THE WALKINGMINDS

ISN"T IT BEAUTIFUL?

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Sat, 18 Nov 2017 06:33:00 +0000

Isn't it beautiful we are here watching.
With the winds upon our skin blowing.
And sights admirably upon our eyes falling.
Like a flock of doves in the sky flying.

Isn't it beautiful we are here talking.
About us with the trees listening.
Isn't it beautiful we are here laughing.
The loudness of it us not minding.

Isn't it beautiful we are here dancing.
In our happiness and joy sharing.
Isn't it beautiful we are here glowing.
In the aurora of love us blooming .

Isn't it beautiful dear we are growing.
On the wings of love us flying.
Isn't it beautiful we are here dashing.
Despite the challenges us flourishing.

Isn't it beautiful we are soaring.
Together in strength our hands holding.
Isn't beautiful we are here singing.
With melodies in our ears tingling.

Isn't beautiful we are all loving.
All happy and all caring.
Isn't beautiful we have an happy ending.
A happy life from the beginning.

Isn't it beautiful dear, Isn't it beautiful.

A LOVELINE CHAPTER TWO EPISODE ONE

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Sat, 18 Nov 2017 05:23:00 +0000

THEME: A LOVELINE

GENRE:TRAGEDY

AUTHOR: OLUSANYA OLALEYE

CHECK HERE FOR CHAPTER ONE

All rights rightly reserved. No part of this work should be used without the knowledge of the author himself.

For Loveline today was of more significance than any other she had spent on earth. It was a day that spelled a year of accomplishment success and achievements: a beginning that in itself marked an end of a long six years. A unique day which uniqueness was found in its entity; the entity a definition of different elements; the elements the collective enthusiasm of students and well-wishers. It was her graduation day and she was more than ever ecstatic about it as her friends whom hurriedly she was leaving to meet.

Like every other girls of their time, Loveline and her group had agreed to a special send off for themselves in a secluded venue apart from the one the school authority had in place for them. They were supposed to be twelve, but one left to a reason she felt justifiable. Paullina, Margaret, Lara, Esther, Tosin, Nana, Fadekemi, Glory, Bosede, Atinuke, Roseline, Jumoke and her very self. The reason for leaving was not giving by Adeola something that still up till now gave them concerns.

Loveline as a person was more of a gentle person like her mum, but careful than her dad could be. She had more reasons to be having seen the wickedness of men and the frailty of life. Her dad’s episode with Mercy gave her a reason to be all the more. She stole a quick glance at the wall clock before freshening up. She did it, her mind on her friends. No need greeting anyone goodbye this time, she thought when she made ready to leave. Everyone had left, each to their various places: mum to her trade to return by twelve as agreed to make preparations for her daughter’s graduation; dad to the farm to harvest yams for pounding; and Francis to his school. She closed the front door behind her, had it locked and the key hidden under a stunted stone at the far left corner of the house.

Wole, Loveline’s dad, had gone back to his sunrise immediately after the Orubebe episode which gave him his life to escape with. He had tendered his resignation letter the next day showing his disinterest to continue in the profession. His reasons were cogent and brief, bearing no thread therewith with previous events. If one couldn’t move forward, he thought, the only sane thing was to regress. He did that without the gods. Whoever and whatever they were, they could all go and die. He still believed they were alive and well, he didn’t just see their relevance in his life. Left within, the gods had become as though they never were. Wole therewith, had become, so to say, a deist.

Loveline made her leg walked faster. The selected place for their little catering was not that lengthy. Five minutes on bike and thirty on legs. To rich people it might be but to her it wasn’t. It had never been, so she had decided to walk it.

Being a pleb was something she had come to learn to live with. And like every other pleb out there, she had asked herself overtime if a God exist at all. If he was loving as said, caring as been preached by pastors in those long boring Sundays in annoying all the same piercing voices. Maybe those manna stories in the Bible were just fairy tales to preserve hopeless hope of hapless helpless souls. Maybe God was just an idea successful people relate with their success. Maybe that was why, every time she spoke to God she received no answers, nothing but returning echo of blankness. All these things, they made Loveline slipped unconsciously into an awakening world of disbelief. She got sad every day, unhappy with God. If he exist, why wouldn’t he help? Loveline had never understood why, why he would stay his hand and pleasurably watched her suffer. But regardless of what God did, Loveline had made up her mind on just one thing. Whether or not God helped, she would not give up on redeeming her family. She would not watch in silence her father get wearied by poverty. Neither as well, would she watch her mother waste away with sorrow. She would do her best in succeeding academically, and like the rising sun wheeled away the cart of poverty off the terrain of their household. Today only spelt she was close.

***

“How many hours do we have?” Tosin said handling the can of salt to Roseline.

“Hours, we have all day girl!”

“Yea…yea…yea...” Nana said resting her ankle on Glory’s shoulder.

The girls were happy, who wouldn’t be. They had reasons to, different reasons. Common would be, since it was a public school, the end to rows of early morning lashes for late coming had come. No more note skipping, and most importantly noisemaking won’t be a crime—they could now talk, not just as much as they wanted, but as freely as they could.

“Lovely hair, where had you get it done?” Esther asked Paullina who was absorbed in God-knows she was doing on her phone. She tapped her to have her attention.

“Madam Shark, Fifth Street.”

“That grouchy imp?” Lara commented, joining the conversation.

“Oh not again.” somebody whinged.

“What not again?” Lara asked Nana unsure what she meant.

“Must you always speak grammars? Haba!”

Lara laughed. “I only meant she is a grumpy old witch.”

“Oh God! You see… grouchy, imp, grumpy… she never listen.”

Lara laughed the more. “You should have just said you are jealous.” Esther spiced up.

“Jealous! Me? Of Lara’s grandiloquence? Never! God forbid. Lara herself understands, she will always be my student.”

“Mentor you mean?”

“What about womentor?”

***

Loveline hastened her legs as she walked on. She had covered much in such a little time and would more if she would take the Edward instead of the main road which, actually, she planned to. Walking the main road would but take a longer time which in itself she estimated was a minor problem. The major problem would be the single ever jobless guys walking the road in guise of finding adorable girls to appreciate their demeaning status. Of course, she couldn’t deny the fact that she enjoyed the attention; that pride of boys wanting her as a girl but then, giving it a thought, what girl wouldn’t at eighteen given the norm in the society. Such girl in her neighbourhood, whether a beauty or an excrescence would be considered nothing but progeny of a generational curse. And her beauty was such that made boys heart skipped and ladies in melting jealousy watched. So she had no reason not to enjoy the attention, none. The only but however was their perpetual irritating all the same annoying whistling.

***

“Grouchy imp here, cognitively means an ill-tempered, morally bad woman.” Lara said responding to Nana’s argument.

“If that is what grouchy means then I beg to disagree with you.” Paulina said. “She is a nice woman.”

“Nice? Well, that, depends on your definition of the word, nice.” Said Lara.

Esther’s ear drew in attention.

“If ‘nice’ is any woman who style your hair for you at free cost for dating his cute son, then I think we both can agree you are right.” Lara said with the right cadence.

“Pardon!” Esther exclaimed.

“You heard me right.”

“Paulina?”

“What?” she shrugged.

“What Lara said, is it true?”

“Not true. We are only…"

Esther flared up. Her response triggered a delicate part of her being and she was prepared to lose it all on her but was cut off by Bosede before she could.

“Where is Loveline?” Bosede said.

Loveline stood in the path door unnoticed. She had been there for seconds past watching in silence the unscripted mini-drama the girls were acting out. She seemed to enjoy it—the argument or, to be sincere enjoyed it, and would have continued to if not for the question that demanded an answer, her answer. She coughed and joined them in the open kitchen.

Open, one couldn’t tell if that should be the right adjective to describe with the kitchen, but on a second thought, it seemed to, was, or maybe more a suitable adjective than probable nearer adjectives: the open space that housed the kitchen had at its centre a grown mango tree which, on a sunny day, under normal condition should cast a deep shade on the roofless kitchen; the cashew being the roof, and the shade the kitchen. Not the only kind around, just one of many kind.

“See who is here!” Nana said in open arms expecting a hug. Loveline indulged.

The hug lasted but a brief moment. Both were happy really happy to see each other just Loveline was happier. She had been her friend since the first day in school, even in what she would describe thick darkness when the shadow of a man, whoever he could be, was destined to desert him she stuck. She also stood with her against bullies and envious haters who saw her brilliance an intimidation to their one-for-nothing surviving efforts at academics. Besides, Nana was jovial than every member of the group.

So Loveline proceeded with the ritual of greeting, a five was dished to each girls with chats in between: Margaret first, next was Lara; then Esther (who was still fuming over Paulina statement); followed by Tosin; who had as seat a stunted rock which according to Bosede their chief host, the gods had placed a restrict of develop-no-more on; next was Fadekemi who responded with a resounding five; then Nana; followed by Glory; then Atinuke; followed by Bosede who sat her buttocks on a grown branch of the mango tree; and finally, Roseline the cook.

“How long you have been there?” Paulina asked after the ritual of greeting had been completed.

“Two; five; ten; fifteen…does it matter? You are here, and I’m glad to see you.” Loveline said sitting on Paulina’s lap.

“Any gist” she said crossing her legs.

“Yea…” Said Esther, “there is.”

“And the gist,” she was saying, “Is: Our dear, faithful Paulina, is now dating…”

“Esther, please. Not that again. We are aware now, are we not?”

“Aware!” Esther exclaimed, “And that is all you can say!”

Loveline relaxed her mind and thought out her response, it was evident enough that Esther outburst had an undertone, but whatever the undertone was, it wasn’t going to stop her from expressing her view.

“Yea.” She said unsure if she could steady her voice. “Like, I don’t get: what was it you expected me to say uhn? Shout on her like people do on eagles eyeing chickens for lunch, uhn?” She hissed and continued, “See,” she said standing up, “you care what I have to say? All I have to say is the dye has already been casted, and so let bygone be bygone.”

“Or” said Nana jokingly, “Is your eagle eyeing Bernard too?”

Esther watched the two close friends in close suspicion. Loveline action came to her as a surprise but not much a surprise. It was to her as if she was supporting Paulina inhumane action but the piquancy was her lifestyle contradicted her words. Though Paulina was as much a friend as Nana was to her yet her lifestyle rendered invalid the famous idiom “Birds of the same feather flock together.” Something she didn’t quite well understand. But on the other hand, on Loveline’s part, the defense didn’t attribute to their being friends: she would have done the same for any other person, even Folake who had the honour of being the most repulsive girl in their set, the reason being it was her philosophy, the way she viewed things. Dwelling on the past, she had always said, adds nothing to the presence but takes everything away from the future. Up to her, she saw no reason for whinging about an uncorrectable past nothing practical in reality could be done to help. Besides, she thought, it is her life, and she is free to do whatever she pleases with it. Even to say, it was not like she, herself, or any of them was a saint: they all had their bad too, which, practically speaking, gave no credence to a judgmental ground. But even more, that was just a by-the-way-thing: it was their day, and they were meant to enjoy it. Just like couples do with their honeymoons and kids their candies.

“The vegetables,” Roseline said, “has he brought it?”

“Wait, vegetables? We had no discussion on vegetables.”

