Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Jumping Ship...

Hello!

Today, i have good news....and bad news. Of course, you want the bad news first.

Bad news: This is it, folks. My relationship with blogger was beautiful, but short lived. Due to reasons beyond my control, I would have to jump ship. Don't cry, don't cry...all will be well...*sniff*

GOOD NEWS- I have moved to WordPress! Yay!! C'mon, you thought I was leaving for good? You wish, I never even start with una. So, to my fellow beautiful blogger folks that convinced me to take the plunge, yes, yes, I have succumbed. You can rejoice now, for wordpress it shall be.

The website, same.. - https://slimsiren.wordpress.com/

What does this mean for you? Shorter posts intervals, bigger fonts (for all ye blind folks hehe)  and easier commenting. Sounds like fun, eh?

But then again, I can make anything sound like fun. Teehee... :D *wink*

Enjoy!!

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Okafor's Trouser

This post was a little impromptu, and I had to cook it up on short notice. I have been busy writing a treat for you that would not be unveiled until next week, but I figured there was no reason to keep you waiting for so long. Please, bear with me, and just whet your appetite with this little story that a classmate of mine told me...


There lived a boy in the village of Umunnachi, whose name was Okafor. His father was a farmer, and his mother, while she was alive, had been a market seller. Back in those days, in Umunnachi, having tailor sewn clothes was a bit of a luxury. One day, while Okafor’s mother was alive, she had made so much profit from selling the snails that Okafor had caught on his expedition to Ogbuefi river that, in her appreciation, she bought him one beautifully made khaki trouser.

Okafor loved and cherished his one and only trouser. Some of the boys in school had two, but Okafor understood that he was lucky to even own any at all. He wore it sparingly; making do with the shorts papa had made from the scraps in the tailors shop. Times were hard, and their hard earned money should not be spent on purchasing luxuries, papa said, and he understood. In fact, he said to himself, he would keep it in his mother’s big iron safekeeping box, and bring it out only on special occasions, and this was exactly what he did.

Not so long after, a special occasion arrived. The end of the year’s school party was coming up, and everybody was going to be there, even Nma. Her name brought a tingling sensation to his ears, and he tried to hide the grin that was threatening to surface on his face from his father. He had been eyeing her from afar for so long, and would have been satisfied with simply eyeing, if that rascal Ogbonna hadn’t tossed a stick her way yesterday. He sighed; everybody knew Ogbonna and his stupid stick tossing tricks. The girl would bend over and pick the stick up and Ogbonna would then judge if he liked her. Most times, when he did, he licked his lips. This time, when Nma bent over, his mouth hung open. Okafor had stood still in shock, as blind rage filled his eyes. This Ogbonna boy was very stupid o! Chei! Mba nu! It can't happen. Tufia kwa. He had to act fast.

Some days later, Okafor’s father stepped out of his obi early in the morning, and espied his son walking the winded path towards the house. When did he leave the house? “Okafor!” He shouted. “Where are you coming from early this morning?”Aru odikwa ya? He pondered.
Nna anyi, I’m coming from the Ogbuefi river!”  Okafor shouted back. This time, he was close enough to his father, and he waved the wet trouser back and forth for him to see. “I went to wash my trouser there. Tomorrow is my school’s party and I want to wear it.” He blushed.
Papa Okafor smiled. He had seen the looks Okafor and that girl from his form five class have been giving each other every time they passed by in the market. “Fine, Nwa’m, nsobu adiro. However, before you go, I want you to the farm weed the area near Mazi Emeka’s own early in the morning. He complained that the weeds were choking his onugbu, and you know his leg is getting bad.”
Okafor nodded. He could quickly do that before two o clock, and get to the party in time before three. He spread his wet trouser away from the shade for the sun to dry it very well; hopefully it would be ready by tomorrow. Early next morning, he set out for the farm, happily whistling towards Mazi Emeka’s direction. Today was the d-day, and he couldn’t wait. Nothing was going to spoil it.


