing me as if we had a grudge from before-before. First Lady spoke: “There’s a private party tonight. Some guys from London. Can you come?” Till today I hate myself for my response. “Whose party?” I asked. The sidekick answered me. “London big boys,” she said in a boastful manner. I wanted to tell her what one ‘London boy’ had recently done to me - God let me catch him. But come to think of it; was he even really a London boy or was that all just part of his mugunification of me? How does one even tell a true London boy from a 419ner who just wants to chop and run? By his accent? Even I have been asked several times if I studied abroad – on account of the way I speak. We all watch DSTV after all, and if musicians can do it, why can’t the rest of us? “I can’t come out tonight,” I said, and with that the sidekick looked at my crotch as if she expected to see evidence of my reason through my jeans. At that precise moment I felt more shame than I’ve felt in a very long time. They had invited me to prostitute myself and I had turned them down using language that they understood. No one else would have known that ‘I cannot come out tonight’ means ‘I’m on my menses,’ and no one would have used that language if they were not part in the game. Ever since Kike’s guy said to her ‘I didn’t know you were an ashewo like that,’ I had been thinking about his words night and day and I was yet to fully convince myself of the way I had convinced myself that I am NOT an ashewo like that - or like any other way. But here I was, being approached byogbologbos,and I was talking to them in their own secret language. First Lady adjusted her Gucci shades and turned the ignition. “You can still come,” she said, “There will bethanks for coming.” And she drove off. Thanks for coming: another industry term. But my mind was made up; I might hustle, but only out of necessity. I wasn’t like them. On my way home from school that day my phone kept vibrating ever few minutes but I had stopped checking who it was. I was even considering switching it off but then they would surely know I was intentionally avoiding their call. I walked into our room and found over ten girls inside: the usual crowd, a couple of girls from next door, a girl I didn’t know kneeling over an open suitcase full of clothes – the centre of everyone’s attention, Mama standing over the little crowd gathered round the suitcase, and Clara lying face down on the mattress, naked to her pants, another stranger rubbing her back. The chocking smell of Rub was thick in the room. I saw an open can of it on the bed, next to the girl knelling over Clara. I hate the smell of Rub, but whatever was going on there was more interesting than the girl who had come to sell stuff. “Clara, wetin do you?” I asked. Mama, the only one who bothered to greet me (the girl really does have manners, howbeit shadowed by the overpowering thickness of her razzness), filled me in: “You remember that her banker bobo? She followed him to gym!”

In quick delivery, interrupted only by pauses for laughter, Mama narrated how one of Clara’s guys had asked her if shegymedand she had answered that she did. She then spent over fifteen grand buying gym kit so she could take him up on his invitation to follow him to Proflex. That was three days ago. Her body was now feeling the pains of her deceit. She had begged the other girls to help her massage Rub into her body but in the end the only willing helper was a house girl from one of the flats, and even at that she had to pay N500 for the kind favour. We laughed at Clara’s expense and she protested with groans. I was aware of the clothe seller girl summing me up. She looked up at me and said “Auntie, I have your size.” I vaguely recognised her from school. So, just to make me buy her market she was calling me auntie? Ish. Tempted as I was, what she didn’t know was that the moment I stepped in and saw what she had come to do, I said a little prayer to God begging him not to let me waste my money on things I didn’t need. Janet was holding a Superman T-shirt against her body. A heap of clothes was by her side. “Can I try it?” she asked the girl. She pulled her top off over her body exposing her perfect boobs that always make me stop and look. I found them so peculiarly perfect that, unlike the other girls, I’d been too self-conscious to playfully squeeze them – something she seemed to enjoy. She stood and admired herself in our tall mirror that had the shape of a rectangle missing from its bottom corner. “How much for this?” she asked. “Six thousand.” “Four.” “Five-five.” “Can I pay you next week?” “No. My market is cash market.” Janet looked dismayed, and I swear I read her mind at that moment as she looked at the other things she had picked, contemplating what to drop for the Superman T-shirt. “Let me try it,” Mama said. The girl took one look at her. “It’s not your size,” she said, then, quite uncalled for, I think, “I don’t have anything your size.” But mama is Teflon. My babe! Kike already had a considerable heap of clothes on her laps. “How much for all these and the T-shirt?” she asked the girl. She was referring to the Superman T-shirt. The girl picked through the things Kike had picked, did a quick mental calculation, and arrived at “Thirty-six thousand.” Kike got up and went to her bag from which she produced the exact amount in crisp N1000 naira notes. I watched to see Janet’s reaction. It had been a week since they clashed and even though the rest of us had harassed them into making up, the bad blood was still flowing and Janet was threading carefully. Kike tossed the rest of her purchases onto the bed but kept the Superman T-shirt on her shoulder. Bitch! Janet didn’t say a word. Following theiryanwa, I had spoken to Kike and advised her to learn to keep her secrets secret. I guess she had listened, for once. She didn’t tell any of us whether or not she had made up with her guy, but lately she had been taking someone’s calls outside. It made me proud of her. “Ah! Amaka!” That was Mama’s way of starting a conversation. “I forgot to tell you. That girl, the one they call First lady, she came here looking for you o. She said there is party tonight and you should wear white and black. Can I come?” First Lady had come to my place? How did she even know where I stay? She came all the way to Ikoyi to look for me? Why was she looking for me? Why was it so important to her that I come to her party? The seller looked up at me. “Auntie, I have black and white things that will fit you,” she said. I ignored her. “When did she come?” I asked Mama. “Like that kind ten. She said you should call her. I have her number.” My phone vibrated and I forgot I was censoring calls. I answered the phone and Mum’s voice moaned into my ear. I listened to her for ten minutes, assured her I was fine, and promised to send the money for my brother’s jamb lessons. I made the promise five more times before she finally got off the phone. “Let me see the black and white things you have,” I told the girl selling clothes. She started digging into her suitcase. “I don’t have money to pay you now o,” I said. “It’s ok. After you come back from First Lady’s party you can pay me.”

Hmmmmm

Thanks @T-dak.... . Normal level.. Nowadays even ash*wo sef dae get SERIOUS boyfriend . #Erigga

Wow i don land ooo....Thankz 2 all that invited mhe....mehn viz qana be intrestinq....Abeq ride on ooo...

Hmmnn.........Α̲̅♍ here Tenx for †ђε̲̣̣̣̥ call@T-DAK

Dis is gonna be interesting ,,,,,,,,,,,,,ride on

Tenx d̲̅ε̲̣̣αя for †ђε̲̣̣̣̥ IV@babe4biola,,,,,,,,,muah*kiss*

Black and white things. Make yawa no go gas for DAT party oh

All dis babes dey thread on dangerous grounds oooo

black and white keh okay i ll also check for mine cos me i go dey that party lolzz

Following

seller too embarrassed janet. na wa!

WOW! m here nw..u beta no go d party

U beta don't go dere

Hope dey r nt selling u 4 ritualist

Wow nextttttt

Part 5: White and Black It was an incredibly dark night. The kind of night that makes you want to go back inside and search for your Bible. We had all arrived at the venue of the party – a large mansion in Ikeja GRA – in rides First Lady had arranged for the purpose. NEPA had plunged the compound into absolute darkness, and from the intermittent spluttering and spitting sound coming from a shed we passed at the entrance to the property, it was obvious that the generator was refusing to cooperate. As I waited for First Lady to finish chatting with some boys dressed in colourful polo shirts and low-hanging jeans, I figured out that the other girls loitering by the gazebo on one side of the swimming pool were other girls she had ‘arranged.’ I consciously walked a little way away from them. I had noticed people looking at the gathering of girls dressed in white and black and I didn’t want them to think of me as one of them - I am not an Ashewo like that. But my ‘uniform’ still bundled me with them. First Lady was not in white and black. In fact, her multi coloured tube-top and her golden trousers were anything but black and white. Also, I and the other girls by the gazebo were the only ones in the whole compound dressed in white and black. Other girls mixing with boys there were overdressed in every other colour but white and black. My outfit, a pair of white jeans and a black silk shirt, was going to cost me N7,500 the next day. Why had First Lady made us dress like waitresses? Or was it that she did not get the update that the dress code had changed? But she wasn’t in white and black. All around, people stood in near silence: shifting silhouettes under a cloud-covered night. I remembered the unexpected scene in Funke Akindele’s movie, Jenifa, when girls who had been told to wear a particular colour combination to a party suddenly found themselves magically transported to a clearing in a dense jungle, surrounded by fear invoking statues, and the innocent looking men who a moment ago had been partying with them suddenly became frightful black-magic priests who chased the them, caught them, and proceeded to offer them as sacrifices in a demonic ritual. My spirit said to me, “Amaka, you should not be here!” As I was contemplating my escape, urged on by a quickening of my heartbeat, another girl broke from the crowd of white and black girls and started walking towards me. “Juliet,” she whispered , “You are Juliet, shebi? Kike’s friend?” “Yes,” I said. I did not recognize her but who she was was the last thing on my mind. I was thinking of how to slink away unnoticed before the generator finally kicked to life. Wait o! Was the broken generator simply part of the ploy? My head swelled up by several inches of fright. The girl moved even closer and whispered even lower. “Juliet, why are we the only ones wearing white and black?” she asked. Only then did I strain to properly look at her face. I still didn’t recognize her but she looked scared. I became even more scared. “Is it that they are planning to do something?” she asked.

My fearful heart reached out to hers. “Let us go,” I said. We agreed to go but we both stood there, a few meters from our other white and black girls, the other people to our other side, a huge wall behind us, and the silent pool in front of us. First lady was on the other side of the pool, still discussing with the boys she was discussing with. At that moment, I prayed to God that should he let me leave this place alive, I would never go to where they are doing bad things again. The generator spluttered. I don’t know who took the first step, but we were soon walking towards the other people at the party – the ones not dressed in white and black. We had almost gotten to them when I felt something nudge my spirit to look back. I looked over my shoulder, and behind us, walking in a long silent line, were the other black and white girls. Who told them to follow us! “Babes!” That was First lady’s voice. Everybody stopped; even I and my fellow would-be escapee. She, First lady, left the boys she was with and marched in quick steps to where we were. “Where are you people going?” she asked no one in particular. “Who told you to go anywhere? I said wait by the gazebo; don’t you know what gazebo is?” In fairness to her, even I didn’t know till that night that the hut/bar by the pool was called a gazebo. But in that darkens, and with the fear of God that had been planted in my heart, its pitch black hallow belly shrouded under an overhanging thatch roof looked like a sacrificial slaughter house prepared for us, the girls in white and black. “Who told you to move?” she asked again when nobody answered her the first time. As subsequent girls looked at each other seeking out the one to blame, the girl who had approached me with the same fear I had, broke out into a run. The way First Lady spoke, and the spectacle of girls all dressed in white and black outfits walking towards the normally dressed people had attracted everyone’s attention. The girl ran through the crowd and they parted for her. First Lady stood looking stunned, the entire party with her. I was watching her escape - watching her save her life - when I heard the generator make a distinctly different sound than it had been making all night. That was my cue to follow the girl. I ran! The next day, in the safety of my uncle’s house in Surulere, I learnt that First Lady’s girls had been taken from the house in Ikeja to the Sheraton Hotel, also in Ikeja. It was a secret party hosted by theegbonsof the London boy whose bachelor eve it was. At the Sheraton party, each girl was given $500 dollars on arrival: Thanks for coming, even on arrival! And the lucky ones who caught the eyes of some of the big boys in attendance were rumoured to have returned to campus with thousands of dollars - in crisp hundred dollar bills. I have since then been avoiding First Lady, and the girl who sold me the white jeans and black silk shirt on credit.

God saved Her,who knows what could have happened to her

Anyway thank God u are save

Tank God

well,Thank ur star b/c sumtin bad may have happen to u

@kuks here alredi??

Unto RUNXING... Some galz sha

Fear of the unknown....laff my ass out

@konphido long tym babe

chai nah bad market

Hehe...On credit????

Hmmmmmm

Tank God u re save

Hmmmmmmmmm. Though u miss money but u no miss your life oh. I bet the next is going to be adventurous than this.

Damn! u wud av own 500dollars nw bt anyway nt a bad choice 4 runing

Ride on plsss

narrow escape,listen to ur heart nd don't follow their ways

@kuks owk bae

Part 6: Johnny I was stuck indoors, held captive by extreme lack of money, and as such I couldn’t escape the girls’ drama. I dared not even take a walk outside to get away from them. I was avoiding the girl who sold me the things I wore to First Lady’s party and I was also avoiding our landlady’s son – but that one is another story. They were not the only people I was avoiding. I was not taking my mum’s calls as well, as much as that filled me with guilt, and I was also not so keen to bump into First Lady and her crew or anyone who could recognize me from that party. I still hadn’t come up with a perfect lie to explain away my behaviour that night. After the girl had been to the BQ like ten times to collect her money, I finally told her to come and collect her clothes. She told me I had worn them and I told her I would have them dry-cleaned. The poor girl looked at me like she was going to cry. I boned and told her I would find someone to buy them from me and then return her money. It wasn’t a fair thing to do, I know, especially to someone who had been so kind to sell me things on credit, happy to wait for me to prostitute myself before paying her out of my service charge, but I was broke. And when I say broke, I mean I had less money than the money I didn’t have. I owed so many people and so many things had to be paid. It was a Saturday night. Kike and Mama were totally tuned in to their Blackberries, both following the latest insults in a twit-fight between two girls on campus. It made interesting reading, at least the bits I’d seen on Kike’s phone – my BIS service had expired. The warring girls were Jambites. Whatever started their fight was long lost in a series of poison tongue tweets, but what was clear was that one girl felt betrayed by the other while the betrayer felt strongly that the self-proclaimed aggrieved party was an ‘Ashewo that sleeps withabokifor recharge card.’ Her adversary had responded to one of her rebuttals by tweeting that “2day u can have more followers dan me, but tomorrow I can have more dan u” – Twitter followers, that is. She followed this with “No condition is pamanet,” and her opponent promptly pointed out how she was even so bush, she couldn’t speel. Like that: ‘Speel’! This for me was the highlight of watching the two girls reveal each other’s secrets to the whole world, never to be taken back, never to be secret again. I lost interest and decided to sleep, even though it was only like 8pm. But sleeping on an empty stomach is not easy, mehn! When my phone rang I just knew it was good news. I knew it wasn’t my mother calling again, hoping that I would take her call this time. I knew it wasn’t the girl chasing me for money. Somehow, I just knew it had to be a call that would make me happy. I was right, it was Johnny! I need to explain Johnny.

Johnny is… Well, first, Johnny is not Nigerian. He’s Lebanese. He’s a shorty, stout, 40-something year old Lebanese man so in denial of his balding head that he wears what remains of his hair in a long shinny mass pulled back into a juvenile ponytail. I met Johnny at a party he had supplied drinks for. That’s what he does; he sells booze. He’s actually like the biggest importer of French wine into Nigeria but you wouldn’t know it from the way he dresses like a small boy, in his baggy jeans and football club jersey tops, and from the way he behaves like a tout. In fact, he’s a tout. Johnny is as much a Naija boy as any Lagosian born into anIsale-Ekofamily. His parents, he claims, were born in Nigeria, as were his grandparents. But it’s Johnny, you can never tell when he’s joking and when he’s been serious. He once told me he was dating Babangida’s daughter, only for him to have forgotten completely about it after I’d spent a whole week telling my friends how I knew Babangida’s daughter’s boyfriend and how he was Lebanese. Anyway, I met Johnny at this party about four years ago. I was there as an usher. He was pouring wine into glasses and placing them on trays for the ushers to take round. I walked up to him with my own tray of empty wine glasses but he pulled me by the arm and told me to stand by his side. He kept on pouring his wine that he kept telling one guy was the best wine he had, and I kept standing there balancing the tray on my palms and wondering why he made me stand next to him. When all the girls had been sent out with wine that the party organisers hadn’t paid for but Johnny wanted to promote, he turned to me and said “Fine girl, it is you and me this night.” I’d never been so insulted. He read the look on my face and quickly explained himself, sort of. “Omoge,” That’s been his pet name for me since then, “I want you to help me take some people’s contact details.” As he spoke, he poured red wine into the glasses on my tray. “This is very, very good wine. I import my wine in special refrigerated containers, that’s why they’re so good. Not like all those people who just ship wine in ordinary containers. Those things are like ovens. By the time the wine reaches Nigeria it would have cooked. The taste would have changed.” I followed him round the party as he mingled with guests and charmed them into tasting his very, very good wine. He had a way with people. In between forcing alcohol on willing strangers and taking their contact info, he kept talking to me about wine. He told me about grapes and regions and vintage. All, things that were totally lost on me at the time. He did not talk to me in a condescending way, or even in the manner of one person lecturing the other. No. He talked as if the difference between Beaujolais and Beaujolais nouveau was something we normally discuss as a matter of everyday talk. We became friends that evening and my love affair with red wine began. He told me I was hisaburo, and in fairness to him he treated me as one. I’ve lost count of the times he’s been there for me. He moving to Abuja was one of the most devastating things that have ever happened to me because we stopped keeping in touch as much. But every once in a while he’d pop up out of nowhere and we’d start talking and calling each other again, till life gets in the way again. And another thing about Johnny, he seems to have a sense for when I’m in trouble. No matter how long we’ve not seen or spoken, he seems to always reach out to me just when I need him the most. He just did it again. I saw his name on my ringing phone and I prayed he was calling from Lagos. I could do with a friend right then.

Wow! Am looking for my johnny Nice right up,,,,,,,,,,keep it up bro

Johnny right I think u just found one oh @kemkit but my own johnny no be universal donour oh

So u av bin lukin 4 ur johny

Lolzzz,,,,,,,,,,shey ur name be johnny ni@T-DAK

Lolzzz,,,,,,,,,yes ooo@marvellous

abi ooo na wetin she de luk 4 na she xay av bin lukin 4 my journey were z my johny haa i don c my johny @kemkit

Oh yeah, so far so gud its bin a nyc ride wit d chronicles.. johnny will certainly b found evn wen i knw he aint lost!

My johnny don travel 2 dubai 4 business trip @pizzaro buy smetin nice 4 me o

Part 7: Barawo! Living two separate lives is not always by choice or design, sometimes it just happens. A few years ago I was a secondary school graduate looking for admission into University. I was different then. I was young and naïve. Today I’m an undergraduate paying her way through school. I have changed. But the person I was still exists in the minds of those who knew me then, kept alive by an endless string of lies and pretence. She lives still, and every so often, I have to be her again. Meeting up with Johnny is one of such times. When he called, he told me he just landed in Lagos in a friend’s private jet. He swore that after his experience in the private jet he was determined to be rich, even it takes stealing. From where I stand, Johnny is rich. He owns his own successful business, he owns his own houses in Abuja and in Lagos, and he owns his own cars. For me, he was the richest friend I had. Come to think of it, the only rich friend I have. The dozens of rich men I have known over a night or two don’t count. He told me to meet him at his Hotel. By that he meant Eko Hotel where he normally stays when he’s only in town for a few days. Again, how rich are you if you can stay in an expensive hotel when you have a beautiful duplex in Ikoyi complete with permanent cook and gateman? I got ready and told the girls not to expect me. “Ashewo, e don answer for you?” Mama asked me. “Don’t ever call me that,” I told her. She gave me a look like ‘Isn’t it play?’ but I wasn’t joking. I asked her to lend me some money - I wasn’t taking Okada to Eko Hotel, but I continued squeezing my face for her. “This one that you’re doing till-day-break, you must bring something for me o,” she said as she searched her bag for cash. That was it. “Forget it.” I told her. I turned to Kike instead. “Abeg, give me two k, I go return am tomorrow.” Both of them looked at me, baffled, Mama especially. The girl adores me and I knew I’d been unfair to her lashing out like that. But the thing is I was still struggling with this Ashewo label. I could not explain myself and I did not want to apologise, so I left for Eko Hotel long before the 11pm Jonny told me to meet him there. In the red cab I found myself going over those words that had so destabilized me: “I didn’t know you were an ashewo like that.” I was close, but not quite there yet, to determining what kind of ashewo I was. I am what I am, at the end of the day, but not tonight. Tonight, I was seeing Johnny, Johnny who had never been inappropriate with me. Johnny, who had never tried to sleep with me, Johnny who had once spoken to my mum on the phone and told her that ‘Mummy, don’t worry about my sister. I’m looking after her here.’ The cab dropped me right in front of the entrance to Eko Hotel which was busy at 10pm. Johnny had a favourite suite, 311. I still remember the day he thought me that hotel room numbers normally start with the floor number. I decided to wait for him by the pool and buy a bottle of coke as I did. That should keep the nosy staff at bay.

I had just settled into a chair in a dark corner when my phone rang and I hoped it would be Johnny calling to tell me he was close to the hotel. As I reached into my hand bag that was also doubling as an overnight bag, I caught sight of someone walking down the steps to the poolside. I forgot about the ringing phone and concentrated on the tall man in white shirt and blue jeans. It couldn’t be. But, could it? I watched him walk to the bar where he stopped to chat with the bartenders. They appeared pleased to see him. He brought out some money from his pocket and shared it amongst them, buying himself salutes from the male staff behind the bar. He didn’t buy anything. He left the bar and walked his casual walk to a table with two girls already sitting and sipping Maltina. He sat down and started talking to one of the girls. They appeared to all know each other. I still couldn’t be sure. I wanted to get a closer look but just then as I was planning to get up and walk past their table I realised how fast my heart was beating. I was afraid of him. But why? My phone started ringing again and this time I answered the call. It was Johnny and he wanted me to go to Marocaine and order two Shawarma for him, one beef and one chicken. He told me to get whatever I wanted for myself. He was about thirty minutes from the Island and he was missing his favourite Lagos Shawarma. I wanted to tell him that I couldn’t leave right then, but to do so would have been to have to explain myself. I told him I was on my way and he promised to meet me there in less than thirty minutes, give or take. I got up to go and remembered that I hadn’t touched the Coke. Not that I was thirsty, but I had paid through the nose for it so I picked up the glass and downed as much as I could, even as I contemplated what to do next. The man was still there with the two girls. If it was him, if it was that bastard London boy who scared the shit out of me and Mama and duped us thoroughly in the process, I couldn’t just walk away. But what could I do? And why was I afraid? I had reached the steps when it occurred to me that he might be planning to do the exact same thing he did to Mama and I with the two girls at the table with him. Fear gave way to disgust. I couldn’t let him get away with it a second time. I turned round and walked right up to him.

observing o

Hmmm

@marvellous where she dey???

Heheheh,,,,,,,,,,dis is becoming more interesting u knw be ashewo like dat???? Make I see wetin u go do d guy nw...........next please

follow i in. weldone

Hmnmmm

hope they will listen to you

observing mode activated

Why u turn ashewo naw if u dnt like to be addressed as such...nxt plzzz.

Following

Nxt plz

U dis gal rily chop liver get mind o, as 4 say u 4 simply mind ur own biz go do wetin johnny send u, u still wan go poke ur nose 4 mata wey paz u.. i jux pray u dnt create a scene n end up gettin beatin up by d hotel bouncers sha.. nxt pls

Hope u wnt embarass urslf

Hmmmmmmmmm

I lyk ur courage

I have landed here,oya cary go.

Oya na. "Asewo like DAT".

Hmmmmmm.......

d question is,wey kind ashewo u be?

She is nt an ashewo lyk dat, she is a runs girl.

Part 8: The girl who ran His back was to me, sitting there, talking to those two girls, feeling smug with himself, feeling like a G. God help me, I could kill him! I was still thinking of walking up to him when I felt myself already walking. My heart was pounding up into my ears but it was no longer fear, it was pure hatred. I remembered the way he made me run for my life. I remembered how he slept with me. I remembered how my head swelled up with fear and how I was sure I was going to die. I hated him. I'd never hated someone so much. What would I do to him? What would I say? I was trying to think but my mind was no longer mine. I was walking towards him but it wasn't me - something else was controlling me. Oh God help me! I was going to kill a man. I was going to pick up a bottle on his table and smash it on his head. I was going to do serious damage to him. I was going to get into trouble but I couldn't stop myself. I kept walking towards him and towards doing something really stupid, but I couldn't stop. God help me! God please stop me! I don't know how long I'd been standing beside their table like a waitress waiting to take orders. All I remember is one of the girls looking up at me with eyes that said 'And who are you?' She looked me up and down and said something but I didn't hear her. My eyes were fixed on a half empty bottle of Maltina on the table. She spoke again, but only her lips moved, I didn't hear anything. They were all staring at me now. Then he spoke. "May we help you?" he said. I took my eyes of the bottle and looked at him. There was something wrong with his voice. "Are you ok?" he asked. He looked different - he sounded different and he looked different. One of the girls was less patient, "Any problem?" she asked. I noticed she had an engagement ring on her finger. I also noticed she was the older of the two girls and they looked alike. They were sisters. He got up and gently placed his palm on the side of my arm. "Are you ok?" he asked. He looked and sounded genuinely concerned. Standing next to me, it looked as if he had grown taller. He sounded different, he looked different, and he didn't recognise me. "Emeka, I beg, leave her. Let her go," the girl said. Emeka? Emeka? Oh shit! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! Emeka didn't leave me. "I think there's something wrong with her, darling," he said. "What's your name?" he asked me. The girl was getting irritated. "Let her go jor!" She shouted at him. And to me: "We owe you?" I felt something vibrate against my chest and I realised it was my phone. I have this habit of tucking it half way into my left bra. Phone thieves, you see. I fetched the phone and only saw that it was Johnny calling before I lost grip of it while trying to answer his call. The phone fell apart on the hard concrete floor, but something else dropped with it. Broken glass and Maltina spread out before my feet. Emeka moved to help and his darling got up, her sister as well. Where did the bottle come from? Had I been holding it? Is that why I dropped my phone? I stooped to gather the pieces of my phone, and of my pride. Emeka was also stooped next to me, helping me find the bits of my phone, telling me to mind the broken glass and asking me what was wrong. Indeed, what was wrong with me? What the hell was wrong with me? What was I doing with a bottle, meant for the head of a boy who duped me? How had I so mistakenly thought this Emeka was the boy? What if it had been him? Is that how I would have smashed his head with a bottle of Maltina? Who does that? What would I have even said to him? 'Do you remember me? I'm the girl who got into your car in front of Palms and followed you to your hotel and slept with you expecting money in return’? 'I'm the prostitute you picked up and didn't pay'? What was I thinking? Emeka, his darling, her sister, and two waiters - one male one female, were all standing around me as I refused to finish collecting my phone and stand up. His darling had already pulled him away from helping me. "Any problem, madam?" a man in a security guard’s uniform said. I hadn't even noticed him before then.

