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The art of Love Letter writing is dead and gone. Killed by science and technology. A tragedy, I must say. It was one of the best forms of expressing ones self and I took advantage of it.
I spent a lot of time writing love letters for my secondary school classmates to their girlfriends. I was so good at it. I could paint pictures with words. And of course I avoided those ambiguous words. Never for once did I use the sugar in my tea or cockroach in my cupboard routine. The cockroach thing is nonsense biko. That annoying and irritating creature has no business in anything that has to do with love.
Anyway there was this very beautiful girl who lived across the street. Anita. I had tried unsuccessfully to convey my feelings to her.
Her mom sold food so Anita had to help out and was never chanced. She was the last of 5 girls but older than the only boy Francis. Anita always gave me this smile every time I passed their stall. I looked for any excuse to walk past the stall. Sometimes I’d walk past there 15 times just for her smile.
She’liked to call me Ju Love or Shebi love. I was the only kid in the area who was “shebiing” courtesy my move from Lag to Kano. Took me years to switch to ‘ko’. That ‘Love’ she calls me used to scatter my punk. One time like that her mother wasn’t in the stall and I passed by as usual. Anita called out, “Ju Lov”. There was a quantum shift in equilibrium. Smiling like a fool l walked into tree. ‘Wawu’ the pain was intense but smile remained.
So I wrote her a letter. I racked my brain. My imagination was in hyper. I was going to bedazzle and bamboozle her. I poured my heart out. ! One day by chance she came to fetch water in my compound.and I gave her the letter for her personal consumption. Unfortunately village people had other plans.
I was at home when I heard noise outside. “Where that Junior. E dey write my pikin letter. Make him mama hold am o.” No escape route for me for at that moment cos I’d just finished washing plates and was arranging it. My mother looked at me and asked what the noise was about. I feinged ignorance. At that moment Anita’s mum came marching in, holding Anita by the ear and dragging her along. Boy was I so dead.
“Madam what’s the problem”, my mum asked. Anita’s mum heaving and panting passed the letter to mum and told her I’d written a love letter to her daughter. Everywhere went quiet.”Read what you wrote”, my mum said. I held the paper.
With one eye on the paper and the other eye on my mum, Anita and her mum I cleared my throat and began to read. “Dear Aniluv.” My mothers neck became erect. I moved back. Na die I dey today.
I continued. “My reason for writing this letter is that I may not get the chance to convey my deep feelings for you in person. We’re policed by our parents and are time constrained.” An Igbo woman in the compound just shouted “Supu”. I almost smiled even Anita too. Love sweet sha. I looked into my mum’s eyes see thunder and lighting. Nothing about love in those eyes.
“Your smile lights up my day. The way your tongue caresses my name leaves me in a state of euphoria and unbridled joy. When I don’t see you I lose all appetite for food.”My mother eyed me upandan like coman eat this night lemme see.”
I knew I was truly finished when I saw the next line. Na me write am. It was sweet when I wrote it but reading it to my mum? Death! “You’re a queen and I adore you. Please be mine. I will do anything for you. Climb mountains for you. Cross rivers and oceans. My mum is my jewel but you’re my crown jewel.”
I scattered 3 legs of the table I was standing on. I could not see any white part of my mothers eyes again. Everything was shinning red red. ‘Wozzzzzaaaaiiii’ I collected one on my left cheek and ear. The weight of the slap carried me into a pile of clothes she had arranged. She screamed “Finish that letter. She is your crown jewel okwa ya.”
Mama Junior take am sofrey na only letter o”, Anita’s mother whispered. My mother eyed her. The woman kuku draw her child near her side. Bhet wait! What was the woman expecting when she came to report me? That my mum would lovingly hug me and we would live happily ever after?
I got up barely seeing anything through tears and the ‘weeeennnn’ sound in my ear. “Your eyes are like the stars. Bright and twinkling. You’re shaped like a goddess. I could sleep on your bosom till eternity. So soft and………
‘Tazzzzzaiiiiii’! My mum dropped the second slap on the same spot. It was no longer ‘weeeeen’ sound it was ‘waaaaaaaaannnnnnnn’. I had scattered the remaining leg of the table. “So Chukwufumnanaya e metu be go ala( Chukwufumnanya you have started touching bwess)”, mum growled.
Heiiiii! This was really bad. I was sniffling holding back the tears and hot catarrh I felt like blowing, “No Mummy it’s….it’s….it’s…my imagination.”
“Ehen so you’re imagining bwess”, she shouted. Confused I replied “No mum it’s temporary thoughts.” She just picked the spatula and gave me at the top of my head ‘kooommm’ I don’t know when I shouted “Mummy it’s the devil that pushed me.” My mama no dey hear that kain nonsense. She gave me extra doses of semi permanent marks to remember the day by.
