Bloody Thursday

strange-young-woman-killer-holding-bloody-knife-silhouette-one-caucasian-white-background-30951253
It was Thursday.
The day before the day before the day before her birthday.
That was exactly how she penned it down in her journal earlier today. When she was much calmer and the main vehicular route across her apartment wasn’t so vibrant.

The last rays of sunlight had disappeared along the horizon. Dusk always set in early in these parts. The wealthy neighborhood in Opebi, Ikeja. Horns from impatient car drivers filled the air as darkness descended fast upon Lagos like some predestined apocalypse. Ruth pulled her hair over her right ear and turned away from the hullabaloo that was the main route in and out of Opebi. The street a mere meters away was quickly lit by orange tinted streetlights in the advent of the sun-less sky. Residents claimed the streetlights weren’t enough protection but they hadn’t suffered a robbery in seven years and they were fairly calm as regards their security. Perhaps the streetlights did work. Ruth strode into her apartment and collapsed on a one-seater. The leathery couch rubbed against her back and she relished the rubbery feeling on her skin.

Sunday had better come soon.

She sat there, lost in the ecstasy a mere ten minutes when the lock in the door snapped.

Her heart jerked as the door handle turned. Knowing her lock, she knew it required one more turn of the key and opening the bolt on the inside before the door opened and raced for the kitchen as the door refused to bulge. Her footsteps were loud and it seemed to have alerted the intruder as the door shook vehemently. A loud bang ensued and Ruth knew it was a break-in. She dived in behind a cabinet in the kitchen, snatched the butcher’s knife she had dropped there and scampered towards her bedroom. The bangs on the door increased as she ran past the door again and in that brief moment, she mouthed a prayer. To a God she hadn’t conversed with in ages but it didn’t matter now. Now would be a perfect time for Him to display that unending love he so professed she thought as she entered her room and locked the door behind her.
Moments passed and she heard a loud crash as the front door came down. Her mouth threatened to let out a sob but she clasped her hand over it. Her mind rummaged among other things why she was the recipient of a robbery. Armed robbery most likely. She considered the idea of it being an assassination but quickly discarded it. She was worth nothing, no one in his right senses would pay to kill her. So robbery it is. Why her? Why not the Kamsons or the Olajides; her neighbors. They both had flat screen TVs and state of the art furniture. Why pick the only budget-crazy seamstress on the street? Except it wasn’t a robbery. What was it? Why was she the target? Her mind raced back and forth without any real breakthrough. A crashing sound from the living room brought her back to earth and she focused on her current plight.
Armed with the butcher knife, she poised right beside the door ready to swing it at anyone that came through that door. Bright light flashed in through the blinds from her neighbor’s security light and she cussed as it obscured her vision.
She cussed because she wanted to.
She cussed because her neighbors would sleep soundly tonight and she would either be robbed or worse; dead.
All cos of the mad man in her house.
She could hear him in the living room. Her floor tiles reacted brashly to heels and his were pretty loud for her to decipher amidst the voices in her head and her now thundering heartbeats. The footsteps drew closer and stopped right outside the door of her bedroom. She felt his hand wrap round the door knob and anticipated his entry. Terror flared in her mind but she remained quiet amidst her fear.
The first jab at the door came sooner than she expected and she let out a gasp. At that moment, she regretted it as she had given away her location and the intruder duly pummeled the door as the wooden frame threatened to come down. She stepped away from the door gently, her weapon in hand and braced herself.
One. Two. Three… She counted to steady her breathing.
You got this Oriame. She recounted to herself. Only referring to herself in her native name when she was agitated.
Seven. Eight. Ni… Crash! 
 
The door came down and a masked man headed straight for her. He was fast… very fast, but not fast enough. He shrieked in pain as blood splattered across the pale white walls of the bedroom. The intruder held a hand to his face as he went down on both knees, his black gloves drenched with his own blood. Ruth garnered herself further and stood over him.
“Next time, you rob some rich bastards and not the poor bitch that lives next door.” She held up the butcher’s knife with both hands and brought it down with all the strength she could muster. At the third slash, his head came off his neck and rolled to the corner of the room. She heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed into an ottoman beside the queen bed.
* * *
The buzzing sound of a mosquito in her left ear jerked her back to reality and she winced in pain. Her head was banging like it had been hit with something heavy. Something hard.
She tried to make sense of the last few hours and closed her eyes to shut out the headache. It all came back to her in a rush. The masked man. The failed robbery or assassination. The butcher’s knife. The blood. His decapitated head.
The memories engulfed her and she gasped for air.  She tried to get up but before her back cleared the chair, her body was dragged back. Chains trudged back to the ground where they had been lying and the reality of her predicament dawned on her. This wasn’t her bedroom. She opened her eyes and surveyed her surroundings. She was bound hands and feet to a wooden chair with large chains in a dark room…
Mike Dammy
Advertisements

Apathy

It’s strange

This is directed at you

But I rather you never get to see it

It’s true I get your messages

I also see your DMs pop up on my screen

But like you probably think

I really am avoiding you.

Just like the boogeyman the kids flee from

I’ve taught myself to stay away

Even when I hope to hear your laughter

I can’t help but ignore the urges

Your smile does give me shivers

But its intention scares the shit outta me

I fear to love you in return

I fear to trust you

Cos the world tells me I shouldn’t

Time and time again, you profess your admiration

Acknowledge your liking for me

Still, I cower in fear of you

* * *

The world thinks you’re crazy

It also calls you mad

Community shivers in fear at the announcement of your arrival

Woe to every girl out there, the alarms ring

If truly you love your man, cling unto him

For the one is here

The wh*re has surfaced

Every man to his woman and vice versa

How, do tell me, do I live with that?