I could see my phone battery in a tiny pool of Maltina but I kept pretending to look for it. "Madam, are you a guest here?" I wished the ground would open up and swallow me - I've heard people say it, but I'd never felt it, not till then. "Madam, please come with me.” I didn't look up but I was sure more faces were now watching us. Darling encouraged the security man: "Na wah for this Lagos o! She just came and grabbed my sister's drink like this! Maybe she's mad or something. Maybe she has smoked something. You better take her away from here before her madness starts to demonstrate." The security man didn’t need any urging, he was already getting impatient. He found my battery for me and helped me up - roughly. "It's ok," I said, finally standing up, "I'm not a prostitute." "Anybody ask you?" Darling said. The younger sister, who had been silent all along, suddenly lit up with recognition. She excitedly beat Emeka's hand as she pointed at me. "Brother Emeka, don't you recognise her? She's the girl that ran at your bachelor’s eve!" she said. ‘The girl that ran’ - that's what people are calling me now. If I wanted the ground to open and swallow me before, now I just wanted to swallow myself and be done with it. Recognition registered on Emeka's face. "Yeah! You’re right, it’s her! Lady, who are you?" But Darling had already being given more ammunition: "Wonders shall never end! So this is the girl you people said ran away like a mad person? Chineke, God! You this girl, they send you to us? Who are you? Why are you following us?" Emeka spoke over his darling. "Why did you run?" he asked. But Darling was not done: "She's a prostitute! You too, you heard her. Ashawo! Why are you following us? Why are you following my man? They send you too spoil my wedding? You have failed! Ashawo!” To think I had pooed all over the floor because I thought I would be saving her from a wicked man. I ignored her and turned to Emeka instead. "I did not run," I said, "I don't know what you’re talking about. I saw her put something in your drink when you weren't watching," I pointed at Darling, "that's why I smashed the bottle on the ground." As I walked away I heard one of the waiters whispering to me, "God bless you, sister." I left in a hurry, to buy Jonny's Shawarma and to wait for him to come and rescue me again. I decided right there and then that I was done with running - whatever that meant.

my comments reserved...... next plss

mmmmmmmm..... Cnt wait 4 d next episode

Dose dat went went d paty with blak & white are to recognise as ashewo,

dis episode is Jst annoying Hw can u Jst use one full episode to described Hw she take hold bottle cme brk am. pls giv us d real gist Abeg bros @Shaxee

hmm. reserving commenting

my sister,in fact u hav a big problem

Kul 1....... Nxt plsssss

Well, am still 4llowin wella.. nxt pls

Too short....

Just carry those ur tooth pick legs come out for that place.

Next o

Hmmmmn God help U

Next

The girl that run indeed....lolz

Nice one dere...but stop running

interesting nxt plz

Thanks for d invitation...i dey gbadun ds tori o

Runz girl ko. Next episode I beg

Even if you dnt invite me am here already.Shakee nice work man

Part 9: Midnight Shawarma My phone wasn’t coming on. I paid the Okada man with all the money I had left. If I hadn’t taken a cab to Eko Hotel, or bought that expensive bottle of Coke, I’d still have enough money to get back home if by some extreme bad luck Johnny had been trying to call me, had come to Marocaine and not found me, and had gone back to the hotel. I could walk the short distance back to the hotel but that would be asking for trouble. Enough girls have been arrested for prostitution just by walking alone at night. I didn’t want to add police bail to my financial problems. As usual there was a queue at the Shawarma kiosk. This was good because it meant I could delay ordering till hopefully Johnny arrived. I took my phone apart again to see if I hadn’t dried it enough. A new phone was going to set me back more than I cared to even imagine. Standing in queue, drying my phone, and looking around for Johnny’s face, I started to think of my life - the last few minutes of it; the madness, the mistakes, the hard choices, the poor parents, the constant brokenness. I felt like my life was coming loose at all its joints and the loose pieces were floating away from me and there was nothing I could do. I was losing control. I had lost control. “Omoge, you dey cry?” I looked to my side and there he was. I didn’t know I was crying. I flung my arms around him and buried my head in his neck. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He gently pushed me off him to look at my face. “Why are you crying? I’ve been trying to call you since.” “My phone is spoilt,” I said, and fresh tears rolled down. “Your phone? Is that all?” I nodded and started to laugh. I showed him the phone and told him how I’d spilled Maltina all over it at the Hotel. “You silly girl!” I could see how relieved he was to find out it was only my phone. “Let me see.” He took the phone from me and tried to take the battery out. I had to help him. “But, how did you manage to pour Maltina on your phone? Your mouth dey lick?” Even though he’s lived all his life in Nigeria, it still tickled me to hear him speak pidgin. “You shouldn’t have tried to switch it on,” he said as he also had a go at drying the battery. “If I don’t switch it on, how will you call me?” “You have a point. But next time you pour water on your phone, or Maltina, just remove the battery and the sim card and put the phone in uncooked rice overnight.” “Johnny! Rice?” I assumed he was pulling my legs as usual. “Yes. It sounds funny, shey? But it works. The rice acts as an absorbent agent. I’m not kidding. Just put it in a bowl of rice, uncooked, make sure all of the phone is covered then wait till the next day.” “Rice?” “Omoge, have I ever lied to you?” He sounded serious so my first instinct was to look around for uncooked rice. All around, there were young boys selling sweet, cigarettes, and condoms. Could they possibly have rice as well? “What about Noodles?” I asked him. He thought it was a joke so he laughed and I laughed as well. I kept looking for a rice seller then I saw the younger sister of the girl from Eko Hotel. My heart leapt. I quickly searched for her sister and the man. The couple were between two parked cars having what looked like an argument. I quickly turned away but not fast enough: the sister and I had made eye contact. Shit! “Let’s forget the Shawarma and just go to the Hotel,” I told Johnny. “Are you crazy? Make I forget my Shawarma?” I looked and the sister was with the couple. She told them something then pointed at me. The way they all looked at me I knew it was only a matter of moments before they brought yanwa to me. Someone who knew Johnny had seen him and they were now talking a few steps away from me. I wished I’d told him the truth about my phone. If these people come to cause trouble now he would know I lied to him and I would have a lot of explaining to do. For whatever reason, lying is always the first instinct with me, I’ve noticed this. Even when I don’t need to lie, I lie. Maybe it’s because I’m hiding so many secrets at any point in time and it’s always a safe bet to lie about everything in case I mistakenly reveal any of my skeletons. Anyway, this particular skeleton was now walking towards me. The man caught up with his wife-to-be and struggled to hold her back. She looked at me as if she could kill me. He sister was standing beside them, arms folded across her chest, but I knew she was only waiting for her sister to start with me then she would join in and they would pull out my weave and tear my blouse.

I could do nothing but wait and pray. If Johnny wasn’t here, I’d have run. The man took the lady away and the sister followed them. I kept watching as he put the two women into a car with a driver waiting. He closed the door and continued talking to her through the back window. I prayed. “Omoge, take, for the Shawarma” Johnny said and he handed me some money. “I’m going inside with Sanji. You remember Sanji? He used to come to the house.” I didn’t remember Sanji. We greeted like we knew each other, anyway. He left with his friend and by the time I checked again, the car was gone. I looked around just to be sure. What would I have done if they had come to beat me up? When it was my turn, I paid the Shawarma man and told him to bring it inside when it was ready. I just wanted to be with Johnny. He was at the bar with his friend but immediately he saw me he switched his attention to me. I told him they would bring his food when it was ready and he asked me about mine. I told him I wasn’t hungry and I gave him his change. “Baby, there’s something you’re not telling me,” he said. Sanji, thankfully, choose that moment to excuse himself. I took his stool at the bar, ready to endure twenty minutes of Johnny probing. “I need a job,” I said. “Have you finished school?” “No. But I need a job. A part-time job. Or I can change to a part-time student.” “No. What kind of job are you looking for?” “Anything. I just need to be making money.” “Anything is nothing. Do you have a CV?” “No. Not yet. Will you help me write one?” We sat and talked about my prospects of getting a job while still in school. He didn’t ask me why I needed a job now, but I knew he understood and he was probably thinking of ways to help me with money. But I didn’t want charity, just like I didn’t want to keep sleeping with men for money. I wanted my own money. Money I wouldn’t be ashamed of. Money I could pay tithe on. “I was going to tell you something tonight,” he said, “I might as well tell you now that you’ve said you want a job. I’m going into partnership with some guys. We’re opening a wine bar in Lagos.” Johnny can use the toilet one hundred times when he’s drinking. He excused himself for the first of what I was sure would be many times and I sat there slowly feeling the pieces of my life coming back home. His partners were based in Abuja, one was Italian and the other was a Nigerian who just returned from the UK. They had already found a suitable place in Ikoyi and if things went well he was going to move back to Lagos permanently. Even if he didn’t get me a job at his wine bar - because he wasn’t sure that kind of work would be right for me - he said he might need a PA to help him with his schedule that was going to get busier. He also joked that I could even move into his house and be a 24 hour PA. A joke, but I knew he meant it and he was only testing my reaction. About my phone he suggested that I just get rid of the thing and stop disgracing myself with ‘old-model phone.’ He told me he would buy me the latest BlackBerry once shops opened tomorrow. I tried to decline the offer but he told me to “Shut up and watch my drink” while he went to pee. Thank you, God. Thank you God, thank you God, thank you God! Then I saw the man from Eko Hotel walk in. He walked through the bar peering at people sitting at the tables as if he was looking for someone. I wanted to hide but something told me it was time to come clean. My prayers had just suddenly been answered; I’d just been given my second chance, it was time to make all amends. I would confess everything to him and let him know that the woman he planned to marry hadn’t tried to poison him. He saw me and I waited as he made his way to me. I checked that Johnny hadn’t finished. When he got me I was ready to open with apologies. He leaned in and spoke into me ear. He said: “If you ever pull a stunt like that again I will make sure you live to regret it; you and your fat friend.” I watched his back as he walked his swagger walk out of Marocaine.

u beta knw hw to use ur second chance nxt plz

Its high time u try a comparative cost advantage. Nice shot @Shaxee

Lolz..this ur life sef nawa ooh.

Lolz....... Nawa ooooo

Its london boy oh

So he was the one that dupe you

Thnk ur head he dd nt smash bottle on u

Use ur second chance wisely

she be underground ashewo

Am vry much on ground still following, ur lucky he spoke quietly to u rada dan mk a scene, jux b careful n use ur 2nd chance judiciously.. nxt pls

Na God save u

D guy is a gentle man ,b kia ful.

Nice one

Itz da LONDONER!!!!

Part 10: Useful somebody In a room in a house in VGC, Kike, Janet, Mama, and I were sitting on dining table chairs on one side of a wide wooden desk that had three landlines and four mobile phones connected to chargers on top of it. On the other side of the desk, a short, stout, bald man who had four deep tribal marks running one atop the other along his cheeks and one across his nose on the left side was holding Janet’s phone in both his hands, staring at the tiny screen. He was in a mostly brown Ankara outfit. He had large coral beads on one wrist and an equally large gold bracelet on the other. Around his neck he wore a slim gold chain, a woman’s chain, pulled down by a white and yellow gold star pendant. The AC was on and the room was cool but he had sweat beads across his huge shiny forehead. Behind us, even though I didn’t dare to turn and look but I could hear his heavy breathing, stood a tall muscle builder – for want of a better description, who had shown us into Uncle China’s office. Uncle China needs explaining. It had been one week and a few days since Jonny left for Abuja and left me with a new phone, promise of a job, twenty thousand Naira, and instructions to call him the moment the money finished. The money finished the next day. It was an environmental sanitation Saturday and all the girls were home, as happens on all environmental sanitation days. NEPA had taken their light as usual but we kept the door and the windows shut to discourage any of the ‘I like to clean’ neighbours from asking us why we weren’t out tidying up the compound. We were all bored to within a few inches of our lives. That was until Janet finally managed to receive the video clip someone had been trying to send to her via BB. Now, we had all heard of the rape video making the rounds on campus but none of us had seen it, living off-campus as we did. The general gist was that a group of cult boys had taken turns raping a town girl and they had been very studious to film every minute of their crime and to broadcast it freely - in case someone later had the audacity to doubt that they really did it. They had however sloppily managed to not let the camera capture their faces, only their victim’s, the result of which was that other people were being credited for their work. On a good day, with better things to do other than trying to go back to sleep in a hot crowded room, I would have cursed anyone who wanted to show me the video. But it finished downloading onto Janet’s phone and she played it and the sound of human voices coming out of something that had electricity in it was too much of a temptation right then. We all crowded round Janet and to watch the video. We watched the girl getting raped - repeatedly, and taunted, and threatened, and mocked, and raped again. And we cursed, and we swore, and Kike cried. Then Mama let out one of her ear-piercing exclamations. “I know that room! That is them Kaska’s room! That is Banger’s box! It is them!Aye wan to baje! Awan omo-ole!It is them!” It turned out that Mama had just cracked open a case that still had the entire Nigerian Police Force baffled and confused and clueless. The rape had become something of a national hot-topic, with politicians getting involved and promising heaven and earth, but till date no arrests had been made – because the girl was unknown and her rapist’s faces were not clear and nobody knew where or when the event took place. But Mama, just from watching a few seconds of the sick thing, had identified the location of the crime and possibly, the criminals. As the rest of us deliberated what to do with this brand new information, Mama was busy calling someone on her phone. She hushed us when she got a connection and in time we all watched her have a strange conversation with someone who, from the sounds of it, put her through to someone else to whom she repeated what she had told the first person: that she was Uncle China’s niece and that Uncle China had given her the number she was calling him on for when she needed to see him urgently.

After the call we prodded her for information but she just told us to get ready, that she wanted us to follow her to her Uncle’s place in VGC and that he would be able to do something about the video. What, she wouldn’t say. Environmental had not finished but a Mercedes Veno bus arrived at our BQ, driven by a man who looked as if his real job was as a boxer and not a driver. And so it was that we all found ourselves in VGC, Uncle China watching the rape video on Janet’s phone, and Mama repeatedly reminding him that she knew who the boys were. Uncle China looked up from the screen. He was still holding Janet’s phone in both hands. “Aburo, you said you know the girl?” “No, just the boys. I think the girl is not from school,” Mama answered him. “It’s ok. What do you want me to do?” “Uncle, see how they did that girl anyhow?” “It’s ok. Oya, put the video on my phone.” He picked up one of the phones on his table. Mama took the phone from him and began clicking and tapping away while Uncle China watched keenly as if magic was about to happen and he did not want to miss the magician’s sleight of hand. When he was convinced the video was on his phone – by making Mama show him how to find it and by playing it again – he handed the phone to the muscle builder. Next, he pressed a door bell that had been screwed onto his desk. I heard it ring in another part of the house. In very little time another huge fellow was in the room with us. “You and the Obalende boys will go and see some boys today,” he told the new comer, “Femi will show you something on my phone. Go and get ready.” With that the man took the phone from Femi and left the room. Uncle China then turned his attention to us. “So, my sisters, have you eaten?” We stayed at Uncle China’s house for the rest of the day, eating, watching DSTV, and when we discovered he had a swimming pool Mama asked if it was ok for us to go swimming in our underwear. Uncle China had a trunk full of bikinis and we all gladly chose our sizes; I, after surreptitiously sniffing to make sure mine had been washed after the last girl who borrowed it. At about nine PM, after Mama had disappeared with her Uncle for like two hours, yet another scary looking huge fellow came to us in the parlour we had camped in to inform us that bedrooms had been arranged for us. I tried calling Mama on her phone but she didn’t answer. Instead she sent me a text telling me that her Uncle liked me and asking if she could give him my number. At least she asked for permission. The thought of sleeping with someone (God forgive me) as repulsive as him only strengthened my resolve to stop hustling. I ignored her text. Kike was first to get a BB message from someone in school filling her in on the latest gist: A group of notorious cult boys had been picked up from campus by some SSS men. After that the gist came flooding in. Some people said SSS, some said other cult boys, but the common part of the stories was that the boys were dramatically abducted in school and whisked off in a commercial bus. Much later the bus returned to SUB where the boys had being picked up and they were dumped on the ground, beaten, bloody, and naked. Soon, pictures followed, and then a video of five severely battered boys holding their family jewels in their hands and cowering to the jeers of onlookers filming them and taking pictures. I hoped Mama was right about them. That night we slept in different rooms in the big house in VGC. In the morning we were treated to breakfast and five thousand Naira each before Uncle China sent us off to school with a fatherly ‘Make sure you face your studies o.’ He never once mentioned the boys. I returned to our tiny BQ with a new found respect for Mama, (or was it fear?), and with a thought that had been slowly forming in my head since the night before. When I knew no one else could hear us, I spoke to Mama. “I just saw your message this morning,” I told her, “you can give him my number.”

if u nor be ashewo lyk dat,, den na lyk how?

See ur life after promising to stop

No follow some asewo brag oh, or else ur life don finish. Look at the case of mama and uncle China.

Part 11: Mirror Mirror Till today I don’t know what made me have time for Janet that day. For a long time she had been using style to tell me about one Brother Jeremiah like that. At first it was a just random mention here and there then it became ‘you know Brother Jeremiah, nau’ until finally, maybe when she saw that I wasn’t biting the bait, she came out with ‘Brother Jeremiah is my spiritual father,’ to which I said, ‘The same Brother Jeremiah ?’ and she triumphantly said, ‘Yes!’ Now, I know that girls have all sorts of people and places they go to - we watch it in Nollywood films after all, but it never for once crossed my mind that any of the girls I lived with had a spiritual anything that they took thier problems to. Kike goes to Church, I manage a few services once every few months, and Mama remembers she’s Muslim and covers her head with a black scarf when it’s Sallah. But Janet was the least likely person, if anyone had asked me, to take any form of spirituality serious beyond exclaiming ‘God forbid’ and snapping her fingers over her head in the middle of a heated discussion. So it came as a shock when she confided in me about Brother Jeremiah and the strong spiritual things he had given her. Well, sold her, more like. We were alone in the room but she still spoke in near whispers, looking over her shoulder as if she expected an eavesdropper to suddenly materialize behind her. “He is very powerful” she assured me, in between digging in her box for something she had hidden at the very bottom. She brought out a round mirror enclosed in a cheap plastic frame. It was a just a mirror like any other mirror that you can buy for N200 in traffic, but according to Janet it was a special-special mirror that Brother Jeremiah had prepared for her. “He has prayed and fasted on this mirror,” she said. “He made it specially for me. Anytime I’m going somewhere, I just look in this mirror and the way my face is is the way the place will be.” My amusement grew as she narrated how she had once gotten all dressed up to go out to a party where a friend had arranged a big boy for her; a guaranteed paymaster, she said. But when she looked in her mirror she saw that her face was ‘one kind,’ and she knew she shouldn’t go out that night. The spiritual warning was later confirmed when the man she should have seen that night had an accident on his way home from the party. He didn’t die, but according to her she would have died in that car with him that night if she hadn’t looked into her mirror. In my mind, the man would probably not have had the accident had she been there, had they met and talked and his timing being thrown out by a few seconds. “This mirror that you see, it has helped me many times,” she said, “It cost me an arm and a leg.”

I counted to check that she still had her two hands and two legs and I waited for the catch. She didn’t disappoint me: She was soon telling me how Brother Jeremiah had seen a vision that she was destined for supernatural blessings, but enemies were hard at work trying to cover her star. At this point, before she proceeded, she impressed upon me the serious need for me to keep what she was about to reveal a secret. She would not continue until I swore that I wouldn’t tell anyone what she was about to tell me. I swore because I was totally being entertained and I wanted to hear more from her that I would later tell Kike. “Amaka, all I need now is hundred thousand to unlock my glory.” This was what she wanted me to swear not to repeat? “Amaka, he has done it for one girl that I know. He did special prayers for her and gave her special perfume and now big boys are fighting over her! Amaka, I have only twenty thousand remaining to give him, but this month must not pass or he can’t do the prayers again this year. That is why I said I should talk to you, because I know that like me, you, you have a clean spirit. Amaka, if you can add the twenty thousand remaining, we will both be using the perfume until it finish.” And there it was; the catch. We spent a few seconds looking into each other’s eyes; I, with bemused shock, and she, with desperate expectation. “Are you joking?” I finally said. She looked hurt, and confused, and let-down, and depressed, all at the same time. She got up from the mattress where we had been sitting, knees touching, and she started pacing up and down the room, tearing at invisible things at her waist. “Janet, are you serious?” “Ooooh! Amaka! I know I shouldn’t have told you. This is how my life can change for better and you are blocking me. You are blocking me!” “Blocking you? How?” “I regret that I tell you anything. Just forget it. Just forget, you hear? Just forget!” She then went into a long incoherent, rambling tirade over how she knew she was living amongst enemies, how they (whoever the 'they' were) had warned her, and how she wouldn't allow anyone to hold her back anymore. At this point I genuinely became concerned for my roommate’s mental state. She was avoiding my eyes, walking up and down the room and mumbling to herself. She seemed to be searching for something. I picked her mirror from the mattress and held it towards her. “Take,” I said, but I couldn’t help taking a look. I screamed and jumped off the mattress and the mirror fell to the ground and broke. I don’t know how I got there, but I was by the door keeping my eyes on the broken pieces as if it was a snake coiled for attack. My hands were shaking terribly over my breasts. Janet saw what I had done and let out her own heart piercing scream. She ran to the broken pieces and knelt to start gathering them, as if if she was quick enough the mirror would become whole again. “Don’t touch it!” I screamed. My heart was pounding so fast I knew it would soon burst and I would die there in that room, alone with Janet, and no one would know what happened to me.

Chuuuuuuuuu wetin u see my dear.

Haha I don't understand

What did u see???

Wetin oo

mirrow don broke,ha.

Watin dey inside that mirror self

lolz...y did u luk into the mirror,u have seen hw u luk baa....... next pls

Dis towi sweet my belle fah...fank God am here finally

Hmmmn what did you see???.

Watin u see nw

wetin u see?

I didn't tell us wht u saw on mirror na...

What Is Der

Hmmm go on

U guys dnt no sh luk lyk a monster in d mirror

U thot twas all a joke n u saw d consequences of wat will happen 2 u since u nw knw abt ur roomie's secret i gez, u've even made ur mata grievious by breakin d mirrow nw u see.. nxt pls jare!

Part 12: Seeing Double I was still clutching my life to my chest, cowering by the door and trying to stop and think clearly, when Janet called Brother Jeremiah. “Hello? Hello? Brother Jeremiah, it is me, Janet… Francesca. The mirror has broke o!” she said. Then: “It is not me. It is one of them. She broke it!” She was distraught and altogether not together. I was the ‘one of them,’ but I didn’t mind. The way I saw it, Brother Jeremiah was the one person who could help. I wanted to take the phone from her and talk to him myself but I couldn’t move away from the door. “No… No… She did not do it on purpose… She look at it and she shout… I don’t know what she see… No… Yes…No. She is here… You want to talk to her?” She handed me her phone, and at the same time, a dirty look. I, with trembling fingers, took it, and still unsure, put it to my ear. “Hello?” “Hello my sister,” came a low drawn out voice over the line, “What is your name?” “Amaka.” “Sister Amaka, why did you break the mirror?” “I dropped it. I didn’t mean to.” “You look inside?” “Yes.” “What did you see?” “I’m not sure. I… I’m not sure.” “My sister, please think carefully. Did you see anything in the mirror or you just broke it to offend your friend?” “No! I saw something!” “What did you see?” “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” “Is the mirror still there?” “It’s broken.” “You pack it away?” “No. No, I didn’t touch it.” “Please, my sister, if you know you did not broke it to annoyed your friend, help me to look inside it again and tell me what you see.” “What?” “Just look inside the glass and tell me what you see.” He wasn’t helping me; he wanted to kill me! I flung Janet’s phone at her and she caught it into her belly. Thank God - that would have been the second of her property I would have destroyed that day. Somehow, talking to Brother Jeremiah had calmed me down, but why? My ability to think was still beclouded, but slowly, like sleep clearing from one’s eyes, I was gradually finding it possible to focus. Why did he want to know what I saw in the mirror? Isn’t he the one that made the mirror? Then it hit me. He didn’t believe I saw anything in it. He didn’t believe me because he knew there was nothing to see. It was snake oil, sort of; a scam, a fraud, a mirror and nothing more. It was a dupe meant for Janet, and she had been totally mugunified by it. But what did I see? With Janet busy trying to call Brother Jeremiah again, I slowly walked to the broken pieces of glass on the floor. I looked for the largest piece and picked it up with the hesitant fear of one handling a dead snake, but a snake nonetheless. I held the piece of mirror up to my face and held my breath to look into it. I sat on the mattress where I’d sat before and I took another look. I was confused. Janet had Brother Jeremiah on the phone. “Look, Amaka, me I don’t know what is happening to you o! Brother Jerry said I should bring you so he can do prayers for you. You too, why did you look at the mirror? Did I ask you to look at it? Amaka? Amaka?” I could hear her but my brain had decided that a more urgent task was at hand. I was busy trying to make sense of what I’d seen in the mirror. I was turning it here and there, holding it up and down trying to recreate the exact position I was in the first time I held it. There had to be an explanation. “Amaka? Eh! Amaka? Me I don’t know this one that you’re doing o! Amaka? Amaka? Amaka!” I remembered holding the mirror out to her and sneaking a peep. I tried to do exactly what I did before. “Amaka? Amaka, talk to me nau. Amaka?” Then, still holding the mirror in my outstretched hand, I turned my head to look at the wall behind, without shifting my body too much. “Amaka! Amaka!” I adjusted the mirror, looked into it again, and burst out laughing. Uncontrollably. That kind of laughter that you can’t stop; that bends your belly and waters your eyes and makes you start to choke. Janet watched silently for a few seconds, then, as if she’d heard a starting gun go off, she jumped in a spot, swung round and bolted out of the room faster than you can say Usain Bolt. Later that night, about nine or ten, with all the girls present and a few more, Janet called Mama’s phone. “Hello? Mama?” “Janet? Wey you dey?” “I travel. How everybody?” “You travel? Why you no tell anyone say you dey travel?” “My Papa call me say make I come. You dey house?” “Yes o, I dey house o.” “You dey house? Who dey house with you?” “We plenty for here. When you dey come back?” “When I’m coming back?” “Yes.” “I never know. So, everybody dey house?” “Yes. We all dey here.” “Amaka nko?” “Ah! Amaka! She don craze o! She don run commot ! They see her for C.M.S. She dey there dey disturb Okada people say she want to drive Okada! We wan go catch her now. You for come with us o, as you be her friend too. Janet?...Janet?...Janet, you still dey there?” But Janet was no longer on the phone. Mama tried to call her back. “Winch! She don off her phone!” We all burst out laughing.

All the girls were in the room, even girls from the next room. A little boy from the compound was on his knees by the door; his hands were held over his head and dried tears had formed a track down his cheeks. Janet’s things from her box were all over the floor. Normally I’d have objected when after telling them the mirror story Kike said we should go through Janet’s box to see what else she was hiding, but I also wanted to know what she had in there. So far we had found a vibrator with a broken cable, a Gideon Bible, a half empty bottle of Olive oil and an assortment of SIM cards, but no more magic mirrors or other enchanted everyday objects (not that we’d known what one looked like). As we picked through her things I couldn’t help wondering what my other roommates had in their boxes. Kike, who was leading the inquisition, was thinking the same. “Oya, everybody should open their bags now!” she said. Mama objected. “Lai, lai! No one dey search my bag!” she said. “Abeg, abeg, abeg. What for? Amaka, me and you, we have talk.” “We have talk?” I asked her. The only girl in the room that I could trust with my life, but right there and then, I looked at her with eyes tainted with suspicion. “Oya, talk nau.” “It is not talk for everybody. Make we go outside.” “No o!” Kike said, jumping up from a chair. “We must search your box first.” She squared up to Mama and I feared for her should Mama with her hefty frame take up the challenge. “Why is it my own box that you want to search? Open your own first nau.” “I will open it. Why don’t you want us to open your own?” “You dey craze. Oya, that is my box. If anyone one of you get liver, make you open am. Amaka, let’s go.” It was Mama, after all; shame on me for thinking bad of her. I got up and followed her, but not before warning that no one should touch my bag. I did it for her. Clara, who was holding a cane fashioned out of a branch she had torn off a tree outside, asked about the boy knelling down. “What of this boy?” I turned to look at the boy. He’s eyes pleaded and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. “Aunty, please, I won’t do it again,” he promised for the umpteenth time. Clara swung the cane at him and he let out a yell, even though he had acrobatically dodged the lash. She followed up with a slap which registered right across his face. “So, that is how you have been peeping all of us in this compound?” she said, “Ashewo! You will stay here till your mother comes for you.” The threat of reporting him to his mother made him forget he had been warned not to get off his knees. He threw himself prostrate on the floor and begged profusely. I had no pity for him. It was his face that I’d seen in the mirror. He had used a broom stick to part the curtain from outside and was feasting his adolescent eyes on near naked women. Only God knows how long he’d been doing it and what he’d seen. I could forgive him his voyeurism, but he had got me so close to madness that no punishment was enough. I already knew what I was going to do to him. I was going to take him from door to door telling everybody how he had been spying on them from their windows, then I would let him go to live in fear of who would be first to report him to his mother. Foolish boy! Outside, Mama held my arm and took me far from the BQ. “Eh hen, Amaka, what do they call twins in your language?” I’d long given up trying to guess where Mama was going with anything. It was the same Mama who had once asked me if I knew how to apply for Visa, only for her to give me the gist of one girl that said that her boyfriend used the internet to apply for a Visa for her, in a Nollywood home video. With Mama, there’s just no point guessing. I simply told her what she asked for and waited for the explanation that was sure to come in her own time. “Ejima.” “Eh hen. Is that one Taiwo or Kehinde?” “No. That’s twins. Taiye is Agiliga and Kehinde is Onyisi” “And they can use them for both of them for boys and girls?” “Yes.”

