Category Archives: Non-Fiction



There are many versions to this story but there is only one reason I mentioned Amaka’s name at the altar on my wedding day.

When you love a woman, nothing on earth can stop you from thinking about her.

Before I go on, let it be known that Onagite is a mentally disturbed woman. I understand that it’s really not a psychological disease but years of shameful leaving, a desperate bid to get married and the awful realization that she is getting old that has turned her insane.

She is what I believe they call a sociopath.

I want to begin with the big question: did I know that Onagite had a terrible past?

I did.

No woman today is a saint but when three of your friends have slept with her, you know that the situation is really critical. I wasn’t getting married to Onagite because I loved her. To be honest, I had no feelings for her. My mother was the one that was infatuated with her and felt she was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Onagite, after a life of sharing her goodies with many guys in Abuja, decided to settle down and get married. She repackaged herself well and everyone was fooled but I knew her intentions from the beginning. She tells a steamy story of how I went after her but that was not the case. From the beginning, she was out to separate me from Amaka but by God’s grace, I successfully eluded her traps. However when Amaka and I broke up, she made a beeline for me. I didn’t take Onagite seriously then; I was just glad she distracted me from my broken heart. However, thoughtlessly I introduced her to my mother and she became the perfect daughter to her, since all my sisters were in their matrimonial homes. Onagite literally lived with the old woman and did everything for her. Now, excuse me for saying this but my mother is the most manipulative woman on earth. When I saw the danger Onagite posed to my freedom, I made it clear that I wasn’t in the mood to get married to her and my mother fell ill, and it got so critical that I had to fly her out for treatment. While on her sick bed, she successfully twisted my sisters’ minds against me, turning my entire family into a heavy Onagite fan club. Every time I tried to end the relationship, I wound up being labeled a heartless and irresponsible creature. It got so bad that even my brothers-in-law joined in the whole drama.

Onagite says we just happened to have sex on her birthday, that one thing led to another but that was not how it happened at all. To me, it felt like consensual sex but when I woke up the next morning and had no full recollection of what happened the night before, I knew she had drugged me.

I’m a thirty-five year old grown male and I think I have had sex enough times to know when the line crosses from consensual to rape. I woke up the morning after Onagite’s birthday and to my confusion, Onagite had bruises on her lips and shoulders and was cowering away from me like I was a monster. She related, in an award-winning performance, how I had ripped off her clothes and raped her. I was in total shock, like I couldn’t believe myself. As I sat down speechless, too weak to move, she threatened to report me to my family, the church and even the police.

I have heard of stories like this. In fact, one of my friends had been a victim quite recently and when he related his ordeal to me, I laughed at him. Now, I was the one in his shoes and I still couldn’t wrap my head around what had happened. Naturally, I started to second-guess myself. I went through the previous night over and over and began to remember bits of what happened and to my horror I recalled her luring me into a rape fantasy. As a doctor friend later related to me, Onagite was able to successfully pull that off only because she put in the right dosage of drug that kept me intoxicated but at the same time, sane enough to make me believe I was in control.

I had no option but to apologize for what I had not done and propose to her immediately. You should have seen her screaming like a little girl who had just been given the keys to a mega Barbie store. Problem was I was the Barbie and was about to have her dress me up for the roll of marriage. I never was Ken.

Two days later, I got her a ring and before I even drove out of her house my phone beeped. She had tagged me in a photo of herself and her ‘dazzling eighteen carat engagement ring’ on Facebook. It was actually only nine carats.

From that moment on, everything started happening very fast—the marriage counseling, the introduction, traditional marriage and the wedding planning. During that time, Onagite played the role of the good wife. She adored me in front of family and friends, stroking my ego and making me look like the perfect man just so that they believed she was responsible for my excellence. I on the other hand went through the motions like a puppet and never told a soul what I was going through. As the wedding date drew closer, I tried offering her money to dissuade her from getting married but I was met with more threats. I literally was dealing with a serial man-eater, so ultimately, I resigned to my fate.

A lot happened during that time but when the moment of truth presented itself at the altar, I just couldn’t see myself continuing with the charade. Calling Amaka’s name was not deliberate. It just came out and I think I subconsciously channelled myself to call to her for help. But more than that, I called Amaka because, like I told you, when you truly love someone you just can’t stop thinking about them.

So I’m here, sitting on my loveseat, with my bottle of beer, about to watch a replay of a match I missed yesterday but I can’t stop thinking about how much of a coward I have been. Maybe I should have taken my chances and broken off with Onagite a long time ago. The worst would have been her word against mine but seriously, who likes to be labeled a rapist?

“Jaymo!” I hear Shola call my name and I turn to him. He has this interesting look in his eyes.

Some people just love to gossip. They know where to get the latest gist and are willing to whisper it to any itching ear around them. This is the case of the guy that lives in my house and has been scrubbing off of me for over two years. You know those types of guys that will come in with nothing but the clothes on their back and ask to stay for just a week until they find their own place? Shola is one of them. One week turns to two, two to four, then six months and now, I can’t get rid of him without causing some serious pain. The thing that amazes me though, is that he has a job, a car and yet he hasn’t found a place of his own for almost three years.

“Guy, I dey try watch match, na,” I complain when I see him pull a side stool and sit right in front of me.

“Chairman, just hear wetin I wan yarn you first.”

It takes him a while to come round to the main topic. He first asks me if I know this Ayo that dated this Kate, that eventually got married to this Calabar person that now lives in Warri and owns this big eatery and he goes on and on until he somehow finds his way back to Lagos to some Derrick guy I vaguely recall Onagite mentioning a while ago.

At this point Shola pauses, maybe for effect, but he continues, with words rolling out of his lips like red hot spears aimed at burning my heart but he has no idea what he’s spilling is actually good news. When he is done, I look at him blankly, thank him and go back to my game. He isn’t so happy with my reaction; he picks his car key and leaves the house to see some friends.

The moment he leaves, my phone begins to blink with that annoying red light. I pick it and discover I have five unread pings and two text messages. When I go through them, they’re all from Amaka’s friends, telling me something is wrong with her and I need to come to their place immediately. I scroll through my phone contacts and dial Fiyin, one of Amaka’s closest friends but it rings off the hook. I dash into my room and grab a tee from my bed but as I step back into the living room, Onagite is there waiting for me. This is the first time I’m seeing her since our wedding was cancelled and all I am thinking is how blank she suddenly looks to me.

She stands there, by the door, expecting me to rush and hug her but I look around for my car key and act like she’s not there.

“James?” she calls me in a surprised voice.

“What’s up?” I bury my fingers into a hole by one side of the loveseat and fish out my car key.

“Why are you acting weird? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

I walk to her. “I have an emergency…”

“Is Momsie alright?” she asks with a mask of concern.

“Yeah…yes, Momsie is alright.”

