Bloody Thursday

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


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

A New Dawn Beckons

Gone are the days of being misrepresented. Gone are the moments of laxly traumas and countless overnights in a bid to achieve… vanity.

The character peered up from the words that form his very own existence, eyes fastened on the one that handles the pen; the very device that births him. Yes, Mike Dammy lives as Mike Dammy writes. The latter continues scribbling in the striped journal oblivious of the curiosity in his character’s face. Or perhaps he ignores it. 2014 has been a blessing and a curse. The character wonders which his creator would embrace.

Disclaimer: Henceforth, I’ll be addressing the character as ‘Dammy’ or ‘the character’ and the writer which is Dammy himself as ‘the writer’.

It all started with a single tweet;

Getting married this year… House Warming this year… Acura ZDX this year…

Maybe it was faith; perhaps hope but Dammy remembered not what fueled the inspiration behind the statement. His church, CAC, Mende, Maryland disappeared as they went around a bend; the sanctuary where he breath his first breath of the year and congratulated close by ‘neighbors’ like his pastor would say. The time was 01:05 and the date read January 1st, 2014. The New Year had just arrived.

Slowly, but surely, they meandered through the pot holes and traffic along Ikorodu road down to their humble abode in Ikorodu. His brother still tapping on his Blackberry Torch 1 yawned for the umpteenth time and his mum squinted further as she fought to see the road markings in the misty fog that had enveloped Lagos. This is my year, Dammy said to himself. Fast forward twelve months and the writer wonders if it indeed is his year.

The year zoomed off pretty much after its opening act and only slowed down to permit Dammy end things with M in the month of love. Ironic. The writer focuses as he tries to see into the mind of his character and ascertain the reason for that single act. Was it fate or has there been a situation of poor decision making, he couldn’t tell. Dammy’s face remained stern, a book devoid of words or pictures.

March arrived and the phrase YOLO became more apparent in his doings.

Come on, just a little…

Come on, pop it a little…

Come on, sip it a little…

Come on, rock it a little…

Deceit spoke with the voices of men and a broken Dammy heeded its call. They say the heart of man is wicked and Dammy’s held firm as he broke all borders in two weeks. Forever a black hole in his heart; those two weeks in March. ‘Dammy two weeks’ sounded like a suitable nickname.
But Heaven intervened and Jesus came calling as usual. Salvation beckoned and this time, the nickname dissolved into non-entity. The past roared its fangs like a cobra in an exhibition fish tank but that was all it was; an exhibition. Only to be remembered or forgotten, asides that, the past was useless. Hence, Dammy’s giant steps into the future and boy oh boy, April was one blessed future — the emergence of C… The year was just getting started.

It comes to mind what or who Marc Anthony was thinking about when he penned down his hit song and popular Dettol advert theme song as many know it; I need you. You see, Dammy was a crush-magnet. His admiration for beautiful members of the opposite sex knew no bounds and if Marc felt a quarter of what Dammy felt with C, he was indeed happy for C was an Angel. Her semi-circle smile initiated sparks in his head and her voice always dealt a massive blow to the walls he tried to build but alas all of it was all gone in a flash. Her smile was as much as he got and an electrifying half hour where all but the sunset paused in romantic coalition as much as he managed. The beautiful damsel floated back to Port Harcourt to her true love and Dammy succumbed to depression valley.

True to his ability to fall in and out of crushes, he was quick to meet another… and another… but the smile of C lingered in his mind and all came to null until he met Her.
Now, ‘Her’ brings to mind a beautiful, intelligent lady and yes she was and still is but love was too complicated and Dammy had learnt that firsthand. His walls steadied themselves and anticipated another massive hit. This was early august where the days grew longer and nights invariably shorter.

* * * *

The crunchy escapades of Dammy, his alliance with wisdom and death wish as he plugged away hours upon hours of his life in a bid to create a perfect rendition of a ‘Convention Centre’ like his master’s degree project entailed cannot all be described here as months and months on end would be required of the Writer to create a befitting memoir of a life that is Dammy’s. Life is too short for that hence his quickening steps towards creating a suitable prelude.

* * * *

The character sat still in the settee. His eyes fastened on the eyes of the reader trying to understand what they think of him. Hero perhaps? Probably not. Prude or Inconsequential bastard seems more like it.
But really, he cared not what they thought. As the year grinds to a halt, he is grateful for what he has. He approaches the New Year as a war-hero albeit timid. He has proven himself not to be perfect but to be true and deserving of a tender smile and a good laugh.

Getting married this year… House Warming this year… Acura ZDX this year…

It all seems like a dream now. 

Dammy stood up and walked towards the window. He parted the blinds with one hand and watched as the earth fades in the distance in an almost spherical manner. The trees whistled gently the songs of the wind and homecoming birds adorned the sunset like paint on a canvas. His mind is steady and set because in two days, he departs for 2015 a man loved and a man in love. This was just the beginning; A new Dawn Beckons

The end.

* * * *

2014 was a glorious year in all ramifications. Like the literal art above described it, it had its ups, its downs, upside downs and many more that I cant possibly classify.
At some point, it hurt real bad, some other times my heart felt so light from joy that I feared it would burst. Still, I stand a better person than I was last year, an upgrade on the entity that is me.

One glaring aspect was my utmost dedication to work and school, inversely resulting in my haphazard and alarming blogging methods. I stand here ashamed at the numerous atrocities I committed all year long; ranging from incomplete series to disappearances for months on end.

Do I have an excuse for all of these? No, I choose not to.

A reason, perhaps? School

I can’t say I’m proud of my antics or how all these has turned out but if i had to go over everything again, it will probably run the same way. Such is the manner in which I prioritized my activities.
That hasn’t stopped me from having a wonderful and creative year however. I am not the best blogger around ( Definitely!), I’l leave that to the men; Sirs Walt Shakes, Newnaija, Topazo and Seun Odukoya and co, neither am I the best fiction, motivational or comedy writer around.. Lol… Even a new born baby knows that… One thing I do know is that I have some of the best readers and definitely the best writing colleagues and associates around and I’ll deeply grateful for that.

2015 arrives in but some days and we will soon be ushered into a new year and realm of possibilities amidst cheers and dancing. I can’t promise I will be more consistent but I can promise I will try my best.

I forever remain Mike Dammy and I gloriously march into the new year a man loved and a man in love.
Compliments of the season blessed people and a Happy New Year in advance!

* * * *

As is my tradition, I always post pictures of my studio work after each semester… Last semester was super hectic… Super super hectic! The results were endearing though and I dare say, Worth it… Its was a ‘Convention Center’ design incorporating a monumental tower ( yh, that Eiffel tower look-alike structure), an office tower, a residential tower, pavilion and many many things that probably won’t interest you.

Anyways, the pictures are below… I hope you like them! 😀

p.s…. Don’t ever let your child study Architecture… Its a trap!…Seriously 😐


Overview of the entire site


Residential Tower in the Foreground and the Mixed use complex and Monumental tower in the background.