“Ok. You remember Uncle China? He’s not really my uncle.” No shit, I wanted to say. “The man has been disturbing that he wants twins,” she said. She then explained how she frequently fixes him up with all sorts of desires of his: very young girls, left handed girls, girls with low-cuts, virgins. At virgins I stopped her. I wanted to know how she succeeded in getting a virgin for him. “The girl is not really a virgin jor. You know nau. How will he know? He gave me forty thousand for that one and gave the girl fifty thousand. I collected twenty five from her.” That Mama managed to keep all this from me was surprising, to say the least. Maybe her loudness and razzness had stopped me from seeing beyond my own preconceptions of her. “That time we went to his house, I told him you are twins. That’s why he asked for your number.” “You told him I’m a twin?” “Yes. He has been disturbing me for long that he wants twins, so I told him you are twins and that your other twin is in Ekpoma.” My mouth was ajar as I realised what she was proposing. “Mama!” “Stop shouting jor. He said he would give me hundred thousand if I can find him twins.” “Mama!” “Oh! Amaka, don’t fall my hand o.” “Mama!” “How will he know that you’re not twins? What did you say they call twins again?” “Agiliga and Onyisi.” “That Agili one is too strong. We would say you are Onyishi.” “Onyisi,” I corrected her. “Wharever.” “So, what if he says he wants the two of us at the same time?” I was surprised that I was even encouraging her by asking. “Amaka baby, it is me nau. I already told him you are not that type of girl. I said you and your twins are decent girls so he should even forget about sleeping with two of you together. In fact ehn, I told him that if I succeed to bring you, he should not let both of you know that he has met the other one.” “So, you want me to go and see him and pretend to be a twin?” “Onyishi.” “Onyisi. And then after, I will go again and pretend to be my twin?” “Yes.” “And he’s giving you a hundred thousand for this?” “Yes.” “For one?” She hadn’t thought of that. “And what’s in it for me?” I asked. She called Uncle China’s number, explained to the person who answered the call how she was his niece and soon the phone was handed to her uncle who was not really her uncle. I waited and listened. “Uncle, the girl is proving difficult o! But I have spoken to her other and she is coming from Ekpoma next week. How much should I say you will give her?.... Fifty thousand? No o! Uncle, make it hundread….Good!...My own money is for one o! You will pay again for the other one o!...Trust me nau, she will also come. Just don’t tell her you know her sister.” “And why does he want to sleep with twins?” I asked her, fearing the answer as I did. “You know nau.” I did. “For juju?” “But the thing cannot catch you nau. You are not a real twins, abi?” I calculated: One hundred thousand each time I saw him as a different twin. If only he wanted triplets.

Hmmmmm....... Wired n itz own way

Dat means amaka don agreed b dat oo hmmm...

If only he wanted triplets..na 300k be dht.. Money nor go kill u ohh

Dis girl dey craze,cos of moni u wan pretend

Waaaattttttt did u guyz see oooo

Lol. nor b only triplet ooooo. ride on writer

Bcos of money u won do dis nd u know it for juju anyway I pray u do dis without regret

If only he wanted triplets...na 3hundred thousand be dat ooh..Amaka u re somethingelse..hmmmn now i get it you saw the peeping tom through the so-called mirror..lmoa.

.Lolz @shaxee U mean my own EKPOMA.. Dis gal sef,! U know itz 4 juju nd...

Lolzzzzzzzzzzzz triplet dae come

See as u dey land ur self 4 another wahala

is getting serious ooo

Laff my ass out here oh....juju don catch you finish amaka...yoruba pple, twale oh

Lol so nah boy u c, shior

Part 13: Usher, usher Kike had an ushering gig. It was paying five thousand per usher and the lady who got the contract had asked her to find three other girls. She told me not to tell Mama, but she had asked one of her friends to come, Linda, and she wanted to know if I was also in. Now, the thing about an ushering job is that it’s not about the money. Usually there’s a uniform and it’s usually nice and the girls sometimes get to keep them, but it’s not about that either. It’s about the men you will meet and end up with. Yes, you will usher guests to their tables. Yes, you will carry trays of food if the event organisers don’t have caterers as well, and yes you will be insulted by an irritant who’s had too much to drink, or an ageing woman who just doesn’t like the look of you. But at the end of the day, when the party is over and only the people in the know are left, you will be paired up with a man, or two of you or three of you will be handed over to him, and you will follow him to his hotel room and in the morning the five k they paid you to come and usher will be nothing compared to the money in your bag. As Kike told me about the ushering gig and filled me in with all the details meant to entice me – it was at the Ikoyi Boat Club, the celebrant was a senator, the vice president might be there – all I kept thinking was ‘my little cousin is becoming a bigs girls o.’ I was broke, and being broke is the devil’s hold on me, so I agreed to be an usher. Don’t look at me like that. Johnny had been away for three weeks and he hadn’t replied any of my text messages. Mama was yet to tell me that her Uncle China was ready to see me or my twin, and I don’t have a job. It was a job, as an usher, other things notwithstanding, and I have school fees to pay and hair to do. The day of the ushering job came and we did plenty kurukere to make sure the other girls didn’t who what we were up to. I was feeling particularly guilty about not telling Mama, my babe, but truth be told, she’s not every man’s cup of tea. I’d been keeping a lot of secrets from her of late. I hadn’t told her about running into the London boy again at Eko Hotel, or for that matter how I disgraced myself. But hey? Abi? Anyway, we arrived at Ikoyi Boat Club and the lady who was in charge told us all to line up while she inspected us one by one. She looked every girl up and down and I swear she was sniffing as she did so. She stopped in front of one yellow girl I’d never seen before and she dug her fingers into her crotch. “What is this?” she asked. A look of irritation had spread over her face. “Pad? You can go.” She stopped in front of me and I prayed she didn’t do me like she’d just done the girl she summarily dismembered. She looked me up and down like three times then she asked me what my name was. “Juliet, ma,” I said. She wasn’t young o! “Juliet.” She inspected my body over again, and even though her hand was not stuck between my legs, it felt like she was violating me. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two, ma.” It was a lie. But the younger is always better in such places. “Twenty two. And you are a student?” “Yes, ma.” She looked at me as if she’d discovered something that gave her doubt. “Oya, stand here,” she said and she pointed in from of the row of girls. At the end of her inspection, Kike, I, and another girl had been singled out by the madam. During the party, it slowly became apparent why. Now, I watch a lot of Nollywood movies but I’ve never once believed any of the fantastic things that happen in them. Things like a girl being arranged for a ‘big man’ and the man turning out to be her dad when they see each other for the first time in his hotel room, but what happened at the ushering runs was nothing short of that. The madam, her name is Yumbo, Aunt Yumbo, told the three of us who she had selected, that we were going to follow one driver to one man’s house. She told us not sleep there o, because the man hadn’t paid for the entire night. She gave us ten k each, for our cab fare back, and told us the man would give us five hundred dollars each. Being with Kike gave me some comfort but I still felt a bit apprehensive when the Mercedes-Benz S Class climbed the Third-mainland Bridge and headed out of the island. We eventually arrived at a big house with a big gate, somewhere in Ikeja GRA. Uniformed guards opened the car door for us and we were politely led into the big house. It was a big house! The biggest I’ve ever entered that’s not a Hotel or an office or a church. The house was empty and cold, thanks to invisible ACs that we couldn’t even hear, and dark because no normal lights were on, only dim lamps here and there. A servant asked us to please wait and he went off to call his oga, one can only presume. As we waited, I got the idea to take a few pictures, and I now wish I didn’t. I was clicking away, and my camera phone flashing away, when non other than Ibrahim descended down the majestic staircase. I wanted to enter the ground, but I felt even worse for Kike who had told him she was going to fellowship, which was why she couldn’t see him that night. Oh, have I not told you before? Ibrahim is ‘I didn’t know you were an ashewo like that.’ Kike’s fine boy. But, what was he doing in a house like that? Did he not leave in VI? I looked at Kike and she had shrunk into a pensive, remorseful thing. Her eyes and hands pleaded as tears streamed down her eyes. The boy stopped and looked at us then his rested on Kike. He looked pained.

Choi... So u are truly an ashewo like that.. E go be like say make ground swallow u nii..

Una adventures dey always get 'k leg',...lolz

Na wa 4 dis babes dem...

I dey fear for dis girls oh.

Wats going 2 happen nxt,welldone @Shaxee

Choiii....falling hand

U piple always get disapointment.

still observing

U just show urself has ashawo just like that

why r u all blaming d ladies,Ibrahim too dey do runs.but d question remains,what kind of ashewo are they?

@shaxee pls give me de links to ur website cos I lost mine today! pls connect I beg tanx

Its so unfortunate 4 u gals, una kind of ashawo aint here lyk seriously.. still 4lowin n observing sha. nxt pls!

Ur adventures Always ends up screwed

U girls better find a better solution to your problems.

Part 14: Things are happening If I’d not been there, I’d have said it was a lie. I saw the actual moment Ibrahim shrugged off the initial surprise and recomposed himself as if nothing happen. Not looking at any of us in particular he said, “Ladies, please come with me.” The third girl, still putting on a model’s pose and totally oblivious of the serious drama unravelling in her presence, was first to move. She stepped forward and sashayed over to him. Her strides were exaggerated and forceful, overdoing it due to lack of confidence no doubt. I looked at Kike, then at Ibrahim. She was practically dying while he was boning and refusing to look at her. It was as if he didn’t know her again. Something was wrong. The boy walked up the stairs and the third girl followed. He didn’t even look back to check that we were following. “Oya now,” I told Kike. She looked like she would be sick. “Babes, let’s go,” I said firmly and took her hand. I led her up the stairs and towards whatever awaited us there. We got to the landing and the boy asked us to wait. He went through a door which he closed behind him. The third girl immediately started arranging herself; shifting her skirt, touching her hair, and repositioning her breasts. “Kike, are you alright?” I asked my cousin. She looked up into my eyes and I felt pity for her. She slowly shook her head then she nodded then she shook her head again. She tried to speak but her voice failed - a lump, caught in her throat. She swallowed then tried again. “I don’t know what is happening,” she finally managed to say. Same as me. I wanted to ask her about him but I didn’t want the other girl to know our business. “There’s no problem,” I said, “I’m here.” The third girl, perhaps sensing that something was amiss, offered her unsolicited support. “Baby girl, nothing dey happen. I’m sure he’s a senator or a minister. He will take care of us.” A senator? A minister? That small boy? Then the penny dropped. The door opened and Ibrahim, standing in the frame, beckoned for us to come in. We walked past him, the third girl leading the way. I waved Kike ahead of me and watched as she passed him. She looked at him but he looked away. I followed, looking straight ahead and boning hard! A slim tall man in a white tracksuit stood from an arm chair and newspapers fell off his laps. He smiled broadly and with both his hands shook each of us in turn, welcoming us and asking how we were. He was dark skinned, bald as can be, but he had an immaculately trimmed beard and moustache that was all but grey. Even though he looked fiftyish, he had a boyish thing about him, and when he spoke, the funeh was genuine. And his smile was something else. “Please, ladies, sit,” he said. We sat but Ibrahim remained standing. “Drinks?” the older man offered. “Brandy? Champagne? Wine?” The third girl asked for Malt and I felt like slapping her. The man smiled his sweet smile and apologised that he didn’t have any Malt. “I have single malt, though,” he said. “Would you like that?” “Yes. I don’t take alcohol.” The man nodded at Ibrahim who then left to carry out the errand. He was a boy-boy! Shio. My first instinct was to engage the man in conversation and stop the third girl from making us all look bush. But I was too worried for Kike. Her face looked like she’d been crying all night. She was silent and sullen. I hated to think how her belly must be feeling right then. The man had also noticed Kike’s face. “Madam,” he said to her, “Are you all right?” “Yes sir,” Kike answered in a tiny voice I’d never heard coming out of her mouth. “Ah! Please, don’t call me Sir. My name is Charles.” Charles Alfonso Paraku - C.A.P.! I couldn’t believe I was in the same room with C.A.P.! He wasn’t a minister, wasn’t a senator, wasn’t even a politician, but he was one of the richest men in Nigeria, according to Johnny; one of those silent billionaires that not everybody knows about. He was into shipping, long before even the Ibrus got into shipping. His family owned interests in and outside Nigeria and he had recently acquired an oil block – through a front. When Johnny told me about him, he talked about how humble he was and how he asked everyone, young and old, to call him Charles, not Sir. Charles Alfonso Paraku. He was money personified. I forgot about Kike. Ibrahim returned with a servant in tow bearing the drinks on a silver tray. I didn’t even bother boning for him. I was using my eyes to smile at Charles and waiting for him to say something that would allow me demonstrate my flawless English and engaging intellect. Charles asked for the drinks to be taken to his room then he got up and asked us to please come with him. This time I led the way, because, let’s face it, it’s like watching Yahoo-Yahoo boys mix Dom Perignon with cranberry juice; they just don’t know the value of it.

His bedroom was larger than any parlour I’ve ever seen. The bed dominated one end of the room while the other end had chairs like in a Hotel suite – only bigger. Our drinks had been set down on a table and the servant had left, but Ibrahim was still there. Charles asked us to sit and we did, then he asked Ibrahim why he hadn’t brought a drink for himself. Ibrahim smiled and said he wasn’t in the mood to drink. I eyed him even though he wasn’t looking at me, and in the same instant I found my opening. “You don’t have a drink either,” I said to Charles. “Don’t worry about me, darling. I hardly touch the stuff.” “So, you delight in seeing other people ruin their livers? There must be a word for that.” “What a thing to say,” he said and looked at me as if he’d only just seen me for the first time that evening. And after that, we were talking as if we were the only ones in the room. But we had come for a purpose, and he, most of all, hadn’t forgotten that. “Let’s move to the bed,” he said and got up. We all got up and moved towards his bed, leaving Ibrahim behind. At the foot of his bed, Charles stripped to reveal that he was naked under his cloths. The third girl was tearing off her things as well. I glanced back at Ibrahim who was drinking out of one of the glasses he had brought for us. His back was to us. The third girl had pressed her body into Charles’ and her fingers were rubbing his nipples. His hand slid down her back to her buttocks and he grabbed one cheek. His dick stood erect. They climbed into bed and the girl went straight to taking him in her mouth. Kike and I stood watching. My concern was over Ibrahim still being in the room. Charles looked past us and called out to his boy. Ibrahim stood up and as he walked towards the bed he began to shed his clothes. He climbed in next to Charles and both men’s lips locked. I felt Kike’s hand grip mine. Charles opened his eye mid-kiss and winked at me. I looked at Kike. She was in shock; so was I. The third girl kept going down on Charles and her free hand was wanking Ibrahim. “Ibrahim!” Kike said. He didn’t respond. “Ibrahim! Ibrahim!” I’d never been in bed with two men at the same time. I’d never been in bed with Kike, having sex. I’d never met someone as rich or as powerful as Charles. It was going to be a night of many firsts. Kike’s mouth was wide open as she kept calling her lover’s name. Her lover was French kissing his gay lover and paying her no attention. The third girl lifted her head and wiped saliva off her mouth then she joined the two men. They took turns kissing each other: girl and Charles; girl and Ibrahim, Charles and Ibrahim. I peeled Kike’s fingers off my arm and gripped her wrist. At the end of the day, some things are just simply too wrong. “Let’s go!” I said and I pulled her away from the scene that was breaking her heart one kiss at a time.

dis too much for her ooo

See me c trouble. So ibrahim is into gay business

Haaaa see u wia did u tink u ar goin

Choi!!! M reading things..

Hope u r save wt wat u hv seen nw u girls

Part 15: Fuck up! Some people are wicked sha. I can only imagine how Ibrahim must have felt when Charles sent him to Kike and me to give us envelopes full of dollars. The poor boy sent Kike a message saying he was coming to our place. It had been just a day since we watched him luluxing a man, and in that time Kike had been silent in a way that scared me. I don’t know what I expected her to be like but I know I would have known how to console her had she been crying her eyes out. But no, she wasn’t crying; she didn’t want to talk about it and she wasn’t saying anything. She didn’t even tell me he was coming until he called her that he was outside. It was night. I was busy reading a hand-out that contained nothing new but which if I didn’t buy and register my name that I had bought, I wouldn’t have had a chance in hell of passing the course. She told me to come with her. I asked her where to and she casually said Ibrahim was outside. She didn’t need to ask again. He was in his Range Rover (or was it Charles’?), he didn’t come down and when he saw me I noticed a look. She stopped by his window and folded her arms across her chest. I stood next to her waiting for whatever he had to say for himself. My posture was daring him to ask me to excuse them. The window slid down smoothly and the cold air inside touched my face. “Hi,” he said to Kike who wasn’t even looking at him. He nodded at me and I nodded back, but only slightly so he wouldn’t think everything was cool. “How are you?” he asked her. She looked at him from the corner of her eyes as if he had just blasphemed. “Is that what you came to ask me?” she said. If he had been remorseful, or if he had come in peace, the good intention vanished. He returned her evil look with an equally dirty look of his own. He didn’t even bother responding to her aggression. He leaned onto his passenger seat to get to something he kept in the footwell. He picked up a duffel bag and from inside it he fetched the two white envelopes he had come to deliver to us. They had names written on them. He gave her her own and gave me mine then he did the peace sign to her and put his car in reverse as his window glided back up. We had to step out of the way as he left. For a moment, it seems, she didn’t believe he was actually leaving. Then, as he pointed his car at the gate and began to drive out, she cracked. She called after him, angrily, at first, then in desperation tinged with disbelief. She made to run after his car but I held her back. She broke down in my arms and began to cry all the tears she’d been holding inside. The envelope fell from her hand as her weeping face sank into my shoulder. I watched his brake lights beam off and on and then he was gone. Now, Kike is my baby. She might be all grown up, she might be in the same university with me, she might be selling pussy to make ends meet, but to me she’s still little Kike whose mum used to bring to our house as a kid and she would call me Maka and ask my father to carry her on his shoulders. It was my duty to look after her. “Baby, he’s just doing shakara because he can’t face you,” I said. “I’m sure he still loves you. And what happened yesterday is nothing. He’s probably just doing it for money and nothing more. You’re the one he loves.” I had to say something so I said the first thing that came to my mind. I regretted it immediately. The renewed vigour of her wailing confirmed that I’d chosen the wrong thing to say. Let’s face it, for her man to be cheating on her is one thing, but for him to be selling his body to another man is an entirely different soap opera. “Kike, you want the whole world to know your matter?” I was digging now. I was out of ideas. She kept crying. One of the girls opened the door and stood starring at us. I gave her a straight look and she returned inside and closed the door. “Kike, kike, let’s go out. Let’s go and lodge in a hotel and go clubbing, just us.” She nodded and that was that. Johnny, God bless him, he always calls just when I need him. Kike and I just got into the red cab we ordered when he called. I expected him to say he was still in Abuja, but he said he just came into Lagos and he was on his way to the Island. I told him I was on my way to Raddison Blu and he said he’d meet me there. Things were already looking up. We stopped at Eko Hotel to change Dollars into Naira, then with purses full of money we went to book our room. I had never even entered the lift at Raddison Blu, so it felt super good to walk up to the reception and ask the powdered smart girl behind the counter for a room for the night. Our room overlooked the lagoon. It was beautiful. Kike went to the window and excitedly called me to come and see. We had a beautiful view of the bubbling pool side. I was just happy that her spirit had lifted. If that was all Charles’ money managed to do, it would have been money well spent.

By the time we took our showers and generously used the complementary toiletries, Johnny was calling to tell me that he was in the Hotel. I would have asked him to come up but I wanted to explain the situation to him first. I hurriedly got dressed and told Kike I was coming. Johnny didn’t tell me he wasn’t alone. I found him in the lobby, his back to me, with two other people, one oyinbo man and one black woman. When he saw me he hugged me with fanfare like he always does then he introduced me to his friends. Jan was a black American that was investing in his restaurant in Lagos and Edward was her husband. I didn’t have time to explain anything to him before he suggested that we all go out to the pool side and get something to drink. I realised I had left my phone in the room so there was no way to call Kike and let her know where I was. Outside, Johnny insisted that we get a table by the infinity pool. I didn’t know what an infinity pool was, or that the pool at the Raddison Blu was one. He asked a waiter for the wine list and started checking if they had any of the wine brands he imports into the country. He always does that. “What do you do, Amak,” Jan asked. “Did I get that right? Your name is Amak, right?” I spelled my name for her but she still pronounced it wrong, not that it mattered to me. I told her I was a student and she wanted to know what I was studying. “Are you staying at this hotel?” she asked. “Yes,” I replied and I looked at Johnny. I really wanted to have explained the situation to him, in my own way – my own version. “Wow! You must be rich! This place must be expensive for a student!” I hated her. Johnny cocked his head at me with a quizzical look on his face. “Aburo, you now stay at the Raddison?” “No jor. It’s not like that.” “Are you staying here alone?” Jan asked. Her husband took a swig from his glass of Star as he watched the back of a girl walking by. “No. I’m with a friend.” “Oh, I see.” “My cousin. She’s not feeling well so I brought her to the hotel.” “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, daring,” she said. I wanted to punch her in the face. I was aware of Johnny study me; listening to her questions and to my responses. “Which cousin is that?” he asked. “Kike. You don’t know her. Let me go and get her.” “Just call her to come meet us,” he said. “I left my phone in the room.” “Ok. Don’t be long.” As I left to get Kike – to prove that I was not there with a man – I worried over the look on Johnny’s face. It was a look I’d never seen before; the look of: “I didn’t know you are an ashewo like that.” Kike took her time getting dressed, especially when I told her my Johnny was at the poolside, with a Black American lady and her oyinbo husband. We came close to fighting before she was finally ready and we left the room. She was looking really hot; I didn’t even know she had packed the dress she was wearing. I made a mental note not to let her get too close to Johnny. I searched for Johnny and the woman and her husband. The table we had been at was empty, even our glasses had been cleared away. I walked the length of the poolside, twice, peering at strangers and ignoring their funny looks. I went inside and searched for him, then I called his phone but he didn’t answer. I called and called till I called, and while waiting and hoping that he’d answer my call, he cut off his phone and the busy tone made my tummy sick. With trembling fingers I sent him a SMS message. “Johnny, where are you?” I texted. I called again but he didn’t answer until he cut off my call again. I think that was when I panicked. I composed a long text telling him I was not with a man, that I was really with my cousin, that I expected him to have more faith in me, that if that was what he thought of me then he really didn’t know me. Kike had found a guy that she knew and she was laughing and flirting with him when I returned to the poolside. She didn’t even notice that anything was wrong with me. I asked if I could use her phone. I called Johnny’s phone with it but he cut off the call again. What did I expect? He probably knew it was me calling with a different number. There was even no point calling him with hidden number. Kike’s friend offered me a drink but my tommy couldn’t take anything. Against myself I tried Johnny’s number again but this time his phone was off. I suddenly felt angry. I sent him a message telling him to go to hell, or something like that. Then I paid for a bottle of Remi Martin and drank as my shattered heart dictated.

hmmm

u supposed nt to think dat way he may be busy wid his partner, it maybe d reason he was nt picking ur calls

U beta go nd slp@amaka

Oh oh...Johnny..wetin nah... Go to hell jawe... I so much hate it when someone doesn't pick my calls...arrrgggghhhh!!!!

shattered

He may be busy wit his partner

Beta jux go n slip instead of drinkin urslf to stupor cuz of a man u knw no sh*t abt, dats so ackward of u babe.. in as much as d story is a bit kindda boring, i xcuse myslf n am still 4lowin.. nxt pls

Part 16: Hotter than fire A whole 24 hours and Johnny still hadn't turned on his phone, or called me back. Yes, I know I said I wouldn't call him again - and it took a lot to even call him after all the stupid text messages I'd sent - but it was Johnny. At least he should give me a chance to explain. The worst part about how I was feeling was that there was no one to talk to about it. I was carrying my grief alone while everyone else, the whole world, carried on. I gave Kike some flimsy excuse to explain Johnny's disappearance from the poolside. It upset me that she simply believed it. Mama was worrying her head over one fine boy she was liking; she had her own problems, and besides, I wouldn't talk to her about Johnny. At the end of the day the only person I could talk to about Johnny was Johnny, and he wasn't talking to me. He had even switched off his phone, and the way I saw it, switched me off for good. Indoors is so conducive to being heartbroken. It is as if the walls contain your pain, or when like me you're grieving alone, they hug you when friends are lacking. I waited for the girls to leave me and the walls alone so I could cry my eyes out but they wouldn't go away. They stayed and gossiped and tried on new dresses, and I, under a cover cloth at 7 pm, kept checking my phone for messages or missed calls. Janet came home with bags of shopping and a boxed iPad. The girls excitedly gathered round her to see her new toy and new things. She let Kike be the first to handle the box and even open it up and fetch the brand new device inside. They had since made up, but only to the extent that Janet was still kissing Kike's ass and Kike was unapologetically lapping it all up. Mama, surprisingly, was the only one who knew her way round an iPad. She soon had it going and was checking her Facebook page. Janet excited the girls with tales of how her new mugun was a British diplomat, was very handsome, and was very-very rich. Andy, that’s his name, was a middle aged oyinbo man that had even asked her to marry him. She also told how he was ‘an engine in bed,’ this told me she was either liking the man or taking his proposal seriously. Poor girl. But then again, maybe. poor man. Janet was on an all-out PR campaign. She announced that she had something for everyone. Andy had taken her shopping and she had gotten enough La Senza undies for all of us. The girls went crazy. Bribery and corruption, even in our tiny BQ. My phone rang as Janet emptied a shopping bag full of underwear onto the mattress. The girls lunched like starved feral dogs. It was Johnny calling! My heart raced, and even before I answered I felt a lump in my throat that warned me I wasn't going to be able to speak. I got up and left the mattress to the girls and braced myself as I took his call. "Hello?" My voice was weak. Guilty. "Hello, who is this?" Said a male voice over the line. It wasn't Johnny. 'Didn't even sound like him. "This is Amaka," I said without thinking. "Is Johnny there?" "Johnny, is he your friend?" Something alarmed me about the voice. There was noise in the background, chattering, that sounded familiar. "Who is this?" I asked. "Madam Amaka, you say Johnny is your friend?" "Yes, who is this?" "Please, I will call you back," he said and he hung up. What was going on? I tried calling back but the phone went unanswered. Something was wrong. It only then dawned on me that it was unlike Johnny to switch his phone off for one whole day. He didn't switch it off because of me; something had happened to him. Panic pumped blood into my heart. I called his number again. Someone answered but didn't talk. I listened to voices talking and tried to make out what they were saying. Something about it felt unnervingly familiar. The call was cut off. I waited a few minutes during which I did absolutely no thinking at all. I couldn't focus. "Kike, something happened to Johnny," I finally said. Kike stopped from holding up a black bra to her chest and looked at me. "What do you mean?" "I don't know." The girls turned to me and I narrated the events starting from Radisson Blu to the phone call I just received. "Accident?" Mama volunteered. It made sense. He left the Hotel in anger and he had an accident. "Is he dead?" She asked. Kike reprimanded her but the thought had already formed in my own head as well. Kike took my phone from me and called his number again. Again no one answered. "What will we do?" Mama asked. "Baby, don't cry," Janet said. I didn't even realise I had tears rolling down my face. "Do you know his people? Anyone you can call?" Clara asked.

