The smell of strong herbal tea and toasts woke him up. It was aroma made in heaven and he was lucky he made it to this particular paradise. The herbal tea was a more recent addition to the menu order. He had bent to his wife’s latest bug for everything (almost everything that it is) “healthy and green” – he hadn’t on his routine morning toasts though. She is the medical person in the home and for that he acceded to her on some of her new dietary regimes. His life had been blessed and he was grateful. There was nothing more a man can ask for – a thriving business, a beautiful wife and daughter. It was a perfect match and it was going to last forever. That was a promise he made to God, for sparing his wife’s life. It was a trying period the past few months, even the loss of the baby. The son he had expected like a new gift wrapped in glittering foil….

From the depths of lingering slumber, he could hear the clatter of dishes and a soft hum from the kitchen area. It was the routine for Oz whenever she is in the kitchen, getting him and Daphne ready for their day. Him to the office and a grueling 8 hour shift at work and her off to school and a grueling (and anxiety filled) six hours at crèche.

He smiled to himself as he got out of bed naked and headed for the kitchen. He knew she would be there and she would be in her nightie as always, and he also knew she would be ready, waiting for their ritual Wednesday morning quickie.

That aspect of their lives have not changed; God Bless her….


“See you later, Tiger.” She pecked him on the cheek and gave him a playful slap on the backside to help him along for the day. He chuckled as he climbed into his car – a 2003 Toyota Highlander, and drove out of the compound. It was their usual parting shot. But, this morning he needed it more than he ever needed it before. He also felt like Oz had given him an extra push with the slap to the backside. She was engulfing him with her sudden enthusiasm. The effect was contagious. He was going to his banker to source funds for a new business venture and he needed to convince his account officer to convince the bank manager to lend him the money.

He felt more confident things will swing his way this time.

It was risky in the business he does, as a financial speculator; he also knew and accepted that life was all about risks. However, his account officer was overly averse to risks of the nature he was involved in. So, it had been a bit difficult to source funds that he needed to access the developing financial market in Brazil. It was a developing market, but one that was growing at the pace of a ferocious tsunami. He needed to get on board that train before it ran out of steam.

As he drove into the bank premises on Mobolaji Bank Anthony Way, he prayed that today will be a different day. He hoped that he would be able to convince Phillip his account officer, bearing new facts and figures, that it was a meaningful venture and that his projections for profits were spot on and even very modest.

He smoothed his tie and retrieved his suitcase from the back seat. ‘This is it’, he thought as he headed for the bank doors. Phillip had asked him to provide facts and proves during their last meeting. Now he had them, complete with external profit projections from the country’s leading auditing firms. He saw no reason why he should deny approving his application this time.

He walked up to the usual desk, at which sat a woman.

“I am here to see Phillip Umodi, please,” he stated as he looked around the bank hall trying to spot Phillip, hardly taking a look at the woman at the desk.

She looked up from the documents she was reading, it was the action that caught his attention and it was like his whole world stopped when he looked into the face before him.

She didn’t seem to realize it and just went on,” Welcome Mr. Izuchukwu Amadi. My name is Olamide Smith and I have been expecting you. I am your new account officer.”

That Wednesday, his life changed and everything he had previously held true about marital vows was chucked out of the window. In one look, he lost himself forever to Olamide Smith.

 I consider myself more of a poetry craftsman. Only started writing prose seriously in July. 2012. I also like to think I am a very friendly person- weird to some people.

However, weird only means I am unique and that makes me happy whenever I hear it. You can follow my works on or via twitter @shaiontheprowl.

13 thoughts on “THR33WAY IS NO FR33WAY #1”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s