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…


Have a wonderful Holiday!

Mike Dammy

When Life Hands You Lemons


When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade…

I’ve had this quote on my mind for a while now. It’s pretty easy to recite and use like I’ve seen tons of people do over time but I’m pretty sure many don’t know the context in which it is used. They say quotes have a deeper meaning and this one does too but I’m going to try and address it from a different angle unlike the theory we are used to. I intend to share my findings with you now.



Once you sense I’ve started thinking too much or getting philosophical, stop me… if you can.


Moving on… last time I checked; to create lemonades you require lemons, water and sugar. So if life is giving you just lemons how do you end up at lemonade without the other ingredients? Hmmm…Oro nla.

Like I said earlier, I’m going to try and give this a literal meaning different from the one you’re probably accustomed to.



Lemons in this context are talents. I don’t mean the money they spent in the bible days, I’m talking about the gift you were born with, that thing you’re extremely good at for no reason without little or no practice. Those are the lemons life has bestowed you with. Some people are blessed with fat lemons, some juicy while some others stale and small. Whatever type of lemon life has given you it’s your duty to create something out of it. That something being chilled lemonade.

So first, to make lemonade, you need a couple of ingredients aside lemons.


The first of them being Water.

Note, life didn’t hand you water like it did with the lemons so you have to discover it yourself. Water in this context is Diligence, Determination and The strive to be better at what you do. It’s a known fact that water helps plants grow, so let’s assume the ‘water’ here helps your talents develop. Many lose it at this stage. They never come by adequate water or the nerve to harness it out of the earth. So they end up with lemons still and continually look over the horizon to the finish line where their peers and life-mates turn in their lemonade for assessment. In other words, our group has fallen short of a couple of people. That’s how life is; some people never make it past the first stage and they have to endure the mediocrity that trails them throughout their existence.


Next on the list is Sugar.

Adding sugar to the mixture of lemons and water you have already is simply infusing Creativity into your talent that has been diligently developed. Like water, sugar has to be found as it’s not a free gift from life. Creativity runs the world these days. Hi5 went into depression immediately Facebook was released with its unique features. The keyword there is ‘unique’. Spain and Barcelona were blown away in the World cup and Champions league respectively because their Tiki Taka style of play had become obsolete. Opponents knew what to expect because no form of creativity whatsoever was brought into play. That’s what happens when your lemonade lacks sugar.

Dig deep into your subconscious, understand your surroundings, study your predecessors and emerge with something unique. That’s the trick. Nobody cared to listen to our old local artistes after Wizkid landed with his unique touch to hip hop as we know it. The result of his hard work is there for all to see… you can say he spoilt market for the lacklustre ones. That’s the advantage sugar gives you.

Now we have our lemonade but we don’t have a final product yet. You don’t possess a means of distributing it and nobody; I mean nobody wants to drink lukewarm lemonade. This brings us to the second phase of adding ingredients.


The first of them is a Fridge or Freezer if you will.

Nobody likes warm or hot lemonade. Everybody loves it ice cold and chilled. The fridge here is Branding. Now that your talent has been developed and garnished with creativity, you need a proper concept with which you would release it to the world. Engage in proper branding, create the perfect website, buy the perfect costume and rent the perfect offices and workplaces. Accomplish this and you have a well developed and defined talent waiting to be displayed to the world. After you’ve accomplished this, you need one last ingredient.


Jars and Cups.

The last but definitely not the least of the ingredients. You need a jar in which to share the lemonade and cups and bottles to serve with. We definitely don’t want to all drink from the bowl you mixed your lemonade in. That’s unhygienic. Everybody wants to take their lemonade to their offices and to their homes. They want to be able to put in the cup holder in their cars and take little sips when the traffic is unbearable. That my brother/sister is Having a Platform, which can mean Advertising; Social Networking to be precise. People hardly read billboards these days. They would rather view your adverts on their phones and laptops. The world has gone digital, make sure your refined talent can too. Provide a means in which we can carry your lemonade around and in that way publicise you further.


That’s the last of the ingredients in making one-of-a-kind lemonades… simply, Lemons, Water, Sugar, A Fridge and Jars and cups. Lemons never give you lemonade right away, neither would your raw talents give fulfillment or put food on your table. You need the other ingredients in the right proportions.

So, dear readers; when life does hand you lemons, make lemonade and make sure you make it just right… damn, lots of ‘make’ in that sentence… 🙂


Have a lovely day.

I remain Mike Dammy


* * *

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Fire In Our Bellies

This is a fictional story. The incident itself is real but the characters and plot are works of art. Any resemblance to real people was not intentional.

* * *

“At all, I’m loving it sister Sewa.” Kemi replied.
“The barracks is quiet and would be perfect for the baby.”

Her sister nodded her head absentmindedly and stared blankly into the mirror in front of her. The hairdresser caught her glance and smiled at her. She smiled back.

“Okay Kemi.” She finally said. “I’m happy If you’re happy. Just make sure you’re safe.”

“I will Sis.”

“Drink a lot of water, watch the aerobic videos, rest a lot, eat heal.…”

“Yes Sis.” Kemi interrupted. “I’ve heard all of this before. I’ve not forgotten. I’ll talk to you later. Bruce is ready to leave.”

“Okay. My regards to him and Tofunmi. Take care. Bye.”

“Bye Sis.” Kemi said and terminated the call. She looked up at her husband fully clothed in his official uniform. He looked like the soldiers she saw in a Hollywood movie she saw that morning and she was proud.

“I’ll miss you darling.” She said to him and walked up to him. The baby bump restrained her from getting as close as she wanted but he bent over to kiss her. She kissed him back wholeheartedly.

“I’ll miss you too love.” He said and carried his luggage. She watched him say goodbye to their seven year old daughter;  Tofunmi and a tear dropped from the corner of her eye. She already missed him. 

“I’ll be back on the thirtieth. Be safe.” He said as he shut the door behind him. She walked to the window and watched as her husband joined his colleagues also dressed in their camouflage uniforms. She never quite remembered why it had to be camouflage. He told her once but she didn’t remember. The hot, mind blowing sex minutes before he did didn’t help either.

She was about to pull away from the window when she caught him look back at the house and could have sworn she saw a tear. His colleagues laughed and Tunde patted him on the back. She felt a relief when she saw Tunde. He made her feel safe. Out of all his friends, she trusted him the most.

They had been friends for ages; Tunde and Bruce. Attended the same secondary school and enlisted in the army on the same day. Bruce had introduced him as his best friend the day they met. Now she watched both of them head for Bakassi peninsula beside the city of Calabar to serve their country. They were but protectors of the Land. It was their duty. She never quite accepted that. She hated his job. Hated the uniform. Hated the barracks. Hated everything about the profession but she couldn’t do anything about it. The army was his first love. She had to live with that.