“O sorry,” Bosede began, “we are talking of…”

“Kenny.” Nana helped completed the unfinished statement. Loveline’s felt uneasy in her skin.

A LOVELINE CHAPTER EPISODE THREE

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Sat, 18 Nov 2017 04:32:00 +0000

THEME: A LOVELINE

GENRE:TRAGEDY

AUTHOR: OLUSANYA OLALEYE

EPISODE ONE EPISODE TWO

All rights rightly reserved. No part of this work should be used without the knowledge of the author himself.

“You must think I am a wicked person in suggesting that you marry my daughter.” The DPO said seating his glass of wine on the stool beside him.

Wole had arrived the meeting venue. And after formal greetings had narrated all that transpired however skipping some part. But as feared before, all that happened was not without the knowledge of his boss, Francis Orubebe.

“But you see,” the DPO continued, “I think you should consider yourself lucky. Marrying her will be gaining my favour, which without you have begun to have. Now think about when you have; think also about if you can’t. ”

Wole watched Orubebe in nothing short of a suppressed anger. He saw in the ‘thing’ before him a determination and a concluded agreement that could not be changed by world most plausible excuse. He felt like strangling him but his hands won’t obey him. Instead he said:

“Well, I will need more time to think this through. I should give my reply on Monday.”

And so Wole picked the call.

“Hello Mercy.”

“Good morning love. How was your weekend?”

“It was well spent with family.” He said irritatingly.

After the final episode Francis Orubebe, Wole had muscled up the courage to tell her wife Chioma the whole story. Including what went down between him and Mercy. He didn’t call it an accident, he said the truth: the kiss was intended. It was meant to keep her in delusion of acceptance till he would made up his mind, he explained to Chioma who didn’t even complain about the act. She trusted him to do the right thing.

“I supposed so.” She said.

She paused and allowed two seconds to slip by. “So when shall we meet today?” she asked.

“Meet?”

“Yes: I supposed we have an agreement to meet today.”

‘’Yea, we did, but not anymore…”

“What would that stand to mean…” Mercy said tensely.

Wole took his time. He understood his future lay upon his decision, on every word he uttered. But still what to say was clear since his last night visit to the household priest.

“Mercy, to be sincere and honest with you, this thing: you and I, it can’t work. Yes, very much. I understand you are giving me a rear opportunity: every man would jump into bed with you at a given opportunity. But you know, I’m married and I ought to be faithful to my family as a man. Sorry if it hurts, I can’t do it. I love my family.”

Mercy laughed nefariously causing Wole to wonder in transit perplexity. Mercy unknown to Wole was no woman to be fooled twice, at least not by a faked act of acceptance. When she kissed him, she could see through his heart, tapped into the core of his emotion. There was simply no passion, no connection. Mercy knew what that meant, her days of sanity was simply numbered. The first kiss with whatever man she chose must be spiraled with passion and emotion or she would end up mad. She took her chances, and it didn’t pay off. Wole was a bad bargain, but she wasn’t going down alone. If she would run mad, then Wole must die. The other choice which was less feasible would be Wole agreeing to marry her. That way the money ritual would be completed. She would get richer alongside with her dad while Wole would wean down the bottomless pit of nothingness. Since that was out of it, she stayed with the first option.

“You love your family right?” She said unshaken by his words; they were well expected. “It’s good to love your home Wole, but it’s better not to make the wrong decision.” She said and ended the call.

It took Wole minutes to process her last statement. And before he was done he could see moving shadows taking shapes of men in the tunnel. One by one they shed their shadowy skin and advanced towards him from behind, all armed with cutlasses. At first Wole remained imperturbable but after checking his pockets for his jazz he became perturbed. Waves of fear ran their way across his face and down his chilled spine, visible in his shaking hands. Wole had left his aferi at home, and for the first time in two years he became scared, and extremely afraid. The gods, the gods… he muttered. They warned him but he didn’t listen. He only looked ahead. To his good there was no one on sight, all of them were now walking slowly towards him hesitantly, as though they were waiting for him to start his bike so they could give a chase. He only shivered. What a bad day the gods had brought to him! There was no chances of winning a fight here; with no jazz Wole clearly stood no chance—the jazz had been the secret of his success; of the famous reputation that followed him. He checked his watch, and he was late for the first time in service. With his lateness, if there was jazz, all he could do was disappeared with it. But all hope wasn’t lost yet, he still had his bike. He started it praying to the gods none joined them in the thick. To his surprise the men kept their slow pace instead they whistled shrilly. It was strange but Wole cared less. He increased the speed of his bike. The gods were not dead he still believed; whatever lay ahead they would see him through it. But to his surprise, Mercy was the only person ahead. The other he figured was the fiery eyed thug, he recollected, he had once spared his life in a gun battle. He stopped his bike in utter astonishment, his expression was unbelievable. “Kill him.” Mercy ordered. “Make it slow, I will like to see him suffer.” The fiery eyed thug aimed his gun at Wole, the price for his should be priceless life had now been paid. Boom! Went the sound of the gun. “Keep on with your good work. You are a good man.” The fiery eyed thug told Wole after the shot. He had shot Mercy instead.

Now standing there and remembering the afterwards, Loveline could not but break into this cold tears.

TOTAL PEACE OF MIND AND HOW TO HAVE IT

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Sat, 18 Nov 2017 04:11:00 +0000

You wouldn’t be wrong thinking that way: if anything in this world qualifies deserved by all humanity it would be the very existence of an inner world of mental, physical, emotional and psychological saturation we all refer to as peace. The benefit is verse, and there is no point stressing the detriment of the absence of this in a typical human life.

Contrary however to what may be expected, the most important things in life often more than often present themselves to be the most difficult to attain, and in this case acquired. While humanity as a race has tried to pursue a kind of peace in the sense of mutualistic understanding and symbiotic intercontinental relationship among her nations to the common purpose of a global peace, the need for a personal and individual experience of peace cannot in worth be expressed in contrast to that of global peace no matter how benefiting this may seem. Thus and thus the continuous striving for a state of total internal peace not minding the nation, colour, background, beliefs and individual conviction one may have. Despite this determination, there has been, in many cases as expected, a great wall of difficulties to achieving this.

NO SECRETS

If any man serves a master, he is a slave to that which he serves. This will sound like what a man said some thousands of years ago. While this may not yet point out the relativity of this to the subject of discussion, it will when we put secrets and peace in the same sentence.

Secrets are secrets, and secrets are dirty. Irrespective of the justification we may forge for it, it is nonetheless still the human way of hiding our true nature from others. It is our own way of hiding our fears, our doubts, our imperfections, and most importantly our unholy or if preferred wicked intents and acts from others. Secrets as they present themselves are very much easier to live with, which makes it very difficult a thing to let go off. As indicated in the post THINGS EVERY MAN WILL GUARD WITH HIS LIFE, secrets stands one of the things that a man rather than live divulging will die protecting. It is amazing to see how secrets easily disturb our peace.

That something is a secret means it is meant for no mind than you alone. The very possibility of this being violated is what raises in you this consciousness of being on your guard always. It is this show of necessary unavoidable concerns that enslave you to a perpetual undiminishing cynical fear which by function unsettles your mind and so doing ceaselessly disturbs your peace. You find yourself constantly worried about the possibilities of the storm of truth uncovering the roof of your secrets. This constancy effectively prevents you from having and living a peaceful life no matter how much you desire it. And in as much you have those rotten skeletons you call secrets, your mind not may, but will never know absolute peace. If you are ever going to enjoy peace of mind in life, the first step is keeping no secrets no matter how little they may be. Whatever you ascribe too much value to in life is capable of holding you to ransom. And secrets for one, is one of those things that does this detrimentally.

NO HATRED

Hatred is a fuel, and it burns destructively. Unlike every feeling driven by passion, hatred more than everything does all harm and no good. This is possible because in hatred there is no place for reasons. And since there is no place for reason and justification it is done with no constraint, no check, and no limit. Unguarded. What this does basically to you is get you consumed in this uncontrolled feeling of monstrosity, the victim of which is your mind. Since hatred flourishes in the absence of good and humane thoughts, your mind get filled with wicked and evil thoughts that persuasively beg to be acted on. This persuasiveness and seduction when successfully materialized puts you in a state of unrest since pointing a finger also means having the four towards you. It is impossible therefore in this kind of situation to think of a mind at peace when hatred four times much your own is coming in every direction towards you.

Not keeping secrets may be too hard a thing to do, but hating on someone will never be. As easy as hating on people is, it is an act you much stubbornly desist from if you will live the rest of your life on earth in absolute peace. Remember, there is no just cause for hatred as well. None.

NO ENEMY

Hatred is a thing, enmity is another thing. It is impossible to have enemies, it is possible not to keep one. Life by default gives us all an injury of complication, and keeping enemies is adding more salt to this injury. People may become jealous of you, and for some reasons you can’t fathom decide to blacklist you as a potential enemy. For people whose success are nothing but a dangerous threat to the survival of many this may be very tempting. But no matter how earnest and pressing the pressure is temptation as this must be earnestly resisted. Keeping enemies for yourself as a person is making yourself no better than what an enemy is. Basically an enemy exist to stop you from existing. Since that is the goal, by acknowledging yourself as an enemy to another person you exist to stop another from existing. What this means is that you end up losing everything that makes you you. Your humanity, sanity, morality, and most importantly rest of mind. The bad thing is you will go a long way to nothing but a destructive end. Because in reality, in the game of enmity, you don’t actually defeat an enemy; you only help yourself in making stronger ones. So instead of you being hunted by a lion, you end up being hunted by a whole clan of them. And with such list of enemies passing your radar of malignancy, there is little or nothing left of peace for you, whether or not you are ready to acknowledge the fact.

If peace like seeds are sold in market I will trade gold to buy some for my soul, but it is not. Some will take a religious and spiritual view on what true peace of mind is, that is fine by me, and it is okay. But for those of us who do not so much well find the spiritual appeal effective and has been looking for a more practicable way, this may not be all the steps there is to an absolute peace, but it is nonetheless a good place for a good start.

By Olusanya Olaleye

A LOVELINE CHAPTER ONE EPISODE TWO

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Wed, 15 Nov 2017 22:41:00 +0000

THEME: A LOVELINE

GENRE:TRAGEDY

AUTHOR: OLUSANYA OLALEYE

All rights rightly reserved. No part of this work should be used without the knowledge of the author himself.

READ CHAPTER ONE EPISODE ONE

With each day came great expectations, and with great expectations came great disappointments but not with Sargent Wole Bamidele. Though not a God, all expectations so far found their fulfilment in him. No suspects of any rank as a police officer had ever slipped his watch. And none when being interrogated by him had failed to spill the beans. It went beyond exaggeration to say he was best in what he did, to the extent mates and citizens coined him the sobriquet officer-no-failure. He had always been at the top of his game, his reputation as ever followed him.

With the same fragrance and dedication to fatherland Sargent Wole Bamidele made ready for work after breakfast with her wife whom she married at the age of twenty three. He married her dark-skinned, tight-bellied, and beautiful; but now loose-bellied, dark-skinned nonetheless still beautiful—an aftermath of two expulsions. Their kids did boarding and only came home at weekends which they normally spent either at the beach or in a restaurant whenever he was off duty. Money, as they said, answers all questions of life.