He got there early, and began weeding. The air was a little too cool, but it was ideal for farm work. He set to work immediately, determined to be done before noon. He had not gotten very far when he noticed a drop of water glistening on a leaf near him. Another one fell on his nose. He frowned and looked up, only to notice that the skies had begun to gather. His mind spun into overdrive immediately. Rain! He couldn’t risk returning home without finishing this work, and besides, home was so far away. He stood and deliberated for a moment, then shrugged it off. Papa would remove the trouser before it got wet, he mused. He bent down and continued digging, a little faster than before though.

Suddenly, realization hit him, and he jerked up. Papa had gone to see Mazi Emeka! Oh no! All his thoughts honed in on Nma as he struggled to gather his farming basket. The rain had started to fall in earnest, and he debated leaving everything aside, so much was his hurry to get home. He couldn’t miss that party. He couldn’t miss the party. Panic seized him and he began to run; tossing the basket and all its contents aside. He had to reach the trouser before it got too wet. He ran as fast as he could, willing the rain to fall slowly. It did not, and by the time he got home, his trouser was soaked. He sank down in front of it and wept bitterly. He had lost everything, he cried. Everything he had worked for, everything he had dreamed of. He cried even more the next day, when he espied Ogbonna eating corn and ube with Nma in her mother’s stall…

Fast forward twenty years later. Okafor is standing in front of a washing machine and dryer, in a little Laundromat in Kentucky, America. He is staring blankly at the rapid whirlings of the machine, marveling at its technology. In his hand, he held the a wedding invitation that had on it the bold inscription “Nma weds Ogbonnaya.” All because of a wet trouser. If only, he muttered to himself, if only the times had been different…


Thursday, April 14, 2011

Inamorata 2- Ashes

A man stepped out of the darkness. She knew it was a man, although she had not set eyes on one since the day of her rebirth. The dying sun rays fell on his body, highlighting his naked torso and his heavy forehead. He was not beautiful, he was not like her. He stood, firm, calm, eyes glittering with a strange light. She scoffed silently, noticing that the red sky behind him seemed to be foretelling his sure demise. The smell of blood was pungent, and the vultures pulled in, unable to resist their siren’s cry. The air was quiet when he opened his mouth to speak.

“My Inamorata, I am here for you.”

Inamorata. He called her Inamorata.

“ For years, my love, I have waited. I have watched Mother earth turn her back on your radiant face. I have watched Aphrodite, Venus, and Hera shield their faces from your light. I have watched your beauty become a curse to you. I have watched man and animal lust after you, never getting enough, never leaving. I have watched them drain you. My Ella, I have watched you house them, feed them, grow them. I have watched you love them from the abundance of your heart, although none ever showed reciprocated to you its full meaning. I have watched, my Ella, and I have plotted. I have loved, and now I will have.”

As he said this, he stepped forward. That was as far as he ever got. The lions surged forward, as if on cue, determined to protect their bride.

As they attacked, she stared on, playing absentmindedly with the fine grains of sand. Beautiful, timeless grains of sand. Who, who imprisons the sand in the hourglass? Sand, born free, born beautiful, sand, born to be trod on, to be kicked around, to be caged to serve for eternity. Whoever decides how much sand gets into the hourglass? Is it counted, or is it measured? Will the sand ever be free from the glass? It was hard to believe they came from the same family, the weaker birthing the stronger; still so different from each other they seemed. How much heat can a grain of sand withstand? Was there ever a sand that escaped from the heat, full, whole and free? How was she any different? Why should she believe? She was oblivious to the frenzy around her, submerged in the warring of her weak heart. She did not see the man emerge from his body; she did not see him split. She was spared that sight for eternity, for she would have never understood it.

He stood atop the hill that had been home throughout his wait, breeze ruffling his raffia loincloth. A tear alighted on his bottom lip, and he didn’t bother to lick it away. He had escaped from the massacre. He could still see it, far atop the hill, he could still see the lions tearing the body away like a rag doll. He could see clearly now, for the scales of love had fallen from his eyes. He could not have her. She refused to choose. She was not to be his wife. The sadness of this realization weighed his feet, as he turned and walked away, into the red, red sky.