* * *

The loud sound of the ceramic vase shattering on the terrazo floor woke her from her slumber. The effect heightened the migraine she felt and she shrieked in pain. Her blue face Motorola cellphone rang beside her and she picked the call. It was her sister;  Sewa.

“Kemi!” She heard Sewa yell on the call. “Where are you?” She could feel the anxiety in her sister’s voice.
“At home Sis. What’s wrong?”

“Oh my God. Get out of there now.” Sewa ordered. “Kemi, take Tofunmi and get out of there!”

She heard a loud sound as she arched her back and some boards fell from the ceiling. Voices rang around the road adjoining her room and she jumped up. She rushed to the living room amidst shattering window panes, grabbed a crying Tofunmi and exited the house.
On the street, she was greeted by people heading in the direction of the barracks entrance. A couple of cars drove through the crowd hitting some pedestrians in their haste. Quickly, she joined the fleeing crowd dragging her daughter along.
The migraine pangs slowed her down and she struggled to see ahead. Her head hurt, her breathing was heavy and she felt fire in her belly but she didn’t stop. They approached an intersection she recognized and she hesitated to follow the majority of the crowd heading in one direction.

“Never take that route, Kemi. There is a canal at the end of that road covered with water hyacinth. Nobody knows It’s there.” She recalled her husband saying once. She tried to warn the people heading in that direction about their impending doom but none hearkened. They just zoomed past her like flies to a bug zapper. Giving up, she said a brief prayer for them and turned to continue in the other direction when a Nissan Sunny hit her and sent her flying. She landed with a turd on her bump and yelled in pain. Tofunmi rushed to her side and tried to drag her up but the child failed in getting her back to her feet and Kemi laid there in the red sand. Blood flowed down her legs and she knew this was the end.

The sun disappeared slowly in the east and she knew darkness would soon be upon them.

“Tofunmi.” She said.

“Yes Mummy.” The crying child replied.

“Keep running darling. I’ll meet you at the gate.”

The child shook her head In disapproval and wiped her running nose.
“No Mummy. I’m scared, let’s go together.”

“No Tofunmi. Mummy needs to rest. I’ll meet you at the gate with baby, you hear?”

Tofunmi nodded this time and managed a smile. Kemi pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead one last time. Tears streamed down her face as she watched her daughter scamper through the crowd in the distance. Her phone rang and she answered the call.

“Hello Sis.” She said into the mouthpiece.

“Kemi.” Sewa said. “Where are you?”

“I couldn’t make it.” She replied. “But… Tof…”

“What do you mean by you couldn’t make it?” Kemi asked.

“I can’t, Sis.” A sob interrupted her and she pulled herself together to continue. “I can’t make it, but Tofunmi can. Find her and take car.…”
A blast erupted and the phone went dead.

* * *

Some say It’s never too late to right a wrong. I argue and say sometimes it is. I’ve lived long enough to know that life can throw you off balance in a second and render all your plans useless.

That’s why I’ll rather live in the present. Planning for the future is also important but what We do with our present is what influences that future we crave.
This is my rendition of the Ikeja Cantonment armoury explosion on the 27th of January, 2002.

It’s hard to imagine It happened 12 years ago but time flies and so do opportunities and lives. It’s painful to imagine that there was someone who passed away via that disaster that wasn’t meant to be where he or she was at that particular time. It’s painful to imagine that like my story, families were broken, legacies were destroyed and lives were lost. It could have been you Or me instead of someone there that fateful day.

Life is a cheat.
A respecter of nobody.
If it decides It’s your time to say goodbye, bar God’s intervention, you’re going.

So my advice is simple.
Live like today’s your last.
Love like he or she would be no more tomorrow.
And laugh like your source of laughter might soon disappear.
In truth, you actually only live once. So live it right and well.

Have a lovely day.

Mike Dammy

Joshua Fela – Episode 12


Joshua Fela

Joshua Fela | Damstylee_Original picture sourced from Google


Please click the links below to read earlier episodes and get updated.

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4

Episode 5

Episode 6

Episode 7

Episode 8

Episode 9

Episode 10

Episode 11



* * *

Nike moved closer to Jonathan. Her steps measured gingerly like a lioness stalking its prey.

“What did you just say?” She asked him.
He repeated his earlier statement; “Joshua is my brother.” The small group gasped again like earlier; the element of shock still very much alive. Nobody knew Josh had a brother, even his infatuated lover.

Nike turned to look at Jeff. The puzzled look on his face told her she wasn’t the only person who thought Jonathan a lunatic.

“Why do you guys keep calling me Josh? My name is Jeff.” Jeff insisted ignoring the claim Jonathan just made.
A closer look at Jonathan told him his fib could have been genuine. He had always wanted a brother and they did look alike. At least their noses and ears did, he thought.

Ronke jumped in here and asked him how much memories he had.

“What memories?” He asked.

“Do you remember the accident? Two years ago? You were out with Nath and you never came back.” The mention of the accident put him in a shocked state. He watched the rest notice his amazement and advance on him like a paparazzi ready to take notes of anything and plant them in their respective papers. He stepped back and put his hand up to stop them from getting any closer.

“How do you know about the accident?” he asked

“Who doesn’t? Oh we know. We all know.” Ronke said. She looked at Jonathan’s face and he played along. “The whole school knew. They said you died in it.”

Jeff retreated further from the group to assimilate his obituary getting recited to him orally. He paused to think and for once had enough evidence to support the claims that his dad had hid something from me.

“But my dad said…”

“Your dad?” Jonathan interrupted.

“Yes, my dad. Any problem with that?” He replied without paying much attention to Jonathan.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I believe your father has fed you so many half-truths. I’m suspecting you lost your memory after the accident.”

“Well, that’s none of your business, is it?”

“I’ll need to meet your dad in person.” Jonathan said. Jeff ignored him and continued talking to the girls. Jonathan advanced on him and grabbed his wrist to drive his point home. He sought to repeat his statement when Bayo and another officer interrupted.

Ronke saw them and turned away. This could only mean one thing. Bayo observed the duo that looked like they could get in a fight anytime and placed his hand on the hip that held his official pistol. They separated and he smiled. The glamour of being a police man he thought and walked towards Ronke.

“Miss Ronke Gbadamosi, you’ve been called in for questioning again.” She bit her lip in disgust and frowned at him.

Dozens of students in the cafeteria hovered a few feet away from them waiting for some action or an apprehensive take down. They got disappointed as Ronke obliged and they started towards the exit.

“Can I come with you?” Shade asked. Bayo turned to look at her and shook his head in disapproval. She got the message and asked Nike to walk her to their dormitory. The boys would sort themselves out; she said.

Nike pecked her boyfriend goodbye as she left. Bristles from his goatee brushed her cheek and she closed her eyes as she felt a brief twinge of excitement. He smiled at her and winked as she walked away.