How does my frail heart cope with such words?

Truly, you’re beautiful

But the world sees it naught

Yes, you’re amazing

But the world thinks otherwise

* * *

So, I’ll continue to boast of my uniqueness

Rant about my allegiance to solitude

And sing of my affair with purdah

The world never gets to me I’ll say

But this time, it has

Hence, I’ll rather live a quiet life… yes, an unadventurous one

Than be your Romeo and have series of odes written to my name

The one that loved the condemned

And leapt to his doom

* * *

So no, beloved

I’m not around

I’m very busy

And it’ll be that way

Till you fall for someone else

And my name dissipates from your lips

And my face from your mind

Mike Dammy
@damstylee

A little too late

Their lips parted as they released themselves from the embrace and returned to their sides on the queen size bed. Another romantic episode and though there hadn’t been any sex as it was the norm, he was still satisfied and she – well, she seemed fine with it.
They kept quiet in the eerie room and listened to their slightly laborious breathing whilst staring at the POP ceiling. It couldn’t get better than this he thought.

“Daniel…” Her voice shattered the silence that once purified the room.

“Yeah?” He replied mid-breath.

“Is it all about this?”

“All about what?” He hoped their reduced voice tones would hide the feigned ignorance in his question.

“Is this all we are – sex idols?”

“No, no… of course not Meg. We are definitely not sex idols. Though we have pretty awesome sex-like activities.” He chuckled and started to laugh but stopped when she remained quiet.
Troubled, he got off his back and balanced himself on an elbow. His eyes found hers easily in the darkness; a thick bright halo bordered by blackness on both sides.

“Meg, I’m serious.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled when she didn’t withdraw it.

“I love you, I really do…” He heard the panic in his voice and hoped it was nothing.

“Okay.” She said finally and pecked him full on the lips. He smiled again and fell back on his back.

Yes, he loved her — Yes, he did. Why then he was desperately trying to convince himself?

“Goodnight darling.” Her voice halted his chain of thoughts. He watched her curl into her usual sleeping position and turned his back to her.

“Goodnight love”

—–*——

The occurrences from that fateful night flashed before his eyes again and he shook it off his mind and kept his gaze on her as she stood up and headed for the rear of the classroom. He wondered if she remembered that night and had dreams about it like he did. If she thought he was a lying bastard after he broke her heart of if she had that idea all along.

He kept her in his view and watched her cut a row and head straight for him. ‘The real Bae’ like his friends would taunt him and say.

‘The real Bae’ smiled at her and pulled her close to himself. She obliged the affection by wrapping her hands around his neck and kissing him. Full on the lips. Exactly like she did his.

His heart broke. Again.

And then he had his answer,.

Yes, he loved her. And No, she wasn’t just a sex idol. Problem is, it was a little too late.

—–*——

Never take someone that loves you for granted…

Mike Dammy
@damstylee
52FD27D5

Racist Santa!

Children… Oh Children, how naive can you get?
You can’t distant a child from his naivety, no kidding and I learnt that pretty early; maybe before I even knew right from wrong. Some even took it as far as to acting dumb.
It was pathetic then I tell you; watching my age mates saunter around the neighbourhood in their underwear oblivious of the jeers and occasional paedophilic stares.. *shivers…

Disclaimer: This is my story. Whether it is true or not is none of business. I call the shots here so sit down and listen like good children that you are. Merry Christmas 😀

Like I was saying before I had to put up that disclaimer, I carried an aura of pride and advanced intellects around like my personal gele. I was what you could describe as a 3 year old (Hey! Hey! What did I say about rolling your eyes??) smart, tush enigma. I knew so much that it was war for my nanny to bath me everyday. I mean, obviously she wanted to take a peek at Mr Dammy Jnr right? Still, I was pretty fair as a child, so I guess she made a lot of progress as regards spending time with me in the bathroom. Alone. #Sigh. And see me boasting to all and sundry that no one has seen me in my birthday suit.
But that is by the way… A subtle means for me to elongate the length of this post. You can blame the Writer’s block. Even Santa could’nt remedy it.

Oh yes, Santa. Quite ironic his name should pop up at this moment. Don’t get too agitated though, I’ll tell you why soon.
Like I said, Children were extremely naive ( I can’t help but to reiterate this) and I was a standout exception. During the era when Tom and Jerry kept children spellbound, I took more details to the 3D rendition of the animation than focus on the hullabaloo that involved a stupid cat chasing a much smarter mouse (True story). Even Disney had no hold on me and I didn’t bat an eyelid when Mufasa came tumbling down that hill. ( Yes Moyo, your sub). I had mastered the art of curtailing my emotions. I knew my right from my left, could detect crocodile tears from miles off and knew early on that school was a necessary distraction hence my first letter of warning in nursery school but that is gist for another day.

I would have to admit, if I continue listing my awesome features, I would run out of ink and WordPress might crash, so I’m here to lambaste myself, curtail my ‘awesomeness’ and put in the spotlight the single dumb act I made as a kid. Heck, it hunts me till today so you don’t have to judge.