I didn't. I knew him and that was all. I'd met quite a few of his friends but we were not friends and I didn't have their numbers. There was no one I could call. If the worst had happened, the night at Radisson Blu would mark the abrupt end of knowing him. There would be no attending a wake keeping, crying at the funeral, grieving with his family. It would all have ended just like that, and he would have left my life, just like that. I broke down. My phone was with Kike. It rang and she answered it. She waved for us all to be quiet. I pleaded with my teary eyes for her to tell me if it was him. "No, this is not Amaka.... Kike... Yes, Amaka's friend. Yes, I know him." She stayed on the phone, answering question after question then she finally managed to get one in. "What is happening?" She asked whoever was on the phone. "Did he have an accident?" I gripped the arms of the two girls by my sides as I waited for the answer. I studied Kike's face so I'd know the minute she knew. Kike took a deep breath, closed her eyes then she started telling the person on the phone about the evening at Radisson Blu. I couldn't take it any longer. I reached out and grabbed the phone from her. "Where is Johnny?" I screamed into the phone. "Who is this?" It was a female voice this time. "This is Amaka. Where is Johnny? What happened to him?” "Please, calm down. I was just explaining to your friend." I noticed that the girls had gathered round Kike and she was whispering something to them. My fear was confirmed; he was dead. Johnny was dead. "Where is he?" I asked. I meant which mortuary. "He's ok." "If he's ok, then let me talk to him." "You want to talk to him?" "Yes!" "Please, madam, just calm down so I can explain." "Explain? What do you want to explain? Who are you? Where is Johnny?" "Madam, if you want to see your friend you have to come and meet us." "Where?" "That is what I was just explaining to your friend. When last did you see Mr Johnny?" "When last I say Johnny? What does that have to do with anything?" The lady paused. I heard muffled voices in the background and I could tell she was taking instructions. "Madam, we can only allow close friends and family of Mr Johnny to see him now, which is why I'm asking when last you saw him. Are you his girlfriend?" "Yes! Can I come and see him now?" She took another pause then she came back on the phone. "Madam, where are you now?" "Ikoyi." "Ok. Do you know Wilmot Point in VI?" "No." "Navy Dockyard, after NTA." "Yes." “Can you come there now?” “Is Johnny there?” "Yes, Mr Johnny is in the Navy Clinic there. Come and meet us now." "Is he ok?" "Please madam, when you come." The worst had happened. My Johnny was gone, and it was my fault. All the girls wanted to follow me there but when the Red Cab arrived Mama had the good sense to suggest that only two of us should go. Naturally she wanted to come but Kike played the cousin card and got into the cab with me. I've never experienced that state of mind before. As I sat in that cab my mind was empty and full at the same time. I kept seeing Johnny's face and hearing his voice as he called me, Omoge, but I was on auto drive - my thoughts weren't mine. My phone rang and I handed it to Kike without even checking who it was. It was Mama, and from the conversation they were having it seemed as if Mama was still beefing over not being the one to follow me. I got mad. I took the phone from Kike, ready to give it to her. "Amaka, me I don't think you should go there o," she said. I wanted to abuse her or say something harsh but I didn't have the words. "Amaka, this whole thing doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe we should wait first." "Wait for what?" I didn't wait for her to respond. I ended the call and tossed the phone aside. "Where do you say we are going?" the cab man asked. Kike answered him: "Navy Dock yard, Ahmadu Bello." "I will drop you close. They don't use to allow coloured cab to enter there." "It's ok." Mama sent a message and against myself I read it:

“Don't go. Turn back. I'm calling Uncle China so we can go together. Come back." I deleted her message and sank my head back into the edge of the seat, starring at the grey velvety roof and hearing Johnny's voice. The cab man slowed down as we approached the Dockyard. My heart that had settled down began to race again. A few Navy officers in front of the gate motioned for the cab to keep driving towards them. The cab man hesitated. I was already leaning forward, eager to face what was to come. I told him to go on. We were waved to pack right in front of the gate. A young Navy officer poked his head in through the driver's window and asked which one of us was Amaka. I held up my hand that I was. He stood away from the window and next thing I knew, a gun was pressed against the cab man's head. Mine and Kike's doors flung open and we were dragged out. A woman in plain clothes was leading our assault. She commanded a gang of armed men in civilian clothes while the smartly dressed Navy officers looked on. What was happening? "Are you Amaka?" The lady asked me. I recognised her voice from the phone. "Yes. What is happening?" "Where is Mr Johnny?" She asked me. What the hell was she saying? Kike was shaking on mute in front of a gun. The cab driver was prostrate on the ground, pleading to another gun and explaining that he didn't know us and had never seen us before - the cab company controller only directed him to pick us up from an address in Ikoyi and drop us off at Ahmadu Bello. Police radios cracked to life and a police van driven by a maniac arrived to a screeching halt. "Young lady, I will ask you one last time, where is Mr Johnny?" "I don't know!" I shouted at her. A slap from nowhere momentarily made me deaf. Kike screamed in empathy, the cab man begged harder – for himself. As I lost my balance, the man who had slapped me stepped in front of me and slapped the other side of my face - as if he wanted to correct the way I'd started leaning. I saw stars, dancing just above my eyes, in a zone my range of view would normally not have covered. I lurched forward and he must have thought I was going for his gun. He swung his weapon to the side and stepped away for me to fall. I fell in slow motion. I actually saw the butt of his rifle slowly moving towards my lips. The last thing I remember was the taste of blood and sand in my mouth, and the deafening bang of a single gunshot.

Hotter than fire indeed...where could johnny be nd wah could ve happened to him???...all this force men/women sef.

U should hv listen 2 Mama

Nigeria,they wont investigate.

see wat ur ego has led u to,had i known is always at........

As day saw dat u are d last call in joney's fone dat is y dey have concluded dat u now somtin about d mising joney,what hapen to him.

Girls and emotion; sometimes you just need to use your head and not your heart.

Uh...., rcving beating 4 wot u no nothing abt

Hmmmmmm hop its nt wot am thinking o

U r in 4 it

U sud have listern to mama

mak them knw kil u o

Hmmm dis 1 na correct gbege

Observing

Choi u n kike don fall hand ooo

Part 17: Giving accounts I am Olufemi Abayomi Ajanla of 32B Ajani-Sule Street Magodo Lagos. My profession is a cab driver. I am working with city global company. My motor is Suzuki Swift. This morning I get dispatch from controller to pick up two customers from Penple road in Ikoyi going to Ahmadu Bello. After I pick the both two girls I drive them to their destination at Ahmadu Bello in front of Navy office. Then police and navy arrest us there. I do not know the two girls from anywhere before. Controller have not send me to their address before and I do not know them before today. The reason I have the number of the lady they call Miss Amaka on my phone is because we use to call customer before we reach their house. I call her to let her know that I am arriving at her house. I have never call her before today and I will never call her again. We don’t use to save customer number on our phone, only controller store their number, but not cab man, so I did not even get mind to call her again. She is just a customer. I do not know anything about the man they say they kidnap. The man Mr Johnny is never been my customer before. I didn’t even know what he look like. You can ask controller at out office they will tell you they have never dispatch me to any Mr Johnny before or any white man before. I am cab driver and it is my only job. I am not into kidnapping and I do not know anything. This is my statement. Signed: Olufemi Abayomi Ajanla 32B Ajani-Sule Street Magodo Lagos. I am Moses Ighodalo of Room 5, Onilearo House, Bode Thomas Surulere. I am 32 years of age. I am security officer attached to Radisson Blu Hotel on Lekki Epe Express way in Victoria Island Lagos. I am a HND Certificate Holder. My duty that night was to assist customers in packing their vehicles. I was working towards the exit side of the car park doing my duty. I was alone because my colleague that we were working together went to do toilet. I assisted a silver colour Mercedes Benz V Boot to pack. Inside the car there were four occupants: the driver, two white men and one black woman. I think the driver is a cab man because when they come out of the car they ask him how much they owe him but he laugh with them and say until they return from inside the hotel before they discuss money. After I pack the car I did not notice the driver again, whether he stay in his car or he get out to walk about as some drivers use do. But I know he didn’t follow them inside. I cannot remember the exact time but like twenty minutes after the passengers enter the Hotel I saw them returning and I ask them if I should get their car. They did not answer me because they were talking to one man and they were walking to where their car is so I left them. One red cab arrived and was wasting time at the entrance so I was telling him to hurry and go. That is when I hear someone shouting help, help. As I rush to where the noise is coming from, which is where I park the two white men and the black woman, I notice that it is the shorter of the two men that is shouting. He was struggling with two men and one of them was holding gun. I dodge when I see the gun. Immediately I run to the exit and tell the guards there that robbers are operating with gun. I radio the chief security officer and I was in process of briefing him when a black jeep just run past us. The guards at the gate tried to stop him but he just used heavy speed to scare them. When my boss arrived I told him what had happened. We went to where the silver colour Mercedes was packed and we did not find the driver inside again. As we were searching for the driver my oga ask me to tell him where they were struggling and I showed him. That is when we find the phone that we handed over to police. I do not know whose phone it is but something is telling me it belong to the white man shouting for help. Maybe he was calling somebody to come and help him when the armed robbers attack him.

After, my boss called the police and we tell them everything we know and my boss gave them copy of security tape and log of cars entering and leaving the hotel. When we return to find the silver Mercedes it have gone. One of the guard said the driver just drove out when we all enter the Hotel with the police to go and discuss what happened. Maybe the man has been spying us from somewhere waiting for chance to escape. He did not look suspicious to me but he weared good lace material and gold jewellery that I think ordinary cab man cannot be able to afford so maybe he’s suspicious in the incident too. My prayer to God is that they find the white people and their friend in good state of health. Signed: Moses Ighodalo Room 5, Onilearo House Bode Thomas Surulere Lagos My name is Prince Ernest Okoli. My address is 1159 Great Cambridge Road, Enfield, Middlesex, England. I’m a SAP Functional Consultant. I’m in Nigeria on vacation for two weeks. I’m 35 years old. I just arrived at the Hotel in my friend’s car when we noticed what looked like a scuffle ahead of us. About six men and one lady appeared to be having an argument while one white man was being shoved into a four by four. The lady also got into the car so I assumed she knew the men. The other men stayed outside beating up the short guy. He looked Arab. My friend and I were going to come down and go to his aid but then we saw that one of the men had a gun. He pointed it at the Arab’s head but rather than chill, the dude started screaming for help and trying to grab the gun. Another dude pulled out a shotgun from under his jacket. I told my friend to reverse. Within seconds they beat the Arab to the ground and bundled him into their car then they took off. I asked my friend what the police emergency number is but he didn’t know, so we went to the Hotel lobby to report what just happened. It went down really fast but it appears the Arab dude knew the guys. I didn’t get a good look at the other guys but I’m sure they were Nigerians. They were dressed in suits. Hope this helps. Signed: Prince Ernest Okoli 1159 Great Cambridge Road, Enfield, Middlesex EN1 4TT My Name is Kikeloma Abosede Roberts of 39C Ilaka Street, Illupeju Lagos. I am 23 years old. I am a student at the University of Lagos, Akoka. I went to visit my distant relative in her BQ in Ikoyi. Her name is Amaka. She asked me to follow her somewhere. She told me that her boyfriend is hospitalized because of an accident so I agreed to follow her there. I have never met her boyfriend before but I know his name is Johnny. I did not know that she met with him recently or that he was missing. I do not know anything about how he went missing. She did not tell me anything about any plans to kidnap him but I cannot vouch for her because I don’t know her that well. Signed: Kikeloma Abosede Roberts 39C Ilaka Street, Illupeju Lagos

Jusus Christ of Nazaret see how Keke deny Amaka I surely know if it was Mama she cnt deny Amaka like that your own cousine . . . Am just amused what will it cost her if she say the truth that why they say trusth nobody

Hmmmm

oh nooooo

Am following up, pls do Cont'd with the tori Cuz am loving every bit of it..

Kikeloma wat did I hear u say Jst nw????? re u for real????? I Jst can't beliv my ears oo oo. God dis is one of d reason why I love guys, dey ll Neva deny lik d way ladies do.

If twas Amaka she wil not av d gods 2 d9 Kike o. Amaka dat was tryin 2 help u out of ur pain now u turn against her. All dis 1 u r doing 2 Amaka chai mmm Dere's God o

Part 18: American boy I read somewhere that a coward dies a thousand deaths but a brave person dies only once - or something like that. When I heard the gunshot, I didn’t remember those words but I remembered every other death I'd died - in reverse chronological order. Kike also heard the bang, but unlike me she saw the overloaded danfo spinning out of control and spraying shrapnel of black rubber at panicked pedestrians. But I was looking at a gun, so I heard a gunshot, and I died because that is what you do when you are shot. I guess I would have run if I wasn’t already on the ground. And when did this all start? When did I become so afraid? I wasn’t always afraid. My mother used to say I had no fear. She would lament to my aunts and uncles and anyone else who cared to listen, how Amaka is the child who has the heart of the sacrifice thief. I never understood what she meant till the first time I saw a sacrificial pot of food placed at a road intersection. I remember walking past the clay pot and slowing down to look as the other kids quickened their steps and did cross signs across their chests. But not me; I was fascinated by the mess of food thrown together and doused with a generous helping of red oil. So this is what my mother says I’m brave enough to eat? I could not see myself touching the disgusting thing which had attracted flies from a nearby gutter that was also a sewer, but in my child’s mind it registered that she must think me to be super awesome to be able to eat such rotten food. It never occurred to me then that the braveness she meant was the daring spirit of one who eats food meant for the gods. She also used to say that my braveness would kill her one day – another aphorism I did not understand, because as a child I reasoned that if I was brave enough to put myself at risk, I was the one who risked dying, not her. But that was then; now I was a child full of fear, and it all started with that London boy who made me run for my life on a deserted bridge in the middle of the night. Since that day I’d been running. Even my own shadow had gained the power to startle me. He had planted fear deep inside me and it had taken root and grown branches. I was now ruled by fear. Where I once was brave now I’m afraid, where I was strong, now I’m weak. No more. No more. So consumed I was with coming to terms with my demons that I hardly heard what the man was saying. I had been brought to his office and made to sit in a chair in front of his desk. They had taken me from a cell I shared only with mosquitoes and the acidic stench of urine etched in concrete. I had spent days in there – how many days I do not know, but light had followed darkness, and they had brought food and they had brought water, but how many times these had happened was not something I’d kept in my mind. I had not seen Kike or the lady who asked me where I’d kept Johnny. I had not spoken to anyone but someone, or some people, had come to speak to me. I cannot say for sure that I spoke to them.

In the man’s office, siting on a chair and watching his mouth move, I became aware of a face that was different. It was the face of a foreigner, a young foreigner. He was standing beside the man who was talking to me. He was dressed in a grey suit and a white shirt. His arms were folded across his chest and he was looking into my eyes. Did I know him? He looked wrong in this place, but that was not what felt odd about him. I looked at him as he was looking at me. What did I see on his face? Pity? Disgust? Hatred? Love? Why was he here? Who was he? Why did I feel I know him? Perhaps the man sitting down, the one in a policeman’s uniform, was getting impatient with me. He motioned to someone by my side and when I looked to see who owned the arm that had stretched to shake me by the shoulder, I freaked out. Now, maybe it takes fear to cure that which fear has caused. The same man who had slapped me as if I stole his money was now standing by my side ready to descend upon me all over again. Somehow, my mind had chosen not to remember, but seeing his face again brought it all back. He was not done when he slapped me silly at the Navy Dockyard. I now remembered choking on water and opening my eyes to a sachet of pure water being poured over my face and he was the one holding it. I also remembered what followed. The lady officer and another officer took turns asking me where Johnny was being kept, and in-between that the slapper punched my face, grabbed my neck, and used a black leather belt on me. Then followed more water, and more questions, and more battering till my eyes went dark again. I also remembered being in the dark, on my back on cold concrete, and feeling his breath on my face, in heavy puffs as he grunted. I don’t know how many times this happened. He was now here again, shaking me by the shoulder with his right hand that I become so accustomed to. No more. I grabbed the arm with both my hands and closed my teeth upon his flesh. I felt my head being tossed about but I didn’t let go. The vision in one eye went red but I didn’t let go. I heard my name shouted several times, but I didn’t let go. Someone said “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” but I didn’t let go. Other arms struggled with me. I heard the bastard screaming and then I let go, but only because I wanted to wrap my arms around his waist. I succeeded. Against several people pulling at me, I dug my face deep into his groin and repeatedly bit till I felt flesh under clothing. I clamped down hard. He screamed louder. Again I opened my eyes to water being poured over my face. I was on the ground, the foreigner was over me. Also kneeling by me was the officer who had been talking to me. There were legs all around me and several people talking at the same time. The officer spoke: “You this girl, you have heart o. We were ready to release you and now you have gone and assaulted an officer. You don’t have fear at all.” I smiled. Yes, I was no longer afraid. First, the bastard who raped me, then the London boy. “Oga, I think she has run mad o,” someone said. The foreigner spoke next: “Are you ok?” he asked. His voice reminded me of someone. I took a long look at him then it hit me. It was as if I was looking at Johnny, only several years younger.

To those who have been asking about my blog or site, you can now visit my blog with http://alifepress.wordpress.com am sorry am dropping it late, hope you meet up with the stories there... Thanks http://alifepress.wordpress.com

Hmmmm dis 1 is strong Nextttt

Kike is very wicked.... next plz

Am getting nervouse with evry passing episode

hmmmmnnn!!!

Part 19: Original sin There's a line you shouldn't cross; a point at which you've exhausted all your good luck, all your goodwill, and all the protection of all the prayers ever said for you. Beyond that point you’re at the mercy of every misfortune you’ve managed to dodge. Every mistake you’ve gotten away with, every accident you’ve walked away from, even your death that you cheated, they are all waiting for you there. That line appeared before me when I was detained at that police station, and it surprised me that so early in my sinful life, I’d already used up all the grace I had. If I crossed this last line, if I did this last selfish daring thing, I knew, I just knew that I would regret it in a painful way and in a permanent way. I cannot say I wasn’t warned, and like all sins, I was given many chances to resist the devil so that he may flee from me. The first was in the form of a thin dark lady who had managed to hide every strand of hair on her head beneath a tightly wound scarf that was the same dark shade of brown as her nylon skirt that started from above her waist and didn’t stop till an inch above her ankles. She had come with a group of prison evangelists to try and save the souls of those who had been arrested and may soon end up in jail for their sins. She found me in my cell, shielding the wound on my lip against flies that had taken over from mosquitoes. They let her in and brought her a chair, and when they left they didn’t lock the door. The Bible she clutched against her chest could have been a subconscious habit to hide the fact that she had no breasts. She asked me if I wanted to sit, and when I declined, she also remained standing. She told me her name was Esther, and God had saved her twelve years ago. Good for you, I thought. She asked me if I was a Christian, then she asked me if I knew that Jesus died for me. On a good day I would have pointed out to her that my answer in the affirmative to her first question made her second question superfluous, but my lip was bleeding, my nose was bleeding, my body was dying, and my wit was waning. Sister Esther asked if I was ready to accept Jesus into my life as my personal Lord and saviour. My body was broken but my mind was not. In me I smiled at the question I would have asked her: If he becomes my personal lord and saviour, my own, who would be other people’s personal lords and saviours? Even in my battered state I thought it through to the realization that the joke would probably fly over her head, but that wouldn’t have stopped me making it – even if it meant I’d be a comedian facing an audience but entertaining only herself. Sister Esther also had pamphlets, and when she had to lower her Bible to fetch them from between pages of scripture that had been keeping them spiritually charged, it was a very fast affair and the Bible was quickly back pressing against her flat chest. I took what she gave me. I would use it to fan my face in the night when the heat is unbearable and the mosquitoes have returned. She told me about her ministry - hers and her fellow prison evangelists, and she most have taken my silence, broken only by yeses, to mean she had found in me a repentant soul ready to be forgiven unto righteousness, for she then went full throttle into Bible-quoting, demon-binding preaching! “In Proverbs twenty-three, verses twenty-seven to twenty-eight, the Bible says “For a prostitute is a deep pit and a wayward wife is a narrow well. Like a bandit she lies in wait, and multiplies the unfaithful among men.” She had to consult her Bible to read out the passage, this made me feel short-changed: if you are going to come and call me a prostitute and tell me you are the one sent to save me, at least have the decency to memorize your lines in advance. “A deep pit!” She said it again. “You know what a deep pit is, sister Amaka? It is a bottomless hole that just swallows everything up. The Bible is telling us that a prostitute is like a deep pit and men will stumble into her and lose their way.” I was willing to overlook the fact that she had made assumptions about me before even asking me what I was. If she had asked, I would have told her that I’m a student and it would have been the truth. After all, had she seen me standing in front of Ynot at night, smoking St. Moritz? Had anyone seen me standing there? Like I said, I was willing to overlook this because the police probably told her there was an ashawo in the cell, upon whom she could practice her preaching. But the way I saw it, she was right out-of-order to make such a personal statement about the state of my vagina. A deep pit! Whadafuck! Again, I only laughed at my own joke, but I was now finding that not making them actually made them funnier, in a way. “...But God is willing to forgive you anything. He said that though your sins can be as black as scarlet, he will wash them to be white like snow.” “Scarlet is not black.” “What did you say?”

I had to press down the wound on my lip to stop pain from talking making my voice almost inaudible. “Scarlet is red.” She was confused. Stumped. She didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. I pitied her. She leafed through her Bible as if searching for a spell that would bind my demon infested tongue. “Even Mary Magdalene, she was a prostitute but Jesus forgave her and even allowed her to use her hair to anoint his legs.” It really hurt to talk, but she had been asking for it and now she had gotten it. “Mary Magdalene was not a prostitute. She was one of Jesus’ disciples.” “Mary. She was a prostitute but Jesus forgave…” “No! Show me where in the Bible it says she was a prostitute.” She had forgotten to cover her chest with her Bible. He arms dangled checkmated by her sides as she looked at me with eyes that betrayed pity from a sanctimonious point of observation, and a little annoyance or impatience creeping in. She didn’t have a comeback. “Your time is up, you may go now.” I loved the way I said that last line so much that I smiled through the pain. Sister Esther stood there looking at me, perhaps silently praying for me - or praying against the demons in me. I looked away the casual bitchy way you’d take your eyes off an irritant and be fascinated with the state of your nails instead – only that my nails weren’t worth looking at right then. “Amaka,” she had dropped the ‘sister’, “This way you are living your life, it is only grace that is protecting you. Look at you now, young fine girl like you, in prison. Is this what you are seeing as life?” “It’s a cell, my dear, not prison.” She shook her head at the audacious temerity of the demons in me. “I will pray for you, but you have to change your ways or else even the grace that is protecting you wouldn’t be enough again.” That was my first warning. Sister Esther left, but not before hiding herself behind her large Bible, then another woman came in. It was the bitch who had tricked me on the phone. “Amaka, there is one man here who has paid your bail and he said he wants to take you to his house. Or do you want to call your family to come and collect you?” Her tone was sympathetic and I knew this was all I was going to get as far as an apology was concerned. “What happened to Johnny?” “We don’t know o, but his son will be able to explain further to you.” “His son?” “Yes. He just fly down from America yesterday night. They are handling the matter themselves; they say they don’t want to involve police. He said his father said he should look for you and explain everything to you.” “His son?” “Yes naw. You didn’t know that he has a son before?” “What is his name?” “John, too. Amaka, if you don’t want to go with him I will arrange a taxi to take you to your place.” John, Johnny’s son. But why did I sense that she was hinting for me not to go with him. “Where is Kike?” “Kike? Your friend? We have released her since day before yesterday.” “Is she alright?” She understood what I meant. “They didn’t touch her,” she said. “Why does he want to take me with him?” “See ehn, Amaka, these Lebanese people they have their own ways of dealing with something like this. He told us that his people are already working to get his father out, but let me tell you, I can’t be sure they are not suspecting that you’re involved. And anything that happens to you there, we wouldn’t be able to do anything.” So that was her concern; laughable - as if I could possibly meet a harsher fate than that which I’d endured in her custody. Stupid, ill-trained, irritating and downright offensive to my spirit as she was, she was my second chance not to cross the line. John took me away in Johnny’s car. Johnny’s driver from many years ago, a man I assumed he’d sacked, was at the wheels and he recognized me. He was old when I knew him but he had grown much older. He greeted me with an affectionate hug then with a pained face as he looked at my own face. “This is your papa’s good friend,” he told John. “She is like daughter to me, and oga too. Oga will be very angry when he see how they have done her.” John asked him to take us first to a clinic. There, John watched over me with arms crossed over his chest and concern deep in his face as nurses tried to repair me. A nurse, when she thought no one else could hear, asked me in Igbo if he was the one who beat me up like that. I managed a smile and I told her it was the police. Then, before she could ask why I got arrested, I told her he was my lawyer and he was suing the police for me. She looked at him and gave away the fact that we’d been talking about him. I smiled at him to let him know that whatever was said wasn’t bad. He smiled back and my line began to appear – the line I should not cross.

Oh oh

Anoda problem

Double wahala

Oh noo Next pls

NYC one

Xowie 4 d beatens u got 4rm d men in black, buh den DONT CROSS THE LINE cuz it sims ur abt to.. nxt pls, still following

Cross line kwa?? Hmmm...next!!.. Good work @shaxee..