“You do know the other one likes you right?” Jonathan said, abruptly disrupting whatever chemistry was left between him and his girlfriend. He turned to leave and he had gone a few steps before what Jonathan said struck him.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

“The last girl, the one that didn’t talk much. She likes you.”

“How do you know that?”

Jonathan smirked and sat on a seat. Jeff fought the urge but eventually settled adjacent to him. Jonathan’s mind travelled years earlier. He saw Josh; his brother tugging at his sleeves begging him to deduce for him. I started young he thought. He remembered telling his brother the girl that liked him and the ones that had not a care in the world as regards him. He could have vanished from the earth and they wouldn’t notice. Those however were the girls Josh…sorry… Jeff liked.

He returned from his trip down memory lane and saw Jeff staring at him.


“You were saying?”

“I was saying the other girl likes you. She’s prettier and calmer than you self-centred, attention seeking, and obnoxious girlfriend.”

Jeff took offence at the ill but fatally correct description of his girlfriend and Jonathan apologised after a few laughs. “I’m sorry.” He said and tugged at Jeff’s shoulder till he accepted his apology.

“Dumb move in knocking her up though.” Jonathan added after the awkward silence had returned.

“Knocking her up? How did you know she was pregnant?” Jeff asked. He turned his seat to face Jonathan directly. “How did you know she was pregnant?” He asked again.

“It’s obvious, don’t you think.” The latter replied.

“No, it’s not.” Jeff argued for a few minutes and only settled when Jonathan said; “Nobody else knows ‘how’ to look”

“Alright then.” Jeff said. He stood up to leave and Jonathan offered him a ride home. He refused and Jonathan followed him till he agreed. They got into a 2013 model of the Toyota Tundra and drove out of the school towards Ebutemetta.

                      * * * * * * * * * *

The dusty car with the official plate number settled in the allocated parking lot for the DPO of the station and Mike jumped out. He walked briskly towards the station and closed the automated locks in the car with the remote control.
In the station’s reception, he inquired about Bayo’s whereabouts from the office of duty and was directed to the interrogation room. He was in front of the door in one stride and opened it.
In the room were Bayo, Ronke and another officer. He ordered the officer out and waited till he heard the door shut before saying anything.

“I’m sorry for bringing you back here, Ronke.” He said to break the silence.

“It’s no problem.” She was secretly glad he was involved in the questioning process.

“Did you know Nathaniel Bassey well?” He asked going straight to the point.

“Yes, to an extent.” She replied.
He dragged a chair from the wall towards himself and opened a paper file on the table. He took out a sheet of A4 paper and a pen and scribbled something on it while Bayo and Ronke watched in silence. He stopped writing and looked up.

“Do you know he is mentally disabled?”

She started to answer and hesitated. “Yes.”

The words of the doctor rang in his ears;

“You have to be careful with this case, Mr Mike. The suspect you have in custody might not be the guilty one”

He smiled when he remembered the doctor’s native accent and wrote in the paper again.

“How did you know he was mentally disabled?” Mike’s cell phone’s ringtone interrupted her reply and he sighed before picking it from his breast pocket.

“Hello,” He said into the mouthpiece.

“Mike. It’s me, Senator Ibikunle.” The caller said. “I just want to know how the investigation is going.”

“It’s going well Sir, although we have hit some sort of brick wall.”

“How so detective?” The senator asked.

“The young man we have in custody is unlikely the murderer we are looking for.”

“Do you have another suspect?”

“No, not for now.”

“Then you prosecute that boy.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir.”

“I said you prosecute that boy.” The senator said in a measured tone. “My son just died for God’s sake. I need someone to be punished for his death.”

“But he is innocent!” Mike bellowed. His countenance had changed and his eyes flared like forest fires.

“Well, he’s not until I say he is. It’s either you prosecute him or someone suffers for it.”

“Is that a threat Sir?” Mike asked. His other fist was clenched.

“I don’t know. Let’s ask our young nurse girlfriend shall we?

The phone slipped from his hands to the concrete floor and spilled its insides in different directions. The whole room became quiet like a graveyard and the other two just stared on not knowing what to do. Bayo was first to move. He searched for the components of the phone on the floor and assembled them. He handed it back to Mike but the latter didn’t move. He just stared at the wall behind Ronke’s head.

After numerous snaps of Bayo’s fingers in his line of sight, he jerked back to reality. He got up from his seat like it had burning coals on it and headed for the exit.

“Get her back to her school.” He said to Bayo and slammed the door behind him.

                        * * * * * * * * * *

Jeff opened the door and let Jonathan in. The ante room welcomed them and Jonathan took to surveying it. The room which was neatly decorated with some furniture had a bit of elegance to it. He whistled gently as he felt the chill in the room created by strategically placed air conditioners. He saw some framed photos at the corner and observed them. This is going to be easy; he thought. Definitely the house of a government worker he observed. Jeff called him and he followed Jeff into the living room.

The living room was designed more extravagantly. A 45” plasma TV adorned the front wall and black leather couches were arranged around it. A bar stood at the far end of the room and beside it was a wall that had the family pictures and artworks. A picture frame on a side stool with three men standing in front of a picture of the president of the country and other dignitaries convinced him of his hypothesis. The immaculate brocade of the men in it screamed affluence. Politician.

He walked towards the ‘picture wall’ and observed each picture. For the first few minutes, he looked up at every sound. Then he knew nothing but the pictures. A tap on his shoulder brought him back to the present. He turned around to face the man of the house.

“Good evening Sir” He said and held his hand out for a handshake. The recipient ignored it and sat one of the couches.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

“I’m Jonathan Fela. I’m a police officer. I’m just here to…”

“What branch?”

“Akoka Sir.” He replied with alacrity. The ‘politician’ walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. The redness filled the cup like a spectre and Jonathan felt his throat ache for some. He didn’t expect the ‘politician’ to offer him some and he wasn’t disappointed.
The ‘politician’ walked back to couch and sat, this time in a different couch from where he sat earlier. Jonathan smirked at his attempt to intimidate him.

“Okay, what can I do for you?” The politician asked. Before Jonathan could answer, he added; “Let me first state that I’m a very influential and affluent person in this state. I’m sure you’ve heard of Mr Balogun; that’s me. I can make you and I can also destroy you.”

Jonathan looked away. He fought the urge to showcase his deduction skills and stuck to his plan.

“Duly noted, Sir. How is your wife?”

“Dead.” Mr Balogun replied without batting an eyelid.

“Murdered, you mean.” Jonathan muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing… Nothing.” He said and smiled at Mr Balogun. “I noticed there is a big hole in your family pictures timeline.”

Mr Balogun looked at the wall and back at Jonathan. “Hole?”

“Yes, memories not existent. I don’t see any pictures of your son during his adolescent years.”