It was normal during the late 90s for terrace houses in USA to possess chimneys. For those who have no idea what that is, its a long black, smoke laden tunnel that our loved famous ‘super hero’ foolishly adopts as his entrance into your homes.
I stayed in a 3-bedroom rented apartment in Ketu then with my family. We had no chimneys but my belief in Santa gave me hope that anything was possible. American kids had a chimney, I had a balcony, close enough.-___-
So I got to work; sought out a sock (This is really embarrassing), wrote down my list and left a pack of coaster biscuits. Why coaster? I really don’t know, but thinking about it now, it was probably cos it resembled a cookie. My list was short and concise being the considerate child that I am; a BMX bicycle, a Sega Mega drive console and some additional jaara. I arranged these on the balcony on Christmas eve and went to bed gallantly.

Morning came….

I reckon your imagination could finish this story as I wont myself because its gotten pretty embarrassing but permit me to add this tiny info; I still don’t know how to ride a bicycle cos I never got one, I have never possessed a game console and all these point to that fat man being a racist!

The fact that the fake bearded ‘villain’ doesn’t visit Africa is racist. I mean, is it because we don’t have chimneys??.. I look back now and shake my head at young ‘3 yr old’ Dammy because amidst all his intellects, he should have noticed that black children can be awfully naive and would do anything to emphasize their belief that a st*pid fat-ass-white-bearded man can like them and worse, bring gifts to them every Christmas. Pathetic! It all makes for a painful experience.

p.s. All of the items on the balcony that night were intact the next morning except the coaster biscuits. I guess Santa is also a thief. Mschewww…

image

Have a wonderful Holiday!

Mike Dammy

Solomon Grundy: Wednesday 1

Solomon yawned lazily and rolled on the king sized bed. The couple in the degas above him starred undauntedly into the distance as he fought the urge to get up from the bed. The alarm clock on the bedside table rang a second time after the snooze period had elapsed and he sighed; accepting defeat. He kept out of the bed and stretched, stifling a yawn as he did. Outside, the sun was now where to be found and the world was still just waking at some minutes past six. This was his routine every day. He breathed and lived it.

Solomon sauntered towards the nine-foot tall mirror and examined his reflection. He ran a quick diagnosis of himself like he had seen his boss do.

Heavy eye bags;
not enough sleep.

Dampened complexion; result of returning home late every day from the hospital

And some wrinkles on his forehead; no lady influence. He hoped.

He had to remedy that. Now.

He plucked his phone from the bedside table, opened the call log and scrolled down to ‘Head Doctor Suleiman’. He proceeded to click the dial button but was interrupted as the alarm clock rung again.

“Shit.” He cursed and hurriedly stopped the clock from emitting its silence-shattering wake up call. He looked at his phone in disbelief and shook his head. Calling his boss who was probably nestled in a cuddle with his retired wife at six would have resulted in deep scolding. Not from his boss alone but from his wife too, who he was affiliated with. A query might even accompany the scolding not minding whether he was the hospital’s most promising prospect or not.

He returned the phone to its previous position and shuddered as someone knocked on the bedroom door. Florence. He had forgotten about that part of the routine.

“Mr. Grundy Junior Sir.” Her warm voice coursed into the room from the corridor preceding it.

“Yes mummy.” He answered wearily. He heard her chuckle and smiled.

Florence had been the main figure in his life as he grew over the years. Employed some weeks after his christening, he had watched her bath and cater for him every morning and evening till he was four and able to bath himself. Even then, she didn’t stop taking care of him. Coiled with his father’s official assignments in Britain and his mother’s insistence in accompanying him, Florence had been the principal guardian in his life. Hence, they weren’t any surprised persons when his first words were “mummy…mummy” and they were directed at her. The same words he just called her some moments ago.

“You know you don’t have to call me that Sir.” She paused and Solomon waited for the next question she would ask. The same one he had heard every morning for the past two and a half years since he got employed at the hospital.

“Do I get Wale to get the car ready sir?”

“No dear, I’m not going to work today.”

“Why, if I may ask Sir?”

“I need some rest… and a woman.” He added after another thought.

“Of course you do- Sir.”

He wondered if she took offence at his sudden suggestion of requiring another woman in his life asides him. He walked to the door and opened it. Her petite frame stood just outside the archway. He noticed her dark skin had gotten fairer over the years due to hours on hours spent indoors. Time spent catering for him, like his parents should have. He gritted his teeth and she frowned.

“What’s wrong sir?”

“Nothing Florence.”

She shot him a knowing look. One he had seen over the years. It always came before her placing him on her laps and scanning his body like a detective for wounds and bruises either dealt him from his rough play with the other kids or from the fists and boots of bullies. Sadly, she couldn’t do that anymore. And he didn’t have bullied on his back or little kids to run around with. This bruise was psychological and her resolute sigh told him she knew so too.

“If you say so sir… May I ask where you’ll be headed then?”

“Nowhere. I intend to stay home and rest.”

She smiled. Or did she? He wasn’t sure. It had vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“I thought…” she cleared her throat. “I thought you needed a woman.”

“I have all the ‘woman’ I need right here in my view.”

“Ha-ha!” She exclaimed in a mocked laughter. “Wash up and get dressed. Breakfast would be ready in an hour and a half… Sir.”

“You don’t have to address me as such Florence.”

“Of course I don’t but I prefer it that way. An hour and a half Solomon, don’t be late.” She said and headed downstairs.

He felt warmness in his chest as she called his name. Something he hadn’t felt in ages. Before she went down the stairs she looked at him one last time and he shone his teeth at her like he always did to show he had been a good boy.

 

* * *

 

Solomon trudged down the stairs approximately an hour and a half later as she had said. Florence’s smile grew broader as the floor above her shuddered gently with each step he too. She made finishing touches to the dining table and disappeared through the door that led to the kitchen. Solomon came into view in a blue shirt and grey slacks as he climbed down the last stairs and entered the vast dining room. The dining table which could sit eight, twelve on a full day carried sets of plates, cutlery, bowls and food.