“So, what’s going on baby?” she tries to touch my face but I take her hand and lead her outside.

“You have your key to the door? Can’t seem to find mine.”

“Yeah,” she puts her hand into her handbag and produces the key to the front door. I take it from her, lock the door and walk her to her 7-series. I check it out and see that it is still factory fresh with no scratches.

“I want to take you out but we’re using your car. I haven’t driven it yet.”

“Okay,” she gives a full smile and I open the passenger door for her. I take the driver’s seat.

“James, I missed you,” she leans towards me and tries to touch me but I take her hand and kiss it. The moment we leave the house and the gate closes after us, I stop the car and give her a long, hard look. She becomes very uncomfortable.

“Onagite, I am very curious to know why you’re sleeping with Derrick but it‘ll be a waste of my time. Some things are not worth looking into, especially the lifestyle of a dirty, shameless slut…”

“James!” she gasps.

“You know what? After every rotten thing you’ve done in your life, one would think you’d use your head but somehow, you just don’t have it in you to think straight, do you? It’s beyond me how dull you truly are. As in, I just can’t wrap my head around your profound stupidity.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t sleep with Derrick.”

I take a deep breath. “At the risk of sounding like your bitch, I admit that I was the biggest fool around here. You did your job well, putting your ducks in order and at the right time. You played me, Onagite. Oh, you played me but finally, I believe it’s fitting to say I’ve been set free. As in, what do you have over me now? Nothing!” I laugh.

“I’m pregnant,” she says in tears and in a gentle voice that is supposed to stir something in me.

“Really?” I play along and she nods, her ruby cheeks glistening with tears.

“Well, that’s just another unfortunate child who would have to learn that this stupid life is sexually transmitted.”

She puts her hand to her mouth. “James…”

“Get out.”


I step out of the car, walk to her side and open her door.

“Get out of the car.”

“James?” she looks at me with wild, frightened eyes. “This is not you. Why are you doing this? I am carrying your baby! I didn’t sleep with Derrick!”

“Get out, Onagite!”


My phone starts to ring. Fiyin is returning my call.

“I told you I have an emergency, woman. Get out!”

“It’s Amaka, isn’t it? She’s the one calling you! You can’t do this to me! You can’t get me pregnant and dump me! What kind of wicked man are you? First you jilted me at the altar and now…”

I grab her hand and pull her out of the car. She makes a move to fall to the ground but I lift her by her shoulders and look straight into her conniving face. “If I ever see you around here or my mother’s place, both of us will regret what I will do to you. Do you understand me?”

I let her go, get back into the 7-series and drive away. As I hit the streets, I dial Fiyin again, putting her on speakerphone. She takes my call immediately.

“Talk to me, Fi.”

“Are you almost here?”

“I just got out of the house. What’s wrong with Amaka?”

“I dunno, o. She locked herself in my bathroom since yesterday morning and has refused to come out.”


“I dunno. She lost her job on Friday and when her popsie found out, he kicked her out of the house. Then as if that one is not enough, the money Loretta gave her to pay into somebody’s account, someone stole it from her in a bus.”

“A bus? What happened to her car?”

“Popsie took it too.”

“What money did Loretta give her?”

“I don’t know but iz plenty o! Iz 500k! Now, she’s looking for Amaka and the silly Amaka is hiding in my bathroom and I have been using our neighbor’s toilet since yesterday. Me and my friends have done everything to make her come out but she refused. Please come quick, abeg before I break the door and Amaka pays. I’ve been wanting to go to toilet since but I’ve been holding it and my neighbors have gone out.”

I smile. “On my way… and Fi?”


“Don’t tell her I’m coming.”


© Sally@moskedapages Cover Design by @IamAyomiDotun


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Related Posts –> Fish Brain Clan (1), Fish Brain Clan (2)


Fish Brain Clan

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So many of you haven’t read this and I have been getting countless DMs and emails requesting its release. For those of you who had issues downloading, well worry not. I’ll be releasing all the episodes of Fish Brain Clan and Fish Brain Games on this particular Blog.


It was something right out of a movie scene. I think I even watched it in an episode of Friends, where Ross at the altar, about to say his vows to his fiancée, Emily, called out Rachel’s name instead. It went something like this:

“I, Ross, take you Rachel…”

And I can tell you that the wedding ended right there and then. Seriously, what girl in her right mind would go on to marry a guy who was thinking about someone else other than her at the altar?! Well, I wouldn’t but since I was the other girl whose name was mentioned, I would go right ahead and say ‘I do!’ Hehehehehe.

Like I said, right out of a movie! James called my name in front of Watzhername, her family, his family, all their relatives, their friends, church members and a few wedding crashers—over two thousand people in all. When that faux pas happened, I wasn’t even listening. I was pinging my girlfriend, Fiyin, who couldn’t make it to the wedding because she had an accident and was recuperating at home. I switched myself off from the whole scene and became deaf to all that was going on in the church that day. I had banished James from my heart to some degree. But let me not lie, there were still residue of feelings left.

Oh, rubbish! It’s either you still love someone or you don’t. Truth was I still loved him. Don’t blame me; it wasn’t easy letting go even after three years. We were the perfect couple, match made in heaven, two peas in pod, blah-blah-blah… Everyone thought it was going to be happily ever after for us.

Everyone, except James himself.

He said I had no future ambition. He added that all I cared about were sugar, spice and everything pricey. He even went further to explain that I was going to run him out of business and brain matter with high demands and my endless unwitting and shallow personality. Me, endlessly unwitting? What did that even mean? I know what shallow means; it’s the opposite of deep (correct me if I’m wrong) but unwitting? I still haven’t checked the dictionary for what that word means. But still, who was he to call me names? I mean, did Watzhername have more witting personality than me? I cooked, I cleaned, I hung with some of his friends, I learnt every game he played on his PS3, I learnt to knot a tie, and finally I gave it to him every and anytime he wanted without complaining (don’t tell Pastor Ishi), and on top of everything, I was working! Ehen! I had a job and worked hard for my money! So what was all that misyarning[1] that he was doing?

It all started on Val’s day when he took me out to see a movie. A movie! One day in the year to show love to your sweetheart and you take her to a movie and spend let me see… 3k for the tickets for both of us and 2k for drinks and popcorn… and that was all! I’m not including the set of silver jewelry he got for me. That’s my right. But a movie? Thumbs down, Jamie. Very classy.

So halfway into the movie, he was like, “Amaka, where do you see yourself five years from now?”

I looked around to see if there was another girl around us in that dark movie theatre with a bold name tag AMAKA. There was no one like that. I now started thinking ‘what type of question is this one now?’ It sounded like one of those job interview questions.

Interviewer: Miss Amaka, if we give you this job, where do you see yourself in this company five years from now?