“What are you inferring?” Mr Balogun asked. He dropped the glass of wine on a side stool. Jonathan noticed the gesture and smirked. So much for his intimidation techniques.

“The pictures of your son stopped when he was about ten, eleven maybe, I guess and suddenly resurfaced when he was much older. Why’s that?”

“We stopped taking pictures.” Mr Balogun replied bluntly.

“The boy himself, I mean the older one doesn’t have a resemblance to the younger….”

“Mr…?” He paused.

“It’s Fela Sir”

“Good. Mr Fela. I don’t appreciate you befriending my son and coming to my house to interrogate me. If you don’t mind, I need you out of my house now.”
Jonathan obliged without a word. He walked briskly out of the compound into the streets. Taking one last look at the Tundra, he called a cab and headed home. It was too early to be arrested for a criminal charge. Of all criminal charges sef; stealing a car. He snorted and relaxed in the rear seat in the cab.

The cab stopped at a red light and Jonathan used that time to purchase a bottle of water from a hawker. A white van was directly beside them and it looked oddly familiar. He caught the face of the driver and was sure he had seen it earlier. He just didn’t remember where. Little did he know that his unborn niece, her mum and his brother’s longtime crush laid chloroformed in the trunk of the van.

                         * * * * * * * * * *

In his home, Jonathan walked into a gloomy atmosphere. His father sat on a chair, his eyes buried in a newspaper and his mother stared at the TV without really seeing anything. Shade wasn’t anywhere in sight so he guessed she was in her room.

“What’s with the gloominess?” He asked.

“It’s always been like this. Ever since Joshua died in that car…” Her sobs disrupted her sentence and his father pulled her to him in an embrace.
Jonathan laughed and headed for the stairs.

“Why are you laughing? His father asked sternly.

“Joshua is not dead. He’s hardly alive either.”

To be continued next week.

Thanks for reading.

Mike Dammy

Joshua Fela 11 | Intermission


Joshua Fela

Joshua Fela | Damstylee_Original picture sourced from Google

* * *

Hey there. Its been a great year and we have come to the final episode of Joshua Fela for this year.

I’ve always wanted to infuse somethiñg different into this series and I am doing that in this episode.
I hope you like it.


* * *

The curtains adjoining the windows fluttered as the winds from the ocean gently caressed their light fabric. The room was lit by an electric candle and its flickering rendered grotesque images on the ceiling boards. These images seemed to fascinate him or he acted like they did.

His name was Jonathan Fela. Jonathan as he preferred to be called.

His smoothly cut afro created a peacock tail-shape on the pillow his head was lying on and his body length spanned the longer side of the bed. His newly dry-cleaned t-shirt was a sharp contrast to the pair of jeans he had on him and his toes played in a rhythmic fashion also creating images on the walls behind them.

At times, the ceiling looked like a work of a great sculptor and other times, the handiwork of a kindergarten pupil. The type himself and his friends drew when they were younger back in Nigeria. His mum had shown him his works and he laughed. He missed laughing. A shape formed by the dim light caught his attention but it faded as fast as it appeared. This was boring he admitted. Life was boring.

A landline rung and its sound shattered the serenity in the room like shards of glass. The antique ringtone shook him out of his trance and he almost choked to his chest a gumball that had been in his mouth all evening. He had no idea how it got there. He had no idea about many things these days. Jonathan rolled over to the other side of the bed where the phone was neatly arranged among a stack of books on a bedside stool and snatched at the receiver.

“Hello.” He said. He couldn’t avoid hearing the distaste in his voice.

“Fela?” A voice replied with a British accent. Jonathan’s eyes shone in delight when he recognised the voice of the caller.

“Inspector Gil?”   

“Yes Jonathan. Good to know you’re still alive.” Gil joked.

“I am. Just hanging on to life as it is.”

“I need you now.” Gil said with a stern voice, a deep contrast to his light tone earlier.

“There has been a murder.” He added.

“Psychopath?” Jonathan asked.
“Not sure but sure looks like it.”
Jonathan jumped to his feet and
tapped dance on the wooden floor while clutching the phone box. This was like music to his ears.

“Brilliant!” he exclaimed and apologized after realizing the situation at hand.

“Where do I meet you?”

“Block 25k, Crawford Street, Baltimore Central.”

“Okay. I’ll be right th… wait, that’s my building.” Jonathan exclaimed.

“I know. Open up, I’m standing right in front of your apartment.”

Jonathan sought to continue the conversation and ask why he didn’t knock in the first place but didn’t when he realised how stupid and economical it could be considering the caller was some feet away. He also wasn’t in the mood for a chat with the Inspector on management.

The locks on the door snapped and the door swung open.

“What are you doing here Inspector?” Jonathan asked ignoring greetings.

“To investigate a crime of course, why else would I be here?” Gil replied and stepped into the room. He took off the muffler around his neck and placed it on a coat holder.

“In my apartment?” Jonathan asked puzzled.

“No.” was Gil’s stern reply and he pointed at the apartment across the hallway directly opposite Jonathans’.

“Mrs Philips got robbed?”

“I wish she did. No Jonathan, she got murdered.”

“That’s impossible.” Jonathan replied and ate his words when he saw detectives and forensic specialists step out of the apartment. “How did that happen, I have been here all day.”

“Beats me too.” Was Gil’s reply and he walked towards the victim’s apartment that was now a crime scene with Jonathan closely behind him.

*  *  *

In the room where the body laid, Jonathan stood beside the door and observed the crime scene. He was no longer in his earlier apparel as he wore a blue overall and a pair of immaculate gloves now. He stooped and ran his fore finger along the wooden floor. The replica of the one he had in his apartment.

From the crouched position, he noticed a cracked phone and a case of gumballs lying on the floor at the other end of the room. His eyes shone with each clue he found as this was the only fascinating thing he had seen in weeks.

He looked up to see Gil peering at him through his spectacles and frowned. This was but a crime scene involving a murdered woman who also happened to be his neighbour for about months. The least he could do was show more respect and act composed.

Mrs Philips lay on her bed with her head propped against a duvet that had obviously seen better years. Her dry blood stained her pink flowery bed sheets and had dripped to the floor below. He squinted in disgust when a flash from a Kodak hit his eyes. A detective was taking shots of the crime scene as part of the investigation. Jonathan turned to look at Gils and back at the detective as if to say he was getting distracted. Gil got the message and ordered the disturber out of the room. He feigned a grin in appreciation and Gil simply nodded.

Jonathan turned back to the dead woman and held up her palm to see the wound. She had tried to stop the blood flow and had obviously failed because of the massive haemorrhage. He observed the wound and immediately knew what the murder weapon was. He had one himself. It was a butcher’s knife.

He let her hand down, ran his fingers along her arm and surveyed the room for more clues. Inspector Gil watched on in silence from his standing position at the door with his hands folded across each other.

“What do you see?” he asked after Jonathan observed an ash tray.