“You know it’s just me eating right?” He asked as she appeared from the kitchen.

“I know.” She didn’t add the customary Sir or his name and it bothered him a little.

“Join me Florence. I hate eating alone.” He said as she was about to leave. She shot him a look as if to ask if he was sure of what he had just said and he nodded. She shrugged and picked the seat closest to his. They ate in silence, occasionally stealing glances at each other.

“You need a woman Solomon.” Florence said as they rounded up their meal.

He choked on his food and struggled to swallow. “A woman? I thought I have you.”

“Ha-ha… I’m serious Solomon. I watch you come home every day, in the dead of the night with a long face and tired arms. You basically just shower and collapse on your bed. A woman could help relieve you of the stress.”

He dropped his fork and folded his arms. He wanted to speak but his throat felt constricted.

“Won’t you say anything?”

“Okay.” He managed to say agreeing with her deduction. “I’ll work on that.”

“Of course you would.” She suddenly had a wry smile on her face and Solomon knew he was in for it. “I’ve asked Wale to get ready the Honda… you’re going out today.”

He thought to speak but decided against it. She pretty much had her mind made up. He won’t give in easily though.

“Why the Honda if I might ask?” He hoped it sounded as sarcastic as it did in his head. “What’s wrong with the Peugeot or the Range?”

Her sly grin in return told him all he needed to know. He had failed.

“Because young beautiful ladies like a handsome young man in a Honda. Go to your room now, get dressed and get out there and bring me a beautiful bride.”

She pushed her chair back beneath her, got up and started ridding the table of the dirty plates and cutlery. Solomon hesitated and watched her hoping she would turn to look at him and say she was joking. She ignored his presence and he got up defeated and strode upstairs to get dressed. Mummy has spoken. He had to get a wife. A beautiful one at that.

 

* * *

 

Solomon walked into the open hall of the Ikeja City Mall in a black shirt and grey pants and duly observed its interior. Dozens of people flooded in and out of the complex oblivious of his watching eyes. A young lady in jeans and a yellow t-shirt caught his eyes and he turned away from her to face another few looking. He had known this would happen. No matter how much they had seen white men, black people just had to take another glance. He turned again and watched the earlier lady climb the exterior stairs to the gallery above. He blamed Florence for his predicament and stepped outside through the revolving door.

It was barely 10 am and he had to get going if he was to accomplish what Florence had sent him out to do. The noise around him heightened and he decided to take a short break. He put on his glasses that managed to hide the bright blue color of his eyes and sauntered into KFC. He ordered a mini sized burger and a Pepsi and picked his spot at the extreme end of the restaurant just in view of the flat screen TV that had Beyoncé running along seashore and the world outside the restaurant. He took a sip from the Pepsi with a straw and scanned the other occupants of the restaurant.

An old woman, probably in her fifties sat at a table with two kids a boy and a girl. She sighed for the umpteenth time as she struggled to get both of them to sit. Solomon glanced at the empty bottles of Pepsi on the table and figured why she was having a tough time getting hyperactive kids to sit. The girl who looked older and much harder to restrain hopped to a nearby table that sat a young lady in a maroon dress. She beamed a glowing smile at the young girl and said something that made her giggle. Solomon smiled as he watched both of them and froze when she caught his stare. She smiled at him and turned her attention back to the girl not before she winked. Or did she? He wasn’t sure. He clasped his hands and tried to affirm what he had just witnessed wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Only one way to figure out, he decided. He adjusted his glasses grabbed his tray of food and sauntered in the direction of her table.

As he got closer the tray wobbled as his hands got clammy and held his breath to hide the effect of his racing heart on his chest. Her long black hair was tied behind her in a bun and the crane of her nose glistened in the light as she bent to whisper something in the girl’s ear.

“Hi.” His voice croaked and he bit his lower lip. She raised her head to look at him and he exhaled in his bid to avoid opening his mouth in amazement. She was beautiful. Her eyes shone brightly and her smile had his racing heart up a gear.

“Hello.” She replied gleefully.

“May I join you?” He sighed in relief as his voice sounded better although he could have sworn he held cowardice in it.

“I guess so.” She crossed her legs, putting the right one over the left with so much grace that it had him reeling in admiration. He placed his tray on the table gently and took his seat opposite her. A couple of boys passed by and ogled at him like he was an alien but he feigned ignorance.

“I’m Solomon… Solomon Grundy.” He held out his hand. She hesitated raised her eyebrows and shook it. It felt warm in his and he felt a chill down his spine.

“And I’m Little-Red… Little-Red Riding-Hood.” They laughed and he stroked his hand under the table to calm himself.

“Apparently, you don’t like giving strangers your name.”

“Neither do you.” She started swinging the handing foot and studied his eyes under his glasses.

“What do you mean? I told you my name.” She bent her head in a forty-five degrees angle and her eyes opened in amazement.

“Wait… you’re not kidding. Your name is Solomon Grundy?!”

“Yea”

“Like the rhyme?”

“Oh…” He smiled now realizing why she had given him a fake name. One from an old fable akin to his. “Well yes it is. Just like the rhyme.”

“Let me guess you were born on a Monday?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm… and were you by any chance christened on a Tuesday?” A glint had appeared in her eyes and a mischievous grin played at the corners of her mouth.

“Oddly, yea.”