Me: Me? Er…I see myself in an office with a perfect view overlooking the whole of Victoria Island and the Atlantic. Also I see myself at the head of the table in board meetings…

Interviewer: It’s okay, Miss Amaka. You can go now. Thank you.

“Amaka, I’m talking to you,” James gently tapped me.

“Where do I see myself?” I laughed to ease my unease and hit him playfully. “I see myself with you, silly. We’d have a boy by then and a girl on the way, plus our own house somewhere in Lekki with four cars and…”

“No, I meant, where do you see yourself career-wise?”

I frowned. “Jamie, what is all this nah? Are you still insisting that I change my job? I like what I do and my boss likes me and all the guys in the office are very nice to me. I don’t want to work in a bank!”

“I am not asking you to work in a bank. I’m just concerned that you don’t have any future plans for yourself.”

“My future plan is you, boo.” I pouted and rested my head on his shoulder.

He pulled away from me. “Your lack of ambition is really disturbing me.”

My lack of ambition? If only he knew how I planned to build an empire on top of his head. I saw homes and cars and trips to the Caribbean and shopping in Milan and Paris… You don’t get more ambitious than that! mnh-mnh!

“Please tell me you’ll think of what I told you. A life without a plan or purpose is a life doomed for destruction.”

I rolled my eyes. He had started with one of his Oyedepo sayings. I’m not sure that’s exactly what he said but I knew it was an Oyedepo.

“Will you do it for me? Will you take out time to sit and really think about your future outside of me and put down goals you want to achieve in the short term that would propel you into achieving long term goals?”

Hian! I didn’t understand a word he was saying but I nodded. And my dears, that was the beginning of the end for James and me o! I swear, my stepmother is behind our breakup.

So, as we drove out of the cinema that day, he gave me two weeks to be all on my own to plan for my future. And you know what? I did as he wanted. I first handled the short term goals. I went shopping; I bought myself a box of clothes and shoes and some nice jewelry. I mean, a girl needs to look good for the future, right? You can’t face your tomorrow dressed like yesterday. Mark that one people. That saying is an Amaka! And it rings true too. If you’re stuck in your past, change your wardrobe!

Two weeks later, he dropped by to check on me and my future. I mumbled something about owning a boutique just to get him off my back. I can tell you he wasn’t impressed. My Jamie is a no-nonsense boy. When he’s made his mind, there’s no going back. He can be downright mean. He looked me in the face, right into my eyes and said the three words that broke my heart for eight solid months.

“It’s over.”

Okay, that’s two words. Wait…

“It is over.” Yes! It is over. Those were the exact words. Three, short but harsh words that sounded very long that day. What a rotten time that was but thank God I made it. And there I was a year later in one of those big churches in Lagos, pinging my girlfriend while James was securing his own future.

–Fi, dis weddn is borin o! cming home soon

abeg stay bak 4 mor gist

mehn, I cnt. Jamie luks so hawt. cnt stand dat he’s marryin watzhername.

Iz all ur fault nau. u fkd up

I know but…

“Look at her. She’s not even moved. She’s just on her phone.” I heard a woman say in the background but I continued pinging. Her gossiping had nothing to do with me.

“Ashewo!” another whispered.

Ha-ahn. Which kain church be dis? Watzhername is not that bad. She shows off a lot but ashewo? No, Jamie will not marry that type of person. I shut my ears to the whispers and continued pinging Fiyin.

D weddn is even skata-skata. ppl r jus makng noise arnd me. i hav 2tel pst Ishi his congregatn is rude

*batting eye lashes* pst ishi is dere? *covering eyes*

Er… kip ur tots 2ursef, hez celibate n a tru MOG

I paused from pinging Fiyin and checked a Facebook update. Mtsheeew. Just an idiot liking my status. The LED light on my phone blinked and I went back to Fiyin. What a shock I received when I saw this:

Is it tru dat Jamie jus calld ur name at d alta

“Me?” I said out loud and looked up ahead of me. James was still standing, facing Watzhername na. Which one was him calling my name at the altar again? Mehn, Fiyin’s pain medication must be getting her high.

My phone vibrated.


Ansa me


I was trying to make sense of the bombshell Fiyin had sent but I was also now aware of my surroundings as the whisperings increased. To my surprise, I noticed all the people around me staring at me, and like a ripple, the ones that were not, started turning my way after other people whispered to them.

Okay, something was categorically wrong here. I knew I was on my period but I was not known to stain myself and last I checked, I was using both a panty liner and a tampon to be double safe. Yet, I couldn’t help moving my bum this way and that to be sure I was okay. I wished I had come with someone so that they would at least tell me what was going on.

Somehow God heard my prayer. A friend of James who was seated in front, whom I totally changed seats to avoid, turned to me and signaled that I should meet him outside. I consciously stood up, still scared that I was stained, and hurried out of the church that was now rumbling in low voices. I wondered what the noise was all about and why Pastor Ishi was asking James to repeat himself. Outside, James’ friend dragged me to the parking lot and after he was sure no one was looking, he started shouting on me for being a whore.

“Okay wait, Shola,” I turned round. “Am I stained?”

“No,” he replied hurriedly. Not because he was angry but because I didn’t have much on my backside to dwell on. I have full hips and luscious double Ds in front but I can’t shake what my mama didn’t give me. Damn her! She had to take it all.

“You went and slept with James,” Shola accused.

“Me? When?”

“Yesterday, this morning, who cares?! You did it of recent and now he thinks you’re the one he’s saying his vows to! What is wrong with you?!”

“Shola please, talk slowly and explain what is happening. Fiyin just pinged me that Jamie called my name on the altar. For what?”

Shola looked at me like he wanted to bitchslap the cluelessness out of me. If I had flashed my cheeks, he would have done it. While I was with James, he disliked me because he believed I stole James from him; as in, they were not hanging out with the other guys like they used to and James was no longer giving him money to sustain his fake lifestyle.

“Were you on your phone while the solemnization was going on?” Shola asked.

“Which ones is solemnization again?” I asked, annoyed at him for accusing me for sleeping with James, something I kind of wanted to do, ironically.

“See, just because you studied linguistics doesn’t mean you have to be making me look stupid every time. Mtsheew[2] speak normal English jor.”

“I’m talking about the wedding! Give me that phone!” He snatched my BB and explained to me in layman’s terms what James had done. My mouth hung open and I turned in the direction of the church. Then my whole body began to act up like it does whenever I hear bad news. I couldn’t think. I was having problems breathing. My stomach was turning. My head was expanding and shrinking at the same time. My vision was turning black. My knees were shaking and before I could stop myself, I was falling. Yes, I am a fainter and I fainted right on the ground of the parking lot and that stupid Shola did not even catch me. As I fell, I heard him say something like ‘husband snatcher.’ or was it ‘friend snatcher’?

