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Till This Day

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He was sleeping.  He had that silly smile on his face too. You know that smile that made me listen to him when he walked up to me at my sister's wedding? Yes that one. He wore it through our relationship and to the wedding too. I remembered smiling right back while he repeated those stereotyped vows that the priest made him say. I remembered letting him take off my gown that night and swearing that we would do nothing else if he did not read his real vows first as he had promised. I had my vows written too and the paper was safely tucked in my phone pouch, but I wanted him to go first. He had his in his left pocket and as he pulled it out carelessly, I watched him. He had never been a writer and I was honestly ready to accept anything he had written. To be fair, I had been celibate for years and I was too horny to care about perfect words. Nevertheless, curiosity had gotten the best of me and I needed to know what he had written down. Four years had passed, but I s...
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'Sexcuses': The Master List

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So who heard of the FECAMDS convention in Uniben? I was there and it was lit! Before anyone says that the school paid me to make them look good, I have to mention that I mean every word and you can quote me anywhere. I know there were some issues which I refuse to mention, but the spiritual experience was really enlightening and the entertainment was noteworthy. Back to the point. There was this singular talk we had that I thought I should share with you. Honestly, I regret judging the speaker long before he opened his mouth. He was the basic pharmacist that looked a bit too old to talk about '21 century relationships'. I imagined that he picked his wife up from her ss2 class and anything he was going to tell us would be as good as useless to our generation. Guess what? I still don't know how old his wife was when he married her, but I definitely know that he talked like he had been in the business for a while. He started by quoting a million Bible verses about marriages ...
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The Hustle

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"Good morning Ma." It is the fourth time that I am greeting, and I already know there will be no reply. Mama has been staring at the wall since last night. I sit beside her on the ragged foam and attempt to find the object of her attention. The wall is not painted like the rest of the house. There are cracks that run from end to end adding some finesse to the uneven patches of brown dust on the wall. "Mama won't you eat something?" I ask her as I tear my eyes away from the wall. She does not flinch. Since she has chosen to ignore me, I decide that it is best to take my leave. I walk into the kitchen in search of anything. Even water. I find a little water in the storage bucket at the corner and pour it into a pot. It is another garri and palm oil day. It has been for a week now. Unbothered by the mundane routine we have acquired, I search for the box of matches and try to light the wick. First strike. Second strike. I raise the burner to ...
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