“Shut the front door! Any chance you’re going to marry today?” He squinted and she quickly added “… seeing today is Wednesday.” He laughed and she smiled that glowing smile again.

The old woman stood up to leave and the kids tugged at her arms but she dragged them nonetheless. The girl waved at the lady and poked her tongue at him. He poked his right back at her and grinned.

“Beast.”

“Huh? Did you just call me beast?”

“Well, yea. You just poked your tongue at a small girl. That’s mean.” She folded her hands and looked straight at him.

He laughed and stopped when he noticed she didn’t join him.

“I’m sorry, I was only teasing her.”

“I’ve heard.” She waved him away and drank from a bottle of water with a straw.

“And I’m not mean, I’m just annoyingly sarcastic.”

“Really?” The mischievous grin was back on her face. “Say something sarcastic.”

“Err…you have to make a statement first.”

“Hmm. . .Okay. I love your blue eyes. They fit your tanned skin perfectly.”

“I know…” He said as calm as he could. “I can’t help it, I love them too.”

“Beast!”

He laughed again. This time she joined him.

 

To be continued

Apparently, this episode lengthened beyond my control. So, I decided to break it into two parts. The second would be posted today. Thanks for reading.

Mike Dammy

Solomon Grundy : Tuesday

If you missed the first episode, Solomon Grundy: Monday, you can read it Here

That done, Enjoy today’s episode!

* * *

Christened On Tuesday

12, November 1985

Dan stared at his reflection and smiled at himself. His black hair lay curled on his scalp and some of it covered a scar on the left side of his temple; one of the many souvenirs from his brief stint at the military school back in London. The tough, white, khaki uniform stood on him like it was an extension of his body; his well-toned muscles and abs fitting perfectly in the well ironed shirt. The immaculate naval uniform shone in the morning light that was slowly creeping in through the massive windows in the high head room living room and asides the gold ring on his finger he would have passed off as a single, handsome, well to do Briton.

He stroked his moustache in a circular motion and scanned his chin for stubbles. When he was satisfied there was nothing, he ran the comb in his hand through his hair again and yelled for his wife to hurry. Today was his son’s christening and he wasn’t going to miss it for the world… or go late either. The folks in this part of the world probably had a bad omen attached to attending one’s child’s christening late. They always had one omen or another for every situation.

Just last week; Wale, their Yoruba valet had commented on how their journey to see the United Kingdom ambassador to Nigeria in his office in Victoria Island would be a futile one. He had asked why and the stout man had mentioned something about a bad omen with meeting a person of the same sex first when one was off on an important business or mission.

He laughed the man to scorn and carried on towards VI from his Surulere abode only to find out that the ambassador had left for the airport for a flight to the UK barely thirty minutes before his arrival. He strayed longer in the embassy and emerged later all smiles to the stunned Wale. He however pondered on what the local man said on their journey back home. Maybe omens existed after all and one would probably stand against them if Jane didn’t get her ass down now.

“Darling we’re going to be late.” His voice boomed in the house and after the echoes, all became quiet again. The curtains fluttered lazily as a gentle breeze oozed into the room from the gardens and caressed their light fabric. Dan hesitated for some seconds as he waited for a reply and raced up the stairs taking three steps at once in long strides.

“I’m coming baby.” Jane replied as he scaled the last flight of stairs.

“You said that twenty minutes ago dear.” Dan said, trying desperately to mask his frustration. She laughed and appeared through the master bedroom door in a dashing mauve-blue dress. He halted in his stride and smacked his lips in respite as he let his eyes run a thorough investigation of her body. The short dress delicately stopped some inches above her neat knees and a gentle slit showed those well shaped thighs he always craved.

He saw her grin and traced her line of sight to the bulge forming in his well ironed trouser. She smirked and he wiped the naughty thoughts growing in his head and diverted his gaze to the baby. The sight of the christening gown infuriated him and his face squeezed into a frown.

“What’s with the white dress? Is he supposed to look like a girl for his baptism?”

She laughed and waved him away. “You’ve obviously not seen any christening ceremony.”

He scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly and shifted as she walked past him and down the stairs.

“Actually, no. So that is what they make those poor children wear?”

“My baby looks charming in it.” She retorted. He opened his mouth to say something witty and shut it when she put up her ‘say something stupid first’ look. Accepting defeat, he feigned a smile at her and followed her down the stairs.

“I love this girl.” He uttered under his breath.

“I know, I love her too.” Jane said without looking at him. He started saying something when the front door opened. Both of them froze and Solomon yawned oblivious of the visitors.

“Rose! Mum! Dad!” Dan exclaimed and hurried down the stairs, past Jane and Solomon and towards his once immediate family. Rose smiled and accepted a hug from him. She pecked him gently and released him to greet their parents.

“You guys didn’t write to say you were coming.” Dan said as he hugged his mom and shook his dad’s hand.

“Oh! You expected me to miss my nephew’s christening.” Rose said and took Solomon from Jane’s arms. She exchanged kisses with Jane as Solomon watched; his young mind probably trying to fathom why the only familiar female he knew was kissing a stranger. One that had roughly the same nose he had, only bigger. He stretched out his hand and Rose took it in her palm. She let him wrap his tiny fingers around one of her fingers and the whole house ‘awwed’ in unison.

Dan engaged the older Mr. Grundy in a conversation as the women took turns to make faces at the newest addition into the family. The men slowly got engrossed in watching the women play with the baby and a knock on the door startled them. Dan turned to look at the visitor and gasped.

“The christening! We’re late!”