“So wetyn bin dey delay the delivery?” asked a standing uniformed Wole adjusting his uniform before the mirror.

“Nothing wey me I sabi.” Chioma answered.

That was the truth. She, Chioma, understood nothing of the delay. The only thing she understood as a woman was trade. She was Igbo, and trade ran in the blood. Her selling point being her insistence on communing with customers in pidgin despite being impeccable in English as, as she would call it, an ‘alien’ language.

“I holla them, dem yarn say dem go deliver tomorrow, say make I no vex.” she said.

Wole shook his head in disdain. “You see: na dis tin dey tire me for our people matter,” he said, “imagine na after dem collect money for person hand dem dey get problem on delivery. If person act now, dem go talk oga police don come.”

“Abi, wetyn man pikin go do.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “carry my briefcase give me, mey I dey go work.” Chioma handed the black briefcase over with a warm hug and a kiss that sent Wole on his way.

Making pidgin the official language came as what they in their own view called a measure to preserve and nourish Africa heritage. To them, the burden of the white’s man language was becoming unbearable. Too many rules to obey and follow, too many confusion. Pidgin on the other hand made life simple: with a simple act of inflection and a crisp intonation of cadence a speaker could easily decide for himself the meaning he would give his words without clouding the understanding of them. If life should be complicated, Wole had always said, it shouldn’t be with language. Language should be as it was with Pidgin, simple, usable, flexible and generally understandable.

Not hesitating Wole hopped on his motorbike and zoomed off the compound. He decisively took the mountain route despite the day to allow himself an eagle view of the town which, of course, was somewhat a shortcut. The route, though unarguably dangerous: a den of kidnappers and home to masked faces enough that no villager plied it, it still, in all, didn’t deter him. No one, he thought, can dim himself fit to waylay officer-no-failure. Little did he know and understand as often said that death was no respecter of any man. And hoodlums that plied the route were, in no uncertainty, death defined and personified. But then, if bullet failed, jazz would never fail. In that lay his hope and his strength.

Closing in on the mountain Wole held his brake, pleasurably allowing himself a pleasurable overview of the town that witnessed his birth and childhood. He sat on his bike comfortably and allowed cool air to massage his hairy skin. Things had really changed: the magnificent houses, the routes, the schools, all these were not there the last time he took this route which was two years ago before he joined the police force, which, to him, spelled much about the government of the day. He imagined what God would feel like whenever he viewed the world from above; it sure must be pleasurable. God himself knew he felt like spending more time alone there, doing nothing but watching admirably how much the town that gave him much had grown. But same, he knew he had to go; maybe one of these weekends he would take a lasting look. So he started the bike and headed closer toward the mountain, skillfully changing his gear as he approached the tunnel which nature herself had dug in the mountain; it was a very long one that led to continuums of thick bushes creased by what would be a tiny path. Atrocities on this route either took place there or in the impenetrable thick bushes where he was headed. Had Chioma known he would be plying the route, Wole thought, she would not have allowed him. Things like that were better kept from women. Better.

Few metres into the mountain Wole felt what would be his phone rang in the small apartment of his pocket where he kept it causing him to momentarily hold the brake once more. The disturber as he muttered in his mind was Mercy, the DPO’s daughter. They had only met once and for sincerity, twice. He hissed and would reject the call when the memory of his last discussion with his boss came bulging his mind.

It was a Friday night and the DPO had scheduled a meeting with him in the Floral Elite Hotel. Normally a person of his rank should be excited about a private meeting with the DPO but Wole wasn’t. The event of the past days rendered the flavouring a sickening aroma, taking the piquancy away. Him meeting Mercy Orubebe the DPO’s daughter grounded the response of this indifference. His meeting her was, as it turned out, the opening of the Pandora Box.

The fateful evening witnessed Mr. Wole seated in a sofa with a glass of wine in what would be the ever spacious visiting room of his boss, Francis Orubebe. He had invited him to spend the evening with them given the reason the family enjoyed his company the last time he came, and that her daughter had personally requested he be invited to spend the evening with them again. Of a truth, Mr. Wole as he would prefer to be called was more of a comedian than a Sergeant, but the personal cliché suggested an underlined overtone which his sincere mind waved off.

“Hope you are not offended for keeping you waiting.” A lady of misleading appearance said in bewitching voice as she joined him in the visiting room in a calculated all the same enticing steps.

“Oh, not at all.” Wole answered, cautioning himself not to wear those coy smile. He couldn’t afford it.

“My dad,” she said toasting her glass of wine, “told me about your achievements as a police officer.”

“And I must say,” she continued, “that I am really impressed.”

“O really?” Wole said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say till he got some confidence.

“Well,” he said, “someone must do the job. As per the antecedents, what can I say: they are nothing but courtesy of your father; he has been all the more supportive and inspiring.”

Mercy smiled in acknowledgment. “Well, that won’t be totally a lie given that my dad had had this…what word… unrelenting spirit of a mentor since his Sergeant days. However still, I believe nonetheless, it is your willingness and readiness to serve fatherland that made you this successful giving the short years of service. So, you should, pleasantly, take the credit for it.”

Nice talk Wole thought before giving in to an irresistible indulgence crammed by a short brief atmosphere of acquaintance. He was accessing her. Her pink lovely lips, dark dovelike eyes, and her tits craning uncomfortably under her cleavage. Her hips he imagined would be soft, tensed when touched by those fingers. Not his of course, maybe her husband, boyfriend, whoever she gave indulgence to. He went below, deeper in his imagination and then stopped. His wife was once like that, beautiful, pretty and lovely but never sexy.

“Well, maybe. But I strongly believe it is not yet time.”

“Anyway,” he said, “why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

Mercy told him all about herself starting with her childhood where and where she spent them. She told him about her age which betrayed her look—she was older but looked younger. Her education, where and where she had them. The kind of job she did, her likes and dislikes, favourites and past relationships. Her fears, moments of joy, rarest shocks of life. Wole listened all through till she was done. He felt somehow sorry about her past relationships.

“That was very inhumane.” Wole said, surprised at his judgmental position.

“Well, he left his mark. Love can be quite blind.” She smiled.

“Anyway, my heart has healed: I’m moving on.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Wole said. “So, if I may, when is the wedding coming up?”

“Wedding?” She laughed. “Not so fast. One don’t get burnt twice, not by the same fire. For now, all I will need is a friend. Someone like you, perhaps.”

Events of the early evening threw Wole into an internal conundrum. He didn’t quite understand. Why him? He asked repeatedly. Why him! He didn’t like the idea of the gods playing with him this way. A woman asking a man out was nothing but a bad omen. Why would the gods seek his downfall! He didn’t understand. He had done all the gods required. Mercy was too much an offer to be turned down—too beautiful and lovely, yet they sent her to him. He still couldn’t understand. Yes he was comely, but a lady wooing a man, a married man for that matter was something he had not seen before—in all these thirty years he had spent on earth. It could either be the gods or the world was turning into something else itself. He had seen scarcity of water plagued his town as a child, that of food as a student, of money as an adult, of fuel as a Nigerian but never scarcity of men. Or, he thought, is scarcity of men hitting Nigeria? Clearly enough, the name Wole didn’t sound Jewish, in case one would assume the prophecy was all about him—the particular one that spoke about seven women taking hold of a man to marry them. He was really disturbed. If it were the gods, he would pay them a visit, but if it were a question of the world changing, then there was much to be feared. Wole ended up with a weary sigh. He would see his boss tomorrow. Something told him it might be nothing but a staged drama.

The messenger of dawn didn’t quite disappoint, it was as ever quick to break its message which Wole barely waited for. So expected with the bottled soul terrorizing obfuscating thoughts, the effects of which could have been lessened had he shared what transcended with his wife last night. A problem shared, they said, is half solved. But a more realistic Yoruba proverb made Wole wiser: such things were not meant for jealous ridden hearts as women often had.

Getting to the office Wole learnt the DPO was on a two day inspecting tour areas under his jurisdiction which implied he wouldn’t be back in town until Friday. He noticed the day Friday sounded in his ears ‘tomorrow’ as in the ‘leaders of tomorrow’ when spoken by a Nigerian politician—it was never going to come. He couldn’t wait, he knew, as the ‘big’ was becoming more difficult to contain within instead, he pulled a call through to the DPO to see the chances of scheduling a meeting. And within the first ring Francis Orubebe was on the line.

“Hello Sargent Wole.” Orubebe greeted almost generously.

“Good morning sir.” Wole returned almost politely.

“Hope all is going well over there.”

“Yes sir,” he said, “all is going well.”

“That’s good.”

“And sir…” he said.

“Yes:”

“I learnt you won’t be in office till…”

“O yes, yes, yes…there have been of lately reports of officers collecting bribe on our roads while some are becoming more unpunctual. So I have decided to do an improvise inspection of reported areas. But hopefully I should be back in town on Friday.”

“That means, you won’t be available in office till Monday sir.”

“Monday itself,” he said, “is not certain.”

“But hope there is no problem.” He added, noticing the uneasiness.

“Not really sir. Just wondering if there is any possibility of seeing you, hopefully, on Friday. “Because,” he began, “there is a matter I will like to…”

“Mercy?” The DPO cut in with no ajar.

“Yes sir.” Wole answered in his lowest crescendo.

“Flora Elite Hotel at 8 in the night.”

The venue scheduled was to Wole an unknown place but somehow he managed to ask his ways around. How he survived the last two days without spilling a word of what transpired to Chioma remained a miracle to him. What however baffled him was the DPO unsurprising mood. Was it a test as suggested by his mind, but it couldn’t be a test; what shmuck in the world would set her daughter an object of experimentation with a full grown man? That would be stupidly idiotic, crass. But then, if the latter were true, he would then be in a bigger mess. Because not only would his marriage be at stake but all he had built.
***

A LOVELINE CHAPTER ONE EPISODE ONE

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Tue, 14 Nov 2017 03:05:00 +0000

THEME: A LOVELINE

GENRE:TRAGEDY

AUTHOR: OLUSANYA OLALEYE

All rights rightly reserved. No part of this work should be used without the knowledge of the author himself.

EPISODE ONE

“Abeg make una carry come soup too, na small remain make the water don.” Chioma said sentencing more woods to eternal death.

Today was Chioma’s day and not her birthday going by. It was simply her day because she was a local trader and today was yet just another market day speaking of. Like a good mother she was Chioma actually believed in making hay while the sun shines, hence her reason for waking up this early. This as it would appear didn’t mean she woke up to this single reason, on the contrary, nothing else but the care of her family had propelled her to doing this. This she believed like most other Nigerian women could be partly shown by cooking for her family; just the same way every Nigerian man tried their possible best in meeting their family needs. In line with culture and belief family first had always been the motto of Wole’s household. Chioma only but upheld this.

For some soon-to-be-known reasons the sac Chioma spoke of was nowhere to be found in the godforsaken wooden cupboard that stood in the far corner of the small pantry, where she had assumed it to be. It should be here the walls heard Loveline her daughter complained after finding nothing but frightened cockroaches making a successful all the same irritating effort at her dark still lovely skin. She had naturally startled them and they had consequentially startled her in return—a mutual albeit discomforting reaction.

“Mama I no see am ooo.” She complained giving up the search.