                                                   * * *

    Her eyes fluttered open, and was assaulted immediately from the bright sunlight pouring in through the opened curtains. Oh God, it was morning. Her gaze fell on the sofa by the window, and slowly, she realized it wasn't familiar. Where was she?? Feeling around frantically, her hands stumbled on a lump under the duvet. What is this? She lifted the covers surreptitiously to peek, and discovered it was a man. His handsome face reawakened her mind, and just like that, memories of their last night flooded in, causing her to blush. Those kisses...the gentle touches that slowly became less gentle and more demanding. So all that lion stuff was a dream. She heaved a sigh of relief and kissed the back of his neck lightly. Thank heavens. It had been so vivid, so scary. Anyways, a dream was a dream. Jibola would soon wake up hungry, so she had better start preparing breakfast.

    As she got up, her phone rang. She dashed to silence it immediately, lest it woke Jibz. She looked at the caller id and sighed. Of all times for David to call! Couldn't he wait till everyone was up and about, at least? It was barely seven. Scrolling through her call history, she frowned. He had called her thirty-seven times. What? She began to panic. Thirty seven missed calls?? Perhaps, he had begun to suspect something. She stole a glance at her boss lying on her bed to make sure he was still sleeping. No, it wasn't possible. It can't be. There was no way he could know; they had been very careful. They were far, far away in St. Lucia on a "business trip". No one knew them here; no one could have possibly seen them.
She tiptoe-ed to the bathroom and called him back. He picked up on the first ring.

"Ada, where are you?"
She chuckled. "David, good morning."
"Err...good morning to you too. Where are you?" He sounded really impatient. Kedu nke bu nka kita? What was all this?
"Where am I? I told you now, I'm in St. Lucia. Is everything alright?"
"I should be asking you, Ada. I kept calling you last night. Why didn't you pick up?"
"Last night?" She cleared her throat to clear the lump. "I...I was probably asleep, D"
"No, you were not asleep. You weren't. Your music status on your BBM showed that you had One Night by The Corrs on replay."
Oh shit. 
She and Jibola had set the song on replay while they made love. She had used it because, after David had given it to her, she had listened to it and told him ecstatically, that it was such a baby making song. She remembered saying she couldn't wait for them to 'boogie down to it.'
Shit.
"Ada, are you there?"
 Silence.
"Ada....can you please tell me whats going on?"
She needed to lie. Quick, Ada, think up a lie!
"Ada...is there something you're not telling me?"
A muffled sound rose in her throat. She cleared it and tried to mutter "Like what?" but it came out as a whimper.
He sighed. It was the sigh of someone very, very tired.
"Ada, I know you're cheating on me."
Shit. Shit Shit SHIT.
"How?"
"Ada..." He sighed again. 
"Ada, I had a dream."


Sunday, April 10, 2011

Inamorata 2- Dying... (split)

She leaned on the torso of one of the lions, caressing its tawny fur, listening to the pulse of its heartbeat and allowing herself to admire the sunset that peeked through the curved entrance of the cove. She had seen many its kind, but the repetition never dulled its beauty. She drew in a breath as a soft breeze played into the room, carrying with it the lulling sense of relaxation that dusk only brings. Sweeping her eyes lazily around, she quietly admired the silent strength that resided with her, taking in the imposing sight of twenty grown male lions peacefully lounging.

They had come in, and never left. She barely remembered a life that wasn’t spent tending to her them, although she did not spy any of her kind doing the same. It didn’t matter though, for this was where she felt at home. They were good to her, these beasts, bringing her sizeable chunks of their kills, and standing guard every night when she went to cook the meat, lest the lionesses and wolves got any ideas. They followed her everywhere, and for this all the other beasts of the forest stayed out of her way. It was an imposing sight, seeing the tall, slim wisp of a woman surrounded by menacing looking male lions. They gathered around her during the cold season, keeping her warm from the harsh harmattan chills. They herded pregnant goats to her cove, so that she could feed off their milk. They lay down around when she indulged in her hubby of tree climbing, and she liked to think it was to protect her, in case she fell. They swatted flies of her during dusk, for she had no tail. In return, they sucked her dry.