Village people 100. Me zero. I stopped passing Anita’s stall. In fact my eyes were always in front when passing. Then I went and watched adult video with her brother Francis but that’s another story.
From Sun To Rain – Helping A Kid On His Feet Back Home With Emotions
On a sunny noon, I found myself walking a 45 mins journey to my school prominent junction “Uniport Junction”. It was more painful when I walk past the first bus park “Abuja park”, but a young broke guy has nothing to worry until he arrive to his destination.
30 minutes to my painful journey, I stumbled upon a kid around “12 years” my conscience will never let me walk past his red swollen eyes. He looked so cute, innocent, lackadaisical and slothful.
My knees down, I asked “My friend what’s wrong?”, his pitied looked won’t let me stand the fact am a man, my weak emotions were already reacting to his crying intonations, my fragile tears glands without my permission filled my eyes with tears like rain yet to pour from the cloud.
The sun was damn so hot, he was bear footed, he trousers were falling from his waist as he has no belt, he was putting on a feminine top, whereas he is a guy. I knew family conditions weren’t so comfortable.
With tears, he hugged me uttering “I lost the money my mummy gave me to buy slippers”, my cloth already stained with his sneeze – I wasn’t concerned at all.
Concentiously, my tears glands spilled all the stored cloud rain. I didn’t know when I found myself backing him to “Uniport junction market”, his money has being picked by someone else, the coal tar heat was unbearable for his feet, he had no dad – what will a good Samaritan do? I just had to back the light weighted guy.
In 10 mins time, we arrived. I deeped my hands in my pocket, gave him the micro penny I had. I smiled at him, but I knew deep in me I have saved him from lashes at home – I told him “Keep whatever change that remained”, foolishly some will say “Without zeal for happily losing my little kobo, I walk it all back for about an hour”.
I knew he was happy, but my emotions was mixed with depression, stress and joy.
The Story Of Nenu-B.
A Real Tale.
I took no photo of him, I consider that to be privacy infringement on a minor.
Tears of Nelson Sousa And The Blood Field – An African War Story
Summary – This is an imaginative story about a Rwandan and Nigerian born called Nelson Sousa.
Directly or indirectly, the characters are in no way referred to any one at all, but 100% imaginative. If you like this post, I will write more.
African War Story
In the dark era of apartheid, Nelson Sousa was born in Nusenga to a Rwandan father and a Nigerian mother. After a childhood primary and secondary school education in Nigeria, enduring lost of civil wars and economical crisis, his family moved to Rwanda for a greener pasture and peaceful environment.
Facing the first scornful looking military personnel along the border sparked an awkward and scary sensation deep down their nerves. Rusty waste along the street, widowed women mourning loudly, hungry kids pulling the cloth of passerby, the Nelson’s family regretted a once happy decision.
With eyes filled with blood, little Nelson looked up to Dad and ask, “Papi Papi are we going to die? Why are people running like wild antelope like those in Kupentog forest?”, “Please answer me, I want to …” rapid gun fire filled the air. The dark angry Rwandans dread bands were on the move, robbing and carrying societal vices. Some looking so young, carrying heavy guns and leaves tied around their waist, they kept shooting mercilessly.
Grabbing Nelson and having his wife follow them closely, seemed a brilliant and safe idea. 15 minutes of zik zag running for safety, she dropped flat. She has being gunned down. Nelson watched his mum drop down like an antelope shot in the wild. Seeking safety beneath a truck, Nelson was faced with life reality. “Papi papi, look mami is dead” he said crying.
Seven (7) years later, Nelson lost his father due to stroke, he was now an orphanage in his homeland, making Rwanda the home of peace was his vision. From local school head to a community activist, he won the hearth of the masses and joined the country politics. Throw back to the memories of an African War Story .
Subsequently, after three (3) years of political struggle, he was assassinated by an unknown assassin. His death was acclaimed to be from the opposing party. Today, his written poem is stilled used to honor him for his courage and service to humanity.
This Is an African War story & it is associated with a poem. Click link below to read poem.
Poem Of An African War Story – Red Sky
Gripping tree bark and gnashing my teeth seems ah balance diet
A proud land filled with germinating bullets on the plain field
Green white green land covered with red black red tears and blood
O Nusenga, you never said welcome
Rapid shots and cries defiled my ears
Killing skills became the industrious skills I imagined
The kids lift arms and smile at their new record
I feel many man they brag
Like a fallen tree, will mami ever rise again?
Well I fall too? Nusenga will you always love me
Family away forever, the struggle just beginning,
The cock that crows are heard by kids,
Food is hard undeniably, tears is at disposal,
Millions of falling heros – your only Grammy Award,
Chapters of an African war story
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