“Una don look inside that big pot, na there Francis talk say hm put am yesterday morning.”

“Okay mama.”

Loveline found it there neatly wrapped as said by Chioma in a pink cellophane bag that would beg for an-already-denied gentleness.

“So wetin be the time now?” Her mum asked as she made the amala.

“I no carry my watch, but cock never crow: so six never knack be that.”

“Eh, you sure: me no trust these cocks ooo… these days, na so so wrong time dem dey crow. U know say recession dey now. Our neighbour, mama Faith, think say the cocks don dey feel am: say na why dem no dey crow the right time again; dem dey reserve their energy: ehn ehn, who wan die. Anyway,” she said, “when six knack, make una go wake that Francis up. You hear? Make him no come wake commot by twelve noon.”

Loveline only smiled okay and took her seat on the stone opposite Chioma. She was quite much like her in every aspect: in looks, in speech, in behavior, even in joviality, the whole caboodles of it. Sitting opposite her was like watching herself in the mirror—the kind God would see when he looked down upon men. This was why neighbours sometimes teased her of being too much greedy. Why must she take after her mother so perfectly they asked; a little of her dad would have been okay and would have been fine. But within and without Loveline’s countenance suggested she had something else in mind. Something far from neighbours arguments and sentiments. Something she wanted to discuss with her mother. Something she should have discussed yesterday but couldn't owning to her coming late from Paulina’s. Besides and aside, she wanted a moment alone with her mother to discuss it. It was too early but such words would be better discussed when the heart was free and less saddled with loads of thoughts. Tomorrow would be her graduation day and she was yet to collect her dress from Mama Sikiru—her fashion designer. She should have collected it but was yet to have the money in full cash. And hence the delay.

“Mama my dress,” she said, helping herself with a stick she picked up, “I never collect am.” She reiterated when no response came.

“Mama, I say I never collect my dress for tailor’s place.”

“Abeg carry the soup give me,” Chioma said, “and take this one go inside.” She said pointing to the sac of amala.

Loveline shrugged but went ahead and carried the pot. It was understandable they were becoming poorer, but her mum ignoring her words was uncalled for. Was it her fault? And why must she make everything about it.

“Mama…” She began again.

“You will collect it today when I return from market.” Chioma stuttered with a heart that would cry.

Somehow Chioma’s words played a dirge to Loveline’s ear. The only thing she could hear was the sadness accompanying the words and how heavy they sounded, the rest and everything else were stripped of their meaning—the intent from which they were spoken. The sadness reminded her of a past, a prosperous past she and the family still wished was the present—a very beautiful and comforting past, one at that no one would wish to become a past. Chioma’s tears she knew was her fault, a product of nothing but a reminiscence she now blamed herself for. Had she not brought the dress issue up, the tears, she thought, would not have been born. But what choice had her, she asked. She moved touchingly for consolation.

Stop crying mama she pushed but the past played the present in her presence and rendered her trial a null. She herself broke into an uncontrollable soul damning sobs.

Continue reading EPISODE TWO EPISODE THREE

I JUST WANT A WORLD

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Tue, 14 Nov 2017 02:37:00 +0000

I just want to be in a world with no name.
And live among people with no face.
Without worries for the days stretching into weeks.
And my belly again calling for food.

I just want to be away from myself.
From the voice crying loud in my mind.
From the reality that mocks me in the face.
And everyday tells me how helpless I am.

I want a break from the prying sky.
And a break from the stalking sun.
I want a break from the unending sight.
That I see everywhere i go.

I want a night without dreams.
Spent in the ignorance of things that may not be.
Live a life of absolute peace.
In the ignorance of anything called hate.

I want a life lived in space.
In the space beyond the grab of time.
I want a life beyond beyond.
A life defined by me alone.

I want a life free from all.
Man, God, and Devil alike.
I want not a perfect world.
But a world lived in the fear of none.

I want a world with no rules.
A world rid of threats.
A world of brothers and sisters
Bonded not by blood alone.

I want a life with no death.
Where I don't live to bury another.
I want a world of absolute equality.
Where one doesn't worship another.

I want a world where it will be me.
Living my life as just as I please.
With no books standing to judge me.
And a man in a flamboyant trousers who wouldn't let me be.

I want a world beyond the power of the mind.
A world beyond the power of the pen.
I just want a world.
Where there will be no need for a poem like this.

Originally Written by Olusanya Olaleye

ONLY IF

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Mon, 13 Nov 2017 04:41:00 +0000

Only if looks can say it all.

And stares express it so well.

Only if smiles can replace words.

Then you and I would have become one.

Because your look was such that said yes.

Like the skin yes the wind.

And your stare a whisper of affection

Whispered to no one but me.

Your smile was like a sunrise in a sunset.

As pleasant as a gift from the nobles.

And for those moment i watched,

They remain to me the best of memories.

But it could have been more than that.

It could have been more than just memories.

It could have been more than just stories.

It could have been more than just a moment.

It could have been more than a moment.

If only I had done more than stared.

If only I had done more than smiled.

If only I had walked the words out my mouth.

If only I had tell you how I felt.

In your presence every single moment we met.

If only I had told you about it.

That everything was beyond the smile and glance.

Beyond the smile, and beyond the stare.

Beyond a friend I called you that time.

If only I had told you the truth about the stars:

That more than anything you make my world bright.

That you are the darkness that makes my star shines.

The wings that kept me flying high.

That you are the ocean my fish flourishes in.

And that I spent all night thinking just about you.

Perhaps thing would have been different.

Perhaps you would still be here.

Perhaps you wouldn't be this far.

Perhaps I would still have you to call mine.

Only if.

By Olusanya Olaleye

SEVEN THINGS EVERY MAN WILL GUARD WITH HIS LIFE

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Sun, 12 Nov 2017 01:15:00 +0000

While there are people in this world who believe nothing in this life is worth saving, there are people who will believe otherwise. And while there are people who feed themselves with a porous mentality of nothing in the actual sense of nothing is what dying for in this world, there exist still people who believe everything in the actual sense of everything is worth just that.

There is this category of people who believe against all odds of reasoning and senses there are things in this life that are still worth dying for, worth saving, and worth protecting. There are people who believe that for whatever reasons that may be, silvers should never be bargained for gold. For those that don’t, there is little close to nothing I can say. But for those that do, the following are things that are probably going to make their list.

REPUTATION

The pride of a man is in his name and his honour in the reliability of his words. A good number of times we have heard people, friends, families and neigbhours come to a boiling point where they rise up and say: “This, I can take no more.” This is because the reputation of a man is his best shot at success and relevance in this world we live in. A man that has his reputation soiled has nothing if anything in common with trustworthiness, respect, and relevance. This is why in daily living we continue to see people from all walks of life writing rejoinder and releasing press statements debunking a particular rumour or acknowledging a particular fact in the name of saving their reputation. This is why more than ever people go about saying “I do not do this” despite the fact people understand such things cannot fall into their laps. Given the undeniable fact that reputation as antecedents remains the prime target of character defamation and assassination, it is that possible that it makes the list of what is worth protecting.

FAMILY

Next to the reputation of a man will be his family. I have never seen a man who attaches less value to his family than he attaches to his own breathe. A poor man having nothing we still bet his own life for his family if that’s the last thing he does on earth. Even a drug dealer will still say: “Do anything you want to do man, but don’t you come near my family. If you do, I swear I am going to kill you”. A politician will do the same, likewise an arm robber. For those who have one, family can be everything. And like someone once said, for love I can do anything, but for family I will do everything. I say family should make it to this list.

PARENTS

Depending on the culture and background one of the things people will bank their life on will be their parents. Most religions teaches taking responsibility for ones parents at such an old age. Any attempt to prevent this from happening can therefore be expected to be met with a very fierce resistant, unpleasant fierce resistant. You may mess with some people’s reputation, take a flinch at their family, but try it with their parents and you will be the world luckiest man of all time. Take that as an irony.

LOVER

I don’t know about you, but I think my girl will make my list. You see you don’t get to mess with her. You don’t get to talk things about her. And you don’t get to disrespect her. And this if I’m right will be the same for every guy who sees a lady for what she is. Nobody loves to be disrespected. Disrespecting a man’s lady is disrespecting that man himself. I have not seen, and don’t think I will ever see a man who will take his lady for granted. I mean his lady for granted, not his, well, you understand what that means.

THE MIND

I quite don’t know about you, but that’s one thing above everything I guard with all my mental consciousness. You can say that’s because I’m a writer, a poet and a thinker; that will be right but not completely right. I do not see a businessman crossing the boundary of success in any time visible with a confused mind. Neither do I see a philosopher making anything out of life with a perturbed mind. I still cannot imagine a successful leader without a clear mind to call his friend, neither do I imagine a best of all time artist with a crippled mind. The mind is really, really and really priceless a treasure too valuable to be measured in worth. And people of prospect will consider it worth protecting.

SECRETS

Indulge me in listing this but I think it’s readily obvious. Secrets are personal and thus need constant guarding and protecting. As a loaded guy in a city of beauties, you won’t probably want to let that lady of incomparable beauty know of your involvement with the new girl down the street, neither will you want the girl down street to know you are taken and owned by the lady of incomparable beauty, hence and hence the need to have a sealed room of no invitation in the mansion of your heart. I seriously do not think anything classed secrets will be left unguarded to be divulged.

MONEY

You are damn well so right. M…O…N…E…Y money, is the only thing capable of rendering this post incomplete. Everything a man does on earth he does for the money. Going to school, acquiring a skill, learning a trade, doing a trade, signing a deal, releasing an album, writing a book, being a Linda Ikeji, even leadership these days. I have heard a lot of people say they can die for the money, and when they say it, there is no questioning the seriousness in their voice. A typical Nigerian politician is a good example to this exemplary mental erosion. A hooker may however be a better example: you try and rob her of her money and see what I mean by delving into the rocks. If anything comes first, many will place money before everything worth protecting. I don’t think I do for now, but maybe I will one day. Who knows.

By Olusanya Olaleye

ONCE ONE FOREVER ONE

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Fri, 10 Nov 2017 20:33:00 +0000

A SHORT STORY

THEME: ONCE ONE FOREVER ONE

GENRE: FICTION

AUTHOR: OLUSANYA OLALEYE

DISCLAIMER: All rights reserved. No parts of this work may be used or reproduced in any way without the knowledge of the author.

PART ONE

PART TWO

THE BROOM OF CHANGE

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Wed, 08 Nov 2017 22:09:00 +0000

They flew on the wealth of the people.
But never did love the people.
Like kids they played on their intelligence.
Ours is a new era of change they said.

Music of derision sang they to their ears sweetly:
Priding vain words on the wings of propaganda.
This administration has done absolutely nothing they said.
And no one in question questioned the sense in that.

And so the people embraced the broom of change.
With hope it would in time change their stories.
They waited and waited and waited.
Till their hope became a mist in the wakening of the day.

The lies nevertheless continued.
A man with a hat of lies took it as a job.
This government is working efficiently he said.
But the strong house would say something to the contrary.

Bold rats invaded the strong house.
And hunger the stomachs of the poor struck mercilessly.
Death with freedom took many wives for himself.
In all these the Biro kept touring the world.

Enemies were carelessly made by him.
And decisions like angry words harshly made by him.
No plan in sight for the people.
Only policies of hardship to terrorize their soul.