“Yes sah.” Wale said still standing at the door. “I was just going to tell you that sah.” The young, dark man added.

The family rushed out of the house and took their respective places in the two Peugeot 504 cars parked in the vast compound. Rose joined Jane and the baby in the car Wale was to drive and Dan stayed with his parents in the other ride. They said a brief prayer and drove out of the gate, their destination; The Cathedral Church of Christ, Marina.

 

* * *

 

The liturgy was shorter than Dan envisaged. After minutes of pleading, the priest reluctantly agreed to perform the ceremony.

The family watched some pews away as the priest carried Solomon to the font. The baby trashed in his arms, obviously bothered by the unfamiliar hands and finally resorted to crying when the same hands refused to let go. The priest hushed him and smiled warmly in his face. Solomon stopped wailing and watched the ‘strange’ man in the immaculate apparel quietly. The priest took some water in his right hand and sprinkled it on the forehead of the white baby. The chill swept through Solomon’s body and the resounding wails filled the entirety of the cathedral.

A tear ran down Jane’s face and Dan pulled her close in an embrace as the priest completed the rites.

“I baptize you; Solomon Walter Grundy in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

To be continued… Married on Wednesday


Please drop your comments and share the post to your Facebook and Twitter pages.Don’t forget to subscribe to the blog to get updates in your email on new episodes and articles. Like our Facebook page and follow me on Twitter; @damstylee


Thank you for Reading.

Mike Dammy

Solomon Grundy: Monday

Hello!

Mike Dammy here again.

Like I mentioned in my last post; Age is just a number, I was bored some days back and I decided to bring a nursery rhyme character into life. You know, give it more depth than we ever imagined when we recited it in school and everywhere basically. It wasn’t hard selecting Solomon Grundy and I quickly drafted out a plot. This is the first episode inspired by the first verse in the rhyme.

I hope you enjoy it.

Do drop a comment and share when you’re done. Have a wonderful week ahead. 🙂

 _________

Born on Monday

4, November 1985

The heavily pregnant young lady tugged at the soft pillow encased in a navy blue cotton material and ripped it into shreds. Her voice plummeted more decibels and the cotton insides of the pillow floated haphazardly in the car as she reached for another identical one on the car mat that had half a dozen others on it. She wrestled with it like the former and yelled her husband’s name as she writhed in agony.

“It’s okay babe, we’ll be at the hospital soon.” The man behind the steering wheel of the Peugeot 504 replied. He wiped the sweat off his face with a handkerchief and tossed the already soaked hanky in the corner. As he hurried, a yellow public bus half filled with passengers overtook him making him jam against the brakes instinctively. He stuck his fist out of the open window and brandished his middle finger at the culprit.

“Bloody negros!” His voice quivered and he withdrew his hand when his wife’s wails climbed another pitch. He turned to look at her in the back seat briefly as he approached a bend and felt his tyre skid along the paved walkway.

Shouts of Yeeh!… Aaah! rang on the street as angry pedestrians jeered and cursed at him.

“Oniranu, stupid white man!” An old man that had just jumped out of the way bawled. “It is not your fault…it is…”

The voice of the man dissipated in the air as Dan sped off. On a different day, he might have decelerated to hear the rest of the comment but today was different. He didn’t care about anything except getting his pregnant wife to the hospital.

Five minutes later, Dan drove into the almost empty compound of the EKO hospital along Bank Anthony way. He yelled his predicament to a security man slouched against a column at the hospital’s entrance and the man disappeared into the building emerging almost immediately with two medical personnel and a stretcher. They balanced Jane gently on the stretcher and wheeled her towards the main building. As they approached the entrance, she groaned in pain and yanked some buttons off the white shirt Dan was wearing. The group ignored the clattering sounds of the buttons on the hard cement floor and continued towards the main entrance.

As they approached the theatre, a dark skinned doctor with a stethoscope around his neck hurried towards them as he put on a white overall. Dan halted in his steps and puffed his cheeks as his anxiety climaxed. He approached the doctor who was already barking orders to the nurses and gently tapped his shoulder.

“No offence please, but can I get a white doctor?”

The doctor swivelled on the spot and shot him a menacing look. He starred at him for what seemed like eternity to Dan and smiled.

“Sure, you can get a doctor that has your skin colour. He’ll be in by a week from now.” He answered.

“For the mean time, you can take your white wife out of the building, find a way to stop her labour pangs and come back in a week’s time.” He added and turned to return to his office.

Dan grabbed his arm and swiftly apologized. The doctor retained the stern look on his face, sighed and reluctantly walked back towards the theatre. Dan tried to follow him into the theatre but a male nurse impeded him at the door and motioned him towards a bench along the corridor that already had a pregnant woman sitting on it. She beamed a smile at him as he joined her on the bench and buried her head back in the fashion magazine she was engrossed in earlier.

Boredom soon engulfed him and he let his imagination wander. He travelled back some twenty years and pictured himself in his family home in Wilmslom, Manchester. He saw his short burly self munch on some bread and omelette while his parents ate in silence. Rose, his younger sister was seated opposite him. She had a frown on her face and he remembered this was the day their mom chopped off her pony tail. He smiled when he remembered the short tail that barely grazed her neck. She was seven and she already dreamed of being a famous movie star. He wondered if she remembered all that now with her busy schedule and uptight lawyer job in New York. He had to visit soon. Perhaps she would make it for his baby’s christening.