[1] Misyarning – Senseless talk

[2] Mtsheew – A hiss

© Sally@moskedapages Cover Design by @IamAyomiDotun

I hope you enjoyed today’s post. Next week is Watzhername’s side of the story. If you were in her shoes, would you forgive James? If you were James, would you go on with the wedding? If you were Amaka, would you go back to James?

Read on! Fish Brain Clan Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve

No Heart Feelings #11


“Can I have a word, Teddy?”

Terdoo released a relieving sigh. The silence that had hung over her, accompanied by Liam’s severe stare had been too much to bear. To worsen things, Jimi was still lying on her bed, his head buried in a pillow. She was left alone to face the awkwardness.

She followed Liam out, securing her wrapper firmly over her chest.

“I’ll be leaving for Abuja in an hour or so,” Liam said.

She shut the door and leaned her back on it. “Okay.”

“I’d really love it if you came along and saw the work I’ve done with the firm. It’s all completed and we have staff and even clients. We just need a boss.”

“Liam, I don’t know anything about running any business.”

“But I do. And we can work together. I’ll teach you.”

“I dunno… I just can’t leave everything behind and follow you…”

“Is it because of him?”

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I didn’t want to write this story. Never ever! It’s one of those things as they say, one should cover up, especially when one considers the human beings involved. But I thank God that someone like Ese Walter came out and shared her story. I am not God, so I can’t disprove her and say she’s lying, nor can I say she’s telling the truth. I’m only here to share my own story because something has been stirred in me.

Mine is a little different from hers but it runs along the same lines and I will combine it with a similar story because I want to expose a few things today. It is not easy to come out and share this. I stand to be judged for sharing it, especially by those who share the same faith as me and who have known me from home. But I make no apologies. I am a grown woman, a mother, a wife. And my husband approves. Nobody’s judgmental opinions matter.

Before I go to the main, story, read this intro. I hoped to hide this too through some random blog post about child abuse. I wrote this a long time ago and tried so many times to post it but my guts failed me. Today I share it. Here’s my story:

She was only six years old when her father’s friend visited their home. She didn’t know much about the visitor but she called him Uncle Cameroun because that was where she was told he lived. His name began with a C too but now she doesn’t remember. He could have been very fair or very dark. After all these years his face still chooses to be a mystery to her.

The first time she enters the guest room to see him, her whole family is in the parlor watching Another Life. A curious child she is, she wants to know what is in his bag. Earlier, he had promised her some goodies. But she finds nothing. The bag is full of books. Her eyes stroll to the dressing table and she sees a sachet of red pills. They look inviting and she picks the sachet.

“Uncle, what is this?”

“Blood medicine.”

“Blood medicine? What are they doing with it?”

“Bring it here.”

She takes the pills to him and he pops one into his hand. He puts it in her mouth and she instantly likes it.

“Iz sweet!”

“Yes. And it gives you blood.”


“Because you need blood to be strong.”

She keeps licking the pill and when the sugar-coated part of the blood supplement is over, she spits it out.

“Iz not sweet again.”

He takes her hand and draws her towards him.

“There is another thing that can give you blood.”


“Let me show you. Turn around.”

She turns away from his face but she’s very curious and tries to look back.

“Face your front,” his voice is a little gruff and she obeys it.

Next thing she knows, his hands lift her dress and runs over her sides.

She is innocent. She doesn’t know what he is doing. There is no danger alert device installed in her system. Her brain has no explanation for what is going on. She stands there and takes his abuse, oblivious. After he is done, he tells her she’s a good girl.

“Don’t tell anybody. When you come back from school tomorrow, come back here and collect more blood so that you can be strong. Don’t wear any pant. Don’t tell anybody o!”

She is happy to leave the room but she can’t wait for more blood tomorrow. As he has instructed her, she tells no one.

The next day, after school, she runs into his room in her school uniform. He does as he pleases with her; gives ten kobo afterwards. She uses it to buy local sweets and shares with her sister and cousins. She looks forward to the following day.

This continues for the entire week—she collects ‘blood’ everyday and he buys her sweets. Finally, his visit is over and he must return to Cameroun.

The little girl is sad.

“Uncle, you will come again?”

“Of course, he will,” her dad says, oblivious of what his daughter has gone through.

He never comes back. She grows up, forgets him.

Years later, in her friend’s room on campus, she gets into a conversation with a bunch of girls. All of them have a secret to share; they have all been sexually molested as children. Every one of them.

It is then she remembers… A scene from a girl’s story sparks something in her and she remembers everything Uncle Cameroun did to her. Somehow, her mind had blanked him out all these years but now she sees everything in detail. It should not be in her memory if it has been quiet all these years but strangely, it is there—the picture of a six year old girl who was the object of a man’s dark sexual fantasies. He had pleasured himself while looking at her naked body for one full week.

She cannot handle the recollections as she leaves her friend’s room and goes home. Tears are her food for days. For weeks, she goes through the horror of her past over and over. Time makes her forget because she commands it to. She pushes it all into that blank place it came from and she moves on with life, unhealed, scarred, broken.

Uncle Cameroun was a pastor.

In 2004, while in school in my second semester, I fell really ill. I had the dreaded combo of typhoid, malaria and brokeness, so I did what every normal student would do. I went home. I had one other reason for going home: my ‘uncle’ was in the country. Not, Uncle Cameroun. Another one. And I needed to tax him for house rent which he promised me. Now, this uncle is not a blood relative. He is that uncle that one grew up knowing as one’s parents’ friend. He lived outside the shores of Nigeria and visited the country at least twice a year and spent both times at our home. We were very close. Now, this uncle, because of his oyinbo orientation, was very open with us and we were the same way with him. In short, I shared with him my relationship issues at some point and he gave me good advice on what to do. I trusted him that much.

Now, my dad’s a gentleman of the cloth (pastor) and so is this uncle. Let’s call him Z. Now, Z was a bishop. A well-respected bishop overseas; a doctor, a theologian, a learned man and member of the Jewish community. Whenever he came into the country, he was always so booked that it was hard to see him except for the little time he spent at ours. Therefore I was lucky to meet him at home. I arrived home on a Sunday really, really ill. By Monday, I wasn’t any better. My dad left the house early to the church for a preaching engagement. My mom left to work, my aunt to some place, my sister to some place and everyone just vanished and I was left alone with Bishop Z.

He called me out to the sitting room and asked how I was doing. I told him I was getting better as per the normal answer na. Next, he asked me to sit on his laps. I did. Without hesitation. It wasn’t anything new. My sis and I had been innocently sitting on that man’s laps for as long as I can remember. He was like a father to us. So I sat and he started asking me about the house rent issue and I told him how much I wanted. He told me he was going to give it to me before he travelled. I thanked him and he asked why I was thanking him, that he would do anything for me, that after all I was getting married to his son. I laughed and while I was laughing innocently, I felt his hand on my breast. Now, I was a girl and I had been in situations when a guy wants to start getting fresh with you and he makes a move that you think is a mistake, that maybe his hand just mistakenly brushes against your body.