The change they waited for was chain.
And the broom a room of doom.
The new era of change they clamoured for,
Brought nothing but pain to them.

By Olusanya Olaleye

CRITICISM AND YOU

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Tue, 07 Nov 2017 03:38:00 +0000

“Criticism: the only chance we have got to do something better, make something better, and be someone better.”

Two years ago he was in the same spot, sitting in the same chair, in a different dress. Like then he can’t describe in exact words what it was like sitting in that chair, but he can measure the feeling: the feeling that once swept through his puffy cheeks, through every nooks and crannies of his shilling body completely rendering him mentally confiscated in the tiny space of overwhelming intellectual gasp. Tony’s critiques are back, and they are doing a pretty good job in making him feel bad.

Day in day out, in living and in functioning we come across pebbles like the above in our various tiles of duties: people who feel, and will always have something to say concerning and about everything that goes on and on around them; whether or not it does actually in the real sense concerns them. This naturally so unnaturally done mouth tethering co-factoring many factors may by circumstances turned out annoying as in Tony’s, or frustrating as the case is in reality. Nonetheless still, when we take a peep into the brighter side, there is always as always, two sides to every story.

Criticism though most of the time can be that uncomfortable, it does so openly challenge us to do something better, make something better, and be someone better. Whether constructively done or destructively constructed, the result can always be the same only if you can see the bigger picture. Everything in life if you must understand stands a common weakness: the open provision for maneuvering. The goodness in good can be made evil as much as the wrong in a wrong can be made a right. It is your willingness and readiness to see beyond the obvious intent that allows you to connect and tapped into the streams of benefit inherent in critiques criticisms.

For an example, four years ago on a popular online forum I decided after reading a lot of stories to give writing a short. I started, and there were a lot of comments. Most of them discouraging. Words and statements like: “what’s worth doing is worth doing well” began to surface. Things like: “I do admire your boldness to make an effort, but you ending up making a bad one I do not admire. This is really really bad, I must tell you the truth.” Now that was me trying to have a hinge on writing. And I did not at that time get it right until I begin to see the brighter side of things. Instead of me getting discouraged by those talks, I only get to make something better; improving my writing skills as a person. Because, as at that time, a mirror could get to see how poor my writing skills were which, by myself I didn’t get to see until criticism brought it to a limelight.

Criticism no matter the intent always have an advantage, constructively or destructively done. For constructive criticism, you have a chance to make something better; improve on something: the quality of your goods as a wholesaler, your delivery system as a retailer, and your communication skills as a receptionist in a firm, hotel, or a company. You actually with destructive criticism have as an artist a golden opportunity of making a better music for your fans instead of smashing it all in their faces. As a leader a chance to be flexible when your followers start complaining about the strictness of your leadership style. As a terrible cook in the home of your husband, just don’t flare things up when your husband gets a kick from it.

In reacting positively to criticism, we do not only get to invest in our own lives, we do as well check our critiques with a maturity gag. Let’s say you get criticized about your poor sense of fashion as an artist, and you have it corrected. Again, for criticizing sake you get another one from another angle and you do exactly the same thing. Each and every single time instead of sucking in on criticism you do the contrary by taking into consideration every important elements. This wears out your critiques, but not only wears them out, it as well forces them to acknowledge your composed composure which in another way is acknowledging your intellectual superiority in life.

A knife can either slaughter a chicken, or it can slaughter another human. Either way it plays out is our choice and decision. Criticism as a case can, if embraced, bring the best in you out or, if reacted to, brings the worst in you. For you, I will suggest the former.

Originally Written by Olusanya Olaleye

THE NIGERIAN GRADUATES AND THE FUTURE THAT AWAITS THEM

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Mon, 06 Nov 2017 05:49:00 +0000

A young writer may very well keep quiet on many things, but never a subject of immense importance such as the Nigerian graduates and the future that awaits them. A writer that closes his heart to this may as well not be considered a writer, after all, if anything is worth a writer sympathy it will be the hope and redemption of his country which, in the case of the Giants of Africa, is being shouldered on his fresh educated young minds: the Nigerian graduates.

Every Nigerian youth without any ado will among favourite primary school memories have as favourite songs these favourite lines proclaiming confidence and efficacy:

"Parents, listen to your children.

They are the leaders of tomorrow.

Try to pay our school fees.

And give us sound education."

Of course scholars from the 70’s will still have the courage and boldness to echo these lines aloud to themselves having the credence of returning rewards for long years of continuous efforts in a comfortable and endurable atmosphere of consistent perseverance. Their parents one may be very sure will have as well the privilege of excusing their forks and fingers from the meal of unfruitful investments which, speaking of, has turned out to be the order of the day when it comes to the Nigerian graduates of our days beating their chests about tomorrow and saying: “Education, my friend, is still the best legacy.”

Perhaps by emphasizing this, our “Lead-ass” of today may have a tint of compassion for the future of Nigeria, which in another words is the future of each Nigerian graduates that passes through the Nigeria education system.

A FUTURE OF COMPLETE FRUSTRATION

The Nigeria unemployment rate if facts are right increased from a bearable 10.4% to an unbearable 14.2% in the last quarter of 2016, leaving the country with the record of highest history of joblessness since 2009. For a Nigerian youth that never sets his foot in a tertiary institution this development may mean nothing, but for a Nigerian youth that actually went through the Nigeria education system, this will mean everything. The Nigeria education system is structured in such a way that makes life ironically easier. Rows of lectures in limited congested lecture theatres, academic environment starved of basic social amenities, limited access to the internet, and rows of sadistic elements of frustration christened as lectures. A typical Nigerian graduate has had the honour of going to bed on empty stomachs, sleepless nights for trashy grades, unwarranted mental harassment on the part of lecturers, and abuse of power on the part of authorities. Enduring all these to be welcomed into a new special kind of job hunting is a thing too much for a compensation. After all the four, five, six years of hard work with nothing in hand but a certificate equating another piece of creative graphic design is enough of a frustration. With the increased unemployment rate for age range of 15-24 years (the age bracket of most fresh Nigerian graduates) by 25.2%, complete frustration is the only thing the future holds for a larger percentage of the Nigerian graduates.

A TEMPTING FUTURE:

Needs sometimes overrides the norm, and necessities compel us to do the unthinkable. While a typical Nigerian is cut out from the heart of steel, still, there is a limit to what the mind can take. A jobless Nigerian graduate as expected is daily subjected to a list of insurmountable internal and external pressure, reproach, taunts, and temptations. So unfortunately so the quicker-less-stressful-one-thousand-and-one available ways of buying one way out of the frustration that comes with an endless hunt and search for a job that is not available. If facts are anything to go buy, Nigeria currently ranks 3^rd in cyber crimes in the world. In addition to this distinguished achievement, she also bags a first class honours in drug trafficking to the most dreadful countries in the world. Fraud and theft is MTN. And the day may as well be as dangerous as the night due to the numbers of sophisticated weapons of destruction operated during the day by arm robbers. A jobless Nigerian graduate in the midst of all these may in time have none but only one available option, considering how successful and untouched these people are.

A FUTURE OF NEW LEGACIES:

Education is the best legacy, this may very well lose its relevance with time. What is best is certainly advantageous, and what is advantageous is beneficial. With the sticky trend of no Ph.D. no job, education may as well lose its advantage in the minds of the jobless Nigerian graduates who soon, will in time have sons and daughters to entrust a legacy to. It won’t seem unlikely that a onetime jobless Nigerian graduate who by hustle and struggle acquire relevant independent skills won’t entrust a legacy of skills acquisition to his children. As well, a Nigerian graduate who transcends the realm of existence into the realm of living through musical talents will instead of another rows of wasted years in universities rather invest his time and wealth into the realization and actualization of whatever talents his children may have. A drug trafficker though unlikely may entrust the same legacy to his children, but the possibility still cannot be erased. The implication is we may have a generation of youths singing:

"Children, listen to your parents.

They are the victims of the past.

Don’t stake too high on schooling.

For education is nothing but a scam."

The future that awaits the Nigerian graduates doesn’t seem to look promising. Some will prefer the word gloomy. While there may be at present no light at the end of the tunnel, there exist still a hope of getting things right. Not just for the jobless Nigerian graduates, but for the future of the Nigeria country. Because, whether it is agreed or not, the cancer today was once a good cell. If the cell was well taken care of there might be nothing as a cancer. If our lead-ass stop being a lead-ass and start being leaders, the aforesaid may as well be a tomorrow that will never come.

Originally Written by Olusanya Olaleye

TEMPTATION

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Sun, 05 Nov 2017 21:57:00 +0000

She came in the light of the night,

Guided by passion and lust.

With eyes buried under the shades of glass,

And steps muted by glistening floors.

She knocked the door and said hello.

And waited till he came opening the door.

Her lips moistened and her thighs softened

Come in, he finally said to her.

She walked in, looking around;

A sinner in a holy land.

Uncomfortable in her body of lust;

And ready to burn the flame of passion.

Her body tickled as she curled,

Easing herself of her dress.

There, standing with a thirsty soul.

Her eyes full of dangerous desires.

He stood unmoved by her nakedness.

Done it and been there before.

No way I’m doing this again Dina:

You and I was done since the last time.

She walked to him without much a word.

Leaving her seducing hands to do the talking.

Few touches and a whisper into the soul.

John pie bond got weakened in seconds.

Give in to me she persuaded.

Quench my thirst please.

Just this last time John.

And I promise you will never see me again.

A knock at the door the night after;

Temptation came back begging again:
Give in to me just this last time,
And I promise you will never see me again.

By Olusanya Olaleye

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WHY YOU FAIL YOUR UNIVERSITY EXAMINATIONS

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Sun, 05 Nov 2017 16:50:00 +0000

The university system on a level is quite a different world on its own. Most especially the Federal Universities we have around. A good number of students, undergraduate at different levels sweat in frustration every single time they write an examination. It appears as though most of the times they never did prepare for the examination despite the fact they spent hours at the university library reading, studying, and to borrow the general language, “jacking.” One thus wonders then what could possibly have gone wrong. What possibly could have been the problem. Was it that they forgot what they read, or was it simply fate? Maybe yes, maybe no, but there are more psychological cum logical reasons to pursue.

While it is impossible to have a campus filled with an all-time serious students, it is impossible as well to have an undergraduate who won’t come prepared to an examination hall. Maybe not like the genius but sure like an undergraduate. Living with this assumption, it will be safe therefore to highlight suspected reasons which may have, for several semesters immensely contributed to the failure and disappointments our undergraduates experience after their examinations.

ANXIOUSNESS:

Curiosity they say kills the cat, and greed a thief. One of the many things that can make an undergraduate looks a dullard among his peers in a Nigerian University will be the noun called anxiousness. This whether exhibited before or during an examination can prove to be very devastating. No matter the level of exhibition this chemical response heightens the consciousness of the student into the worrying zone. This causes the student to worry about things he naturally wouldn’t be worried about. How is the questions going to be? What is it going to look like? How sure am I to solve them? Will I have enough time left to review my works? Unfortunately the answers to all these question will always be a fat no irrespective of how earnestly the student wants a different answer. His brain by default gets caught up in an intricate web of biochemical confusion and this drags his mind into a state of restlessness. The result of this is he ends up doing less than he has actually prepared to do. Under-performing.