Jane’s wail from inside the theatre jolted him back to the present and he shuddered in anxiety. The pregnant woman had disappeared and in her stead was a frail looking old man. Two hours crept past and a young chap and his a younger lady joined them on the bench that was meant for two. Dan hissed to show his displeasure and was about to say something when the doctor came out of the theatre. He jumped up and was in front of the doctor in a single stride. He let his weary eyes do the talking and the doctor smiled in return.

“Congratulations, Mr…?”

“Grundy… It’s Grundy.”

“Congratulations Mr Grundy then, you are the father of a bouncing baby boy.”

“Yes!” Dan exclaimed, punched the air and hugged the doctor. The doctor laughed and let him hold on to the embrace for as long as he wanted. After some seconds, Dan released him and held out his hand.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. The thing is I was wo…”

“Its fine Mr Grundy, I understand exactly how you felt.” The doctor interrupted.

“Can I see her then?”

“Of course you can, but not right away. A nurse would be out to usher you in pretty soon. For the mean time, you can sit over there.” He pointed at the crowded bench and Dan nodded and strode towards the bench like an obedient child. The old man shook his hand and congratulated him. The young man mouthed some incoherent words and managed a smile but the girl just retained the sullen look on her face.

After the turn of events, Dan had no grudges against them anymore. He observed them for a while and guessed they both looked gloomy because of a sudden predicament, an unwanted pregnancy the most likely option. He shook his head in pity when he realized they had probably seen the same adverts and received the same warnings as other kids from their parents and guardians on avoiding ‘doing it’ without protection and they mostly ignored it. He was once like them. A young college student that just wanted to enjoy life. A young nurse came out of the theatre and scanned the occupants of the bench like she was trying to decipher who was the likeliest father and husband or spouse to the lovely young lady that was just delivered of a child. She finally settled her gaze on him and motioned him to follow her into the room without saying a word. Dan cast a quick glance at his brief companions and shot up from the bench like it was made of burning coals.

He entered the theatre and saw Jane on the bed in an ocean blue overall. Her stomach hadn’t fully recessed and a white cradle was beside her bed. He walked towards them cautiously like a gazelle not wanting to upset the probably sleeping baby and took her hand in his when he was beside her. She managed a weak smile and he grinned back. He took a peek in the cradle and saw the white baby sleeping like he had no care for the world he just arrived in. His tiny hand was curled around his blanket and his pink ears twitched as his chest heaved up and down in a slow rhythm. Dan fought the urge to carry him in his hands and tickling him till he laughed out.

“Solomon…” Jane’s tired voice sounded in his ears.

“What?” He asked absentmindedly and turned to her.

“Solomon. Thats his name.”

Dan let out a chuckle and shot her a mischievous look.

“You do know what that means right?”

Jane smirked and winked at him. “Of course I do.”

A nurse in the distance smiled at them and turned down to the form she was filling. She ran her finger along the plastic pen and scribbled something in the section reserved for the name of the newborn child. The wet ink glistened in the light and she chuckled as she said out the name.

“Solomon Grundy.”

 

To be continued…

 

Please drop your comments and share the post to your Facebook and Twitter pages. Don’t forget to subscribe to the blog to get updates in your email on new episodes and articles. Like our Facebook page and follow me on Twitter;
Thank you for Reading.


Mike Dammy

Shooting Star

Close your weary eyes; relaxing them

Count from one to ten; then open them

All these heavy thoughts will try to weigh you down

But not this time

You know why?

Cos we won’t let it__ I won’t let it

The sun might have disappeared in the sky

All might seem lost and distant

Your loved ones may suddenly seem like strangers

Your friends; now distant memories

The haters are barraging on your front door like raging bulls

And you lay crouched in your closet

Your eyes tired from crying

Your sobs now gentle whimpers

It might seem like you’re all alone

No single light on the horizon to keep you company

And your candle slowly burns out; flickering gently like a sail and casting beautiful images of dancing women on the dark wall that is the sky

Right now, it’s you against the world

Everybody is up against your throat; slowly edging you towards the cliff, pushing you towards desperation and sucking the life out of you like grim reapers

Your royalty suddenly feels like a myth

The vast talents you possess now figments of your imagination

Just a blip in your history; a mirage never to be encountered again

__________

This might be your story

Perhaps you feel all of this and more

Just permit me to assure you of one thing

A tiny revelation I encountered recently

Of how greatness can beget from nothing

An awesome moment from sheer blankness

A shooting star on the darkest of nights

Yes, that who you ought to be!

__________

So close your eyes again

Count from one to ten like before

Then open them slowly…

Ignore the pull of gravity and rise above the tension

Fashi the sleeping sun

Be oblivious of the mocking stares and jeers and set yourself on a high

Far beyond what cloud nine can offer

More intoxicating than seven shots of whiskey or a good f*ck

Way above the reach of the drenching rain

To the world where sarcasm is non-existent

Soar beyond the atmosphere

Reach for the heights

Set your mood like its reality

Listen to the thousand beats resounding in your ears

The applause of the millions waiting to be inspired

Anticipating that song

Chilling for that best seller

Savouring that mighty leap that wins you the Olympic gold

Imagining the capabilities of your invention

Arching our hands to click play on your award winning single

Waiting to imitate those dance steps you create

Watch that movie you acted

Receive the goodwill of your donations

All these and more

Set your mind on these

Imagine the glamour

Savour the freedom

Float on the wings of fulfilment

Appreciate the gratitude of the lives you inspired

We wait earnestly in anticipation of your achievements

The princess in you clamouring for promotion

The queen beckons to emerge

Let her out!__ Unleash her!