A lion yawned; awakening her from her reverie. She stared at its long, sharp canines; at the quick twitching of its tail as it swatted annoying flies off its back. It has been two days since he ate, and she felt her heart sink at the thought, the weight of her responsibilities dragging it further down. Day after day, night after night, she had breast fed these lions. Her hand involuntarily went to her breast, mindlessly caressing the abused organ. They were insatiable. They did not eat anything else, and they did not understand it when she had slumped to the floor, a few months back, while feeding Ezra, no - they had simply nudged over her semi conscious body and continued sucking. 

She sighed now at the memory, and quietly arose. The weakness never left, but she felt a little better today, and shuffling her frail feet, she decided to see if she could make it to the lake by the cave, to stare at her reflection and gauge how far worse she had become. Leaning against the walls, she dragged her limp body to the entrance. She got to the opening and...stopped. Slowly, the realization that she could get no further dawned on her, for the wall had ended; there was nothing else to lean upon. She stood still for a moment, shocked by her forgetfulness, her temporary stupidity. For how could she have walked all this way, heavily dependent on the wall, and not have seen that it ended only a few feet from her? Her eyes widened as a thought birthed in her head, like a sure, dark mist. Perhaps, her mind was dying too. The idea chilled her to the marrow, and she bravely leaned her head back to stop the tears from coming. A low growl stopped her, and she turned around to meet Ezra’s soulful eyes staring back. He got up, shook his whole nine feet body, from the mane to the flanks, and walked to her, silently offering his back. Gratefully, she sat down, and allowed herself to be carried to the lake.

 The air was crisp, the refreshing cool breeze calming her frayed nerves. Resting on the banks, she peered  expectantly down the clear waters to peruse her mirror image...and froze. The reflection that stared back at her was incredulous. Frowning, she touched her own face to make sure it was still hers. The face that stared back at her was still young, still heartstoppingly beautiful. The eyes glittered and danced, drunk from a mirth that she did not feel. Her lips; tauntingly red, as red as the blood that stained the meat she fed on, and her hair, her rich, long, dark hair, fell in ripples of shiny luster that rivaled even those of the leaping forest panthers.

             How could this be?? She was weak. She was dying. She felt it in the way her bones refused to carry her anymore, she saw it in the strands of hair she left behind on the floor every time she woke up.  She was distracted suddenly by a sharp jerk from Ezra, who had been lapping silently a few feet from her. He stood now, transfixed, alert, staring eerily into space. What was going on? Before she could think, all her further thoughts fled for their safety as Ezra released an earsplitting roar, which chased the birds from the nearby trees and brought the sleeping lions running out. She remained on the floor, heart beating in her chest. The lions formed a rough semicircle around her, low growls emitting from their throats. An intruder was on their terrain, and whatever it was, it was not welcome.


Thursday, April 7, 2011

Inamorata- Re-Born (Part 1)

Her breasts were full. She felt them again, admiring the way they filled her hands, squishy and soft like pure water bags. They felt so comforting. She closed her eyes and squeezed some more, kneading the soft mounds to ease the pain. How wonderful nature was, bringing comfort to both mother and child. Ah, yes, child. She sighed, and looked at the litter of lions scattered around, mewing softly for her attention. Soon they’ll smell the milk and come rushing, and the weaker ones who wouldn’t be able to reach her first would just have to wait for the second round. They wouldn’t like it, but then it was nothing she could help; she simply could not produce enough breast milk for fourteen ravenous baby lions to feed at once. She sighed as she sat, and then picked up the youngest cub and nudged her engorged nipple into its mouth. It latched on and she leaned in, enjoying the sound of its suckling.