PHOBIA:

While this and anxiousness may sound alike, they are two exquisitely different things. While Anxiousness gets you worried over nothing, phobia actually gets you worried over something. The picture being painted in actual sense is that instead of you being concerned about what you probably may not be able to do, you are actually confronted with the reality of what you cannot do. The result is that the fear of what you cannot do in time overshadow the certainty of what you can do. This means that you end up not doing what you know, and were supposed to do. This further implies you end up getting less than you are supposed to get in your examination. Which means you end up failing at the end of the day.

OVER CONFIDENCE

Now this may sound a little absurd, but is nonetheless a common phenomenon among undergraduates. Yes, it is normal to ask: “Is it really possible for someone to be overconfident?” The answer is yes. It is very much possible to get overconfident in yourself. It is possible to go to the examination hall with the delusion of certainty that you have known it all, to the extent you may refuse to revise your works on the day of examination. The idea of whatever I couldn’t understand before examination day, it’s impossible I understand on the examination day. Overconfidence without any doubts will blind you to the need of joining little chats focused on probable questions that may come up in your examination because you are actually forced to believe whatever that’s coming in that examination, you will certainly have an idea. Unfortunately for you, university examination is more than just having an idea; it is you knowing with facts. Thus, again, you end up failing.

NOT UNDERSTANDING THE QUESTIONS

What you are is different from who you are. While the latter in context treats you as a person, the former treats you as a personality. It is quite possible to know and understand what you are taught in classes and yet not understand what you are asked to do in the examination hall. This is why most of the times you have lines of bewilderment disfiguring your face when you see the examination score of your seatmate who managed to answer a question out of four while you with haste answered all the four questions. It surprises you to find out despite evident differences in the number of questions attempted he still scores more than you in the said examination. The truth is while you were busy answering questions you really don’t understand, your seatmate was busy answering the only question he understands. Most student in the name of write-everything-you-know-let-my-sheet-be-filled write nothing but failure for themselves in the examination hall, while they cry the world a river later for doing so.

There are quite a number of things that may contribute to your failure in your examinations, but these above are only the psychological com logical plausible reasons. There are more, and they will be exploited in future posts on this blog under different approach. But while we work towards doing that, our next post shall be on practicable ways to deal with the above listed factors. You can always check back if you happen to (not so meanly) suffer from any of them.

Originally Written by Olusanya Olaleye

THINGS THAT DETERMINE HOW FAR YOU GO IN LIFE

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Sun, 05 Nov 2017 14:58:00 +0000

Everyone wants something in life, something out of life. Some want more than a body in a pair of trousers while others want simply that. Some will settle for a bungalow in a local while others will settle for nothing short of a mansion in the heart of the city. Some will even acquire for themselves private jets while some will comfort themselves with fleets of cars. It's preference: everyone wants something, no matter how little or considerably large it may seem.

Everyone has a goal, an objective, a mission guided by a vision. These goals, visions and objectives are there to be realized and accomplished. They are not meant to be admired like a bride but to be achieved. And the far of the how much we go in making this a reality is dependent on several factors not without our Tom may not get the actual, expected, desirable result. Getting to know these factors may be of good help, putting them into consideration will definitely be of a higher one.

How You Think: Thinking is a process that comes upon us all so naturally, but how we do it makes all the difference there is to it. It is a tool, a very powerful tool in achieving our goals. How you think really matters. It matters because it drives your investment. It matters because it drives your passion. It matters because it drives your commitment, channels your energy and influence your view. As an example, someone that believes nothing is impossible will find himself helpless in the face of an impossible situation because by ways and reasoning he has led himself to believe everything is possible while another person who by the same ways and reasoning believes impossibilities though exist doesn't exist until we say it does will have little or no problem dealing with such impossible situation if he ever finds himself in one. It is good to say all is well, but it is not bad to admit when it is not. In setting our various goals a need exists to follow up with sound ideologies and philosophies, which are both products of broad thinking. Someone that believes good things come to those who wait may never get a chance at better things. Equally the person that believes the patient dogs eat the fattest bone may never, if will ever, lay his hands on fleshy meats. Let's find time to do some thinking for ourselves. It contributes a far greater deal to how far we go in life. We must, and not should, equip ourselves with the right ideologies and philosophies. If at all we must go far in life.

How You Act: Thinking is one thing, acting is another. It is one thing to think, it is another thing to act. To think and not act is tantamount to you having food and refusing to have it cooked, you are pretty much if not likely to starve, if lucky to death.

Ideas by convention naturally flow into our minds, but whether they do or not won't make a difference if nothing is done about them. A teacher may indeed have knowledge, but it makes no difference if that knowledge is not imparted. You may have ideas, but it won't matter if you don't act on them. It won't if all you do every day is sits back and imagine how beautiful things will be when you are in no range of doing them. Things if I must tell you really do not have to be perfect before we put those ideas into use. If you don't someone else will. There is simply no guarantee someone else somewhere is not nursing those ideas and ready to act on it. Because everyone has ideas, and the only thing that will distinguish and differentiate you will be your readiness and earliness to act. This readiness and earliness will give you the needed edge. While others are still conceiving and nursing you are out there exploiting, exploiting abundance of this competitive world. With this inbuilt into you, there is possibly no way you won't go far in life.

How You talk: This appears to be critical. Critical because of its technicality. There is a way you talk that gets people angry and likewise the manner that calms them down. There is a way you speak that encourages people, likewise a way that get them totally discouraged. As a leader, there is this composed reassuring manner you talk that resurrects that hope in your followers. Likewise as a leader, there is that manner of speech that kills whatever it is that is left of hope in your followers.

How you talk really do matter. You sure and really don't want to be arrogant in words when your Tom is potentially nothing in comparison to others. Doing so will be building a Wall of China to keep out your potential benefactors. How far you go in life to be sincere is to a substantial extent determined by how you talk. You can take for an example a President of an imagined nation, and imagine him delivering an undiplomatic speech in a so undiplomatic manner before an international community. Now think about how that will fair for his administration, and think about how well it will fair for a future ambition in the international community. You honestly and sincerely do need to consider how you talk, it may be the only Red Sea hindering your Isrealite from going far in life.

How You Relate: Relationship is an essential part of humanity, telling you otherwise will be lying to you. There has been no known recognized personality in the history of the world that has been unable to form a meaningful and essential relationship with people. To borrow the saying, to go fast in life you may need to walk alone; to go far you walk with people. Going fast may not be the same thing as going far. In movies walking alone may have its advantage; in practice there is little close to nothing benefit to be derived. Man by default is a social animal, and thus a need to be connected to many people as possible. When you walk alone, there is a high chance of running into troubles without no hope of any one coming to save you. But when you walk in group, when you form an essentially meaningful relationships with people near and far, there are always, wherever you go, people waiting and willing to come to your rescue should you ever run into any trouble. It does without any arguments, help you to go far in life.

We all want to go far in life, I do. To achieve this a need exist to do something, some things if we must be extensive. The truth here is there can be no limit to how far we can go in life, but there can, however on the other hand, be a limit to how far we are ready to go. And this is something that can be settled now.

Originally Written by Olusanya Olaleye

MISSING CHIILD

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Sat, 04 Nov 2017 03:19:00 +0000

Has anyone seen my pearl?

She is bright, promising, young and fair.

I sent her on an errand and she is yet to be back.

She left not so long, has anyone seen her?

She is nine years old, and will soon be ten.

I have had the yams ready because she will be by ten.

Friends are on their way, her father as well.

Her brothers are coming home with them beautiful gifts.

Please help me, someone please help!

Help me look for her she couldn't have gone that far.

O! Ye! Egbami, I’m doomed!

What will I tell her father now, e so fun mi.

It took us five years to give birth to her.

A lot of efforts to raise her to be a girl.

And now like the wind I simply can't find her.

Like sense in the skull of a fool my child has gone missing.

Let me alone, let me go and die.

Or what reason do I have to live?

Dead or alive, I don't know which is which.

Give me the rope let me just hang myself.

My child is missing, and here I am still breathing.

Originally Written by Olusanya Olaleye

YOU, THE PAST, AND REGRETS

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Tue, 24 Oct 2017 05:46:00 +0000

"In having we can have our share of regrets, but in living we shouldn't let them rule our lives."

Freya walked her way through the door still and composed, a grown lady of overflowing confidence and overwhelming beauty salvaging everything she could out of the moment jealous eyes had presented her. She looked and walked a queen she was up the bar despite not wanting to be at the party. She did enjoy the admiration, but not the fact she was coerced into attending.

For different explainable reasons they all felt her holding back wasn't and might end up not being the solution. Of course they did understand, they understood her concerns as friends. They did understand her fears, the very reason she chose to hold back. The reason she had head west whenever she saw a manly figure approaching from the north. They really did understand, but time unlike everyone was not something she had on her side. They were no longer in college where her kind of game would have made much a sense. They were now women, no longer girls. Turning a man down they knew for Freya might come easy, but turning a couple of them down at intervals they were not that sure. For that reason they had made her come.

Life of course I do agree to a very good extent is not a bed of roses. And just whether we like it or not there will be those up and downs: disappointments following expectations, and fulfillment satisfying expectations. Pleasant things will happen as will unpleasant things. It is nature, and there is nothing you, me, or anyone can do about it. Bad things will continue to happen just as much as good things will. So it is not much of a choice than it is an option. Life is an attitude, and we may just have to deal with it.

While regrets on the bright side help us to keep our life in check, it does like everything else do more than that when it grows out of proportion. Problem arises when we allow our regrets to move from what they should be to what they should not be. This actually occurs when we start allowing them to gain control over our lives rather than influencing it. When we give them the clearance to control and not influence our actions, choice, words, and decisions to the extent every moment is lived in the fear of not making a mistake. In the avoidance of possible recurring of unpleasant events like our dear beautiful Freya.

The fact that Freya once suffered a heartbreak you may be surprised is not an excuse to living in self-denial. There is simply a reason we have a past, a present, and a future. There is a reason a past is called a past, the present present, and the future the future. Life as you would have known is in phases, and for all it’s worth is expected to be lived that way. Freya avoiding any form of contact with the opposite sex sure is not going to in anyway erase the fact she had once suffered a heartbreak. It may however make her a successful single lady.

Every regret a man can have has its root in the past and not the present. You giving clearance to regrets to control your life is tantamount to living your life out of phase when by nature you are expected to live it in phase. Such life can never be productive. It can never measure up to what can be called a fulfilled life. Little if anything can be made out of such a life. A life taken hostage by regrets is a meaningless life, as much a wasted life. It’s like a man living his whole life in a dreamland. It’s actually comfortable, but nothing can be made out of it.

Having regrets I will say is healthy for us as humans. It does above all things help keep our life in check and sharpens our instinct. What is not healthy however is allowing it to control our lives. Influence is good, control is bad. Freya could have been careful in her future choices rather than not making any at all. You could have been careful in your business deals rather than not making any at all. You could have been more careful in choices of friends rather than not having any at all. When our moments of regrets influence our lives the former is what we see; when it controls it, the latter is inevitable.