Waiting 2 c d next line u cross

Part 20: Small city Lagos, a city of thirty million people and still, somehow unable to afford a girl some anonymity. John junior took me to his father’s house and told me as much as I needed to hear. Johnny had called him on the day he got kidnapped. He had intentionally tossed his phone when he realised he was being kidnapped, that was what he told his son in Lebanese when the kidnappers asked him to call his family. He told them that John’s phone number was the only one he knew off-head, but that wasn’t true. He didn’t want them seeing all the names on his phone and discovering all the people he knew. It was just like Johnny to have such presence of mind even in the craziest situation. He told John that he had been kidnapped along with two of his friends and that the kidnappers were going to kill them if they, the kidnappers, didn’t get fifty million Naira. He told John to get in touch with Uncle Kamal who would make arrangements with the kidnappers. According to John junior, he did not have any Uncle Kamal, so I asked him why his father told him to get in touch with the non-existent uncle. He told me ‘they’ had their way of dealing with such issues and he was in Nigeria to sort things out. He seemed amazingly calm for someone whose father had been kidnapped. I asked him if he had that kind of money to pay the kidnappers and he smiled that smile that makes me want to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him with all my life. “We are not paying a dime,” he said. “But what’s going to happen to him then?” “Nothing. We will get him back. And his friends.” He never told me who ‘we’ were, but like he said, ‘they’ had a way of dealing with such things. “How did you know I was at the police station?” “I didn’t. I went to the hotel and they told me they’d arrested the suspects so I went to the station to see what they were talking about.” “So you didn’t know who I was?” “No, not really.” “But they said you told them that Johnny sent you to look for me.” “I had to say something. After I saw the way they’d… I asked the sheriff what the story was. He obviously had no clue. I couldn’t leave you there.” “So Johnny didn’t tell you anything about me?” “No. Should he have? Are you his...?” “No. Nothing like that. He’s just my friend. He’s like a big brother.” “Yeah. He’s driver said so. I asked him if he knew you. He said my dad would kill anyone that lays a hand on you.” “How are they treating him?” “Who? Dad? He’s alright. He’ll call me later tonight. You can talk to him then, if the kidnappers let him.” “What about his friends?” “He said they’re ok. I think they were after them and dad just sort of got in the way.” “When will you get him out?” “Don’t worry about that. We’re taking care of it.” Again with the ‘we.’ There was a way he said it that made me know better than to ask questions. “Tell me everything you remember about that night,” he said. “Did you tell anyone you were meeting my dad?” “No.” “The sheriff said you were with a friend. Could she have told someone?” “No.”

I remembered how the policewoman had warned me not to go with him. Perhaps he had told them that ‘they’ had their own way to get a confession out of me. It suddenly didn’t feel safe to be in Johnny’s house. I decided to make my case: “You said it was likely they were after the Americans, so even if I told anyone that I was meeting up with Johnny, how would I have known about his friends?” “I’m not accusing you of anything. I just want to make sure I’m not missing anything.” “Anything like what?” “Like why they choose that day, at that hotel, to kidnap him.” “I don’t know.” “I know you don’t, but there might be something you saw, or something he told you.” “Or someone I called?” “Sorry ‘bout that. Now that you say it I see how it sounds. Look, I’m just trying to sort this thing out.” “I want to go home.” “Don’t you want to talk to him?” I don’t know why I stayed but I did. I cleaned up and he gave me Johnny’s t-shirt to wear. I lay on the sofa while he made calls and spoke in his language. I knew I should leave but I was too tired and too worried over Johnny. I wanted to go home and look for Kike. The police didn’t return my phone and I hadn’t stored any numbers in my head. I could only imagine how worried over me she ways – she and all the girls. I don’t know when I fell asleep but I woke up when I felt a hand on my leg. I curled away in panic. I was instantly awake. I immediately knew it was night; how long had I been sleeping? John junior was on the sofa on the side where my feet were. He had a phone in his hand. I looked around and saw that there were other people in the room with us. All Lebanese, all old, and all sitting down and looking at me, quietly. I sat properly and pulled the shirt to cover as much of my laps as it could. “He’ll soon call,” he told me. We waited silently. I wished I had more things on. The phone rang and Johnny passed it over to the oldest man in the room. What followed was a bizarre negotiation over lives. The man kept insisting that fifty million was too much. He was so brash and so rude that I worried he might piss off the kidnappers. The other men watched on silently, and just when I thought he couldn’t get ruder, he called whoever was on the phone a ‘son of a thousand prostitutes’ and hung up. He had been so animated a moment ago when he was on the phone, but he was suddenly calm and quiet again – all of them as well. The phone rang again and he picked it up. “Look, my friend, if you want to talk to me don’t shout!” he shouted at the person on the phone. “I want to talk to me son…You bastard! Give the phone to my son. You cockroach! Give him the phone now! I have nothing more to say to you until I peak to my son. Have you ever seen fifty million in your life? You think I kidnap people for my money, like you? Give him the phone now, you bastard son of prostitutes!” A moment passed then the man spoke softly in Lebanese. The others listened intently. Next he was speaking to the kidnappers again and telling them that all he had was five million. “If you annoy me I will reduce it to three!” The conversation went on and on until he shouted at the kidnapper again and warned him that he would by God kill all his family if anything happened to his son. Then he ended the call. His son? The next time the phone rang he didn’t pick it up. They were all talking in Lebanese while the phone kept ringing till it stopped. I looked at John junior. He smiled at me as if to say everything was ok, then he turned his face back to the conversation. The phone rang again and John junior picked it up this time. “Can I speak to my dad, please?” he said. The kidnapper wanted to speak to ‘the other man’ but he insisted on speaking with his dad and soon Johnny was on the phone. “I’ve got your friend here,” he told his dad, “Amaka. She would like to talk to you.” But he didn’t give me the phone. They launched back into Lebanese till it was the old man’s turn to talk to him then to the kidnappers.

In the end, the calls lasted over an hour in which time the kidnappers agreed to five million Naira and the old man gave them a number to call to arrange ‘the rest.’ I didn’t get to speak to Johnny. The men got up to leave and John junior saw them off. They greeted me and one of them asked if I remembered him, I didn’t. They must have carried on discussing outside because John junior did not return for another thirty minutes. I looked around for a clock; I desperately wanted to know what time it was. When he returned he asked me if I was hungry. I wanted to ask him what was happening, what his father said, what the kidnappers said, but he wanted to know if I was hungry. Strangely, I was. He apologised that he had to send the cooks away so we would have to go out and eat. I told him I had nothing to wear and he suggested we go to my place to get my things. I was happy to be going home but why had he assumed I would return to Johnny’s house with him? The BQ was empty when I got there and I didn’t have my keys. I had just given up knocking and calling the girls’ names hoping there was someone asleep inside when my neighbour’s door opened. It was Mama. She screamed my name and ran to me. She squashed me in bear-hug of an embrace and called the other girls to come out. Long story short, when Kike returned and told them what had happened, they all decided it was a good idea to move out of the room. Kike was in tears when I saw her, but thank God she wasn’t hurt. Mama reminded me that she warned me not to go but I was too tired to even be upset at her timing. They let me in and I changed. John introduced himself to each of the girls and apologised for how I’d been treated. The girls didn’t want me to go and Mama even suggested coming with us but I managed to shake her off, but not before she told me that she had told Uncle China what happened and he was already ‘making some moves.’ I finally managed to say goodbye to the girls. “Take us to a good restaurant,” John junior told the driver. “What did Johnny say?” I asked him. “He’ll be ok.” I wanted to ask why he didn’t speak to me but it felt wrong to ask. “How long have you known my dad?” “A long time. He’s like my father.” “Nice to meet you, sister.” We laughed at his joke and the line returned. I was attracted to him in a way I’ve never been attracted to a man. I knew I was going to have him and I knew he wanted me too. Why did he have to be Jonny’s son? Why did we have to meet like this? Why wouldn’t Johnny talk to me? There was a time I would have slapped Johnny if he tried to touch with me. I would have done it not because the thought of it offended me, but because it was what the ‘me’ I had shown to him would have done. There had been moments when I knew he wanted to make a move but he never quite did, and there were times if had been bold we would have ended up sleeping together. So you see, this thing with his son was wrong wrong wrong. But it felt so right. I hardly even knew him but I already knew I would kiss him longer than I’d ever kissed anyone. I wanted to pray to God to stop me from doing something stupid but I didn’t. The driver took us to Yellow Chilly, and there, as soon as we sat down, I knew I should have stayed with the girls. Right next to us on another table was a man and two girls. It was the London boy and two young things. He saw me the instant I saw him. He looked at John junior then he looked at me and shook his head. My blood boiled.

Following...

You n dis london boy sef,nawa o,hope u wont create anoda scene...

Dnt misbehaved ursef diagn o on sighting London boy

Just bone his side @amaka

Be strong fear no more,i now u ar going to cross by sleepin wit john joniur.

Hmmmm dis is serious

Seems dia z an invisible rope dat tied u n diz london boi

follow i in.

You with this London boy sef...jex maintain

Again? nawa o

Am lukin 4 my johnny e tellin me dis e tellin me dat johnny mo. Du c my johnny ??

Part 21: Too badt! Some words of wisdom have been used so often that they’ve lost their ability to impart their wisdom. They’ve become so clichéd that by the time they apply to you, and someone who cares about you says them to you, their strength is lost in the million times you’ve heard them told before, sometimes even by you. As John junior sat he casually asked me if I knew that guy. I looked at the London boy and he was still looking at me, snarling, daring me to cause a scene. Or was he goading me on? At that very moment he looked to me like a kidnapper. On her old Blackberry pearl that she had given me, I texted Mama to tell her exactly what I was about to do. She replied by calling, almost instantly, and she told me what I needed to hear. “Don’t do something you will later regret,” she said. But I’d heard it so often and the words had lost their potency over me. Between my consuming desire to get even and the evil smirk on his face there was no stopping me now. He was the one who kidnapped Johnny. “He looks very familiar,” I whispered to John junior, “I’ve seen him around but I can’t place it right now. I think I saw him at…” I glanced at the bastard and he smiled an evil toothy smile at me. “Where?” John junior asked. “I can’t be sure, but I’m almost certain he was at the hotel when Johnny got kidnapped.” “Really?” “Yes. He was sitting next to Johnny and his friends. He was with some other men.” “On the same table?” “No, on the table next to him.” “Really? Did you guys talk? He really seems to know you.” “No! No. I remember him because I thought it was strange to see him there.” “Strange? How so?” “I think I’ve seen him before then. I was with Johnny that time as well. We were at a place, Marocaine.” “Where dad gets his Shawarma.” “Yes! Yes. I saw him there. I recognized him from Marocaine so I thought it was strange when I saw him again at Raddison.” “Interesting.” “Yes.” “I’m not really that hungry but I can do with some dodo, I haven’t had dodo in a long time. What about you?” “What?” “Would you like to make an order now?” “Why?” “Why? Are you ok, Amaka? You don’t look too, ok. Do you want us to go back home?” “No.” “O.K. Do you want to eat something?” “What?” “What’s on your mind? Are you alright?” “I’m alright. I’m ok. Let’s eat.” “Here, look at the menu.” He handed me the menu and straightened his jacket as he looked around. Had he not heard me? Did I not make it clear enough? “John, I remember why I thought it was strange to see him at the hotel.” “Yes. Because you had seen him before.” “No, no. Not that. When I saw him sitting next to Johnny he was with other men and they weren’t drinking.” “All men?” “Yes. Maybe they were following Johnny and his friends.” I’d said enough for him to make the mental leap. I waited. He looked at me with what can only be described as a poker face. He put his hands in his pockets and brought out a pack of cigarettes and a golden lighter. I thought he was ignoring me until pulled out a stick and placed it between his lips then as he lit it he took a good look at the London boy. “I’ll go finish this outside, will you excuse me?” he said. Where the hell was he going? “I have a phone call to make,” he added, and I felt like jumping for joy. John junior had hardly walked out the door when the London boy leaned over. “Baby, as we dey bump into each other, we suppose be friends o.” he said. Bastard! “Listen, baby, I’ve been hoping to bump into you again. I know I’ve done you wrong but I swear, I can explain.” I just wanted him to leave me alone. I didn’t want John junior to come back inside and see him talking to me. I also wanted to tell him I wasn’t his baby. At the end I just chose to ignore him. At least he was talking low and nobody could hear what he was saying to me. “I know you won’t believe me, and even if you did it’s still not a good excuse, but that night, on the bridge, I mistook you for someone else.” Where was he going with this? I continued to look straight ahead and I let him continue. “A girl, she looks like you, duped me a few nights before then. I thought it was you. I took her to the hotel and she stole everything. My watch, my money, even my Naija passport. I thought it was you, that’s why I took you to my hotel and did what I did. I met her at News Café, that’s why I was there, looking for her. And when I saw you and your friend by the gate I thought she was you. I thought you were pretending not to recognize me.” I looked at him from the corner of my eye. He looked coy, boyish, honest. I carried my face. “Listen, I now know it wasn’t you and I owe you an apology. That’s why I’ve been looking for you. To apologize and try to make things right. Please, I beg you in the name of God, let me make it up to you, any how you want.” “How do you now know it wasn’t me?” “I found her.” He picked his phone from his table and clicked through its menu. “See.”

He held his phone under my face. I saw the picture of a girl from her waist up, naked. Her hair was in a mess and from her face it was obvious she didn’t want her picture taken. “The police have arrested her,” he said. Then he looked up and retracted to his table taking his phone with him. I looked where he had looked and I saw John junior walking towards us. “Sorry ‘bout that,” said John junior. “Do you smoke?” “No.” “Have you ordered?” “No.” “Were you waiting for me? You shouldn’t have.” “No. Yes.” He smiled and buried his face in the menu. I wondered if he could tell how hard my heart was beating. Had he seen the London boy talking to me? “Where are the toilets?” he asked. “Upstairs.” “I’m sorry but you’ll have to excuse me again.” He got up to go. “Please, go ahead and order something. And get me some dodo and some goat meat for me. See you in a bit.” It was a trap! He had seen me talking to the London boy and now he thought I planned with him to kidnap his father! He was going to return immediately to see if he would catch us talking again. No! He was going to call his Lebanese friends, or the police. He was going to tell them to come and arrest me. Why couldn’t I just leave it? I still hadn’t ordered when he returned. He sat next to me as calmly as before and simply waved for a waiter. The London boy was counting out money for a waiter standing next to his table. He got up and his girls got up as well. They were leaving, thank God. He ushered the girls towards the door and gave one of them his keys then he stopped at our table. “Hi, I’m sorry I was disturbing your friend,” he said to Johnny. “I thought I knew her but she turned out to be someone else. My apologies to her and to you.” “It’s not a problem,” John junior said with a smile. “If I saw her alone at a table, I’d also be tempted to recognize her,” he added. I sat mortified. He should just go jor! He hadn’t seen the other side of my face till then. He was waving in front of my face to catch my attention when he saw the swollen lips and the swollen eye lid. He gasped. “What they fuck happened to you? Who did this?” “It’s nothing,” Johnny said. “Nothing? Look at her face. Did you do this?” I had to stop it. “No. It wasn’t him. Just go!” “I should go?” He stood to his full height and puffed out his chest. He wasn’t going. “Go!” “You can’t let these people be treating you like this,” he said, and he didn’t bother to keep his voice low. In fact, it seemed intentional. “You’re making a mistake, bro,” John junior said. “I am not your brother! What did she do to deserve this? You think you can just come to our country and be beating up our girls anyhow?” By now we had attracted more than careful glances. We had become the entertainment and no one was ashamed to be listening and watching. John junior was amazingly calm. “Ok, you are not my brother. But listen to me, I did not do this to her. And it is not any of your business.” The London boy ignored him and spoke to me. “Baby, look at me. Baby, why are you letting him treat you like this?” My head was buried in my palms. The manager, or someone with the authority of the manager, had arrived on the scene and was asking the London boy to calm down. He wasn’t listening, and when the lady placed her hand on his he flung so hard that he caught her in the face. At this, John junior got up and squared up to him. “Look, bro. I didn’t hit her. She told you, I told you, now I think it’s time you left.” A few waiters had gathered beside their madam, and even though the London boy dwarfed them all by a few feet, they looked like they were ready to go all area-boy on him. A few male customers also joined in. The London boy was standing alone. “I am not going anywhere until he tells me how she got those bruises!” The men hesitated, perhaps they also wanted to know, out of sheer amebo, or he had planted suspicion towards John junior in their hearts as well. “Darling,” said a female guest, “What happened to you?” I don’t know why I started crying. John junior was quickly by my side cradling me in his arms. He brought out his handkerchief and gave it to me. I curled into his embrace and wailed away. “It’s the fucking police!” He shouted. It was the first time I’d heard him raise his voice. “Now, leave us the fuck alone!” The crowd slowly, reluctantly dispersed, but not the London boy. “What happened?” he asked. “I told you, it’s none of your business.” “My brother is the commissioner of police. I can help.” my url address guys http://alifepress.wordpress.com or http://alifepress.ml

Ride on jo . . . . But me dnt trust dx london dude ooo

Oh I pray u hold urself o

Dat London Boy Is Just Actin.He Knew U Ar Suspicious Of Him.Remember D Sayin"fool Me Once,u Ar A Fool....Fool Me Twice,am A Fool. If U Allow Him Fool U Dis Second Time,jus Know U Ar A Gorrila.Even D Blind Wil Know He's Actin Up,wit D Scene,he Created.

Following.

Hmmmm don't kw wat 2 tink anymore Next plsss

Part 22: Bushmeat galore Things you cannot do on an empty stomach: Think, sleep, relax, make love. Things you can do on an empty stomach: have sex. I did not follow John Junior to his father’s house that night. I asked him to drop me at my place, and I think it was telling that he did not try to change my mind. We had both come close to crossing the line. The girls had moved back into our room. They were surprised to see me back. Only Mama noticed that I’d been crying. She took me outside to talk but all I could do was start crying all over again. I didn’t know I had so much tears in me. “Amaka, they will find him. By the grace of God, they will find him,” my friend consoled me. And wasn’t she right to assume my tears were for Johnny? But they weren’t. Truth is I didn’t know why I was crying. Between the ordeal I’d suffered, Jonny being kidnapped, Johnny’s son that I was attracted to, and the London boy, my heart was broken into several pieces and for several reasons. And oh, the embarrassment at Yellow Chilly. After the scene the London boy caused we couldn’t stay to eat. Perhaps that’s what made me cry – the scene, not the food. And when John junior got into the back of this father’s car with me and continued holding me against his chest, there was a point when I was no longer crying and he should have let me go. At that point he was no longer holding me to comfort me, and I should have let him go. But we both sat in silence in each other’s hands as the driver drove. His hands were around my shoulder and waist, and mine had found their way round his neck. I felt his breath upon my ear and heard his heart beating as fast as mine. When my fingers touched his face, his fingers spread onto my back. When I drew my head up a bit, he offered his neck to me. My lips lay upon his skin but they did not part. I drew in his aftershave and his palm moved over my back. I buried my head deeper into him and he drew me closer into his body. I wanted him. I wanted him so bad. And he wanted me too. He placed his palm upon my head and drew it down over my hair. I raised my face but did not look into his eyes – just enough for him to come the rest of the distance. He placed his hand under my chin and gently lifted my face. Then, just as our lips were in position to meet, he glanced at the rear-view mirror to check on the driver. That action, the single simple sensible thing he did ruined it. I don’t know why. I pulled myself away long before he could be sure the driver wasn’t watching. I leaned to my side of the seat and tried not to look at him. He looked at me. I looked out the window and felt the tears returning. That was when I told him I wanted to go home. “Amaka, baby, talk to me nau. It is ok. Uncle China said we should come, to discuss what he can do. Make we go now?” “Ehn?” I’d been lost in my recollections. “Uncle China say him fit help you. Make we go see am.” “Baby, I’m not in the mood.” “Ah han! It’s not like that now. He just wants to help. I’m the one that called him. Shebi I told you I will call him. It’s not like that at all.” But it was exactly like that. He was a man. I would go to his house and he would listen to my plight. He would promise to do this and that. He would take me to his room and he would expect to have sex with me. I was a girl in need and he could help, or at least he says he can. I was in the perfect situation for him to exploit. “He was very angry when I told him how they beat you o! In fact, I was there when he called the Commissioner of Police.” “The Commissioner of Police?” “Yes o. He called him right there, and the man was saying yes sir to him. He abuse the man, ehn? The man said he should bring you to his office.” “How does he know the Commissioner of Police?” “Who doesn’t he know?” I thought about it for a moment.

I was hungry, you see, and I’d not forgotten the meal we had at Uncle China’s house, so I told Mama to call him that we were coming, and I went to clean up and change into my Boubou that shows the sides of my boobs through the arms and the shape of my bum when I gathered the cloth playfully at the sides. Mama either did not call Uncle China, or she knew about the party and decided not to tell me. When the red cab dropped us off in front of his house it was obvious from the row of cars that there was a party somewhere, but I didn’t think it was at his place. When we knocked on the gateman’s window, a policeman opened the gate to see who we were. I looked inside his compound and there were more cars parked there, and people milling around. Mama asked for one of the usual guards by name and this was enough to convince the officer that we belonged there. That, or he saw two girls and concluded that we were just part of the fodder. “What is happening?” I asked Mama as we stepped into Uncle China’s compound and into festival of a party. There were babes everywhere; more babes than men, far more babes. “’Is a party nao.” “Party? You knew?” “Amaka, abeg, le’s go inside jor.” “Mama, I didn’t come here for a party.” “You want to be going back now?” “Mama, wait. Look at my face, I can’t do this.” “Nothing is wrong with your face jor.” “That’s not what I mean.” I had dabbed on enough powder to cover the bruises, and the swelling had gone down a lot. “I did not plan for this.” “Oh, Amaka, you have come again. Shebi we just came to see him? Abi? Ehn, let us see him first and after we can go nau, abi?” It was only then that I noticed she had worn her Apple Bottom jeans and was carrying her fake Louis Vuitton bag. “Babes, I can’t go inside looking like this.” “Like how? So you want us to be going now?” “Yes.” “Ok. Call a cab then.” She stood there as if she really expected me to call a cab. She called my bluff instead. She grabbed my hand and pulled me. “Come jor, le’s go inside.” It wasn’t the first time someone would ‘hail’ Mama, but when we entered the house and the first thug who saw us went into a loud - obviously alcohol bolstered - “Mama niyen! Mama kan, Lagos kan!” I wanted to enter the ground. We were in the midst of a party that was so huge it had spilled into the corridors and the hallway and the staircase. It felt like a club in there, only that the music playing was Juju, Sunny Ade, to be precise. The smell of food was heavy in the air. Moin-moin and party jollof rice, and fried meat. “Wey Uncle dey?” Mama asked the tout. He pointed the way with an arm that had a bottle of Star in a neck strangle. “He dey pool side.” He looked at me and did a little bow. “Sister, I dey hail o.” I pretended I didn’t hear him. We made our way through the house and through lots and lots of people, mostly young girls and old men, to get to the pool side. There, we found a less riotous gathering. Men, old rich-looking men, were sitting on white plastic chairs around white plastic tables arranged in a circle around the small heart-shaped swimming pool. A few girls kept them company, but quite a few tables only had men, eating pounded yam and egusi with their bare hands and talking and laughing the way rich men talk. Uncle China saw us before we saw him. He got up from his table, upsetting a few bottles of star, and walked over to us.

I was shocked to see Mama going half way down into a kneel to greet him but it was too late for me to copy her by the time he reached us and threw his arms around us. “Maka, maka,” he greeted me. “Ayam so happy to see you. Oya, come come, I want you to meet the Police Commissioner.” It was time to run again. But I had to play it well. I placed my arm around his neck to speak into his ear. I pressed my body against him more than I should; pretending that the loud music made it necessary to do so. I told him I had to use the toilet immediately. The man insisted he would take me. He told Mama to go and sit at his table and he gripped my wrist and led me back into his house. The party was confined to the ground floor, thugs standing at the top of the staircase made sure of it. He led me past his boys then down a corridor and finally through a door that had his bedroom on the other side. It was the bedroom of a rich tasteless man: oversized elaborately carved wooden bed finished with a shiny lacquer that made it look cheap, a mini fridge humming where a side stool should have been, Persian rug over a stripped colourful carpet, enough electronic equipment to run an event complete with fifty-two inch plasma screen taking pride of place on a massive TV stand meant for one of those old fat TVs. The room was cold; thanks to one of those tall, freestanding AC units they have in banking halls. He showed me the door to his bathroom and assured me he’d be waiting for me. Shit. I locked the door behind me - a force of habit more than anything else - then I sat on the edge of his bathtub, after checking that it was dry and clean. What was I going to do? Why was I running, again? The Police Commissioner was downstairs, what would I say to him? Tell him about Johnny and about the police officer who raped me? Tell him about his brother and the other type of rape he did to me? Fuck him? And then what? Once again I felt my world spiralling out of control and I was acutely conscious of the fact that it all started with that foolish London boy. I hated him more now than before. I hated the way he embarrassed me at Yellow Chilly, but more than that I hated him for giving me that cock and bull story. He thought I was someone who stole from him - what nonsense! What utter, absolute, soul-vexing, total bullshit lie! That night, when he saw me again, enough time had passed for the sheer memory of how he fucked me to not be enough. Enough time had passed for him to want me again, and seeing me with another man had made me even more desirable. He showed me the picture of a poor girl accused of stealing a mobile phone from some cult boys. I felt insulted. I heard a knock on the door and remembered that Uncle China was still waiting for me. Outside the door, waiting for me, was either my chance at revenge or more rope to hang myself. I was done crying, there was simply no point. I flushed the toilet and turned the tap. I would go out there and do whatever or whoever it takes to deal with that bastard London boy once and for all.

Part 23: Strong medicine Uncle China was waiting for me on the edge of his big bed. In my mind I walked up to him, stood in front of him and let him grab my bum in both his arms and suck my boobs through my Boubou. But in real life I stood at the door, looked at him waiting to devour me and I burst into tears. “Amaka? Kilode?” He said. He was on his feet in an instant and by my side in another instant. He led my back to his bed and made me sit next to him on the edge. “Kilode? What is wrong? Talk to me.” I just kept crying. When I came out and looked at him, and saw his deep tribal marks, and his shiny contoured bald head, and his protruding belly, I knew I couldn’t sleep with him no matter what, so I changed my strategy. The ability to cry on demand is probably one of a girl’s best tricks; that, and the ability to fake an orgasm. This man who a minute ago had been stroking his ageing cock in anticipation of fucking me was now thoroughly deflated both in intent and physically. He was tending to my distress to the detriment of his plan and I was not going to stop until he had sobered up enough to want me to just go home – for today at least. He asked what was wrong and I poured out my heart, and a few lies. About my kidnapped friend, he knew, but he didn’t know that Johnny was also like the only brother I ever had and that I blamed myself for what happened to him that night. He also learnt from me that ‘we’ were trying to raise the ransom money. He asked me how much and I told him ten million – a sum I felt he would feel comfortable contributing ten percent of, or thereabouts. I left out stories of the poor mother or the ailing father; he had probably heard those too often. I didn’t know how to bring up the London boy, or if I should, so I pulled out the joker that was sure to make him place me way outside his desires and at the same time earn me all the pity he could have for a girl he really didn’t know. I told him how the policeman raped me repeatedly at the police station. He listened quietly then when I was done he calmly asked me, “Have you seen a doctor?” I told him I went to a clinic to get my face looked after but that wasn’t what he meant. “You have to check yourself,” he said. He got up and walked into his bathroom leaving me to deal with the gravity of my situation. I hadn’t thought of that. What was wrong with me? I started crying again, this time for real. He returned with some pills that he gave to me. He explained to me that he buys them from an Indian doctor and that they will ‘wash’ anything out of me, but I must see a doctor and get a check-up, he stressed. I didn’t have to worry about sleeping with him now – or anyone he knew. He got bottled water from his mini-fridge and gave it to me. I knew better than to believe there was any medicine one could take to protect against HIV after being exposed to it, but I took the medicine he gave me all the same. “My sister did not tell me you were raped.” He said. I still didn’t get why he referred to Mama as his sister.