That was how I felt. It had to be a mistake. But I felt it a second time and I froze. I was shocked. I couldn’t move because I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. When he saw that he got me immobile, he became bolder and started groping. That was when I found the strength to move away. I asked what he was doing and he laughed and said, ‘why are you acting like you don’t know what’s happening? Are you a virgin?’

I couldn’t reply. I got up to move away but he pulled me back and became very forceful. Guys, I was scared for my life. I was very weak; if you know what typhoid can do to you, you’ll know how frail I was. I could hardly move and it seemed my struggles were useless but this man just kept on touching me all over, oblivious of my begging and tears and he was in the process of lifting my dress when God sent an angel to the front door.

My dad had sent someone to come pick him up. Mind you, he was to be speaking in the church in less than an hour at a pastor’s conference. I ran to the door, opened it for the driver and ran back inside crying. My heart was beating faster than a racecar. I was scared to death. I could hardly breathe. Minutes later, he left with the guy and I called my boyfriend and told him everything. Naturally, he was mad and told me to report it but I couldn’t.

And here’s why.

I told you my dad is a pastor. Before this, I have heard of stories like this and have gotten in-depth gist of such situations and always, the blame fell on the girls or women that were involved either in a rape situation or a consensual sexual affair with a man of God. Thus, I knew, nothing would be done to him if I reported and I knew I would be blamed for seducing him or something of the likes. So I kept it all in; I didn’t even tell my sister immediately. That man stayed in our house for a whole week and even on Wednesday, I went for midweek service and watched him preach. As usual, the church was slain in the spirit by his theatrics and I sat in one corner and asked myself what in God’s world was going on. This was the man that almost raped me on Monday, now here he was talking about living a holy life? Nothing made sense.

I kept that story to myself and told my sister when I noticed he was getting close to her. She wasted no time in telling my mom who got mad at his behavior. Things went awry after that and I will not expose family issues here. But later on, I was told by a close friend who travelled around the country on his preaching engagements with Bishop Z, that my case was small. There were more vulnerable women out there that fell into his trap – wives, daughters, including orphaned twins who had come to him for help. But like I said, he was just another randy MOG amongst so many others I knew.

Unless you have been a victim to the wiles of these fake pastors or have witnessed firsthand what the disgusting things they do in the name of God, you will not understand where Ese Walter is coming from. Her case was not like mine. She had consensual sex with the pastor in question and she has no right to play the victim. But was she a victim? Yes, she was. To what extent? To the extent that these men, if they have the oratory power to make their members believe anything they tell them, they also have that same power to make spiritually weak women fall into sin with them.

I visited a church earlier this year and the senior pastor towards the end of the service, picked me out of the crowd and shamelessly told me I was beautiful and when I got embarrassed, he told me not to be, that God had a calling for my life and that I should see him after church. I obeyed and waited after the service. He came to me and continued the whole you’re beautiful speech and then asked to be my ‘personal’ pastor. No, scratch that. He begged. Not once, not twice; three times and when he saw the shock I carried, he went on to ask why I was shocked, that hasn’t anyone ever been that bold towards me? He continued, saying that there’s a calling of God for me, blah-blah-blah, he will publish my books and give me a job with a publishing company that has offices in London and South Africa. I should just let him bring out God’s gift in me. Nobody told me twice to leave that church with speed. He even had the guts to call me the next day by 10pm and my husband tore my ear with warning about him. Now, is that a man of God? But if I told his members? What do you think they would say?

On the top of the list of women’s problems are infertility, lack of husband, spousal abuse and financial issues. Such women are vulnerable and the closest spiritual figures they have next to God are their pastors. They will believe anything they’re told and might even do anything and these evil men prey on them and use them and when these women come out to speak, we open our mouths and tell them to shut up.

So, just because he carries the title of MOG, he is automatically sinless and untouchable by human scrutiny and investigation?

Of course, I have seen a case where a lady had consensual sex with her pastor and came out and told the world he raped her. There will always be lies by crazy people but this should only push us to make our spiritual leaders more accountable.

Cases like Ese Walter’s happen every damn day and people know about it and do nothing! I have seen a church where a man was caught in adultery and instead of having the backseat to shame him, he was given the seat in front with the leaders because he was a pastor while his cohorts in sin sat behind because they were members. Reason: I quote “one has to be careful when dealing with a man of God. He’s not to be handled the same way a normal Christian is handled.” But (excuse my language here) he has a dick abi? Or is it a spiritual dick? And he has sex the normal way or is there a biblical kind of sex that we don’t know about which makes it okay for these men to commit blatant adultery and God does not look?

Oh, okay, my bad. There is a different level of grace on them, abi?

Well, for those of you who believe this, I ask: what if this MOG is screwing your wife, daughter or sister or mother? Do your lyrics remain the same or do you scream bloody murder?

We Nigerians are so quick to jump into the “Touch not my anointed and do my prophet no harm” verse when it concerns our pastors. But have we read that passage to find out who God was referring to? Please go read 1st Chronicles 16.

More quick questions here: if my pastor tries to have sex with me and I report him to someone who can bring him to order, am I harming him? If I try to speak out against what he’s doing and nobody is listening and I am getting threats instead, am I harming a prophet? It’s bad enough that we live in a society where women are often blamed for rape and consensual extramarital affairs while the men are left free. The church is supposed to be the place where none of that is allowed, where hypocrisy is unveiled and truth abounds. Why then do we carry that same spirit into our places of worship?

I am one of the strong proponents of us not judging each other, though I too, still fall into this sin many times. But what gives us the right to damn politicians and everyday people to hell and even in our prayers but when we see the wrong in our pastors, we keep quiet about it and venerate them to a pedestal that is sometimes shockingly higher than Christ’s?

Let us face the truth: These are mere men. Sadder is the fact that people seem to believe that the super apostles (with private jets and huge churches and massive followings) are void of sin. If a small pastor in a mushroom church is caught in adultery, he should be persecuted but if a super apostle is caught, the whistle blower should be persecuted, silenced and delivered of her evils. Bet why?! Strip one of these super apostles of their wealth and his congregation would be the first to cast their stones and blogs will not be enough to post their sins on.

I repeat: They are mere men. As a Christian, you should know that we (not just one man) are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation. Not one man. Not some men. Me and you as long as we believe, God will use us. He spoke through a donkey. Jesus sat and ate with people that even in our church today, we would turn our noses against. From some of such sinners came the gospel which we preach today because it was God who chose the vessels.