As an individual I have my regrets, in fact they are many. And though this is true, yet it doesn’t appear to be a problem because it’s really not. Since it is impossible to live a perfect life, the inevitability of making a mistake may pass as a realistic tendency on individual level. Handling your regrets therefore may come not only as a necessity but a priority. You may need to in your daily life ensure and assume at all times a total control of your life. This may be your only escape from the past that so much persuasively want to hold you hostage. Instead of being threatened by your past you can decide to get encouraged by it. Instead of curling your body up in your room crying over a heartbreak you may decide to step into the armour of carefulness by being careful about who you entrust your heart to. And instead of trusting no one you can begin to limit the depth of your trust in people. And instead of saying no all the time, you may begin to say give it a moment, I will think about it.

Life I will be sincere is beautiful, but a few mistakes can make it a hell in a paradise for us. The choices we make, the actions we take, and the word we say. These things combined will determine how beautiful our worlds will become. In learning to make the right call, we indeed move every day a step closer into actualizing a beautiful world for ourselves. But whether or not this becomes a reality will be dependent on our readiness to let go off our past, and start living in the present. It will be dependent on our readiness to take the wheel rather than employ a driver called regrets to drive our lives in a continuously perfect circle. Whether or not we live a fulfilled and productive life here on earth will forever as always be dependent on our readiness to assume a total control of our life. Let the past be the past, and you can have a grip over your life.

Originally Written by Olusanya Olaleye

ATTRIBUTES OF A GOOD CHURCH

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Tue, 24 Oct 2017 05:33:00 +0000

While there are a thousand and a one numbers of women out there not all of them can be said to be in the Nigerian language a standard wife material. Same thing will go for the church of God. Despite being the church of God, not many of them can to a notable standard be said to be a good one. Speaking of which it will be important to say there are basis of measurement, the basis of which will be briefly exploited in this post.

PHYSICAL CARE

While this may 'appear' a little off point, the fundamental duty of a good church of God as many may not agree will be her attendance to the physical needs of her members. The very duty to oneself. In as much as the church has a prime duty, a kind of which we shall talk about later, it does as well has a duty to herself and to her members in terms of their physical needs. This attribute abundantly expressed by Christ himself in the miracles of the loaves and later expressed in the early church was what kept the church from both internal and external reproach. A good church above anything will always place the welfare of her members above anything as the pioneer of her faith did. A community that cannot take physical care of itself cannot be said to be of any benefit to its inhabitant. A church that cannot satisfy the physical needs of her members has failed in the very fundamentals of brotherhood, such a church cannot be said to be a good church, fellowship as the case may be. It's like having a country that cannot despite her proclaimed abundance take a good care of her citizens. The church of God lay a scrupulous claim to an unreachable depth of abundance in Christ, any church therefore that cannot exploit this acclaimed abundance to the satisfaction of her members is nowhere near the good radar.

SPIRITUAL CARE

Of equal importance with physical care will be spiritual care, the very nourishing to the ultimate. If a church must be good she must ensure the spiritual perfection of her members. This perfection must be evidently expressed and readily perceived in their morals, actions, and words. The already defined, explained, and listed characters of a spirit dominated life must become a lifestyle. A good church must be able to create more time for effective bible study as against the norm of numerous festivities. More time for bible study as against the norms of night vigils. A person is a christain so he cannot in his daily living fail himself while alongside failing God. This without mincing words cannot be done in a church that treasure hours of dancing above sound teachings. This cannot be done in a fellowship that trade spirituality for hypocrisy. It cannot be achieved in a church that mistakes holiness for self-righteousness. A church that focuses more on the number of buttocks filling the seats in rows of Sunday services rather than the up building to perfection of existing sheep cannot in any good faith be said to be a good church. Apart from meeting the physical demands of the thousands Christ as well was able to meet their spiritual needs. He helped in their spiritual up building and was sure to commit it into capable hands before ascension. Not only did the Apostles believe it will be unfair to sideline the church spiritual needs for physical needs, they were as well of the opinion it would be inappropriate to do so. That, is a good church.

SOCIAL SERVICES

A good church must be able to in function and purpose be of good use to the society that accommodates her. While there exist a solemn duty to oneself and God, there exist as well a duty to the society. A good church must therefore in a many good ways be able to point to things she has done to ease the pains of the society. She must, out of the abundance weaned from the society gives back to the same society. A church that cannot do this is nothing short of an ingrate, a commercial pest and a social parasite. The church of God is not raised to be that. To show that God is good we prove that God is good. To prove that God is good we make the world if not all conducive a better place for all to live in. This is done by aiding the society. This is done by giving scholarships to the sons and daughters of the less privileged. This is done by building more schools, running youth empowerment programs, and building social amenities. This is done by teaching our youths to make exploitations. The missionaries understood this fundamental need and so they built for us schools most of our leading societal figures today went to.

The Church exist to honour God, and God exists to make everything good. Of course a thousand and one ways can be listed to define a good church, a good church anyone will agree is best defined in the three facets of duty: duty to God, duty to oneself, and duty to the society. If a church must honour God, she must be sure to score high in these area of needs. Attending to the physical needs of her members so the Church can be above reproach, taking spiritual care of her members so they can be the light they are meant to be, and aiding the society in every way she can so people can see a reason to believe in the trueness of God. It won't speak well raising a multi-million dollars building as a church while having members who couldn't afford a three square meal per day. As much, unpleasant it will be to have a christain convicted for murder. Likewise a christain for robbery.

Originally Written by Olusanya Olaleye

ONCE ONE FOREVER ONE PART TWO

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Tue, 24 Oct 2017 02:48:00 +0000

READ PART ONE

Tommy and Ann met a number of times thereafter. And it was that pleasant. Jane got to know about their fondness but Andy never knew, not until three weeks later. Ann didn't see it as something worth raising the brows on, so she never raised one. Ann was her friend, and she knew more than anyone what Tommy meant to her.

"You probably have heard the tale of the drowned fowl."

"The fowl that would fly across the ocean, only to get drowned in its own delusion. Sure I have heard of it. Favourite bed time story if I must remark."

“Meaning you are probably aware of what happened thereafter.”

“The other fowl took his territory, took for slave his children, and marry his pretty wife. Dude got eyes for good things.”

“And who do you think that fowl is going to be between us? Come on man, there is no deniability. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I am talking about.”

”Know what?”

“Why don’t you just tell me why you are doing this?”

Tommy rested in the chair and tapped the table drawing back the chair sniffing. No word altered, not a single movement until after five seconds. At the end he stood up, adjusted his shirt, and made to leave.

“Thanks for the coffee. So bad I lost my flare.”

“You are going to regret this.”

“You can’t be so sure.”

“I will when Jane gets this.” Andy played Tommy a video.

“You are sure you want to do that?” He shared him the video he recorded.

“What? How? Don’t worry about words Andy. You keep your mouth shut, the video remains between you and me. In fact, there was never a video. You blow it up, the police are coming for your junkie ass. We are cool?”

“So, what’s the game? What is it you really want?”

Ann broke up with Andy the next day. She caught him cheating on her with the lanky girl.

“You are right Tommy, Andy is a cheat.”

“Sorry you had to find out yourself, don’t just want to …”

“To do what Tommy?”

“Don’t want to send the wrong signal.”

“By telling me the truth?”

“Not that. Don’t just want you to get the wrong idea about my motive. I am… I am…”

“You are?”

“Sorry. Nothing.”

“You are sure about that?”

“Yeah, nothing. I was probably over my head.”

“Yes, I am sure. I am.”

A month later Ann was pregnant. The father of the very child no other than Tommy. He had admitted his feelings for Ann and they had gotten along pretty well. He had left Jane for Ann, leaving Jane emotionally devastated for too many days to recover from. So when Jane came with the decision to marry Tommy two years after, her parents had the grounds to believe their daughter was undoubtedly under a spell. They wouldn’t give their consent, so Jane had to leave without their blessing.

For the first three years of marriage marriage was heaven on earth. Sweet, blissful, and second to none. Tommy made sure to be a good husband, the blemished sinner that would convince God of his new love for purity. Jane found solace in that change of heart. It gave her the escape she needed from her probing conscience for deserting her family. She enjoyed the escape, until the fourth year of marriage when the repentant sinner returned to his abode.

It started as a once-in-a-while-I’m-sorry thing till it became a thing of concern. The home today away tomorrow was soon becoming habitual. Jane had learnt her lessons, she raised her brows thickly.

“It was business and nothing more.” Tommy explained.

“I know, I really do understand. You really do have a good reason to be suspicious. You trusted me once and I blew it. But I am not that foolish enough to be an ingrate. You have sacrificed much for me to throw away everything. I love you Jane, no Ann can change that now.”

Tommy sold more costly lies to Jane and she bought it cheaply. Tommy knew she bought it so he cooled it off for a month. He stopped his home for today away to Ann routine to ground Jane’s trust the more. Two months three weeks after, when Tommy was sure he had her fully grounded he left and never returned home. He finally signed up for it, his full time away to Ann ticket.

For each and every day Jane tried her best not to think of it. She tried her best not to think about what a fool she had been. To have followed her heart not inviting her brain. To have believed a cheat would cease to be one. But she couldn’t, her foolishness was so glaring like a face in the mirror, her naivety so evident like a shadow in the brightness of the day. She couldn’t just do away with the guilt, the fact that her father had died of a stroke when she took off the house against his wish. She couldn’t do away with the agony in her soul, the persistent call to end the pains. She looked still but tearfully into the photograph, trying in vain to stabilize her shaky hands. She looked, and she saw it. She saw the mistake of her life smiling at her incredulity. Laughing at her foolishness. Mocking her for her gullibility. Telling her she had been used and dumped. Telling her she would be a bad example for a good assertion. Jane would take it no more, she wouldn’t be insulted further by Tommy. She wouldn’t be mocked by a cheat. She looked determined at the shotgun. She could end it she told herself, she could end the pains. She could find the escape. She reached strongly but slowly for the gun and raised it to her temporal, her eyes still and focused on the photograph. She pulled the trigger and boom went the sound. Once one forever one.

THE END

ONCE ONE FOREVER ONE PART ONE

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Tue, 24 Oct 2017 02:28:00 +0000

Jane sat back with a broken spirit, a shattered soul, and a worn-out mind in the sofa. Haplessly tired and helplessly depressed with sullen eyes shaping an unreachable depth of hopelessness. With them she looked determined at the short gun that lay across the table right in front of her. She had never for once thought it would come to this. Her, this, holding in her hands a photograph that once brought a gauged fulfillment, a dream come true: Tommy’s hands on his placing the wedding ring. She had never imagined, not for once, that this same photograph would represent her regrettable mistake of ignoring her parents’ counsel. But now it did, sadly.

He met her in college, that was as far as their relationship had dated. He was this coolheaded-down-to-earth kind of guy—her kind of guy. She liked him, and she never hid her emotions. She wasn't good at pretending so she never bothered to do so.

It was a bright day when she told him. The sun was up and shinning, the stars were there too but not seen. The weather was a little bit mean, quite harsh, but the breeze from the ocean was a good friend. She told him with the same sincerity and innocence with which she told her parents of her decision to marry Tommy three years later.

Jane's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson both had a problem with her resolution. They considered it to be counterintuitive: a fruition of misplaced feelings, one sanctioned by a sense bereaved mind. It was impossible that Jane had forgotten what happened between her and Tommy while they were yet in college. If she had, they thought, it was high time she was reminded how unsafe things might become.