You’re a star in the making

A spark threatening to explode

A something going somewhere to happen

So, set ablaze the dark night and cast your brilliant light on us

Dash across the universe right before our eyes brighter than we ever envisaged

We wait…

Our eyes fastened on the skies

Our anxiety heightened invariably

So don’t keep us hanging forever

Shine brighter than a shooting star!

———-

This is my message to every woman or girl out there that thinks the world is firmly against them; the ‘damaged’, the raped, the sexually molested teenagers and the society rejects.

Reach beyond the evils of the world, it is your time to shine.

Owl City’s “Shooting star” inspired this. If you know anybody that fits in any of the categories listed above; anybody searching for meaning in this world, why don’t you share this to them and be a blessing.

* * *

Thanks for reading.
Do drop a comment or your views below, it will be really
appreciated.

You can subscribe to the blog (at the right column if you’re viewing via web, if you are viewing with your mobile, just scroll to the end of this page to subscribe)

Is Rap Poetry?

Is rap poetry?

This question has been on my mind for a while now. It all started a fortnight ago when a couple of my friends who incidentally were rappers and I engaged in some form of argument/discussion. They were of the opinion that their art was poetry in motion. I begged to differ then but lacked credible evidence to back my claims. I still lack evidence hence this post and I’m hoping someone somewhere could shed some light on the topic at hand.

I would love to ask some basic questions; Mayowa, Lanre and Chris; I hope you’re reading this.

If rap is poetry like you say;

Would you term Eminem a world renowned poet?

Or would you describe our very own M.I.,Olamide and Ice Prince *holds laugh* as poetry masterminds seeing they have mastered the art of rap as regards the Nigerian audience?

Is poetry all about the wordplay or a few ‘deep’ lines or is it much more than that?

I’m of the opinion that poetry is way ‘way’ deeper than rap. So I tried to answer some of the questions myself and scribbled some sort of poetry/rap in my journal. To my understanding, I will just describe it as wordplay. You tell me what you think. Is this poetry or rap?

It’s titled ‘Dear Fiend’;

If it takes you years to decipher simple logic

Months to pinpoint what truly matters

Then maybe I should rethink my steps

And hurry off in the direction of safety

A world of utmost solitude

Protection from you

You probably dont understand

This might seem as mysterious as the sprinkling of his blood

But his Word I truly believe in

Skimmed it from the beginning to his Revelations

And it says I should be wary of vultures like you

And the folks you share a feather with.

Where I’m heading is unknown for now

A descendant of Abraham I’ve suddenly become

All his traits I’m bound to inherit

So I won’t let you poison my lot in life

Least I fall prey to the wrath of Sodom

And my bae becomes but a memory of salt and vinegar.

Rap? Poetry? You tell me!

The World Has Gone Mad!

I woke with hope yesterday. Hope that the world had somewhat regained its sanity over the course of the night. It has been awkward for a while. Women dressing like men and men looking more and more like their female counterparts. Animals suddenly had the balls to walk on all fours and humans are standing upright. The world is mad I tell you. It has gone bananas and I thought I was its only survivor.

 

I had stepped down from my throne like bed like a king. Veins of plants and fungi cropped the stony background of their illustrious resting place like the amazons and a mighty ingenious grey roof sheltered me from the abomination that came from above. I took the leftover bread from yesterday beside the bed, took a bite and dabbed the rest into a magical liquid in the ground that made the meal more delicious. I felt the raisins in my mouth and shuddered in ecstasy. That was life. If only the world was there to enjoy it with me.

 

I went into the open after my morning rituals. A woman was engaged in some sort of ritual at the back of the houses. I moved in closer and watched as she poured a clear liquid on her body. Tragic I tell you. A sane person would know that the body must be protected from such filth. She poured the last bit of it on her face, saw me and screamed. I smiled and only stopped when I felt a jab of pain on my nose. Quickly, I fled from the scene. It was getting boring anyway. I decided to hit the market square.

 

I burst into the market square later in my full regalia and took in the applause that was the noise of market women advertising their goods. Surely, they had to be hailing me in disguise. No sane person should make such noise. But then, they weren’t sane. A dog walking on all its limbs like a human came by and tried to have a sniff at my crotch. I swung my foot at it so hard it rolled over a dozen times on the red earth. A mad woman cursed at me as the dog rolled into her stall. I poked my tongue at her and walked away majestically. People threw glances at me as I strolled across muttering the words of the gods to the spirits around. That was as good as it got.

 

That’s where it all changed.

 

It started with the scream of the bathing woman.

 

That’s him! She said. The mad man that was peeping at me as I bathed.

 

I laughed and turned in her direction. If she was sane, she would know it was impossible to find a mad man in a multitude of many. That’s when I realized she was pointing at me. Half a dozen clothed mad men headed in my direction and I fled. I fled my brother. When you see mad men coming in your direction,you run. Sadly, there was no other to rescue me. Half a yard later, I was bound hands and feet.

 

You are all mad. I yelled but nobody seemed to care. They bundled me into a despicable van and next thing I knew, I’m in this bed tied down with chains in Yabaleft or whatever they call this place. I’m still in awe that we’re still many. Maybe there is still hope for us.

 

Wait… where are you going? Fellow sane men, stay with me! I can’t fight this war alone!

 

 

General Ghadaffi Idi-Amin!

 

 

Who dares to speak my name?

 

 

The voice from behind the steel door.

 

 

Whose voice?

 

 

The voice of the gods.

 

 

Speak your gracious. Your humble servant beckons.

 

 

Shut your mouth or I’ll come in there with a taser!

 

Mike Dammy