What criteria then do we use to know true men of God today? Sadly, there is none. At least, doctors spend eight years in school and every other profession has some form of accreditation. Yet there is none for pastors. Even theological seminary is not enough because we have atheists who have studied Christianity better than Christians themselves and can quote the Bible word for word, yet do not believe in God.

So what criterion do we use? We have only one standard and that is the word of God. If you’re a true Christian, you will not judge Peter and let Paul go free if both of them committed the same crime. You will judge neither but will bring their sins under the light of truth to weigh and see if they are on the right path or not, also being mindful that one day, you could be in their shoes as well. And when you see the wrong, you ask for mercy on their behalf and do not claim one is righteous over the other.

What then should be done to men in position who abuse their office? We demand from them to lead by example or else what they feed on, they feed back to their followers. If they refuse to lead a godly life, they should not lead us at all! The principle when last I checked is ‘follow me as I follow Christ’. If a man is following the lusts of his flesh, and we want to keep to rules and principles for order in God’s house, let us expel such a person as the Bible says in 1st Corinthians 5 because a little yeast works through a whole batch of dough. Makes me wonder why there is so much immoral lifestyle in the church. It is because predators, victims, partakers, spectators, contributors, judges, people on the fence, all of them keep quiet and it spreads from the head to the least person. Just because we don’t want to expose our sins and seek for mercy.

I don’t claim to be a saint. And I feel bad that I kept quiet and watched a man whom I should have exposed for what he did, continue doing it because I was afraid. Today, I keep his identity a secret because he is no longer in that position and has fallen from grace. Am I happy about it? Yes, I’m happy that he is not manipulating any more vulnerable and weak women. But at the same time, I am sad because that was a man God had deposited his word into and given the occasion to speak the truth but because he hid his sin and others like me helped him lock it with a huge padlock, he imploded on the inside and took many down with him.

Ladies, stop seducing your pastor. God has given you the strength to flee if he is too weak to flee. Go to church, face your God. Stop disturbing pastor for special prayers biko; that’s why women leaders are there. Leave those pastors! They are just men and last I checked, can still be affected by your boobs and bom-bom.

Let us be the donkey and not be afraid to speak the truth when we see things go wrong in the pulpit but let us also do so in love, remembering that it could be us in the shoes of our neighbor tomorrow.

Thanks to @OD_lifecoach, @larriepeniel and @ameh_arome

They gave me the strength to write this.

©Sally @moskedapages

The Liebster Award

Two people nominated me for this award. Mike Dammy and Sagay. And I want to thank them. *Big, warm hugs* guys.

The Liebster Award is an award for upcoming bloggers with less than 200 followers and for who someone believes deserve some recognition for their blogging.

I have more than 200 followers oh. But it feels good to be recognized by wonderful writers.

So, this awards is all about love and warmth and sweetness and kindness and all nice things. It’s about sharing. It has its own rules and they are:

1. Thank the person who nominated you – Done that.

2. List 11 random facts about yourself – About to do that.

3. Answer the questions they have asked you – Dreading to do that. I have 22 questions to answer

4. Nominate 11 other people- Will soon do that.

5. Ask the nominees 11 questions – Can’t wait to do that.

6. Last and definitely least, let them know you have nominated them.- Okay

11 Random Facts About Me

  1. I use a sponge once a week. Soaps are strong enough. Why scrape all that lovely skin?
  2. I know all the songs in Sound of Music and 80% of the lines. I can watch that movie every single day.
  3. I love greens (vegetables are good for you. Just inhale)
  4. I’m a badt schemer *evil laugh.
  5. I have a huge crush on Johnny Depp *sigh
  6. Unapologetic rebellious pastor’s kid
  7. I love being a mother. I can’t wait to have another
  8. Jesus all the way!
  9. I still get shy around my husband
  10. I wish I was taken back to the 1800’s
  11. I have a thing for my backside

Mike Dammy’s Questions

1.     Why are you so awesome?

Because I am

2.      What do/did you study in the Uni?

Sociology and Anthropology

3.      Is CU the best school in the world?


4.      What inspires you?

God, life and those other things

5.      What do you love most about blogging?

I dunno

6.      Is there a special somebody in your life?

Oh, yeah.

7.      Why am I your favourite blogger?

Did I say you were?

8.      Can Nigeria ever be great?

With everything that is happening, we still have people who not only survive but come out and rub shoulders with people from better countries, so I’d say Nigeria dey try sha

9.      Love or Sex?


10. What’s your selling point?

I dunno. I sha sell

11. How many questions did you answer truthfully?


And Now, Sagay’s Questions

1. Apart from you, does anyone (not GOD) deserve credits for your blog? Who?

Le Husby

2. Who’s your favourite character of all time from the novels you’ve read?

Sherlock Holmes

3. Pro-life or Pro-choice?

Pro-life but who has right to choose for another?

4. King Sunny Ade or Ebenezer Obey?

John Legend

5. Fuji, Juju or Highlife?

Okay, now laughing

6. Do you have a favourite story on your blog? Which?

Yes. That would have to be Adesuwa 

7. Do you believe jazz (African science) exist?

Yeah. But it doesn’t work

8. What do you think about the prediction of Nigeria breaking up in 2015?

Are you sure we’d even last that long?

9. What is the craziest criticism you’ve received on your blog?

Wow. That would have to be about a post I didn’t even write. The commenter clicked on a referenced post, read it, hated it and came back to my blog to blast me about it. That was really crazy.

10. What’s your take on death penalty? You think it should be abolished?

With Boko Haram killing people like flies and breaking out of prison? Hell No.

11. Does your spouse/fiancée write too?

Not at all.

And here are my own 11 questions:

  1. What part of your body do you like best?
  2. What is the name of your ex’s mother?
  3. Do you believe the world will come to an end?
  4. Have you written a poem or song for anyone?
  5. If you had twenty-four hours to live, what would you do?
  6. Can you fart in front of the opposite sex?
  7. What do you get high on?
  8. When you were little did you steal from your parents?
  9. Do you think you can ever rule Nigeria successfully?
  10. Beyonce or Rihanna
  11. And just because I want to hear this, what do you like about my blog?

And the nominees are:

  1. @saymalcolm
  2. @IAm_Tomi
  3. @umariayim
  4. @zeenike
  5. @ayosogunro
  6. @StNaija
  7. @toyinfab
  8. @newnaija
  9. @afam20
  10. @persiux5
  11. @teewahalagbe
  12. And just because I like to break the rules… @Dottaraphels

And of course, just because I didn’t nominate those who nominated me, doesn’t mean they aren’t awesome bloggers.

And here is my award. See, no sponge! 😀

And I’m outta here!

Dear Writer


I have not done a totally random post in a while, so I have decided to sit before my laptop and write this because it has been piling up in my head for some time now. And after a little research, I think it’s time to unload the crappy things you and I have written. Yes, I include myself because I have written crap and might still be found writing crap (may never admit it though).

