BCL

All I asked for was water, rather than attend to my needs, she chose to be a smart mouth. I was beginning to get infuriated by the madam's secretary and my demeanour voiced my sentiments. 'Is it so hard to fetch a glass of water to pacify my thirsty soul?', I asked.

The secretary stood before me looking really attentive as I barked out an order for a glass of water. 'Not a problem sir, what kind would you prefer? Sparkling or Still water sir?', she inquired. Ignorance immediately activated shame within me and I retorted, demanding for Sparkling water.

'Room temperature or Refrigerated?', she asked softly. At this point, my heart had begun to race. 'Which one is room temperature again?', I asked myself. The room was air-conditioned, so there was no clear difference between both. I opted for refrigerated being a man given to cold drinks.

The secretary turned away as if to leave, then she remembered something. 'One more thing sir', she said politely, "Would you favour bonbons or croissants after your drink?", she asked. Croi what? I had no idea what she was talking about and I could swear I heard bumbums. I brilliantly decided to go with the road less travelled by, since nobody would want to eat "bumbums"- I chose croissants.

I expected her to leave, yet she asked another question. 'Which would you prefer sir: Croissant au chocolat, L'orange, D'ananas or croissant brillé with a fondue'. I went blank at this point, none of these sounded familiar to me and I didn't want to embarrass myself any further.

Not seeming anywhere near the door, the secretary stood in front of me with her pen and notepad expecting an answer. I unconsciously said 'the one with the "fondu".' She scribbled something and asked, 'What kind of bonbon do you want thereafter'.

I thought we had already eradicated the "bumbums", I couldn't get why she brought it again. In the absence of what to say, I said bring anyone you have. By the time she fetched my glass of water, I wasn't even thirsty anymore. I drank the water and there was nothing special about it, it still felt like the normal water I was used to.

One thing I know, She surely put me in an awkward situation with her questions and the sea of choices she offered. The lesson I learnt here is to be outspoken when necessary. Imagine I told her from the onset that I just needed cold water and dismissed her immediately, Would it have come to this?

I also learnt that one has to be educated even after being schooled. Certain things can't be taught within the four walls of a classroom-this includes etiquette and social language. After being humiliated by the unsuspecting secretary, I vowed to learn about social exchanges and all that come with being well rounded.

Batousai

Loud cries filled the air to herald the entrance of a new baby into the world. Although it was hard to decipher between the mother's shrieks and the baby's wails, it was quite clear that things were not alright in that delivery room. The baby's wails were totally understandable, however the mother's prolonged shrieks remained a mystery.

The visibly weakened mother struggled with an outstretched hand, forcing the word 'Shinobi' forced out of her lips. She died shortly afterwards without even getting the chance to touch her own child. A sad silence overshadowed the room as Miyuki and her hand maidens cleaned up the mess on the floor.

Miyuki rocked the orphaned child from side to side pondering on what to do next. This kind of incident was not alien to her as she had 7 adopted sons in the past, all of whom lost their birth mothers to a similar fate. As usual, the identity of their fathers were unknown so she had to raise the children as if they were her own. 

The mother had mentioned 'Shinobi' before she died meaning the child should be called by that name. Shinobi wasn't a name anybody was called, it was a title given due to an occupation, its like christening a child 'Doctor'. On the other hand, no female ever bore the title 'Shinobi', how then could this girl ever be Shinobi? It was dilemma for Miyuki; causing her to go deeper in thought.

She called the child Natsumi, naming her after Tokushima's former most beautiful woman. Like this child, the original Natsumi took the life of her mother at birth and had no name. The midwife had to raise her all by herself amidst the jeers from friend and family.

Miyuki ensured Natsumi was treated like her other sons: raised with a hand of steel. She took swordsmanship and combat lessons everyday from age 3. By the time she was a teenager, she could best anybody in a combat and was inducted into the Cult of Warriors as the first woman in history to be summoned to this hallowed gathering.