“It’s quite blurry. Not much evidence. Not much intent.” He replied without looking at Gil.

“What do you mean by not much intent?”

“She is a dying woman and unlike other psychopaths we’ve encountered, I have not found any motive. It might just be a simple murder case.”

“How do you know she was dying?” Gil asked.

Jonathan sighed and shook his head at the nescient question.

“She has lung cancer.” He held up a transparent plastic bag that had drugs in it. “Folex, Cisplatin, Taxil; all these are drug prescriptions for a lung cancer patient.”

“Why then would a psychopath kill a dying woman? Are we even sure this is the act of one?”

“I don’t know for sure. One thing I know though is that she knew him.” He caught the bewilderment in Gil’s expression and led him to the living room.

“If you observe carefully this living room, you would notice what I’m saying. She let him in because it was someone she knew, offered him a glass of beer and he was here for a while.” He pointed at the glass on the coffee table that still had some of the beer in it.
“Lung cancer patients are advised to stay away from alcohol.” Jonathan added.

Jonathan walked towards the settees and ran his hand along them.
“He was seated here.” He pointed at one of the settee. “A light weight man; about 140 pounds.” He shut his eyes to project his imaginations and saw it all. Gil saw him close his eyes and got a voice recorder. This wasn’t the first time Jonathan Fela had closed his eyes in deep thought during an investigation. What came after was pure genius. Abstract deductive thought patterns that left the best crime investigators in the county gobsmacked.

“She turned to pick up her phone.” Jonathan started and Gil clicked the record button on the device. “He grabbed her from behind and dragged her into the room. If you observe well, you’ll notice scratches on the floor made from her toenails.” A detective started talking and Gil hushed him.

“I see it now…” Jonathan continued. “Son of a bitch. He’s a psychopath. He thinks he is doing her a favour. He knows she is dying and all this was aimed at putting her out of her misery. He doesn’t like the fact that he is doing it which is strange. That’s why he shattered the mirror in the closet and any other reflective surface including her phone.”

He opened his eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. “Unfortunately Inspector, I’ll need him committing more murders before I can define his pattern. For now, I can’t help you.”

He stripped himself of the overall and removed his gloves from his already sweaty hands. He advanced towards the entrance to the apartment, threw the gloves into a bin and was halted by Gil’s voice.

“How did you know about the mirror in the closet? You didn’t go in there.”

Gil was right. How did he know that?

“Deduction.” He answered eventually and hurried out of the apartment to avoid more questions. Gil was not a genius but he did understand crime scenes.

* * *

Two a.m. and Jonathan was back to where he was before he assisted the detectives in accessing the crime scene. He had rummaged on his findings earlier and something wasn’t right.

This was not the first time he had tried to deduce a criminal’s pattern. This was however the first time his imagination had developed beyond what his eyes saw. Gil had noticed.

If it were a novel, he could have pronounced himself the murderer. The handiwork of an alter ego probably, but such things do not exist. The ceiling still showcased its art but he wasn’t interested anymore. He turned away from it and coiled in a foetal position. The least he could do was sleep.

* * *

The alarm clock rung five and Jonathan jumped out of bed red and distraught. His body reeked of fear and his shirt was damp with sweat. He wiped his face dry with a napkin and paced around the room. He had seen Mrs Philips again. He had seen the murderer. His mind meandered again and he fell into a trance.

In the trance, he saw the murderer. Black, average height and an afro that had a striking resemblance to his. He watched him drag her. He watched her scream and struggle. He watched him push her against the bed and stab her in her side piercing deep beyond her rib into her pancreas. He saw the fear in her eyes. He saw her gasp and writhe in pain. The blood gushed from the wound and he couldn’t stomach it anymore.

He reached for a bottle of aspirin and swallowed three pills without remorse. His head was banging and he felt light headed.

The murderer walked into the closet and stuck a gumball in his mouth. He threw the pack away in disgust and washed the blood clean off his gloves. The grandfather clock chimed three times and he nodded his head in approval. He bent down to the sink and drowned his head in the water from the tap. The murderer then turned to face the mirror…

Jonathan gasped when he saw what was lurking in the mirror. He rushed to the loo and sat on the toilet bowl to catch his breath. He wasn’t mistaken. He peeked again into his imagination to assure himself that he wasn’t delusional and one look convinced him he was not. 

He had seen himself. He had seen Jonathan Fela in Mrs Philips’s mirror.

He let out a yell and clasped his head in his arms. Could he have done it? Could he have been the murderer? There was only one way to find out. He stood up and walked to the kitchen. He opened the door leading into the store and the coppery scent told him everything he needed to know. That was definitely the smell of stale blood and it was splattered across the floor with his butcher’s knife in the centre of it.

* * *

The plane touched down on Nigerian soil and its tires screeched on the vast concrete tarmac. Jonathan peered out of the adjacent window and sighed. He had no place here. He had no life. Neither did he have one in the states. Not anymore. The deportation papers in the folder in his suitcase assured him of that.

His mind flashed back to that evening as passengers disembarked from the plane. He felt the first surge of imagination and let it flow. He heard the clock chime in Mrs Philips room and he grinned. He sure as hell missed it. The blood. The fear in their eyes. The sheer power.

His victims had been powerless. They had screamed, wailed and cried in pain. He had listened to their yells and felt ecstasy. Nothing fascinated him more than this. All his victims; Mrs Philips, the cab driver, the girl from the one night stand stood no chance. They had experienced a higher power; his higher power.

Only Gil had survived. The only man to witness his vigour and not quiver in fear.

A hostess tapped his wrist gently and he snapped out of his trip. The plane was empty and only he was left on board.

“We have landed sir.” The hostess said and smiled.
He apologised and hurried out of the plane.

In the airport, he located his family from afar. He saw his mum wave and race towards him exhilarated. He hugged her and they walked towards the rest.

“Jonathan, good to see you.” His father said and extended his hand for a handshake.

“I can’t say the same.” Jonathan replied and stood face to face with his father. His younger sister; Shade shook her head and went to sit in the corner.

“Jonathan!” His mother exclaimed after his reply. “That’s not how to greet your dad.”

“He’s not my dad. My dad would have come along with you to see me.”

“To see you?” His father raged. “In an asylum? You killed people for God’s sake. Why would I be proud to see my murderous son in a freaking asylum?”

Jonathan ignored his cries and continued. “I was there for three years, three good years and you never showed up. Not once.” He brought out a handkerchief from his trousers’ side pocket and wiped the sweat off his face. The stupid country was too hot.

“Jonathan, your dad missed you.” His mother intervened. “You have been abroad for over seven years; he’s just not sure on how to show the emotions.”
Jonathan ignored her, picked up his luggage and walked towards the exit. He stopped after taking a few steps.

“Where’s Josh?” He asked directing the question at his mother.

She sniffed and turned away to hide the tears that welled up in her eyes. Her husband pulled towards him and hugged her. Jonathan turned to Shade for an answer and like her mother, she turned away as well.