Today, I will not just be dishing out the dirt, I’ll be listing clichés and every other BS that we often have used.

In no particular order, I begin:

  1. 1.       Tall. Dark. Handsome

Punctuated for serious emphasis. He can’t be anything less. *clears throat* For real? Can’t he be short, fair and ugly? Or fat and oily? Or tall and stupid? Or even the lovechild of Whoopi and Segun Arinze? Why must he be tall, dark and handsome? And ehm, Nigerians, we are already dark here. I mean, with the likes of Wande Coal, what type of darkness are we looking for again na? Somebody please explain to me.

  1. 2.       Making love all through the night

For what? Okay, has anyone counted how many hours are contained in ‘all through the night’? For the sake of practicality, let’s erase the time gap between 8pm to 11pm when normalings sleep. Sexlings usually do the bad thing between 12am to 6am (and sleep in the wee hours of the morning). As you have noticed, the time frame is six freaking hours! Six hours of sex! Who does that? I am yet to even hear of a sex scene in a porn movie lasting for two hours.

  1. 3.       Character forming amnesia

Story builds up and by now you have fallen in love with the character but something happens, either an accident or attempted murder and the character goes into a coma and wakes up with amnesia. Most times, this character has a love interest and now has forgotten about them only to fall in love with them again in the end. Or the character could have some very serious truth he/she was about to share when the unfortunate event occurs and now amnesia has wiped it all away. *sigh* Can’t the character just die from the amnesia?

  1. 4.       Evil twin

This one is classic. I remember Ramsey Nouah’s Dangerous Twins that was a hit at some point. What was that all about? One good, one bad? Can’t they both be bad like P-Square and have kids all over? Can’t they both do mischief with their twinness like real twins do? Why must one be bad?

  1. 5.       Unnecessary sex

Okay, pause. This is becoming a disturbing trend especially amongst Nigerian writers. It’s like we have just discovered sex and in a very raunchy way. Methinks some of these writers are just writing out their fantasies. And what is more appalling is that it all sounds alike. As if it is the same sex scene witnessed and told by different people. Come on, erotica should be an art, not a bad taste in the mouth; and like every part of a good story, it should have meaning and be part of the entire plot in the long run. Don’t just give people reason to wank while reading your work.

  1. 6.       Something-inches long penis

Still on the sex issue. What’s up with accurately getting the measurement of a male character’s erect penis? Who measures these things? It is funnier if the story is told in the first person narrative and she is female. Is she really measuring the length with her invisible ruler? Na wa oh.

  1. 7.       Love triangles

This one has been over-flogged. Two people are in a relationship but there’s that one person outside that one of the two is supposed to be loving. And I’m thinking, isn’t life not more complicate than that? Why end in a triangle? Make it a long chain. The triangle thing is really annoying… Oh, shoot! I think I’m very guilty of this. Moving on quickly to the next.

  1. 8.       What did you want to talk about?

Okay, as much as this happens in real life (even with me so many times), it has been overused in movies and I hate to see it written. For instance, Bola walks to Cynthia and goes, “I have something to tell you.” And Cynthia says, “what is it?” But Ali walks in and reveals new info and leaves. So Cynthia turns to Bola and asks again, “what were you trying to tell me?” But Bola replies, “Oh, it’s nothing serious. Forget it.” Arrrrghh!

  1. 9.       Film tins

I know Lord of the Rings might have been the best movie you watched but it doesn’t mean you should do your own version in words. Leave the TV fantasy for TV fantasy. If you know nothing about sci-fi, why try writing it just because you were inspired by George Lucas? Let’s not forget that we have our own UFO here in Nigeria. Inspire yourself by coming out around two in the night and watch them move through time and space. That story will sell more than the movies.

  1. 10.   Throwing up

So your character has a bun in the oven and the only way she goes about it is by throwing up? Back in the day, they fainted. Maybe in the future, they’ll just die.

Typical scene: The patient tells the doctor, “Doctor, I’m here for a pregnancy test. I think I’m pregnant.” Doctor asks, “how do you know?” Patient smiles. “I died yesterday morning and this morning too. In short I have been dying for the past one week.”

Who doesn’t love those cool female characters that go to their men and say, “Bros, I’m pregnant. And I am keeping it. You better start arranging space in your house for two more.” For real though, this is what happens in life.

  1. 11.   Well-shaped, fully-endowed woman

Just like her male counterpart who is tall, dark and handsome, this one has it all going for her too. Oh, and she can cook, is financially independent and can rock a man’s bed like a boat on a stormy sea. This is of course, every Nigerian man’s dream woman but in reality how many Nigerian women have all of this in their CV? Let us not lie. Where are the well-shaped women? I see more fufu-pregnant girls than I see real life preggies. The flat-stomach chicks are extinct! Thinking of it now, I think writers are keeping the memory of them alive.

  1. 12.   More cliché characters

Wicked mother-in-law, abusive husband, witch housemaid, starving artist, runs girl, barren woman, molesting stepfather or uncle, cheating boyfriend, loaded hot dude (probably tall, dark and handsome too), struggling single mother, aunty who always discovers hidden pregnancy, wicked stepmother, and finally, this last one just cracks me up – madman who somehow tells the truth to some wayward person through a slap or some prophetic, madman gibberish.

Coming to the end of this, I’m discovering that there is more to talk about on this issue. So I think I’ll do a comeback with Part 2 sometime when the wind blows me to try again. The point of this exercise is to tell writers out there that there are stories yet untold. Life itself is cliché but we can always have that twist in our stories. Like I said above, we all fall into the trap. And I think I might have omitted one or two points because I found myself guilty of them. *covering face*

But there’s no excuse for me writing crap and I hereby promise to think deeper and bring out something new and original.

How about you?

Was the above question cliché? *tongue out

Please, use the comment box to share classic cliché pieces you have used and have found other writers often using.


©Sally @moskedapages


dayd and night
Click To Download For Days And A Night

My initial thought when I saw the title For Days and a Night was that it was going to have a theme of horror but there I was judging a book by its cover. Someone remind me to never do it again. Nonetheless, that is what Seun does to you when you begin to read this beautiful fifty-four paged work of his artistic brilliance. You start the book thinking you know what to expect and where it is leading but somewhere (not far into the pages) you stop and realize that it takes a different type of concentration to understand where he’s coming from. Now this is not to say the work is vague in any way. No, it’s just poles apart from the normal thing you have probably read. What he does is that he makes thoughts come alive and aloud as you read, that you begin to feel you’re actually in his characters’ heads. He is not quixotic or stimulating in his lines, not weaving a fantastic emotional tale aimed at stirring your feelings or whatever; he just makes you think without leaving the headache that some writers aim to achieve when they weave complex words to impress themselves. I have read other works of his and I know he is capable of being a master of rich vocabulary and expressions but the For Days and a Night is a simple work, yet of genius.