“I didn’t tell her. I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t want anyone to know.” “I understand. But you should still have gotten yourself checked out. My friend, doctor, is downstairs. I will tell him to take care of you and we will speak to the Commissioner of Police.” “I don’t want any more trouble. The officer will deny what he did to me and then I won’t be safe again.” “In this Lagos? You will be safe. And your friend that they kidnapped, what are they saying about him?” “His people said they don’t want to involve the police.” “Yes, you told me that already, but what are his people saying? Are they sure they will release the man after they pay the money?” “I don’t know.” “What about his friends, the Americans they kidnapped with him? How much are they asking for those ones?” An alarm went off. I didn’t tell him about the Americans. He saw the look on my face. “Your friend told me everything. I have already told the Commissioner and he is following the case. That is why he wants to see you. I also have people working on things.” “The money is for all of them.” “Do you think they have that kind of money?” “They are still trying to raise it.” “They have it. They are only playing tricks on the kidnappers. Kora people will not just throw money away like that. They will get their son back and they will deal with the hooligans. They have their own way of dealing with things like this.” “I just hope they find him soon.” “Don’t worry, they will. You are staying here tonight. You and my sister will sleep in my room. My friends are using the other rooms.” He got up from the bed. “I will not tell my sister what you told me, but you have to talk to doctor today. Come, I will introduce you to him.” We left his room and we didn’t speak all the way till we got to the poolside. He exchanged greetings with people, all the time holding my arm as we negotiated the crowd. Mama was dutifully at his table where he had told her to wait. The ashewo grinned and winked when she saw me. We had been gone a long while. Obviously, the same thought that had formed in her mind was in the minds of the other guests at the table. I avoided their eyes. Someone got me a chair and some people shifted for me. I sat silently and dreaded being introduced. He did exactly that. He introduced me as his girlfriend! Then he told everyone - they were all men apart from Mama - that if he caught any of them looking at me too much or trying to take my number he would make them swim fully clothed in his swimming pool. It was an ice breaker. Thankfully I’d not been placed next to Mama. She was trying to catch my eyes but I was pretending to survey the party. I felt my phone vibrating in my purse and I looked up to find her holding hers. I just knew it was her. I ignored the phone. I wondered which of the men at our table was the Commissioner of Police, then a terrible thought occurred to me: What if his brother was here as well? Someone called my name. I turned to see Uncle China standing with a tall young man in blue jeans and a black Polo shirt. One of his boy-boys, no doubt, and he was the one who had called out my name.

I excused myself from the table and walked over to them. “Amaka, this is my friend, Rotimi. He wants to talk to you.” And with that Uncle China left me alone with the guy. “Hi. How are you?” He extended a handshake. “I’m fine.” “Ok, this is embarrassing, I didn’t tell him I wanted to talk to you. He told me to help him call you and now this.” What was he talking about? “Let’s start again. Hi, I’m Rotimi.” I nodded. “Sis, I’m as out of place in this place as you are. I’ve been coming to his parties for years and I still haven’t managed to blend in with the crowd.” “Ehehn?” “Amaka, right? It’s obvious I’m boring you. Do you want to return to your sit?” What did he expect me to say to that? Who was he? “Who are you?” It just dropped from my mouth. “Rotimi. Who are you?” “Amaka.” We laughed at the same time. “Amaka, what do you do?” “What do you do?” “I asked first.” “I’m a student. And you?” “What are you studying?” “One question at a time. What do you do?” “I’m a doctor.” “Oh!” “Yes, he told me about your situation. Do you want to talk about it?” “So why did you say you didn’t want to talk to me?” “I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t mean to call you like that. He tricked me. We were talking about you, but I didn’t know who you were, then I asked him who that girl was, that’s you, and he said her name is Amaka. He told me to help him call you. Then he told me you were the one.” “Ok.” “Do you feel like talking? About it?” I shrugged. “Let’s find a quiet place.” The only quiet place we could find was inside his car, a blue End-of-Discussion parked inside the compound. When I closed the passenger door he ignited the engine and switched on the AC. His stereo started playing Michael Frank’s The lady wants to know. He switched it off. “So, what happened?” he said. “Someone raped me.” “Do you know the person?” “No.” “When did this happen?” “A few days ago.” “And you haven’t seen a doctor?” “No.” “Are you concerned you may have been infected?” “Obviously.” “Ok. Was there bruising?” “No.” “Uncle C said he gave you something?” “Yes. But I know it won’t work, I just took it.” “Well, I wouldn’t say so. In some cases, especially rape cases, we can give a patient post-exposure prophylaxis. But I’m sure that’s not what he gave you. Most likely some multivitamins or some herbal remedy that’ll keep you awake at night at the best.” “So there is something I can take.” “Yes, but it depends on your HIV status. When last did you do an HIV test?” “Last year.” “How many months ago, roughly?” “About six seven months.” “And since then?” “I haven’t done any.” He laughed. “No, I mean have you had unprotected sex since then?” “No.” “Not until you were raped?” I nodded. “Ok. We have to get you tested tomorrow.” “Doesn’t it take longer than that for it to be detectable?” “With normal antibody tests, yes, but we can do a combination test, or a PCR tests. Basically, the other tests are able to detect infection a lot earlier but they are more expensive. But that’s not the point of the test I want to do now. I need to know your current status so I’ll know how to treat you starting from tomorrow.” “Oh, ok.” “I know you know your status, but I must still do the test, you understand?” “Yes.” “Besides, Uncle C is paying so I’ll do all the tests and some more. I’ll even test you for asthma. His bill will be very big!” It was a joke and I laughed. We sat in silence for a moment then he switched on his stereo and Michael Frank’s voice filled the dark cabin. “Sorry, I like old people’s music,” he said. “I like it. I think Antonio’s song is his best song ever.” He looked at me surprised. I smiled and we both stayed in his car listening to good music. He was handsome, and funny. And he was a doctor, my doctor.

Hmmm,hope smtin is nt going 2 happen btw u guys

Hmmmm hp dis won't lead 2 sometin else

Wen does he become ur doctor amaka seriously u don't know what is wrong with u

lolz he z nw ur doctor abi

Amaka baby ur doctor? Nawa u o take am ezy o

seriously. this bae, ur matter na federal. next pls

hhmmnnnm.ur doctor?

Op he won't b mur dan a doctor

Buh den, lyk seriously amaka jux doesnt knw wat she want, ur own na case study in its entirety gaskiya.. nxt pls!

Amaka! Amaka! Amaka! How many times did I call u? U mean he don bcom ur doctor Just immediately???????? I fear 4 u....

I see 2 of u relax inside d motor listning to music,ha

I hope nothing will go on between both of u.

Part 24: Awan eleyi badt! Uncle China came out to look for us. I saw him walking towards Doctor’s car and shifted in my sit. Rotimi didn’t see him and continued nodding gently to the music with his eyes closed. Uncle China knocked on the window of the driver’s side. I pretended I just saw him. Rotimi switched off his stereo then pressed a button to roll down the window. “Oti yewo?” – have you checked her, he asked the doctor. “Rara sir,” – no, Rotimi replied. “Kilewan shey ninu oye?” – So what were you doing in the car with the AC on? “Uncle C, my car no be clinic o.” Uncle C bent down to look at me. I decided to look distressed, but in the darkness of the cabin I couldn’t be sure he saw the look I’d conjured up for his benefit. “Amaka, oya, let’s go upstairs.” I was shocked. He still wanted to take me to his bed? Or was he just showing the younger man who is boss? Rotimi also got out of his car as I did. Uncle China slapped him playfully on the back and pinched his skin. The younger man coiled away and they both laughed at a joke they thought was private. I got it. I also got that ‘have you checked her’ meant have you touched her. I made a mental note to ask Mama if Uncle China knew I speak Yoruba. “Doc, are you coming?” Uncle China asked. Rotimi looked at me as if he expected me to decide for him. I wished he wouldn’t. Uncle China pressured him: “You this young man, when I was your age I was fire! You are about to tell me it’s getting too late, abi? Ok, it is a command; you are coming upstairs!” Rotimi was smiling sheepishly. He shrugged and that settled that. Images of Kike’s man and Charles Alfonso Paraku canoodling in bed filled my mind. But before I could feel my heart break and be overwhelmed with despise for what my life had become, Uncle China turned to me and added to my confusion. “You, you won’t play o,” he said. My mouth was dry as I asked “Play what?” “The water game,” he said. He slapped palms and snapped fingers with Rotimi. They both knew what the water game was. In my mind I was thinking, why upstairs? The pool is downstairs. Uncle China led the way back into his big house, I followed behind, after Rotimi casually placed his hand on my back to urge me on. What was I getting into? At the foot of the stairs we ran into a party waiting for the host. They were mostly men but a few of them had girls clinging possessively onto their arms. They were pretty girls who looked decent and clean, and then there was Mama, standing alone holding a half drunk bottle of Moët by the neck and looking worse for wear. I hoped she knew what the water game was. We went upstairs and it quickly became obvious that not everyone was invited to that side of the party. Thugs working as bouncers held out their hands as if they were stopping gate-crashers from joining us. We got to the now familiar landing and joined up with another gathering waiting for us. Men outnumbered women ten-to-one. I looked around for Mama but she wasn’t with us. I found Rotimi instead, standing at the back of the crowd, looking out of place. Uncle China ushered his guests through a double door into a large lavish parlour. The room was freezing. Grown men jostled for chairs - invariably there weren’t enough for everyone. Girls sat on their men’s legs as servants brought dining table chairs to make up for the shortage. I looked around for Mama but couldn’t find her. Had she been bounced? Rotimi was again at the end of the room, far from me. I wondered if he was avoiding me. Someone placed a chair behind me and I dutifully sat. Playful boisterous banter filled the room. I looked around and found that I was the only girl sitting alone. Uncle China was talking to a couple of fat-bellied men and Rotimi was accepting a bottle of Star from a servant. I studied the few girls who had made it past the bouncers. I recognized something in them. They were silent, concentrating on looking good, constantly touching their braids and arranging their outfits. They had the pensive disposition of cattle brought to slaughter. They knew the fate that awaited them and they were mentally preparing themselves for the task ahead. Getting paid for it doesn’t mean the sex would come naturally; you may not like the look of the man, he might have an odour that does not agree with you, your body may simply not be in the mood for sex. But you have to do it, and you have to pretend to enjoy it. You have to fake an orgasm, and when he’s done you have to clean yourself up and be reminded through pain and bruises of how you just sold your body against all that society has thought you is right to do.

They reminded me of me, of the several nights I’d sat like them, with strange men, getting my body prepared to sleep with them. I pitied them. I pitied myself. Uncle China was in the middle of his parlour asking everyone to listen. “Gentlemen,” he said, “oya, put your money down.” The men dug in their pockets and threw bundles of cash onto the floor. Money, lots of it, quickly spread out at Uncle China’s feet. I looked at the other girls; they were looking at the money. I looked to see if Rotimi would also join in. He was holding his beer in one hand and his other hand was in his pocket. Our eyes met and he winked and smiled. Uncle China used his feet to gather the money together. He looked at a man in white danshiki. “Captain, I don’t see dollars here o!” he said. Captain relished the moment. With everyone watching, he stretched out on the armchair he had commandeered and reached into his trouser pocket. He took his time probing then he drew out a bundle of hundred dollar notes. He flung the cash at Uncle China who tried to kick it like a ball but missed and managed to fall ass first onto the pile of cash. The men laughed. Money has a spirit. I didn’t know what the water game was but it didn’t matter. I was fixated on the little hill of cash on the floor, a few feet from me. If NEPA took light right then my hands would be one of the first to reach the money. I looked at Rotimi, he was looking at me. He widened his eyes and shook his head in the manner of ‘whew.’ Uncle China was helped to his feet by a bouncer with a crude dagger tattoo on his exposed bicep. “Ok, we are ready now,” he said. “What of your own money?” someone asked. Uncle China gave the man a dirty look then he hissed. “Man-o-war!” he shouted. A thug that answered to the name picked up a beer carton and ran to his master’s side. Uncle China gave him a nod to do the honours and Man-o-war emptied bundles of cash onto the heap on the floor. The men cheered. Rotimi was smiling and shaking his head. “Oya, go and bring them,” the host told his boy. The thug marched off and a little while later, through the double doors we had come through, Mama strolled majestically into the room. Behind her, in heels and nothing else, a string of lepa girls followed, walking like models. Wait o! They were models! I recognised the first one, from a billboard, then the next, then the next!

Mama stepped aside and gestured for the girls to continue. They walked in a neat row down the middle of the room, sashaying to cheers and stares. They were hot. They were all shaved, their hairs were done and not one of them looked at the money. Man-o-war held a Ghana-must-go bag open for Mama. She reached inside and fetched white T-shirts which she handed out to the models. The girls slipped into the T-shirts as bottles of Eva water were passed round to the men. A moment later I learnt what the water game was. No one gave the command to begin but the instant music started playing and the girls started dancing the men charged at them pouring and sprinkling water at them. A sick kind of laugher filled the room. The men were like boys playing a schoolyard game that made them ecstatic. I searched through them for Rotimi; he didn’t have a bottle of water. I looked at Mama, her eyes were bloodshot and she had somehow managed to find another bottle of Moët & Chandon which she was now gurgling from. This strange mad frenzy continued, with servants handing fresh bottles of water to men turned to boys, until the water ran out. The girls kept dancing throughout, wet from their hair to their toes. The music died and the dancing stopped. The men grumbled and the girls wiped water from their faces. Uncle China took the floor and clapped for the girls. “Oya, who is the winner?” he said, and a few men pointed and shouted their preferences. A particularly buxom girl seemed to be the favourite. The girls pulled their wet T-shirts tight against their bodies showing off the outlines of their breasts. Nipples peeped teasingly. Uncle China went from girl to girl asking his guests if she was the winner. The girl on display would then turn left and right, throw in a wiggle or two and hope for the loudest cheer. It all felt so unreal. It was the turn of a yellow girl I recognized as the face of something or the other. She stepped out of the line of girls and did an ass-popping number that sent the already excited men wild all over again. She tuned round and went down low, exposing the crack of her bum to me. I was suddenly disgusted. Not at her, I’d do more than that for that pile of money on the floor - I assumed the money was for the winner – but I suddenly took great exception to men of means making us debase ourselves for their sick amusement and for money that to them was nothing. Why can’t you just give the girl the money? You can throw it on the floor, so it’s nothing to you, why not just help her and give it to her? Why must she expose herself and have water poured over her and fuck your lazy old cock that needs Viagra and 15 minutes to work? I picked up my purse and stood up. It was time to leave. Uncle China saw me and shook his head. I stood there long enough for him to get back into the swing of his debauched party then I walked away from the madness with my head held high. Downstairs I realised I didn’t have a ride home and Okadas do not operate inside VGC so getting to the gate where I’d find a bus or a taxi to take me home was going to be a long thing. I was still contemplating my next move when Rotimi caught up with me. “Not your kind of thing?” he asked. I turned to him, half glad to see him and half angry that he’d been there - he was one of them, looking at those girls like that. “No,” I answered, sounding a little more angry than I intended to. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you’re not one of them,” he said. I looked squarely into his eyes wondering how best to respond. “No, I’m not,” I said, “they are models; me, I’m just a prostitute.” He tried to laugh at what he thought was sarcasm. “I came here to fuck your friend. I didn’t know he had a party. I am a prostitute. I sell my body for money. I’m a student, my mother doesn’t have money. I sleep with men for money, and if you have some I will sleep with you too. Are you happy?” “Babes.” “Fuck off!” And with that I left. I banged on the gate till a security man rushed to open it for me. Rotimi didn’t call my name. He didn’t run after me. I stepped outside and started walking in the direction I thought led to VGC gate.

Part 25: Unlovable My mind was on getting home. As I walked past the big compounds of VGC I wasn’t thinking of the girls dancing for the men and I wasn’t thinking of Rotimi. Later I would realise I wasn’t even thinking about Johnny, and this would make me feel bad. But I just wanted to get home and I was praying and hoping the girls were all out and I would have the mattress to myself. At God knows what time in the night, the roads were quiet. The street lights and the houses where lit but the serenity of the night was not disturbed by generators and I could hear the crickets chirping – something you don’t hear in VI. I’ve read somewhere that only male crickets chirp, and it’s a sound they make to attract female crickets. But why do they do it every night? Are they that randy? Are males, irrespective of specie, always looking to have sex? Men -I hate them. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them. Yes, my mind was blank and those random thoughts fleeting through my head were just that: random thoughts. My mind was so blank and tuned into my random thoughts that I did not hear his car till he was right by my side. He rolled down the window to speak to me. “What did I do?” he asked. It was Rotimi. Truthfully, he had not done anything. I wanted to tell him this but I felt an overriding need to tell him something more urgent, something that had just occurred to me right then: I was losing my mind! “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I told him, and it was the most truthful thing I’d said all night. Once again I was feeling my life spiralling out of my control. I had started suspecting it sometime ago but now I was almost too sure that my random acts of irrationality and madness, and running, were down to something more serious than the London boy or the life of a hustling girl. I truly and honestly realised there was something wrong with me, in the head, and I don’t even smoke weed o. “Babes, you were raped. You are in trauma. It’s expected. Come in. Let me take you home.” “Why?” “Why what?” “Why do you want to take me home?” “Babes, it’s like 1 AM. How are you going to get home?” “I’ll get a taxi.” “At this time?” “Yes.” “But what if you don’t get one?” “There is always a taxi?” “And how long are you going to wait for one?” “As long as it takes.” “But I can drop you.” “I don’t want to go home.” “So where do you want to go? You want to go back to the party?” “No.” “So, where?” “To your house.” “My house?” By now I was standing by the passenger door, his car was idling, and he was leaning on the passenger seat to see my face. “Isn’t that what you want? Didn’t you want to take me home tonight?” He kept looking at me but it was too dark to see the look on his face. “Just come in,” he said and he opened the door for me. I stood still. “This is what you were planning since,” I said. He shook his head. “No, I wasn’t planning anything.” “Why are you lying?” “I’m not. Look, I’m married. I have a wife, so I wasn’t thinking of taking you home or anything like that. But you can come to my place if you don’t want to go home. My wife is in England. You can sleep in the guest room.” What is it about having a woman that makes a man more desirable? I won’t lie that it’s not true, and I won’t lie that I’ve not wanted a guy even more when I’ve found out he already has a woman. Some people have put it down to competition; others have explained it away as knowing that he’s dependable – ostensibly because he has a woman he’s taking care of. Yet others - and I tend to agree with them - say it’s because we think he must have something to offer that the other woman, his woman, sees in him. Is this true? Do we really base our decision to date a man, to flirt with him, to get into his car, to encourage his attention, on whether or not another woman already has him? If so, my question is, who was he with that made the woman he’s with now want him? Or was she better than us and saw in his single self, something that other women to follow would see in her man? I don’t know.

To say the truth, I wasn’t expecting him to say that. And when he said it, it was as if God had chosen that precise moment to slap me one more time in continuation of the punishment which I sensed my life had become. But I got into his car, and I made it seem as if it was because I felt more comfortable knowing he had a wife and he didn’t want to sleep with me, but that was far from the truth. The truth is I got into his car because in the space of the few seconds after he told me he had a wife and he didn’t want to sleep with me, I went over every second of all the interactions we’d had since I met him and I wasn’t ready to accept that the flirtation had all been in my mind. I had felt an attraction and I felt it was mutual, and yes he had a wife but that didn’t mean he didn’t want me, even if he was too faithful to go ahead and try to have me. And maybe that is it. At that very moment I think I figured it out. We are attracted to the man who has a woman because we want to be loved like he loves her. At the end of the day it’s not about wanting to steal another woman’s man, or wanting to compete with her; it’s simply about wanting to be loved. And a taken man by definition is a man who has demonstrated his ability to love, so we want him to love us too, to see if we can be loved. The moment I got into his car I started watching out for signs that he really wanted me. After I closed the door and did my seat belt I felt him looking at me as if we wanted to say something. He didn’t. At the exact moment I turned my head to look at him, he turned to face the road. He drove up the street then turned onto a side road. I was sure that wasn’t the way to VGC gate. He didn’t look at me but he felt me looking at him. “I live in VGC,” he said by way of explanation for my questioning look. We rode in silence to his house. We didn’t talk when he pressed his horn and his night guard opened the gate. We didn’t talk when he parked and we both got out and he opened the door to his house and stepped aside for me to go in first. I was only brave enough to take two steps into utter darkens. He switched on the lights behind me and I immediately started looking for her pictures. It was a lovely living room. “Do you want some water?” he asked. “Yes please.” He left me to go fetch the water but I couldn’t get myself to venture further into his house; into another woman’s house. He returned with two glasses of water and gave me one. As I drank he asked if I wanted to go to bed. I nodded. “Come,” he said. I knew in my heart that if he took me to his room and expected me to sleep in his matrimonial bed I would, but I wouldn’t let him touch me. I would remind him of what he said and I would wait to see how hard he would beg me to let him hold me at least. Upstairs, he took me into a room and told me it was mine for the night then he switched on the AC and asked if I needed anything. “No, I’m fine,” I said. Then he said good night and turned to leave. “Thank you,” I said as he was about to close the door. He turned to look at me.

“You are welcome. What are you doing tomorrow?” “Nothing.” “Cool. In the morning we’ll go to my clinic and I’ll run your tests. Is that ok?” I nodded. “I’m sorry about what I said to you,” I said. “That makes two of us. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m not married but I had to say so to make you come home with me. You were in no state to be going home alone.” “You are not married?” I did not believe him. He had realised he I wouldn’t sleep with him because he was married and now he was lying that he wasn’t, now that he’d gotten me to his house. “Nope.” And with that he shut my door and I listened as he walked away and open and shut another door. Needless to say, sleep was the last thing on my mind. The room he put me in was so tidy it felt uncomfortable. I looked at the beautiful bed with a perfectly smooth white sheet and I felt guilty to ruffle it. I walked about the room, opening wardrobes and drawers, and then I finally sat on the bed. I sat like this until I started feeling cold, thanks to the AC. The light was still on and I was fully clothed. I realised I was waiting for him to return, to knock on the door and ask me to come to his room: to prove to me that he’s just like every other man. But he didn’t come and I was getting colder and colder. I stood up and walked to the door. It didn’t have a key in the lock. I found the light switch and flicked it off. By the time I was done removing my clothes my eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and I could see my way around. I got under the duvet, closed my eyes and listened to see if I’d hear him opening his door to come to mine. I don’t know when I fell asleep. I woke up to the sound of knocking. At first it was in a dream and I was the one knocking on the door to our BQ because I’d left my keys at home and the girls were asleep, then gradually I stirred to consciousness and I realised he had finally come to make his move. I was suddenly wide away under the duvet. He had stopped knocking and my eyes were on the door and my ears pricked to every sound. I heard the door handle turning and I closed my eyes. I felt the light from the corridor outside. “Amaka, Amaka,” he called my name. Then I heard my phone ringing. “Amaka,” I heard his voice close to me then I felt his hand shaking me. My phone was ringing closer to me now. I pretended to wake up. “What?” I asked, trying to sound sleepy. He spoke in near whispers. “Your phone dropped in the car,” he said. “My maigauard heard it ringing and called to tell me.” The phone had stopped ringing. He was on the edge of my bed now. He handed me the phone and I checked only to find seven missed calls all from Mama. “Thanks,” I said. “No probs,” he said. Then he got up to leave. “Good night.” “Good night.” He left and I switched off the phone. I was wide awake, I didn’t want to talk to Mama, and he was walking away. Was it because he thought I had HIV? Or did he just not like me?

Hmmmmmm I lyk Rotimi

Hmmmmmmm

Nt all men do that thing joor..

Amaka be very careful.

This quy get heart..... Rotimi I like his style

The guy dey coded himself ni o

Lyk d way u kill her doubt toward u @Rotimi,welldone @Shaxee

All men are not d same.rotimi is a gentle man.

Haha

wao

Part 26: Explain that I’ve woken up in many strange beds before but it’s always been next to a strange man who has paid me to be in his bed. Waking up alone on the bed in Rotimi’s beautiful comfortable guestroom felt strange. I’m one of those people who can go to sleep at 4 am and still wake up at six. I always wake up before my alarm. School and needing to get out of a man’s house before it’s light outside has trained me so. I was wide awake and unsure what to do. If he was next to me I’d have either woken him up, or if matters had been settled the night before and I knew my way out, I’d be getting dressed and I’d only wake him up at the last minute just to tell him I’m leaving. But I was alone in his guestroom and I didn’t know what to do. Do I wait for him to wake up and come check up on me? Do I go to his room and knock his door? I decided to wait, but I soon found that I couldn’t do even that. I reached for me phone and switched it on. Messages started beeping away. My battery was low so after checking that no one important had called, no call from Johnny junior, I switched the phone off and tried to go back to sleep. I was just dozing off, I think, when I heard him knocking. It had to be him; we were the only two people in the house. “Come in,” I said. He was in a pair of boxers and nothing else. I was naked under the sheets. He had a glass of what looked like orange juice in one hand and a mug in the other. “Good morning you,” he said. “Did you sleep well?” “Yes. Good morning.” He walked over and sat on the bed. “How do you feel this morning?” “I’m fine.” “Cool. I didn’t know if you’re a coffee person or a juice person so I brought both.” “Juice.” He handed me the glass of juice and he sipped out of the coffee. “It’s almost seven,” he said. “If we don’t get out of VGC now we’ll be stuck in traffic all morning.” "Oh.” “Remember? We’re going to my clinic?” “Yes, yes.” “The bathroom is the second door on your right when you come out. Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes?” He smelt of soap but I still asked. “What about you?” “I’m ready. I’m just going to get dressed. Please, don’t be one of those women who take one hour to get ready.” He smiled to let me know he was joking then he got up to leave. “Thank you,” I said. “For what?” “For everything.” He stood by the door for a while looking at me and smiling. He looked as if he wanted to say something, then he left. I wanted to impress him so I got ready superfast but even at that, when I got downstairs he was fully dressed in a black suit, a white shirt and a red tie, standing by the dining table and sipping coffee, as if he had been waiting for me forever. He looked like a banker; a rich banker. “I’m ready,” I said. “Cool,” was all he said and he grabbed his keys off the dining table. I don’t even think he looked at me. We didn’t get out early enough to beat the traffic to VI and nothing could have been worse than being stuck in traffic alone with him in his car. We spent the entire hour and a half in awkward silence. After we passed the first roundabout he switched on his stereo and asked me if it wasn’t too loud. That was all the talk we had till we got to his office at VI. Now, I’ve been to many hospitals before but never one inside a block of luxury flats. At first I didn’t get out of the car when he parked because I thought he had stopped over to see someone. When we entered the flat that he called his clinic, we entered a normal living room. There was a lady at the dining table working on a laptop. She didn’t get up when we entered. She greeted him and smiled at me as if she knew me. He turned to me. “Would you like some breakfast?” I was hungry but I’d not known how to tell him. “Yes please,” I said. He told me to sit down then he gave me the remote for the flat screen TV on the wall and he told me I could change the station if I wanted to. Then he disappeared into a room and next time he came out he was with a short man in a chef’s uniform. “Sunday will sort you out,” he said. He disappeared again, this time through a corridor that should lead to bedrooms if the flat was still being used as a home. Sunday told me had had English or Continental breakfast. I didn’t know the difference so I asked him for English. He asked me if I wanted coffee or tea and I told him juice. The lady at the table looked my way and caught me looking at her. “That’s a lovely dress you have,” she said. She spoke funeh.