“Where the hell is Josh? He asked again, this time with a stern tone.

“Josh died two years ago in a car accident.” It was his father that answered. “He was coming from school; Unilag along with his friend… we never found his body.” He added after a short pause.

Jonathan dropped his bags and pulled out his wallet from one of its pockets. He wiped the sweat off his face again and walked towards the exit.

“Where are you going?” His mother asked.

“To Unilag. I’ll find my way home.”

* * *

Shade followed Ronke closely as they stepped out of the reception of their dorm.

“Where are we going?” She asked for the umpteenth time.

“The cafeteria.”

Nike received a ping while I was with her phone. He wanted to meet her by four today in the café. Its quarter past four already.”

“So, we’re just going to jump in or what?”

“I don’t know yet. Let’s get there first.” Ronke replied.

In the cafeteria, they spotted Nike and her boyfriend from the entrance and walked towards them. They arrived at their location in record time and Ronke cleared her throat to announce their presence. 

“Hi Josh.” Ronke greeted in a faint tone to Nike’s annoyance and Jeff looked up to their stupefied faces. Shade blinked a couple of times and touched his shoulder to ensure she was sane. This was definitely Josh.

“Hello. It’s Jeff though.” Jeff replied and smiled in Ronke’s direction. He had never been this close to her and he couldn’t explain his affection for her.
Shade struggled to find words and just left her mouth aghast while Ronke grabbed a seat for herself at their table and engaged Jeff in a conversation.

Jonathan walked in on their discussion and punched Jeff in the left shoulder.

“Bastard; I thought you were dead.” He exclaimed.

Jeff groaned in pain and stood up to face him.

“Who are you and why did you do that? And what the hell do you mean by I was dead? He asked Jonathan. Nike stood up in his defence and clapped her hands in a market woman fashion.

“Who the hell are you?” She asked and placed her hands on her hips ready for some drama. Ronke and Shade retreated to the background after deciding to stay out of the commotion.

“I should be asking you that.” Jonathan replied Nike.

“I’m his girlfriend.” She said with aplomb and rolled her eyes. Jonathan just smiled.

“And I’m his brother.”

The whole lot including Ronke and Shade chorused ‘brother’ which made bystanders turn to look. Nike and Ronke flashed them grave looks and they went back to their business.

Right in the corner, Mohammed and Jack observed the proceedings.

“Those are the girls, Jack.” Mohammed said.

“I know boss. Let’s wait for the guys to leave.”

To be Continued Next Year

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

Merry Christmas ands a Happy New Year in Advance.

Mike Dammy

Joshua Fela – Episode 10


Joshua Fela

Joshua Fela | Damstylee_Original picture sourced from Google

Before I start… Let me first say I’m really sorry I took a long break from writing especially as regards this series. I hope you forgive me :d

I also hope you still have the fire burning.
If you’ve forgotten the story however, you can download the earlier episodes here in one single file—>>>

Episodes 1 – 9

That said… Read, Enjoy, Drop a comment and Share.



Mike walked into the reception of EKO hospital; a renowned medical clinic in Lagos. He scanned the corridors connected to the reception in view of signages that would direct him before his attention is broken by a waving receptionist. Or was she a nurse, he had no idea and her formal attire gave nothing away.

“Good afternoon.” He greeted after he had advanced on her position.

“Afternoon sir, how may I help you?” She replied. He couldn’t help but notice her cute appearance and the little freckles on her face that made her look younger than he guessed she was.

“I’m Mike Ogu; divisional head police officer of the Akoka branch police station. I would like to see a medical doctor. If possible, the one in charge.”

He saw the look on her face and quickly added; “its for an investigation.”

“I’m sure it is.” She replied and smiled at the realisation that he had tried reading her facial expression and failed. Contrary to what he might have been thinking, she was only surprised at the panache with which he spoke.

“If I’m getting you right sir, you want to see Dr. Yeboah; the medical director in charge but he’s curently on official duties to Namibia”

“Oh…Is there any other doctor I can see?”

“Yes, Dr Ogunsaye. He’s Dr Yeboah’s deputy.”

“Okay, that’ll be fine by me.” Mike replied.

“Good, sit over there for a while…” She gestured to a settee in the reception lobby. “And I’ll get back to you soon.”

“Thank you… Miss?”

“Tamara.” She answered and gently flicked her nametag albeit in an ambiguous manner. He got the hint and punched himself for not seeing it on his way to the settee.


Laughter from an adjoining room cut through the silence in Ronke’s room like a knife. She was seated on an arm chair which was opposite her bed on which Nike was seated.

“Nike…” She said in a rather commanding tone. “Let me see that picture.”

“No.” was the reply she got.


Nike sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her palm. Her eyes were red from holding back the tears and it seemed like they could burst out any minute.

“Because I’ve got something going and you want to ruin it for me by telling me its all fake.”

“Not fake Nike.” Ronke corrected.” An illusion. I only want to confirm if Jeff is truly who he claims to be or you’re…” She paused and breathed heavily.

“Say it! You want to say I’m crazy right? Well, I am. I am crazily in love with a living person not the ghost you claim he is.”

“That ghost liked me.” Ronke replied emphasizing the word ‘Liked’.

“And that is it. That’s what this has always been about.” Nike clapped once and looked at the ceiling to prevent the tears from rolling out.

“It’s always been about you. The boy wanted you but you didn’t want him. Now he likes someone else and youre jealous that it’s not working out for you. You want it all for yourself.” She grabbed her bag , walked towards the exit and opened the door.

“You’re so self-centred it stinks.” She added. “Everything must be about you. No one else can be happy but you. The gist and gossip must always be in your favour. And you wonder why only crazies and idiots fall for you.” She stepped out and slammed the door behind her.

Ronke alighted from the chair, paced around the room in no particular pattern as she tried to wrap her head around her current dilemma.

Was she self-centred? Well, yea. But nobody could blame her as to why she was curious about Nike’s boyfriend. He was a carbon copy of the guy that liked her two years ago. The same one that died in a ghastly motor accident.

Was Josh alive? Was Nath normal?

She collapsed in a heap on her bed out of exhaustion and the dizzy effect her zigzag movement around the room had caused. She grabbed her pillows tightly and as she tried to sleep away the pain, her room door swung open.

“I came as soon as I saw your message” Shade said as she stomped into the room. She stooped to remove her sandals, saw the dirt she brought in with her and gasped.

“Don’t worry about that.” An obviously famished Ronke said. “I’ll clean it later.”

Shade rose her head in shock to look at her. The almighty queen of tidyness just refused the opportunity to go all gaga at mud stains on her rug. Something definitely was up.

“What’s wrong dear?” She asked after taking a seat beside Ronke’s bed and nudging her in the side. “Is it Chloe?”

“Nah… I think Nike is right.”