Days became months and months became years, Natsumi blossomed into a very beautiful young woman with bright eyes, a powerful touch and an athletic physique. Her beauty was often misleading and many men often got beaten to a pulp if they misjudged her. Some of the lucky survivors had gory tales to tell about the impact of her strikes against their corpus.

One autumn evening, Miyuki was knocked down by Kazakage's convoy at an intersection while trying to cross the road. The imperial minister's horses came up from nowhere and stampeded the old woman. She was 65 years old when she met a gruesome death. Tokushima mourned for a while and soon she was forgotten, just like the others that died from such executive lawlessness.

Everyone forgot about Miyuki but not Natsumi. She was spewing hate against Kazekage and his government but she did nothing. The corruption, oppression and suppression was already unbearable but everyone endured in silence hoping change would come someday. She wanted to avenge the death of Miyuki who didn't even enjoy the courtesy of an apology/remorse from the camp of the minister.

Natsumi kept hearing the voice of Miyuki telling her that she had a purpose on the earth and she was different from every other woman.

No-one told her what she was created to do, all she knew was that she was made for a time. So Natsumi did nothing and moved on with her life occasionally foaming in the mouth against the government in her small Dunga as she waited for the time to fulfil her purpose.

In no time, Kazekage's son became imperial minister and was more cruel than his father. Life became so bad that the people of Tokushima were as slaves even within their own country and on the other hand, Natsumi grew old and weak.

She eventually died of a typhoid and never amounted to much. Her greatest achievement was when she was 18 and announced the fiercest female warrior that ever lived.

Are you still waiting for the time to make a difference? I hope you don't wait forever.

The Legend of the Seeker III

I ran eastwards as fast as my legs could carry me and shouted 'Revren' just like the lad said. The people looked at me strangely, knowing I was not from Izundu, they wondered what was going on. By the time I got to the white man's god, the whole village had heard about me and had come out to see from themselves.

The white man's god came out and he was white too. He wore white garments and leather sandals. His voice was mild and his hands were as if he never tilled the land before. He touched my face and said something in a language I could not understand. Another strangely dressed native told me what the god said in my dialect, I was shocked.

'Don't be afraid Ugaba, you would not be disturbed again', he said. Nobody knew me by Ugaba since I lost my family, everyone simply called me Jabu (meaning the accursed). 'How did he know my name and how did he know I was disturbed?, I asked. The interpreter relayed his reply and said 'I have known you even from your mother's womb'. I still did not know what was going on.

 The white man's god knew everything and was kind too. I was not used to this kind of god. The gods I had served in the past were heartless and always sought revenge and blood but this god invited me into his shrine and took care of me. He gave me clothes like his and food like the one he ate. He kept giving me things and never asked me for yams or goats or oil palm or human heads.

One day, the white man's god asked me for my life, I thought he wanted to kill me. Even though I was free from the spirit that tormented me and I owed my life to the white man's god, I didn't want to lose it. He told me that I can only gain my life by losing it first; I wasn't even ready to be re-incarnated.

He took time to teach me how to give him my life, I discovered I didn't even have to die. All I did was say a short prayer and I had given him my life. Everything was easy with the white man's god, my crops grew fast, my goats reproduced rapidly and even the beautiful daughter of the town crier had eyes for me.

The white man's god taught me everything even though he taught me only one lesson: he taught me to love. Everyday he taught me how to love and be loved till he left us. Even though he is not with us anymore, he sent another that is like him to stay with us.

The white man's god's replacement taught me how to read and write and speak the white man's language. He also gave me the paper and the ink, that is why you are reading this story. I hope you enjoyed it.

The Legend of the Seeker II

I felt sedate again, just like the other times: after I watched my grandmother die and after I beheaded the "amili" priestess. I shivered in fear as I looked at what I had done. The machete in my hand was dripping blood and on the floor lay two lifeless bodies. I killed the king! The queen joined him in the great beyond when she wouldn't stop screaming for help.

My heart began to race, the hair at the back of my neck stood up and I faded again. By the time I jerked back to reality, the whole palace was covered in red. I had killed every single inhabitant including children in another fit. The bodies of the palace guards littered the ground and the paths along the palace seemed to be unusually deserted.