“Thanks.” “Did you make it?” “Yes.” “Wow. You must give me your tailor’s information. But I’m sure it won’t look as good on me. It’s like seeing a hair do on someone and going to get the same, never mind that the girl you copied it off has a perfectly shaped head.” She spoke as if we were friends. I didn’t know her and I wasn’t comfortable speaking to her about my Boubou or about hair styles or anything. But she continued chatting away in her funeh even when I only responded with nods and yeses and noes. Sunday placed my food on the dining table. I was apprehensive about sitting next to the woman to eat but she unplugged her laptop and picked it up the moment my food arrived. “Bon appétit,” she said. I said come and join me, and spent the next fifteen minutes as I ate cringing over saying it. Thankfully she left through the same corridor Rotimi had left through. Sunday must have called him to say I had finished eating, because the moment he cleared the table and returned to the kitchen Rotimi emerged and asked me if I enjoyed my breakfast. I nodded that I did. “Will you come with me now?” he said. His office looked like a normal business office, not like a clinic at all. The lady wasn’t there. “What kind of hospital is this?” I asked. “It’s not a hospital, it’s a clinic.” “You know what I mean. What kind of clinic is this?” He smiled. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s a long story. I only treat a certain type of clientele. I actually inherited the practice from my father.” “You father is a doctor too?” “Yes and my mother. And I have a sister who’s a doctor too. I guess doctors tend to breed doctors.” “Where is your father now?” “Retired.” “And your mother?” “In prison in America.” “What happened?” He smiled a laughing smile. “She’s doing a research on how diseases spread in prison. She’s in America with my dad.” “Oh, I see. But how come this place doesn’t look like a hospital?” “Like a clinic. Because it’s not. My clients are people who want absolute confidentiality. I see maybe two or three patients in a day, my partner and I. You met her, Joyce. We see people who have problems they don’t want people to know about, if you understand what I mean.” “I think I do. People like me.” “Not really. But one of my clients referred you and his picking the bill.” He smiled again. “How old are you?” I asked him. He looked too young to be so together and have such a good life and even to be a doctor. “I’m not going to tell you,” he said. “Why?” “Because it’s good to keep secrets.” He called someone and another lady came to take me to another room where she took my blood. In all, I spent about two hours in his clinic and not once did I see another patient, nor did I see Joyce again, or Sunday. He came to meet me in the parlour and asked me if I was ready to go. I felt embarrassed because I’d been sitting there waiting for him to come and give me medicine or something. “I can go now?” “Yes. I don’t have any other appointments this morning so I’ll take you home.” “Ok. Thanks.” Another silent ride to my BQ and for the first time I felt embarrassed for a man to see where I lived. Before I got out of his car I thanked him again for everything, then I asked him the question that had been on my mind all morning. “So, am I going to be ok?” “Of course you are.” “Thank you.” He reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll call you soon as I have news.” “But you don’t have my number.” “Oh, yes.” He brought out his phone and gave it to me. I saved my phone number on it and handed it back to him. “Thank you for everything,” I said. “Thank you for thanking me,” he said. We looked at each other. He was smiling that his unreadable smile; I’m not sure what my face was doing. I opened the door to get out. “What are you doing later tonight?” he asked. “What?” I was already out of his car. “What are you doing later tonight? I’m free. I could take you out to see a movie. You can bring a friend.” “Ok.” “Ok.” He smiled, I closed his door and he drove off. Mama can like to disgrace me. If Rotimi had not asked me to bring a friend, and I still don’t understand why he said I should, I wouldn’t have told her to come with us to Silverbird. She always feels the need to say something whenever she meets someone new. We had just entered the gate of Silverbird. I saw he raise her nose to sniff the air then she squeezed her lips and nose together. “Mnn, I smell pomp corn,” she said. I wanted to enter the ground. Rotimi had been walking in front of us. He turned and also sniffed the air. “I smell it too,” he said. “We’ll get some when we get inside.” “I don’t like pomp corn unless it’s the one with sugar,” she said.

I wanted to shout at her or pinch her or slap or something. I was trying to give her eye but she was too busy putting up a show for Rotimi that she didn’t even notice. Before I knew what was happening she was walking side by side with him and they were talking about popcorn and hotdog. He was telling her how cinemas really make their money off the food they sell and she was listening like a student enthralled by a fantastic teacher. I walked behind them watching them and thinking how so different he is; how it’s ok to say pomp corn in front of him, or be a runs girl, or be raped by a policeman, or be introduced to him by an aristo. Nothing seemed to be a big deal to him. He had offered to take me out and even asked me to bring a friend. And when I slept in his house he didn’t try to sleep with me. Or was that because he thought I had aids? Thankfully Mama really wanted to see the movie, she chose the one we saw, and she was silent through it. Sitting in darkness next to each other, he occasionally looked at me and me at him and he would smile and I would smile back. If you ask me today to tell you what happened in Iron Man 2, I can’t. I was so deep in day dreaming and other thoughts that I didn’t even realise when the movie ended. Mama wanted to go and get Shawarma, but to be fair to her he did ask if we wanted to get something to eat. I was successful at giving her eye this time and I thanked him but said we had to get back. He drove us home and Mama from the back seat gave him a hug and a peck before thanking him and getting out. I was just thankful that she left us alone then she returned and tapped on his window. He wound down. “She’s my sister o,” she told him, “And she’s very dia to me. You must treat her well because she’s golden.” “Mama, go and sleep!” He laughed and he let her hug him again through the window. My face was in my palms as she left. “Do all your friends think you’re golden?” he asked. “Mama is just a fool.” “She’s your friend.” “Yes, but she’s just a fool.” “Yes, but she’s your friend.” I didn’t get the point he was making but I sensed that it was one I should be glad he was trying to make. “Babes, I’ve had a lovely day with you,” he said. “Me too.” “And I’d like to do it again. Can we see tomorrow evening? Hope I’m not rushing you?” “Tomorrow? I’m not doing anything.” “Cool. Listen…” Then my phone rang. I wanted him to continue with what he was about to say but he stopped and waited for me to take the call. I was sure it was Mama calling to tell me I should follow him home or something stupid like that. It was John junior. My heart leapt when I saw his name. It had to be about Johnny. Johnny had been released! “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I said. “Please.” Straight away I knew something was wrong. “What happened?” I asked John junior after the way he said hello. “Nothing. Where are you?” “I’m at home. Where is Johnny?” “He wants to talk to you.” “Is he out?” “No. He’s going to call tonight and he has to talk to you.” “What happened?” “He’ll explain to you. I’ll send the driver now.” “No. I’ll come immediately.” I ended the call and took in a deep breathe. I was acutely aware of Rotimi looking at me. “What’s the matter?” he asked me. “I have to go to VI.” “Why? What’s wrong?” “It’s a long story.” “Where in VI? I’ll take you.” I liked the way he never asked too many questions. I told him where and he drove me there. All through the ride I kept trying to think what might have happened. I kept replaying the phone conversation with John junior, trying to see if it was only me and there had really been nothing in his voice to suggest something was wrong. If something was wrong, what could it be? I just didn’t know. We drove into Johnny’s compound and John junior was waiting for me outside, and smoking. I got out of Rotimi’s car so quick that I didn’t get a chance to tell him to wait for me. “Who is that?” John junior asked. “He’s my friend, my doctor.” “Your doctor?” Before I could explain, Rotimi was by my side extending a handshake to John junior. “Hi, my name is Rotimi,” he said. John junior shook his hand. “Hi.” Awkward silence dropped between us. John junior looked worried. “Please excuse us,” he told Rotimi and he took my hand and led me into the house. I only had enough time to turn my head and give Rotimi a pleading look. “Who is he?” John junior asked again once we were in John’s living room and the door was shut. “I told you, he’s my doctor.” “Your doctor how? Never mind. Does he know about my dad?” “No.” “Good. I hope you know you can’t talk to anyone about it?” “Ok.” “Ok, you know? Or OK you haven’t been talking about it?” “You didn’t tell me not to talk about it.” “So you’ve been talking about it.” “No.”

I love ur pride rotimi,u r a man of integrity I must say... @shaxee ride on we gat ur bck.

“No, you haven’t? So why didn’t you just say that?” “Why are you asking me these questions? What happened? What’s going on?” “Did you tell that guy about my dad?” “No!” “Are you sure?” “You want to ask him?” “I’m going to call me dad now and he’s going to explain something to you.” His phone had been in his hand all the time. He made a call and waited until it was answered. “Dad? She’s here.” He handed the phone to me. “Johnny?” “Amaka Omoge! How you dey?” “Johnny! Where are you?” “I still dey here o, with my new friends. They are treating me fine though.” “They haven’t released you?” “No, they haven’t o. That’s why I want to talk to you.” “I don’t understand.” “Baby, we have half of the money but I’m going to have to sell my house to get the other half. They have agreed to release my friend and his wife if we give them the money, but I need your help.” “You need my help? How?” “Baby, they want you to bring the money.” “Me?” “Yes, sis. I’m sorry to drag you into this but they insist that you should be the one to bring the money.” “Me? How do they know me?” “Me too I don’t know o. But please, just do this for me.” “Johnny, but how do they know me?” “Amaka, I really can’t stay long on the phone. Just tell me if you can bring the money.” “To where?” “I don’t know. They will call later to tell you. You just have to agree to bring it first.” “Johnny, I don’t understand what’s going on. Why do they want me to bring the money? Who are they? How do they know me?” “Baby, I can’t talk for long. Please, I’m begging you, my life depends on this. Can you do this for me?” Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I was crying silently and I couldn’t answer. “Baby, it’s gonna be alright. I won’t ask you to do this if I didn’t have to. It’s not just my life that’s on the line. I have to get me friends out. Please, Amaka, please help us. Help me. Will you do this?” I was sobbing when I said yes but he heard and I heard him telling someone I said yes then the line went dead. John junior took the phone from me and wiped my tears off it. “You have to stay here,” he said. I gave him a questioning look. “They are going to release his friends tonight. You have to stay and wait for the call.” “Why me?” “I don’t know. You have to tell your friend to leave. And you can’t tell him what’s happening.” “Ok.” “No, you don’t understand. You can’t tell him anything. My dad’s life depends on it.” “Ok. I understand.” I cleaned the tears off my face and gathered myself. Before I left to face Rotimi, John junior reminded me not to tell him anything, as if I’d even know where to start if I wanted to tell him something. Rotimi was leaning on the bonnet of his car. He saw me come out the door and he started to walk towards me. “I’m staying her tonight,” I said. “Thanks for bringing me.” “What?” “I’m staying here.” “You’re staying here? Who is he?” “I can’t tell you.” He was standing in front of me, holding his key in both hands, playing with it in a twisting motion. I avoided his face but I couldn’t help looking. I wish I hadn’t. He was smiling as usual, but this time it was a different kind of smile. It was that kind of “I didn’t know you were an ashewo like this” kind of smile. “Goodnight,” he said and he turned to leave. I turned away and the tears returned and this time they were for Johnny, for me, and for Rotimi.

Amaka stop being desperate

Rotimi is the guy

Wat kind of a girl re u amaka,I jst hp u wil b save Next pls

u can't eat ur cake nd have it back

Amaka plz don't make Rotimi start thinking dat ur dat bad o

wat do u Xpect b4? u told d Dr dt u were rape n u ve not check ursel, u expect him to slip wit u. conji nor hold am rich like dt na.

Am jux laffin at sm pple's comments here, all i can say now is amaka is as confused as any prey caught in an entangled web of disaster.. NEXT PLS!

Part 27: Troublesome night Needless to say, sleep was the last thing on my mind that night. As I slowly returned to the house, I listened to the sound of Rotimi’s car driving away behind me. John junior was standing by the window looking out. When he turned to me and saw the tears, he walked over and put his arms around me. Then I really let go. He tried to lift my face and wipe my tears with his palm but I turned away and buried my head into his other chest, ruining that side of his shirt as well. He ran his hand down the back of my head repeatedly then he started moving us towards a sofa. How we ended up on the sofa, with him on top of me, I would never know. How we started kissing, I would never know. When he took off his clothes, and took mine off – or did I take them off myself? I cannot remember. But when he entered me, without a condom, my senses returned. I tried to push him off me but he had braced himself properly; one arm under my head, the other around my waist. I stopped kissing him but he didn’t stop kissing me. I closed my mouth and felt his tongue gliding over my clenched teeth. I wriggled and struggled to get him off me but he kept pushing back, going deeper. I forced my mouth away from his face and turned my head to a side. “You are not wearing a condom!” I shouted. He either didn’t hear me or it did not bother him. He moved the hand under my back to my leg and pulled it up even as I tried to straighten both legs to force him out. I stopped trying to push him off and started pinching his belly instead but it was as if he didn’t feel a thing. I started to cry. “You are raping me,” I cried out. That, he heard. He stopped while still inside me. He lifted his body up on his arms and looked me in the eyes. He was sweating. I looked away. “What?” he said. I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t look at him. I had flirted with him, let him kiss me, kiss him back, let him get on top of me, and now I was accusing him of raping me. He kept looking at me. I felt him getting soft inside me. He pushed himself off and stood by the sofa. I avoided his eyes. I covered my breasts with one hand and searched for my discarded clothes with the other. He was breathing heavily. He just stood there and kept looking at me. “I’m sorry,” he said and turned. He walked out of the living room not bothering to collect his clothes. I wore mine hurriedly then I checked myself to see if he had finished. Either way, I had to use the bathroom. I got up to go; then I sat back down. Something about the way he said sorry troubled me. He had studied me for long, standing naked over me, before he said he was sorry. But he didn’t sound sorry. I had accused him of raping me so that he would stop, and it worked, but had I gone too far? But he was raping me nau. I told him to stop and he didn’t. Or did I? I remembered asking him to wear a condom. Or did I? I was ready to continue sleeping with him if he wore a condom, but because he didn’t use one, he was raping me? Where does consensual sex stop and rape begins, anyway? Is it rape simply because you want him to use a condom and he doesn’t? I think yes. Is it rape if you have started having sex with him and decide to stop midway? I think yes, howbeit unfair to him, but yes. When a girl tells you to stop, she doesn’t mean keep going till you come. She doesn’t mean hurry up and be done. She means STOP! He should have stopped when I told him to stop and then he wouldn’t have been raping me. But I didn’t tell him to stop; I only told him he wasn’t wearing a condom. I buried my face in my palms. How did I manage to fuck things up so much? What was I doing letting Johnny’s son kiss me? What would happen when Johnny is released? What of Rotimi? He had driven away thinking I was there to sleep with the guy and I just did. How was I going to face him and explain things to him? How many mistakes must I make? How many lies must I tell? John junior had still not returned. My eyes fell on his shirt and trouser and I picked them up. I decided to take them up to him as a peace offering and to tell him the truth. I was going to tell him that I wanted him to wear a condom because I was still waiting for the results of my HIV test. I went upstairs calling his name but he did not answer. The door to Johnny’s room was ajar and the light was on so I figured that was where he was. I pushed the door open but he was not there, then I heard a sound in the en suite bathroom. I walked over, called his name, then gently opened door and there he was, still naked, standing in front of the wash hand basin, his dick in both his hands, furiously jerking away. I felt rage flow through me. Why? I don’t know, but I was at once bitterly angry and I suddenly wanted to punish him. “I brought your things,” I said and tossed his clothes at him.

He stopped when he saw me. He turned his back to me, trying to hide his thing, as if I’d not just seen it downstairs. As I left I turned and said to him “I hope you understand, but I have to tell Johnny what happened.” I went back downstairs, my head ringing with anger. I settled into the sofa and crossed my legs, waiting for him to come downstairs and apologise properly, and beg me not to tell his father. He took his time coming down and when he did - fully dressed - it was only to give me a duvet and a pillow. He told me he might have to wake me up anytime, if the kidnappers called. He didn’t say goodnight, he just left and even switched off the light without asking me if I wanted it left on. I tried to get comfortable but the thoughts marauding through my mind were plenty and worrisome. I had gone through thinking of what just happened between John junior and me, to thinking about Rotimi, to thinking about the result of my HIV test, and back to thinking about Rotimi, when I finally started thinking about Johnny and his request that I bring the ransom money. Something didn’t feel right about it; something definitely felt wrong. Why had they asked me to be the one to bring the money? How did they know me? Where would they want me to take the money to? Why were they releasing the American couple first and not Johnny? I thought of how Mama had rightfully berated me for going to the police station unprepared. “Like a mumu,” she had said, and she was right. And yet here I was, once again playing the part of the ultimate mumu. Kidnappers I did not know, had asked me to bring their ransom money to a place I didn’t not know, and nobody knew what was going on or what I was up to or where I was, save for Rotimi who didn’t even know half the drama I was in. The spirit of mumu left me. I fetched my phone and called Mama. In hushed tones, and listening for John junior in case he came back, I told her everything – apart from the part where I slept with John junior, accused him of raping me, and screwed with him by saying I was going to report him to his father. I told her to contact Uncle China to ask for advice, and I warned her not to tell anybody else. She asked if she should come and meet me at Johnny’s house but I told her not to. I remembered John junior warning me not to tell anybody about the ransom drop. Talking to Mama felt like the second time I was betraying him that night. He also said his father’s life depended on it, but the way I saw it, the money was for the release of the Americans, not Johnny, so. Mama listened without interrupting too much, thankfully, and then when I’d turned down everyone one of her suggestions, including her going to the police and telling them what was happening, she told me to call Rotimi and explain everything to him. This I agreed to do, partly because I’d wanted to call him all time. My battery was low but I still had enough to make one more call, I hoped. I dialled his number and closed my eyes wondering how to start. A woman answered the phone: “Yes? Who are you and why are you calling my husband at this time?” Two things: One; I didn’t know what time it was and two; I had chopped when he told me he wasn’t married. My head rang. I heard laughter then Rotimi was on the phone. “Hi,” he said, still laughing, “Sorry ‘bout that.” “Is that your wife?” “No. I told you I’m not married.” In the background the woman shouted “I’m not his wife, I’m just one of his many mistresses!” He told her to stop it and she laughed. “What’s up?” he asked. “Nothing.” “Nothing?” “Nothing. Where are you?” “Excuse me?” “Where are you? Can you talk?” “Can I talk? Yeah, sure?” “Where are you?” “I’m at a friend’s, not that it’s any business of yours. But, what did you want to talk about?” “Never mind.” One half of me wanted to end the call, the other side wanted to keep him on the phone – away from the woman he was with. We were both silent. “Hello? Hello?” he said. “I’m still here.” “What’s wrong?” “The place you dropped me today, that guy is not my boyfriend.” “O.K.” “I mean, I’m not sleeping with him or anything like that if that’s what you think.” “I didn’t think anything.” “So why did you leave like that?” “You asked me to leave.” “Ok. I just want you to know that it’s not what you think.” “And what do you think I think?” I had no response for that. Another period of silence ticked by. “Listen, Amaka, I understand you’re in some sort of trouble. China told me a bit but I don’t know the rest. If this has to do with it then I suggest you call the police.” “I can’t. What did he tell you?” “Why can’t you?” “I just can’t. I can’t explain now. What did Uncle China tell you?” “That a friend of yours was kidnapped and you were arrested because of it, and that’s how the policeman…” “The policeman raped me.” “Yes.” “Listen, if there’s something I can do to help then you must say it, otherwise you’ve got to call the police and let them handle this.” “The same police that beat me up and raped me?”

“No. No. Listen, I know the Commissioner of Police. Do you want me to call him?” “No!” “No? So, talk to me. What’s going on? What’s happening? Who’s that guy? Why do you have to stay at his place?” “He’s my friend’s son; my friend that was kidnapped. They want me to bring the ransom money tonight.” “They want you to bring the ransom money? Who?” “The people that kidnapped him.” “The people that kidnapped him? Do you know them?” “No.” “So, why do they want you to bring the money?” “I don’t know.” “And you’re going to do it?” “Yes.” “Amaka, I don’t know how you got mixed up in all this, but if you’ve got nothing to hide you have to call the police.” “What do you mean if I have nothing to hide?” “I don’t mean it like that. I mean, you obviously have nothing to hide so you should let the police handle this.” “I’ll be careful.” “You’ll be careful? How? Have you ever done this before?” “No.” “So how would you be careful? Look, don’t be stupid. Call the police and tell them where you are and what’s going on. Your life may depend on it.” “I’ll be ok. I just wanted you to know that it’s not what you think.” “Again, you don’t know what I think. Thanks for letting me know, but more importantly, you’ve got to talk to the police.” “I won’t.” “Then I would.” “No! Please, no. His family are handling it. They don’t want to get police involved.” “But Amaka, this is a serious thing. You can’t just hand over money to kidnappers and expect them to hand you back your friend. What if he’s already dead? What if they take you?” “He’s alive. I spoke to him.” “What about you? What’s the guarantee of your safety?” I heard John junior coming down the stairs. “I have to go,” I said. “Look, I’m calling the Commissioner of Police.” “No! Please, don’t. Please. Promise me you won’t call anybody.” “Babes, why are you taking this kind of risk?” “Just promise me you won’t do anything. Please, promise.” “I’ve heard.” “Thanks. I’ll let you know what happens.” John junior was holding his phone in his hands. He switched on the lights. “They just called,” he said. “They’ll call at seven and we should be ready.” My phone rang. I checked and it was Mama. I pressed the end button. “Who’s that?” he asked. “My friend.” “The dude who gave you a lift?” “No, my girlfriend.” “You can’t tell anyone about this, you know?” “I know. But I don’t understand, why did they ask me to bring the money? How do they know me?” “The police.” “What?” “The police told them. We’ve been doing our own investigations. We believe the police are involved, that’s how they know about you. Yes, It could be that they’ve been following him for a while before taking him, and they know the people around him, but it’s more likely they know you ‘cause they arrested you. We weren’t sure, but when they asked that you drop the money, it sort of all came together. It confirmed what our sources have found out.” “The police?” “Yup. And that’s why we can’t tell anyone about this. If it gets to the police that we’ve made a report about the drop off, they’ll kill my dad, and his friends.” My phone beeped again. I checked and this time it was because my battery was now dead.

....................

Prayin 4 ur safety okay? So dnt tell anybdy

hmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Amaka pls be very careful of ur life. I pity u sha.

Am sensing something oooo..... Pls amaka u gat to be extra ordinarily careful.......

Comment reserrrrrrved...

Jst be safe

Hmmmmm suspense filled interesting story

Amaka>GOD wil save u.

serious palavar.....Amaka ur life z seriously in danger o

Danger, danger, danger

All wat i could say is dat, amaka yhu very stupid,,,, just bert me yhu will got anoda trouble to urself, bcuz i knw there is notin like kidnap,,,

Part 28: The drop off If like me you’ve watched a lot of James Bond type movies, you’d be forgiven, as I should be, for believing the ransom drop off was going to go terribly wrong. I mean, being woken up from an uncomfortable sleep on a sofa, by a man carrying a Ghana-must-go bag full of money, is not exactly what you’d call real-life. And when in the darkness he said to me ‘It is time,’ it sounded more like an intentionally scripted line in a mystery movie than just another day in the life of Amaka. I was instantly awake, not that I’d been sleeping for that long anyway, or so I thought. The first thing I asked him, as my heart began to beat faster with adrenalin, was “What time is it?” You can imagine my surprise at learning it was almost 6:30am. “There’s no time to take shower,” he said, as if that was even remotely on my mind. “They want you to take the money to Faloma roundabout and be there at exactly 7am.” “Falomo,” I corrected him. “And they want you to wait on the chapel side. Do you know what that is?” “Yes.” “Good. We have to leave now.” "Is that the money?” I had seen the bag and I knew it must be the ransom money. Something in me wanted to see it, to see what twenty five million Naira looks like. “Yes.” “And you are just going to give them all this money like that?” “What would you rather I did? Let them kill him?” He knew that wasn’t what I meant. I wanted to explain to him that I was only concerned that there was no guarantee they would let Johnny and his friends go once they got the money, then I remembered the money was for Johnny’s friends, not Johnny. “How will I know it is them?” “What?” “How will I know who to give the money to?” “They will find you. You just have to stand there with the money.” “And what about Johnny, his friends?” “When they’ve got the money they’ll call to let us know where to pick them.” “And you trust them?” “Do I have a choice?” “Ok. Excuse me, let me get dressed.” He drove us to Falomo where he handed me the bag that had been resting on the back seat all throughout the ride. It felt heavier than I expected, but then again I’ve never carried twenty-five million naira before. I stepped out of the car, struggling with the weight of the bag, and I had hardly closed the door when he drove off. I suddenly felt afraid. I was panicking. Were they here already? Were they looking at me? Did they tell him to drop me and get lost? Would they just take the money and leave me alone? I stepped onto the pavement; it was already busy with foot traffic just as the road itself was already building towards a major traffic jam. What if someone saw that I was carrying money and stole it from me? What if the police ask me what is inside my bag? I looked down at the bag to see if the money inside it was visible from outside. I shifted the handles from one hand to the other and tried to rest my strained shoulder. I wanted to place the bag down between my legs but I was afraid to let go of it. I looked into the faces of the people walking past me; with apprehension that they might want to steal the bag from me, and with anxiety that they might be the kidnappers. No big black van with tinted windows pulled up to me screeching with doors flying open and masked men inside pointing a sawed-off double barrel shotgun at me and shouting to me to throw the money to them – the way I had imagined it. Nothing happened. I just stood there with the heavy Ghana-must-go bag full of money waiting for something to happen, and then it did. A man wearing a helmet with its visor pulled over his face stopped next to me on his power bike. He was blocking me from view of the kidnappers when they arrived I instinctively thought, so I stepped sideways on the pavement, but with his feet pulling his motorcycle along on the road he followed me. I couldn’t see a face but the helmet was turned to me. He pointed at the bag then at me and motioned for me to get onto his bike. Then it hit me in a sudden awakening of all my senses that he was Mr Kidnapper. I suddenly didn’t know what to do. I looked around, on instinct, then at the same moment I realised how dangerous it was to do so because he could think I had come with people waiting to get him. I quickly moved myself and the bag to him quicker than I would have liked to: I would have waited and asked him about Johnny and his friends; but I had, in my opinion, acted in a way to cause suspicion and lives were at stake. I stopped next to him struggling to hold the bag up like I was offering it to him for him to take and just go away, but he nodded his helmet for me to get onto the back. I obliged. I got on to the bike behind him, balancing the money on my laps, then I tried to work out what to hold on to to keep me steady. With his gloved hands he pulled mine around his body. Okay.