“Right about what?” A confused Shade asked.

“I am a jealous self-centered crazy b**ch…”

“Nike said that?” Shade interjected.

“Not really, but that’s what she meant.”

“When did these all happen?”

“Doesn’t matter but I’m gonna solve it today.”

“Solve what?” Shade asked disgusted. “Stop putting me in the dark. Your message said I should get here fast. I’m here now, what’s the problem?

“Joshua Fela is not dead.” Ronke finally replied. She got up from the bed. Walked over to her mirror and wiped off what was left of the makeup on her face.

“I know that Ronke, I saw him myself.”

“Good. So Josh is not dead…” She repeated. “Nath is not crazy and I know all these because Nike is pregnant for him.”

Shade gasped and covered her open mouth with her hands.

“Nath impregnated Nike?”

“No stupid. Josh did and I believe I…”

“Ronke…” Shade interrupted her. “You know that sounds crazy.” Ronke shot her a blank stare and she hushed.

“Just follow me to the cafeteria and I’ll prove it.” She grabbed her bag and hung it on her shoulder. “I’ll prove to everybody that Josh is Jeff and Jeff is Josh”

“Who’s Jeff?” Shade asked.

“Stop asking questions and just follow me jor.” They shut the door behind them and headed for the cafeteria.


Sir… Sir… Mr Mike? A gentle thud on his wrist woke him from his slumber.

“Er.. Yes?” He stuttered when he saw the receptionist standing over him.

“Mr Ogunsaye is ready to see you.” She said and returned to her desk.

“Oh.. Okay, thank you.” He rose for his seat and went in the direction she pointed.

“First door to your left.” She said after him.

“Okay.” He got to the door with the name tag on it and stopped.

“Tamara.” He called.

“Yes sir?”

“Can I see you later, say Friday?” He asked while trying to be as calm as he could be.

She say back and slouched in her seat.

“See me how?” A slight grin played at the corner of her lips. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
As she expected, he broke a sweat and puffed his cheeks.

“What…what… I meant was…” He replied stuttering like he did earlier.

“You mean a date?”

“Yes… I mean no… Actually what I meant was…”

“You know what…” She interrupted him.
“Let me give you my number.” She scribbled her number on a sheet of paper and handed it to him.

“Give me a call and we’ll talk better.”

“Thanks.” He smiled after he realized what she had done.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, she cleared her throat and pointed in the direction of the doctor’s office.

“Oh! Totally forgot about that.” He said and scampered to the office.


The phone vibrated on the wooden table and an ominous hand out of the darkness snatched at it and flipped it open.


“Hello. Is this Muhammed?”

“Yes. I just got the pictures in my mail.”

“Good. I guess that’s all you need.”

“Yes, it is. Their names, pictures and addresses. That’s basically everything. Have you seen my boy?”

“Yes, he just left my house. I gave him a hundred thousand naira.”

“Hundred ke? We agreed on two hundred.”

“I know. You’ll get your balance when the deed is done.”

A deep laughter filled the small room poorly lit by a single clerestory window.

“Trust me, those girls; Nike and Ronke or whatever their names are are as good as dead.”

As soon as he dropped the call, he dialled another number.


“Yes sir.”

“Did you get the complete money?”

“Yes sir. Hundred thousand naira, no kobo less.”

“Good. Meet me in front of Unilag now. Let’s just finish the job sharply.”

“Oshey! I’ll meet you there asap.”

“Good, and don’t forget to bring the van. You know we can’t kill them in plain sight.”

“I know sir, I no be novice. See you in thirty minutes.”


After thirty minutes with the doctor, Mike stepped out of the office, waved Tamara good bye and headed out of the hospital. In the parking lot, he dialled Bayo’s number and surveyed his surroundings as it rang.

“Hello sir.” He heard Bayo say.



“Go back to that school and bring me back that girl.”

“Ronke Gbadamosi?”

“Yes, something is not right here.”

“What can that be Sir?” Bayo asked.

“We’ll discuss later at the station. Just get me the girl now.”

“Okay sir.”

To be continued.


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

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in advance.

Mike Dammy

NEW: For Unilag Students


The Grid


The Grid

The Big Bang Theory

Hey fellas.

I figured I needed something to write and I duly ransacked my brain for some minutes. Considered politics *laughs… Relationships, sex, love but I figured all these were clichés. Any Tom, Shade and Harry could write about them anytime, any day.

Note; I wasn’t looking for a masterpiece write up… Far from it (I’m typing straight unto my keypads so you know that aint my goal) but rather, I was looking for a weak spot of mine, something outside the box. I know many wise men would tell you to find your comfort zone and stick to it. I kinda believe them but I also don’t. I mean; Aliko Dangote won’t be half as rich as what he is now if he stuck to whatever he started out with.

So I’m taking a leap into the unknown and its too late for you to stop me.*grins

Let’s talk about the Big bang theory.
If your mind went straight to the popular series, you’re good to go. No you aren’t, you should be more serious and in tune with what is going on around you.

So back to the BBT…
Just like you all know, the BBT is the scientific explanation to why the universe including you exists.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but it is said that a big bang occurred from ‘nowhere’ and the remains scattered around ‘space’ and then planets, stars, moons, trees and micro organisms started forming.

So this BBT brought about yourself and myself. That’s what they said, not me.
From my brief dive into its explanation, I understood that;
Micro organisms evolved into insects which evolved into dinosaurs who evolved into apes (monkeys that is) and these apes evolved to become humans. WOW!

With an explanation like this, I wonder why I even attempted biology and chemistry in high school. I mean; that nasty fungi or mold in your one week old EBA is your relative. Or the mosquito you hunt down every night is your distant cousin. Now this makes me wonder why my great mosquito grand daddy evolved and his brother didn’t. I mean mosquitoes came from somewhere right?

Why is it that we still have insects, monkeys and amoeba in our generation. Shouldn’t they have evolved or something? Why are they still there? Perhaps they were infected with some kind of terminal disease that prevented their growth. So its possible then; that our generations would evolve and become… say… Super heroes or transformers and some would remain humans. Okay, I have to add now, this is really hilarious.

So someone sat down one day, decided that he wasn’t going to believe God was real and all he could do to help buttress his beliefs was creating the BBT story.
Its hilarious and yet sad.

We meet atheists everyday. They are everywhere, in our classrooms, cafeterias, our workplaces, even in the common lifts. They breathe the same air God provides, walk and drive along the ground He created, eat his creations and still fail to see his existence. Its sad… Really sad.

I guess the only thing we can do for them is pray for them. You could also try to explain the loopholes in their beliefs to them if you’re an awesome speaker. On a serious note, I hope one day they believe.

But sincerely,
Is it logical (possible) to believe there is no God?

Thanks for reading. I hope I didn’t bore you. This genre is but a mystery to me anyway. Have a wonderful day and stay blessed.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in advance too. 🙂

Mike Dammy