The book is a collection of short stories and skits with graphics that browse through different subject matters like love, loneliness, loss, fear and infidelity. Seun shows you that as a writer you don’t have to flog a theme for you to put your point across. And he is a master at this. A few lines, a short parody and his message is sent.

For example, in one of my favorites, A GAME CALLED LIFE, he tackles the issue of infidelity in marriage when he goes into the mind of the MC to reveal the guy’s plans to be unfaithful to his wife even as he stands before the altar on his wedding day. In the end, I came to realize that most of the people who cheat in marriage do so because they believe it’s one of the things they are allowed to do in life like go shopping or have a bath or cook a meal. When the train comes, they ask no questions and just hop on it because that is life. Now, I wouldn’t have seen it that way had Seun not opened my eyes.

Another piece I absolutely adore is WAKEN. Maybe it’s my love for dark stories that makes me put this as my number one in the whole book but I love it because he really scares me with this one. He takes me right there into the room with the terrified MC and I’m thinking has this ever happened before? If I were in the guy’s shoes, what will I do if a loved one returned from the dead? You have to read the story to know what I’m talking about.

And there’s PAUSE. A sad love story about two people who loved each other but never got together because of pride and the normal wahala that follow two people in love. Don’t ask me what that is. But I really loved that story.

I could go on but I’ll leave you to download the e-book and read it all for yourself here.

My only criticism with this particular work would be that I felt the book could have accommodated more stories. The end seemed like the…end. And though I know it’s not so, it gave the appearance of running out of juice. I wished there had been more there, maybe something that rounds it all up. I felt I was left hanging. Maybe I was too much of a fan and loved it too much and wanted more 🙂

All the same, it’s a beautiful read. And because tomorrow is the big V day, I’ll be leaving a love story from Seun himself, something from the book. It’s called Pillow Talk.


I’m kissing her. She seems to be having a crisis of conscience; struggling with herself on how far she should allow me go. Her back is tense; I feel the tautness of her spine with the tips of my fingers. She struggles a bit more – and then her lips open under mine, surrendering to the gentle probing of my tongue.


She shivers.


I do not remember where I met her or how. I do not remember what her name is – and to be honest; I really do not care. All I know is she feels really good in my arms and I am determined to take it the whole nine yards if I’m allowed to.


Did I just say allowed to?


I lied. I am determined to take it all the way whether she wants it or not.


It’s as though she can hear me – hear my thoughts. She shivers.


It is pretty obvious that she wants it however. She does not utter a word in complaint despite all the liberties I take – I have been taking. Actually, she does not make a sound. But her body speaks volumes.


You should have seen the way she shuddered the first time I put my mouth around her earlobe. I do it again – but this time I linger around the nub of it; taking my time and savoring the salty-sweet taste of her skin. She flinches and grips me tighter.


Ah. I like that. I enjoy it.


Remember what I said about her body speaking volumes? She anticipates my moves; meeting me at every junction, every twist and turn of my head. This woman enjoys kissing – just as much as I do.


Not to divert or distract, but I consider kissing a sport. I believe it should be pursued with ardent focus and dedication. I strongly believe it should be enjoyed in and for itself; not primarily as a means to an end. There’s something about kissing…


Our tongues play a small tango – hers is warm and soft at once; and tastes curiously salty. I don’t mind; she’s a pro at this game. The way our tongues are in harmony reminds me of scenes in martial art flicks where the good guy; probably Jet Li or Jackie Chan faces off with another bad guy and they’re going through the obviously-choreographed fight sequence – fist, block, chop, side-step…almost like a one-two one-two thingy. I lightly bite the tip of her tongue.


She shivers


I lightly trace her jawline…touch it with the tips of my fingers. I have this theory that it helps relax tension – almost as much as a neck and shoulders massage. It’s something I created myself – but I have been proven right time and time again. Now is no exception. She wilts in my arms, her body posture suggesting to me to do as I please.


Oh, but I intend to my dear.


You see – I can’t help these things. I told you I’m a pro.


Suddenly we accidentally bump teeth. I break off the kiss and laugh – and then she impatiently shoves her lips back against mine. Oh; I think, in a hurry are we? I tease her a bit – acting as if I’m about to break the kiss off and then meeting her as her lips chase mine. Again, we resume sparring.


She shivers.


And goes limp. At this point I somehow realize that; even though I’m not looking, I realize that somehow her blouse is off and I feel the straps of her bra better than I did some moments ago. It feels ductile – in fact her entire chest area feels really ductile. But I don’t want to go there. Not just yet.


My hands become restless as the moment intensifies, looking for something to do with themselves. They have become intimately familiar with the planes of her back, from her confusingly soft collarbone to the pliant straps of her bra. Now they wander up and down her sides, and she; without breaking off the kiss grabs them and impatiently places them on her breasts.


She shivers.


Deftly; slickly as though programmed, my hands do what I am yet to order them to – treat the soft mounds on her chest to an indulgent massage. I plant soft kisses on the left side of her neck, moving gently down to bath the base of her throat with a flurry of light busses. Continuing down between her breasts unobstructed by a blouse – a blouse my hands seemed to have so deftly unbuttoned moments before; I lap my tongue up and down the valley between her breasts.


She shivers.


By now my hands have moved down to cup her waist and here they pause – finally I’m able to get through to them.Slow down, I say; we do not want her freaking out now. Crazy hands. They listen – and then they ignore me, moving downwards to where what we both assume her behind to be. Assume to be is the correct thing to ‘say’, because to our consternation; that is my hands and me, there is absolutely nothing below her waist.



I open my eyes and all is as it should be. I am laying on my bed with my arms around a woman – and suddenly all is not as should be. My mouth is full, in fact my mouth feels as though I had been chewing on one of those half-done shaki meats that most bukas specialize in serving – that piece of meat you can never chew successfully and you eventually end up swallowing whole. My throat hurts.


I open my eyes again and find out that a third of my pillow is what it is in my mouth. The slightly disgusting stench of early-morning saliva is heavy around us, and I can see streaks of it lining the body of my pillow. It is looking at me silently; expression saying is this what you have come to, o pathetic divorcee? Na so your life don be?


I shiver.



Seun Odukoya is the winner of the 2011 Chistell International Short Story competition. He fell in love

with words at a very tender age, thanks to parents who fed him novels and poetry books, which led to

his discovery of the use of writing to best express himself.

He is currently working on a full-length romance novel alongside other short stories. He released his

first book, a short story collection titled For Days and A Night (ebook) in December 2012. Some of

his greatest writing influences are Stephen King and Louis L’amour amongst a host of others.

When he is not writing, he enjoys reading, watching movies and listening to music.

You can catch up with Seun and his writings at; You can also

follow him on twitter @seunodukoya.