The bike surged forward throwing me backwards. He drove forward towards Lagos Island then he suddenly turned sharply and next thing I knew we were on the other side of the road heading back towards the roundabout. He went up the bridge towards VI, snaking through cars and accelerating as if he wanted me to fall off. I was having a hard time holding on to him and keeping the bag on my laps. He bent his body to the right and we came down the bridge heading towards Lekki Epe express way. At this point he speeded faster than I’ve ever experienced on a motorcycle. We were coming up to traffic lights and LASTMA officials when the lights turned red, but rather than slow down I felt my body suddenly lurch backwards as he sped towards the junction that was about to be crossed by impatient motorists who had just been given permission to cross. I think I screamed; I’m not sure, but I peed. He was driving as if he thought we were being followed. I was trying to see where we were going but the wind was rushing at my face so much and forcing water out of my eyes that soon, squinting wasn’t enough and I had to close my eyes. When I felt us swerve again, leaning dangerously close to the ground, and I heard voices shouting curses at us, I ventured to open my eyes to see where he was going. He had turned off the express way onto the road leading to 1004. He drove up a distance then suddenly did that thing he did at Falomo when he suddenly turned and faced the other side. This time he stopped almost as soon as he turned and when I was still contemplating placing my shaking legs on the ground, a hand reached out of a black Passat parked next to us. His helmet was turned backwards looking at me, waiting for me to hand the money over. I lifted the bag off my feet and tried to look past the hands waiting to get them and into the car. Once the man had the bag in his hand the biker kicked off again, this time almost really making me fall off. I turned to see what the Passat was doing but the biker suddenly shunted in front of oncoming traffic and I had to look forward to know where to ‘fall well’ if I was going to fall. Before I knew it we were back on Lekki Epe expressway speeding towards the new tollgates. As soon as we passed the tollgates he stopped, in the middle of the road, and nodded for me to get off. Apart from the fact that it was the middle of Lekki Epe expressway and I wasn’t ready to be hit by bankers rushing to get to work in VI, I was also acutely aware of the fact that I just handed over twenty-five million naira to a pair of hands in a Passat and I’d not yet collected what I paid for. I stayed put. I didn’t know if he could hear me but I asked all the same. “What off my friends?” I shouted into his helmet. He didn’t answer me. He shook the bike as if to scare me to get off – big mistake. I wrapped my hands around his body tightly and I screamed into his helmet again. He let go of the handles and tried to peel my hands off his body. That was when I bit him, or at least tried to, through the think leather thing he was hearing. I didn’t see his elbow coming but I felt it meeting my jaw. I pulled him with me as I fell off his bike and the bike fell with us. He was trying to pull his leg free from under his machine but I wasn’t bothered about mine; I just wanted him to tell me where the people I had paid for were. I decided to go for his helmet. Somehow I felt unmasking him would defeat him and give me the upper hand. It worked. He stopped fighting me and started struggling to keep his helmet over this head. As we struggled on the floor I saw people running towards us from the tollgates. Some cars had even parked on the road and their occupants where either part of those coming towards us or they were looking at us waiting to see if they were needed. That is one of the things I love about Nigerians: you cannot beat a woman in public and expect to get away with it. He also saw them coming, some of them with sticks, and this must have made him panic. He left me to trying to get his helmet off and focused all his attention on getting his leg free from under the bike. He succeeded. He got onto his feet, quickly finding that he could not stand well on the leg that had been under the bike, then he looked at me on the floor, and even though his face was covered behind the visor of his helmet, I could feel that he wanted to deal with me. He looked up at the people rushing towards us. I expected him to pick up his bike and try to get away but he did the most unexpected thing; he started running towards them. Strangers who a minute ago had been running to help me even though they didn’t know me suddenly parted for him to pass or ran backwards as he charged at them. He sprinted past them through the passage they had made for him and he jumped into a car with the backdoor wide open. The car speeded off screeching.

What I had done was just dawning on me when several people began helping me up and someone, only God knows why, was pouring pure water over my head. I started searching for my phone, ignoring the several different voices and manners of English asking me what happened. Someone in particular was holding my arm from behind and not letting go. I turned to see who it was and instantly recognised her. It was the policewoman who had tricked me to get me arrested. She was in mufti. What was she doing there? Something told me to look at the other faces around me, around her, and I recognised two or three faces from the police station. I had fucked up! I had fucked up big time! I remembered what John junior told me about the police being involved. I remembered how he warned me not to tell them about the drop off. I felt my head ringing as I realised that Mama or Uncle China or Rotimi had called them. I had fucked up, yet again, and this time Johnny and his friends were going to pay with their lives. The policewoman and her policemen took charge of the situation, dispersing the crowd by flashing their badges. She asked me if I was ok. I didn’t answer her. She told me I didn’t need to cry; I wasn’t even aware I was. A silver Peugeot car pulled up to us and they led me inside. She sat in the back with me. We started driving towards VI and I knew I was now truly going to die in their hands. “Amaka,” she said, “You are a strong woman.” How do you respond to this? I was between her and an officer, I assumed, who I didn’t recognize. In front in the passenger seat was a short officer I recognized, he was also in mufti, and a lady in police uniform was driving. “The way you fought that man, not many people would have had mind to challenge him like that.” I looked at her wondering what it was she wanted from me or wanted me to say. “We have been following you since morning. We were just waiting for him to drop you so that we can pick you, but when you started to fight him like that we just had to intervene.” “What are you talking about?” “We are going to catch all of them today, this morning. The criminals. The kidnappers. We have made contact with them and they will lead us to your friend and his friends.” I knew it was a trick so I decided to stop talking. “Amaka, I’m really sorry about everything that happened to you. The commissioner called us. He said Brutus messed with you.” “Brutus?” “Ehn. The night duty officer that, that disturb you.” I understood. “He is facing disciplinary panel. I didn’t know about it, if not I would have disciplined him myself. I am woman too. That kind of thing doesn’t normally use to happen in our station but they just transfer him to us. My sister, you are a woman like me, I cannot ask you to forget what happened, but I’m begging you, please, we will deal with him, just take heart. I didn’t know anything about it.” What was she on about? “How did you know about today?” I asked her. “It is out job. We have been investigating nau.” “Who told you?” “Told us to investigate?” “No. About today. Who called you?” “Nobody called us.” “So how did you know about the drop off? You said the commissioner called you.” “Ehn. We know the commissioner is your friend, but this is our job and it is not before someone calls us to say they have interest in a case before we do our job.” “But how did you know about today?”

“Amaka, you are really something. Ok, I will tell you. This police work is brain work. You see, when Mr Johnny’s family contacted us to say they didn’t want police involvement, we knew that that means the kidnappers have contacted them, so we started to monitor everything. We got the numbers calling his son and we contacted the kidnappers to tell them that we will hand the matter to the American Embassy if they don’t cooperate. You see, they think they are working with some of our men. We told them that they should share the money with us, unless we will hand over their number and location to the American Embassy.” “You know where they are?” “No, but they don’t know that we don’t know. We told them that satellite has pinpoint their location and we can just hand them over to American embassy, but if they cooperate and give us half of the money we would just assist them to collect the money. That is the only way we can get them to expose themselves so that we can retrieve the hostages alive and capture them.” “You mean you are not working with them?” “How? I said we pretended to them that we are working with them. The man that you were struggling with is one of us. The people that collected the money are the criminals. We are following them now but we already know where they are. Today today, this morning, they will release your friends to us and we will arrest them.” “They said they are only releasing Johnny.” “Yes, that is what they negotiated with our boys because they said that when they share the money with us, the money remaining for them will be too small. But once we share the money they have collected today they will trust us more and we will know where they are keeping Mr Johnny. Don’t worry, all your friends will be free today, but please, tell the commissioner to have mercy on us. Amaka, my husband does not have a job and I have four children and I’m looking after my little sister and my husband’s brother is living with us. It is only my salary from this police work that I’m using to support everybody. Please, Amaka, I am begging you, let bygones be bygones.” The car was speeding towards VI. I was trying to process what she had just told me. “Does John know about this?” “Who? His son? He didn’t know but now our officers would have briefed him by now. “And you are sure this will work?” “It is a trick we use all the time. It always works, as long as it is only the team working on the case that knows about it.” We drove to Ikoyi and by the time I became aware of where we were the driver had turned onto First Avenue. “Where are we going?” I asked. “The Commissioner of Police said we should bring you to his house,” she said.

Nice, next pls

Hmmmm only time wil tell

next episode pls,the suspense is just too much

Am loving dis story the more

Nice work.

so what happens next.

Sandy the strong woman lol.................

Hmmmmmm........pray they rescue them alive oooooooo

Lyk seriously, even dou dx story is centered around u amaka, all i can tel u nw is dat UR IN FOR A BIG SURPRISE.. Nxt pls

Amaka is like God want butter ur bread.

Haa amaka u don suffer too much...God help u tru I pray..

God help!

Part 29: My Story To tell you the truth, I’m even tired of everything; of the London boy, of Rotimi, of school, of hustling, and of telling you everything that’s happened to me. Nobody should ever share everything about themselves, but it is what the likes of Facebook and twitter and BB status messages have taught us – to share every single thing that happens to us or that comes to our minds. But it shouldn’t be so, should be things that one keeps to herself. For this reason and with this realisation I have decided to make this the last of the revelations of my life to you. So, how do I go about telling you what happened next after they took me to the Police Commissioner’s house? After we got there and met his convoy just about to leave his house. After the policewoman next to me radioed him and told him she had brought me. After I came down the car and I was introduced to him. After he embraced me like a father would do his daughter, and asked me if I was ok. I don’t know how to tell it because there is so much to tell and so much I’d rather keep to myself, but one thing happened that day at the commissioner’s house that I cannot but share. The man himself was a gentle man by all appearances and words. He took me back into his house and we all sat down in his parlour. His wife was there as well, and he had told her about me. She also took me in her arms as if I was her daughter, and I saw that she wanted to cry when the policewoman told her boss how I’d fallen off the motorcycle. Then when I was still trying to get a fix on what was going on and feeling very exposed because everyone around me knew my story and I didn’t know theirs, the commissioner’s phone rang and after answering it he told me someone wanted to talk to me. It was Johnny! “Omoge, I hear say you do them Rambo!” were the first words he spoke to me. “I dey come join you there now-now, tell Sunday not to leave his house until we get there!” Sunday was the police commissioner. True to the policewoman’s words, Johnny and his friends had been rescued and the kidnappers arrested. I was just so relieved that I started to cry and this made the commissioner’s wife to join me on my sofa and hold me in her arms and start crying as well. The commissioner looked around and told the policewoman and the two men with her to sit down. He asked the female officer about Brutus and she said he was currently under detention. A policeman came into the parlour and saluted next to the commissioner. “Yes, what is it?” “Doctor is here sir,” the officer said. “Alone?” “No sir, he is with one lady.” “Let them come in.” He got up from his sit and walked over to mine. He sat by my side so that I was between him and his wife. “Amaka,” he said, “Your boyfriend is here. He has been calling me all night and even threatening me.” I was confused, partly because I didn’t know what or who he meant by my boyfriend, and partly because he had sounded like he was making a joke, or at least trying to. Then I realised that the doctor who had arrived was my doctor. He had called the police after all. The commissioner continued. “Early this morning he said he was bringing your lawyer. He said they have something to discuss with me about what happened to you.” I realised he was questioning me. He was as lost as I was. “Do you know anything about this?” he asked. “About what?” “The lady. I spoke to her; her name is Amaka, just like you. We know her. She causes a lot of trouble for us.” His wife spoke. “Amaka is here?” “Yes,” her husband replied. “Good!” the woman said. I was even more lost at this point. A dark, beautiful lady walked into the parlour as if she owned the place. She looked around and as her eyes settled on me, the commissioner’s wife struggled to her feet – she was fat – and danced over to hug her. They embraced and it was the only time the lady called Amaka smiled. She walked up to me and shook hands with the commissioner. I was waiting for her to greet me when I saw Rotimi walk into the parlour. He looked tired. He was still wearing the same clothes he wore the night before when he dropped me at Johnny’s house. He smiled and I wanted to run to him. The lady turned to me. “Amaka, my name is Amaka. I’m a lawyer. Rotimi asked me to represent you. You don’t have to say anything. In fact, I don’t want you to say anything, just nod if you agree that I should be your lawyer.” I looked at Rotimi. He nodded and so did I. The commissioner and Rotimi exchanged greetings, they knew each other. The commissioner’s wife sat with one buttock on the edge of the sofa, facing me as if she expected something explosive to happen and she was preparing herself not to miss it. Amaka, the other Amaka, took a card out of her phone case and handed it to the commissioner. “This is my card,” she said. The commissioner took it and took his time inspecting it, he even turned it over, and then he handed it to a policeman standing close to him.

“My client is going to sue the Nigerian police force,” the lawyer said. My jaw dropped. The commissioner smiled as if he had expected it. “She’s safe and so are her friends,” he said. “Yes, that may be so, but that’s not what we are suing for.” I heard Johnny’s voice, making jokes with someone, so did the commissioner. “Please, one moment,” the commissioner begged my lawyer. He got to his feet just as Johnny walked in with his son in tow. You wouldn’t know he had just been released from kidnappers. He looked healthy and cheerful. He looked like Johnny! “Ol’ boy, you for leave me with those bastards make I teach them sense,” he said to the commissioner. “Me I was already planning my escape, you know I’ve watched plenty film.” It was just like Johnny to go through such an ordeal and still be able to make jokes. He looked at me and spread out his arms. I walked into them, tears in my eyes. “Amaka maka. I’m so sorry you got involved in all this mess.” John junior shook hands with everybody, including the officers who were obviously guards. When he shook Rotimi, he took both his hands in his. “Baby,” Johnny said, “They said you did Rambo for one of them.” He was referring to the officer on the bike. The commissioner asked everyone to settle down then he told the woman to explain what had transpired. “Shoo? So the man Amaka beat was a policeman?” Johnny asked. “Yes, sir,” the policewoman said. The lawyer lady introduced herself to Johnny. “I’m glad you’re fine,” she said. “We were in the middle of discussing something just before you came. We will continue now, if it’s ok with you.” The commissioner asked her if it couldn’t wait and she said no. “Like I was saying my client is suing the police force for what happened to her while in custody with the police. She shouldn’t have been arrested in the first place, so she shouldn’t even have been there, then she was raped by a police officer.” “What!” That was Johnny. “Yes, raped. And the officer even had the time to record video evidence of his crime on his phone.” “What!” That was the police commissioner. The commissioner’s wife squeezed my palms. She had been holding them in hers all along. I was confused. I didn’t remember the man filming me, but then again I didn’t remember a lot. There were even times when I didn’t remember him doing anything to me. I wasn’t even sure he did. “Amaka, I want to show you a video on my phone. Just watch it and tell me if you are the one on the video and if you recognize the other person in the video and if he is the officer that violated you.” My heart was about to explode. He had recorded it and it was being passed around like all those other videos that boys share with each other on campus. “Let me see,” the commissioner said. Amaka looked at him as if he had asked her to take off her clothes. “Let you see? You mean you haven’t seen the video? The one your officer made and shared with his colleagues? Of my client being brutally violated and humiliated?” “I wasn’t told about any video.” He turned to the lady officer. “Did you know about this?” “No sir. This is the first time I’m hearing of it sir.” Amaka was standing in the middle of the room with her phone in her hand. “Well, if my client gives her permission for you to see it then I’ll let you see it, she has already been humiliated enough. Your lawyer will get a copy anyway, but be assured that if the video gets out we will come down hard on you.” She beckoned for me to come to her. “This is not going to be pleasant,” she said. “I’ll turn down the volume and I’ll show you just a little bit of it then I’ll ask you to identify the people in it. Is that ok?” I nodded. “No one else will see this video unless you want them to. Do you understand?” “Yes.” “I’m really sorry to have to show it to you, but it’s important for our case. They must pay for what happened to you. Do you understand?” “Yes.” “Are you ready?” “Yes.” She cupped her fingers over the screen so that only I could see it. “Do you recognize the people in the video?” “Yes.” “Are you in the video?” “Yes.” “Do you recognize the man?” “Yes.” “Is he your friend?” “No.” “Who is he?” “A policeman.” “What is he doing to you?” I looked at her. She put her phone back into its cover. “What was he doing to you?” “He was raping me.” Rotimi, Johnny, and the commissioner’s wife all came to me. Rotimi and Johnny stepped back and allowed the commissioner’s wife to take me back to the sofa. Amaka wasn’t done. “Imagine what it would do to the police force if this video were to find its way onto Linda Ikeji’s blog? But enough damage has already been done to my client so we would ask that this case be handled with the strictest confidentiality, or else we would seek even greater damages.” “How much?” the commissioner asked. “How much for what?” “To settle out of court.” “And what makes you think we are willing to settle out of court?” “Amaka, I know you. This is not the first time you are getting us. How much?” “I’ll have to talk to my client.”

“My client is going to sue the Nigerian police force,” the lawyer said. My jaw dropped. The commissioner smiled as if he had expected it. “She’s safe and so are her friends,” he said. “Yes, that may be so, but that’s not what we are suing for.” I heard Johnny’s voice, making jokes with someone, so did the commissioner. “Please, one moment,” the commissioner begged my lawyer. He got to his feet just as Johnny walked in with his son in tow. You wouldn’t know he had just been released from kidnappers. He looked healthy and cheerful. He looked like Johnny! “Ol’ boy, you for leave me with those bastards make I teach them sense,” he said to the commissioner. “Me I was already planning my escape, you know I’ve watched plenty film.” It was just like Johnny to go through such an ordeal and still be able to make jokes. He looked at me and spread out his arms. I walked into them, tears in my eyes. “Amaka maka. I’m so sorry you got involved in all this mess.” John junior shook hands with everybody, including the officers who were obviously guards. When he shook Rotimi, he took both his hands in his. “Baby,” Johnny said, “They said you did Rambo for one of them.” He was referring to the officer on the bike. The commissioner asked everyone to settle down then he told the woman to explain what had transpired. “Shoo? So the man Amaka beat was a policeman?” Johnny asked. “Yes, sir,” the policewoman said. The lawyer lady introduced herself to Johnny. “I’m glad you’re fine,” she said. “We were in the middle of discussing something just before you came. We will continue now, if it’s ok with you.” The commissioner asked her if it couldn’t wait and she said no. “Like I was saying my client is suing the police force for what happened to her while in custody with the police. She shouldn’t have been arrested in the first place, so she shouldn’t even have been there, then she was raped by a police officer.” “What!” That was Johnny. “Yes, raped. And the officer even had the time to record video evidence of his crime on his phone.” “What!” That was the police commissioner. The commissioner’s wife squeezed my palms. She had been holding them in hers all along. I was confused. I didn’t remember the man filming me, but then again I didn’t remember a lot. There were even times when I didn’t remember him doing anything to me. I wasn’t even sure he did. “Amaka, I want to show you a video on my phone. Just watch it and tell me if you are the one on the video and if you recognize the other person in the video and if he is the officer that violated you.” My heart was about to explode. He had recorded it and it was being passed around like all those other videos that boys share with each other on campus. “Let me see,” the commissioner said. Amaka looked at him as if he had asked her to take off her clothes. “Let you see? You mean you haven’t seen the video? The one your officer made and shared with his colleagues? Of my client being brutally violated and humiliated?” “I wasn’t told about any video.” He turned to the lady officer. “Did you know about this?” “No sir. This is the first time I’m hearing of it sir.” Amaka was standing in the middle of the room with her phone in her hand. “Well, if my client gives her permission for you to see it then I’ll let you see it, she has already been humiliated enough. Your lawyer will get a copy anyway, but be assured that if the video gets out we will come down hard on you.” She beckoned for me to come to her. “This is not going to be pleasant,” she said. “I’ll turn down the volume and I’ll show you just a little bit of it then I’ll ask you to identify the people in it. Is that ok?” I nodded. “No one else will see this video unless you want them to. Do you understand?” “Yes.” “I’m really sorry to have to show it to you, but it’s important for our case. They must pay for what happened to you. Do you understand?” “Yes.” “Are you ready?” “Yes.” She cupped her fingers over the screen so that only I could see it. “Do you recognize the people in the video?” “Yes.” “Are you in the video?” “Yes.” “Do you recognize the man?” “Yes.” “Is he your friend?” “No.” “Who is he?” “A policeman.” “What is he doing to you?” I looked at her. She put her phone back into its cover. “What was he doing to you?” “He was raping me.” Rotimi, Johnny, and the commissioner’s wife all came to me. Rotimi and Johnny stepped back and allowed the commissioner’s wife to take me back to the sofa. Amaka wasn’t done. “Imagine what it would do to the police force if this video were to find its way onto Linda Ikeji’s blog? But enough damage has already been done to my client so we would ask that this case be handled with the strictest confidentiality, or else we would seek even greater damages.” “How much?” the commissioner asked. “How much for what?” “To settle out of court.” “And what makes you think we are willing to settle out of court?” “Amaka, I know you. This is not the first time you are getting us. How much?” “I’ll have to talk to my client.”

Later that day we were all at Johnny’s house. I’d never seen so many Lebanese people in the same place at the same time. Rotimi was there as well, and his friend my lawyer, Amaka. John junior had been avoiding me all day. I found an opportunity to corner him in the kitchen when he went to take a call away from the noise in the parlour. As soon as he saw me coming he ended his call. I asked him how he was at the same time as he was asking me the same thing. “Thanks, Amaka,” he said. “For what?” “For being there for my dad.” “He’s like a father to me.” “I guess that makes me like a brother to you?” “I guess.” We both smiled, following an awkward moment, then we hugged. “Thanks,” I whispered into his ear. “For what?” “Just, thanks.” When I returned to the parlour Johnny was standing up gesticulating as he narrated his fantastic take on his abduction. His friends, the Americans, had immediately left the country, probably never to return, and with them his investment dreams, but he was beaming and boasting and totally loving being the centre of attraction. “And this one,” he said to his audience, “When my son called her to come and put her life in danger to rescue me, she just said Oya now!” I was just so happy he was back. I excused myself to go take a shower. The truth was I wanted to be alone to say a thank you prayer to God and to cry out whatever tears remained in me. Somehow, one terrible thing on Falomo Bridge had planted something in my heart that was to change me forever. It had started with the London boy and it had come full circle back to him, or at least to his brother. If not for the stupid boy I wouldn’t have become so afraid of life as usual. I wouldn’t have started questioning my choices, and Kike’s boyfriend calling her and ashewo like that wouldn’t have had such an impact on me. Am I a prostitute? I’ve never thought of myself as one. Yes I do runs, but only to survive. I don’t buy GUCCI belts and LV bags. I don’t wear Brazilian hair. I don’t stand on the street prostituting myself. But I need money, to pay for my school and to help my mother. Does that make me a prostitute? What is a runs girl anyway, if not a prostitute in denial? An ashewo like that: Yes, I am what I was. WAS, being the operative word. And if Johnny hadn’t been kidnapped, I wouldn’t have been arrested and the Nigerian police force wouldn’t be paying me five million naira not to sue them. And I wouldn’t have met Rotimi. Oh, by the way. I can imagine Brutus swearing by all the gods of his ancestors that he never filmed anything, and he would have been telling the truth. Amaka never had a video, there was no video. What she showed me on her phone at the police commissioner’s house was a text message that simply read “There is no video but if they think there is one they will pay you not to sue them.” Amaka, it turns out, works for a charity called The Street Samaritans and one of what they do is sue the police on behalf of people who can’t sue by themselves, people like me. I came downstairs and found Johnny, John junior, Amaka and Rotimi talking like old friends. “Omoge, where have you been? We thought they had kidnapped you too,” Johnny said. “Me? You think I’m butter like you?” I joined them and discovered that they were talking about politics and not me, what a relief. Amaka was making a point that there were not enough female politicians in the country, and according to her this was the reason Nigeria is the way it is. She asked how half the population – men – can determine the fates of the whole nation. Johnny asked her if she was a feminist and I cringed because up till then I thought the term referred to something bad, or at least something not socially acceptable. “Yes,” she answered in a matter of fact manner. “So am I,” Johnny declared in his jovial and loud manner. After that it was all about feminism and liberal feminism and third-wave feminism and… I was lost, at least then. Rotimi had been very quiet. At some point he took my hand and we just held hands over the armrests separating us. “You,” Johnny said to him, “What plans do you have for my sister?” It was the best day of my life. I was surrounded by the people I loved; friends who had become family, and I was at peace with who I was and grateful for where I was. Amaka came in her own car. We all saw her off. Before she left she reminded me never to talk about the video to anyone. Rotimi decided to leave as well and for some reason I just assumed I was going with him, or that he wanted me to. He looked confused when I hugged Johnny and said goodbye. “Just like that, doctor, you are taking my sister from me?” “Johnny,” I said, about to explain something to him that even I hadn’t thought of or found the words for. But I can always count on Johnny to be there for me. He held the door open for me then as he closed it he tapped on the window. Rotimi pressed a button to roll it down. “Doctor, if you hurt her, you’ll answer to me,” he said.

Everybody waved and kept on waving till we had driven out of the gates and down the road. I was looking at him. He looked at me a couple of times till a self-conscious smile started to form across his face. “What?” he asked. I just smiled; a smile that had formed from the deepest part of my heart. He took my hand in his and I rested our entwined fingers on my lap. I kept looking at him as he drove. I didn’t know where we were going, but I knew I would be happy when we got there. “What?” he asked again when he looked at me and I was still looking at him. “Every single thing I’ve ever done, every mistake I’ve ever made, every misfortune I’ve ever had, has brought me to you.” "Prostitution in and of itself is an abuse of a woman's body. Those of us who say this are accused of being simple-minded. But prostitution is very simple. (…) In prostitution, no woman stays whole. It is impossible to use a human body in the way women's bodies are used in prostitution and to have a whole human being at the end of it, or in the middle of it, or close to the beginning of it. It's impossible. And no woman gets whole again later, after.” - Andrea Dworkin THE END

Guys dont forget to visit my blog for the up coming story namely Romeo & Juliet. You can visit my blog with http://alifepress.wordpress.com or http://alifepress.ml , http://alifepress.tk , http://alifepress.cf any of this url address will still take you to the Same blog... Please try and comment so i can know you... Luv you....

Wowww I realy loved dis story Gr8 write up @shaxee *muaah*expectin more frm u

Waooooowwww....wat an happy ending...so happy 4 u gurl.......thank yu Shaxee Gracias

Is as if d tori cud continu i really luv it. Great job am expectin more of it. Tnx @shaxee

So hapi 4 U @Amaka,i kw u ll invest wt d moni dey r going 2 pay u nd manage it well,nyc work @Shaxee always enjoy ur story.....

1daful story. I Lv evry bit of it. tnx God for ur life Amaka. i so much lv dt lawyer Amaka. more data to ur fone @shaxee

1daful story. I Lv evry bit of it. tnx God for ur life Amaka. i so much lv dt lawyer Amaka. stories lik dis is wat we like, dt u ll b sure of getting one episode a day not stories like ''Broken'', "The Power of Love" "widower" to mention but a few. more data to ur fone @shaxee . 1one

Shaxee have never 4 once desapoint me wt his stories.They are always superb nd tantanlizin aldo I don finish d story frm his blog since monday bt I still couldnt help bt read over again..man u ar too much

Lovely story @shaxee *muah*

Interesting indeed

wow! sooo interesting. thank God u did notin wit uncle china. and finally, i guess the storm is over. weldon @shaxee

Wow....... Wow...... Wow..... This is so interesting....... I thank God for your happy ending sandra...... I pray you have a blissful home with you doc. Rotimi

you won't believe this,I have not slept since the beginning of this story,just anxious, curious of what will happen next,thank God its over and fucking interesting, am gonna read it over and over again,muahhhhhh to this wonderful writer more ink to ya pen love ya

Ok Now let know what happen at s commissioner ouse

Choi dis d nicêst

Awesome ending!

Wonderful ending...conjugal bliss Amaka et Rotimi..hope u live a happy life Amaka,u deserve it,...U tried @shaxee nice work.

Wow!!!!! Wow!!!! Wow!!!! This story is the best,love this story so much Wish you best in marriage @shaxee thanks so much

dis serve as a lesson 4 d wise, more ink 2 ur pen bro

interesting. Loving it. Suspense packed

Wow! At last its finished. Very intrested. Thanks @Shaxee

nice one interesting story welldone@shaxee

I can't believe I almost miss an interesting story like this .. anyway more ink to or pen @ shaxee

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9ice.......

Wow nice work

Wow!! A very Interesting story it has been.. Mehn! Omoge God really loved you.. Nice story @Itzshaxee. More ink to ya pen. Welldone. :)

double loss...your pussy n money

Nice story

Hmmm

Nice story

Nice story

What a life

What a story

Nice story

Nice story

Nice Story Bro

U Re Doing A Gud Job Shaxee

keep it up

more of dis pls :g

:b

Great story

Nice one bro. I love this!!

hummmmm..... nice story

d story is interesting

Wow... Wat a gr8 write-up, kip it up

Dope story touching one

God, this story is so much interesting mhen