Three weeks into their relationship Tommy introduced Jane to some of his friends. Tony, Jack, Dennis, and two other people, one of them a girl who he introduced to her as just Angelou. He had many other friends, but only those were close. Jane on the other hand had not too many friends, just one, Ann. And she introduced her to him in one of their outings in a night club.

"Never knew you have such a beautiful friend. How come I never met her?"

Tommy commented it with such a plain innocent admiration. Ann was indeed beautiful, black radiant eyes, pointed nose complementing her face, and a slim body hiding perfectly her age. She had that euphonious voice, the bright warm smile as well.

"I think Ann will take that as a compliment." Jane said smiling at Ann.

Ann chortled.

"I am indeed tempted to, but I will take it as a flattery."

"Then don't mind me saying you and I are going to have a good long-term problem."

"Good long-term problem, I… and here he comes." Ann spread her arms for a hug.

She got a kiss instead.

"Hi guys, I am..."

"Andy. My boyfriend."

"Don’t think that needs introduction.” Tommy commented almost casually. “Here, name is Tommy."

"Jane. Good to finally meet you."

"I know you. Ann talks about you most of the times."

"Hope not about how bad an extrovert I am."

“Not at all. More like how she can’t wait to watch the movies with me: come on Andy, I’m going to keep Jane waiting." Andy dramatized.

"You are a dickhead you know."

"Bad manners, you don't call a guy a dickhead in a nightclub." Tommy joked and everyone laughed.

"Maybe a guy. The Andy I know is a kid. Are you not?"

"You are sure about that?" Jane coughed on her drink.

A night after Tommy paid Jack a visit at home. He needed him to run something for him. It had to do with keeping a tap on Andy's phone. He didn't tell him much, just that he needed to get it done.

"There, you will be able to receive every call, every message, and every mail. If you like, every chat."

"Dial the code right?"

"Yeah man. Dial the code."

Tommy dialed the given code. A tab popped up on his screen asking him to choose which data he wanted access to. He chose everything, the chats included. He tucked it inside his pocket and walked home. A week after a call came in. Andy was to meet some guys in a building off street.

"Thirty minutes. Be there."

Tommy knew the address and so he left for it. He was there with his dad sometimes back. They went to check some things out. His dad was an undercover agent tracking the good guys turned bad down. Tommy checked his watch, it was pretty late. He shouldn't be out there but had to. He needed a hinge on Andy if his plan was going to fly. Part of his mind told him Andy was not clean. The night at the club suggested that. Rows of drinks without a blink was something only someone on a roll could do. For his own sake, he needed that to be true.

He found his way to the city and took a cab. Twenty metres out he alighted the cab and walked the rest. From their last visit he knew the way around the building, just two entrances: one in the east corner close to the gas pumps, the other at the far extreme of the building. Given the records, whatever they were there for would take place in the space behind the stack of boxes. That way no one would know anyone was there, even when they were gone. Looking at it, the east door would be their way in. This meant his best shot would be the extreme. If he would get in he should it now, it was only a question of minutes before they arrived.

Two men, fully grown were the first to walk into the building. The other two followed thereafter, each carrying a briefcase of sort. The first two that came in were suited. The suit looked Italian. Neither of them had said a word yet. They were surveying the area with a silencer. They had shades on so he didn't get to see their face. He was sure they were never going to find him. As far as they were concerned the meeting was a top secret. Whatever it was the two men were doing was just protocol.

"Clear." The two men said.

Five minutes later a young man joined them in the space. He walked in alone with a briefcase in his left hand. No shade, no suit, just a normal junkie dress. Tommy took out his phone and recorded the exchange. He got what he came for. The junkie guy was Andy.

Tommy gave it a week before making his move. With Andy hooked he had nothing to worry about. He had everything all planned. And unless he screwed up, everything would go that way. He gulped down the rest of the wine and gave a smile, a good crook unpleasant smile.

Ann was supposed to be here he thought checking his watch. From the chats Tommy knew she was to attend the seminar. To save himself the awkwardness of standing alone he filled out the attendance and paid for the manual. He paid for two.

"Excuse me, Miss. what did you call it?"

"Miss. Walker. Miss. Ann Walker."

"Tell her Tommy paid for her. Tommy Nelson."

"Alright. Will do that."

"Thanks ma'am."

"You got it."

Tommy walked his way to a seat in the front. He sat where anyone coming in could see his ass. Halfway into the seminar Ann walked in. Her eyes surveyed the room as she took her seat in the rear. She was looking for seat number ten.

"So, I guess I owe you one." Ann said after the seminar was over.

"If you will put it that way, yes. How was the seminar?"

"It was interesting. Can't say I didn't enjoy it. Though I miss out on many things."

"That you do. Was it Andy that kept you waiting this time?"

Ann hit him on the arm.

"Oh my, you still remember that night."

"One should give me credit for it, don't you think?"

She gave a sprint laughter.

"Don't be an Andy."

"An Andy will imply a dickhead, won’t it?"

"It will."

"So why didn't Andy come? Thought he should be here."

"Don't know really. He gave one excuse of having to be in a place more important today. Don't know what that means. Maybe he just doesn't want to be here."

"Maybe he does. If anything, I think he will like to be around you. Just saying."

"Funny. You can't know that."

"Well I'm a guy. I get to know. You know that way he… Come on Tommy, don't be a dickhead."

Ann chortled.

“You do a bad job mimicking people Tommy.”

“Do I?”

“Yes you do.”

“Well, I have to admit I’m not much of an artist. Bad learner as well.”

“Sure about the latter? Because those A’s don’t depict you one. Don’t be surprised, I’m quite much of a good explorer. Did my homework well.”

Tommy offered to drive Ann home and she accepted. A lawn, rows of flowers, few trees, and a house painted white described their home. The street was as quiet as quiet could be.

"So, this is it?"

"Yeah."

"Care to take a look? I think mum will be delighted to meet you."

"Oh, I appreciate the flattery. Wish I could, but I am really late for an appointment."

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have..."

"Want to be a dickhead now? Will make it up some other times. Promise."

"Promise?"

"Yeah. Promise."

"Alright then. Let me get going."

"Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime Ann."

"Take care. See you some other times."

"You too."

PART TWO

TIME

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Tue, 24 Oct 2017 01:05:00 +0000

Time, the only equal of God:

Eternity it goes without an end.

Independent and self-sustaining,

Immortality unchecked.

In her we have our being,

Living every day in her grace.

Always defined by her,

But never for once defined by us.

Abundant but never abundant,

Yet in everyone’s possession.

Unbiased and impartial:

An advocate of equality for all.

A good pretext for laziness.

The lazy man has her for his inadequacy.

A great source of wealth,

The hardworking man has her to praise.

Omniscience and all knowing.

Time will tell we all do say.

Omnipresent like the sky,

Always watching everywhere we go.

Too late to tell I know,

But never too early to consider:

God and time,

The two things eternal and forever.

By Olusanya Olaleye

LIFE AND THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT IT

noreply@blogger.com (OLUSANYA OLALEYE) — Tue, 24 Oct 2017 00:11:00 +0000

Life is an interesting topic. And the very simple fact that we are part of it makes it all the more interesting. Whether rich or poor, cursed or blessed, loved or hated, supposedly important or inconsequential, miserable or happy, lonely or in company, despised or admired, everyone, everyone irrespective of the status will under natural circumstances prefer to stick with life. I will. Taking into consideration therefore this natural preference for life, it will not be that superfluous to come up with things that not only can help us align our mind body and soul to the expectations of life but do, as well, give us a better understanding and safe approach to life.

LIFE IS ATTITUDINAL: Life is attitudinal, meaning it has the dispositions to act and deal with us in a very not so ubiquitous ways. This in a simple not obfuscating term simply means same things doesn’t apply to us all. The very fact that you may at the end of this post find this post beneficial doesn’t in anyway imply others will; just as you not finding it beneficial does not imply others won’t. Life in dealings is really personal, more of about you than about us. For all it’s worth it may come to you a cakewalk—soft and easy while it may take a turn on others. And at its best it can come to both of you hard— tough and challenging. Always attitudinal. Always having its own way of dealing with you. This is why it is called life. And this is what makes it your life.

LIFE IS DEMANDING: Some they say are born with the silver spoon in their hands, that to an extent may be true, and to a very good extent it may be true. What may not be true however will be the delusional belief that these people won’t have things to scratch their head about. The fact that you have a silver spoon in your hand is not an indication that that spoon will by itself find its way to your mouth. You have to pick it up, lower it, cut the food, and raise it to your mouth. That is the demanding nature of life. Nothing in the actual sense of it comes easy. Searching for a job as a Nigerian graduate isn’t. Performing a neurological surgery as a Doctor isn’t. Working as an engineer in a construction site isn’t. Running tests as a Biochemist isn’t. Nothing in the actual sense is. Life always place a demand on us all, no matter how little or insignificant it may seem.

LIFE IS DEFINABLE: So life is attitudinal and demanding, but the good news is it is as well definable. Now the melody being sang here is you have a play. That life is not a bed of roses doesn’t mean the weeds cannot be filtered out. Neither does it in any greater degree lesser than it does imply more roses can’t be planted. If you will believe it life in as much as it is attitudinal leaves open a portal of influence, one that allows you to define it. As a matter of fact it is not meant to define you, the contrary should be the norm. This simply means the bed of roses can have planted more roses.

LIFE IS ELECTRICAL: So I said life is definable, it is as well electrical. Now that may sound a little bit confusing, it should but it shouldn’t. Because by electrical I only refer to the duality of life. And this can either be in form of the good things or the bad things that come our way. Anything electrical can either by default do what it is meant to do or it can do the opposite by influence. For an example, an electrical iron can either get your clothes neatly ironed or it can squeeze it into a dustbin material. Also, a naked live wire can either transmit electric current into your electrical appliances or it can either electrocute you and your family, it depends on how your family and you as a person handle it; what and what you decide to do with it. Day in day out you will always have to deal with live wires of various qualities and iron of various sizes, each of which you are expected to deal with it. You do not really have to like it, but how you deal with it is nonetheless still up to you. And you can always as always always expect them to come around.

LIFE IS EVERYTHING: This should not come as much of a surprise. The most important thing to know about life is that life is everything, everything there is to value, cherish and admired. It may be attitudinal, demanding, definable and electrical, it is still nonetheless everything; everything for you to be anything. The fact that there will be the usual ups and downs doesn’t make it any less what it is. This is why you can’t possibly be nothing in life. This is why you can’t be a no one. Understanding this simple incontestable truth will always give that needed confidence and assurance: the confidence and assurance you can never be a nobody. And that a need exists to do your best in every possible life situation.

Life as stated is an interesting topic, one having an understanding of will do every one of us a solid good. Of course this can’t be everything there is that is to life. Life is verse, and this is just, I wouldn’t say but will say a point on the universe. There are still many other areas, aspects, parts of life to explore. And this will in course and of course will be explored in future posts on this blog. Just, as you await future posts on this blog, be sure to make use of whatever is applicable to you in this post. We can’t know it all, but we can try it all.

Originally Written by Olusanya Olaleye