He watched her from afar, his Inamorata. He had watched her for ages, sat on the hill and watched, her beauty serenading his sights. Like a lantern that could not be hid under a bowl, her beauty shone through the woods and streams of the village, blinding the young women with jealousy and young men with lust. They had sent her away, those jealous wives, far away into the Forest of Bones, for that was all that remained of anyone who ventured there. He had cried from the injustice of it all, and was even more saddened seeing that none of the elders were ready to intervene, fearing the wrath of their wives and daughters. So he packed his prized possessions, and followed the path that his Light touched, and he had watched her ever since, with hopes of righting the wrong that was meted out to her and bring her back home, God willing, as his wife.


He smiled now, how time had passed, how naïve he had been. It had seemed so simple, and probably would have been, if he hadn’t discovered on his journey the real reason the forest was named Bones. He had stepped into a clearing that day, and was delighted to see the sun rays reflect on the radiant skin of the object of his desire. The light danced on her, the sun itself taking its time to admire her beauty. Her long, jet black hair was flowing quietly, the wind slightly teasing it, as if delighting in its silkiness. She stood so still, her eyes mirroring the look of unrippled water, calm…wary. There was something unnatural about her stillness, for even the air seemed to have infected it. The trees said not a word, their leaves remaining unruffled. A shadow passed suddenly, and he looked up, wondering what had interrupted the rays, only to see a vulture perch on a nearby branch. He frowned as another followed suit. His eyes swept across the plain, wondering where they had come from, and fell on golden mane of a crouching lion. No, two…and his eyes widened as he realized that surrounding them both, were lots of hungry lions. It wasn’t a pack, or a family, no, far from it. There were at least forty lions present…and more seemed to be pulling in. He stood, frozen in his spot, stunned but alert. His head had not caught on the paralysis of his heart; he knew he had to get his Inamorata out of here. He watched the lions approach, and all his rational thoughts melted into dismay as the closest lioness to them suddenly sprang out from her crouched position, aiming straight for Her throat. He sprang immediately, but his reflex died as he witnessed the strangest scene in his life. 



A male lion emerged from nowhere and roared sharply and menacingly, stopping the lioness in her tracks. He came forward, majestically calm, and walked to Her side. She didn’t move, still maintaining her still stance. For what seemed like a day they stood, face to face, appraising each other. Even the air was still, as no one dared to disrupt it by breathing. Finally, She moved. She raised her hand and tentatively touched the mane of the lion. He didn’t flinch, so she got braver, and moved closer to get a better feel of it. The lion purred softly, enjoying her caresses. She fell to her knees, in relief perhaps, and buried her face in his mane. The lion remained still, and they assumed that position for what seemed like an eternity. Nobody noticed the vultures flying away, silently fuming at this waste of their efforts, too hungry to partake in the mystery unfolding below them. Finally, She rose, and the lion purred again. It moved around her, in its slow, majestic manner, lowering his head and shaking its mane vigorously as if in appreciation of her heart stopping beauty. It was as though all off nature got the cue, for softly, the birds started to chirp, and a soft breeze gently blew past his palms, which he realized, were wet from sweat. 


His realization was rudely cut short as a flash of tan whizzed past his sight, and he looked in time to see the lioness who had attacked earlier, launch herself at the male, only to be stopped short by a sharp blow, very much like a slap, from his paws. She crumbled down to the ground, whimpering. She had lost her husband to this resplendent daughter of Eve. The lion turned around, bowed at the feet of his inamorata, and started walking away from her; into the crowd of lions. She followed suit. The lions too, albeit keeping a respectful distance between the King and his bride. He remained where he was, still unnoticed, held wisely there by an knowledge that he would not be given the special treatment that his Ella was receiving. He waited till they were out of sight, and then trailed their movements, and he watched as the lion established Her in her own cove, elevated from all other feline folk. Then and only then, did he rest his weary bones on the top of the hill in the Forest of Bones, folded his wily, tired body, and closed his eyes to sleep. As his eyes drifted shut, he vowed that he would get her out of there, come rain, come sunshine, lions or bears, and God willing ,he would make her his wife.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

A Letter To My Unborn Child.

Before you begin to yimu, allow me to explain myself. I have never been one to get caught up in fads. The letter series (which is fast becoming an epidemic) going on in blogsville was something I enjoyed reading, but never saw myself participating in. However, I have one huge flaw- where movies are concerned, I am very impressionable. First, I watched For Colored Girls and saw two kids being thrown out a window. I could almost hear the ‘splat!’ their brain matter would have made on the pavement. I cried for days…and then, I carried myself to go and watch Changeling tonight. It was so traumatizing, it forced me to think- what would I do if something happened to my child? The answers that arose in my breast inspired me to write this letter. If there was ever a sea that would surely deliver my words to my baby, it is the internet, and what better bottle is there to house it than my blog?

Nwa Bekee’m,
First off, I want you to know that I love you. You might get to hear this a lot when you grow older (and you might get skeptical) but I loved you even before I knew you. Ever since I carried your Aunty Oma in my arms and watched her pull my hair mischievously because I refused to kiss her, I knew I couldn’t wait for you to arrive. I used think I liked babies before her, used to have a ready (but disgustingly sappy) ‘aww, how cute’ on my lips every time like your female friends would do when they see a baby, but I never really knew what it was to take care of a child, to love a child. Best believe your Aunty Oma taught me that, in the most annoying possible way that she could, and for that, I am grateful.

Writing to you is not the easiest thing to do, Nke’m, because it is so hard to organize my thoughts and coherently say to you all that I want to. I am not going to give you much advice here because I fully intend to be there during your years of formation, God will see to it. I will be there to feed you, to bath you, to hold your little torso while you poo. Those sleepless nights and exhausted days, those heavy eyes, I would go through every single one for you. I may not relish it, but I will cherish it. You are the single most important thing to me in this life, Nke’m. It is important that you understand that. My parents are important, my siblings, my friends, your father, but you? You are the gift God blessed me with. A gift of life. You are my definition of love, my darling, love so abundant that I am amazed that I am even capable of giving it.

Here I am, listening to Kuchi Kuchi (by J’odie) and laughing at how I’m writing this whole post just to tell you how much I love you. Hmm, since we are on the subject, allow me to drop some few words of caution. You would be an omalicha, asampete nwanyi, a radiantly beautiful (or handsome) child, because I am not ugly, and your father isn’t either. Many men are going to come and try and take you, because all men want what is good. You will get tired of hearing ‘I love you’ my dear, it will reduce in stock value; so many fake ones flying around. Heed my words, my child. Only the man who is more ambitious for you than he is for himself possesses genuine love for you. That is the truest sign of love,and that is the one you must get. Heaven forbid that you should have anything less.

I have said a lot, my darling. Imagine, if after all this preparations and prayers, I now never get you…or one stupid fellow would just bring his ugly big coconut head and steal you. That is my greatest fear o, my dear, but that’s all that it is, a mere fear. It is not a worry, because it will never come to pass. I will have you, I will enjoy you, I will love you. I will never get tired of saying it. This is not the most eloquent thing I have written, Nke’m, but for now, it is the most sincere. Hopefully you find this someday while you’re browsing aimlessly, like we are all wont to do. Better make sure all your chores are finished and perfected sha, else, if I catch you…

Last off, hopefully by the time you read this, I would have perfected my little daycare. Yes, my goals are also inspired by you too. Don’t you understand? I love you! I have to hold myself back from devoting everything I do to you, because God has to come first. That is another thing you need to know too. God comes first. He would order your life, your steps, your thoughts and your actions. I may be your mother and ___ may be your father, But God is your Lord, the author and finisher of your faith. He will be there for you when everything else goes.

That being said, let me just say these last words…I hope the world doesn’t end on May 21st.