I was still wondering what was going on when I blanked out yet again. This time I struggled not to fall into sleep but a hand pulled me away from my body. My body went angrily into the village and killed everything that breathed. Every creeping being, every tree, every farmland, in fact every living thing died by my hand. 

For the first time i saw my body do the things I was responsible for. In a split second, my body came back to where I watched helplessly and I felt the same hand push me back into it. I woke up sweating, this time my arms and legs ached. The entire village was desolate.

I was scared, I didn't know what to do. Everyone was dead, every tree was uprooted, every animal laid lifeless. I threw the accursed machete onto a pile of bodies and went to the stream for a thorough wash. I left the massacre and headed down south towards Izundu. Perhaps this was a chance to visit the famed no-go area.

The people of Izundu used to be very weak and were vassal to our village despite their access to better weapons. Their luck changed when they accepted the white man's god: they defeated our cavalry with just 30 men. The great men of our village fell in battle like over-ripe mangoes even though the men of Izundu didn't throw a spear or raise a machete.

From that day on, everyone feared Izundu and the white man's god. Nobody ever stepped foot in Izundu again. We were forbidden to marry from them or trade with them. I had heard tales of the white man's god and I hoped to seek refuge in him, deep down I hoped he was real.

After walking for 3 days and 3 nights, I finally set my eyes on a compound; the sight alone strengthened my weary legs. I saw baby-strapping women pounding the foo-foo and the grey bearded men drank lots of palmwine, laughing loudly as they told tales to the dreamy eyed youngsters that surrounded them. People walked about beaming with smiles, dressing strangely and carrying big black things; everyone seemed happy.
Full of hope I approached a teenage boy who was dressed in funny clothes and asked him where the white man's god was. The boy looked surprised but pointed eastwards and mumbled 'Revren'.

The Legend of the Seeker

My Grandmother used to cane me thoroughly when I erred as a child. In situations where it wasn't proven that I erred, it wasn't alien to be at the receiving end of thunderous slaps and mean knocks.

The path was like this: I did something wrong - my grandmother got angry - I got caned - I screamed to elicit the neighbours' pity - they scolded and caned me further - I cried uncontrollably - I stopped crying - I did it again some other time.

By the time I was 12, strokes of cane against my bare back thrilled me. It was a time to display my ability to resist the cane. I sometimes withstood heavy flogging from my grandmother just to frustrate her. I laughed hysterically during flogging sessions or sometimes stood lifeless like a log till the proceedings were over.

I recall frustrating my grandmother so bad that she flogged me till she collapsed. Despite the intensity of the flogging, I didn't shed a tear. I was out of control, nobody could caution me or give me instructions; I simply did what I wanted, when I willed and how I wished.

By the time I was 15, I stole a cockerel and sold it for 5 cowries to an unsuspecting woman who thought my sick father needed the money to pay a physician. A few years later, I joined a gang and officially became a miscreant. I later killed my grandmother in a fit of anger because she questioned my whereabouts.

I recall planning my own grandmother's death. I tied her hands, legs and gagged her mouth with a dirty cloth before I beheaded her with my machete. Her head was sent flying at the strike of my machete and her body jerked violently for the next few seconds. I don't know what came over me or why I did what I did.

My grandmother was the only family I had left as every other relative I had were either killed in the legendary war against Izundu Village or didn't want to have anything to do with me because of my reputation. I sulked for a few days and later went on a rampage to pacify my bleeding heart, I beheaded the priestess right before the shrine of "Amili", the god of purity.

In my short life, I had killed too many people, stolen from too many people, raped too many virgins and defiled the shrine of too many gods. The whole village whispered that "mozumba", the god of vengeance would avenge the sacrilege I committed at the shrine of his estranged wife "amili". I was accursed because I killed my own blood and was renamed accordingly.

For once I was scared, the rumoured wrath of the gods that awaited me made me shudder anytime I thought about it. I was scarred by the death of my grandmother as I kept hallucinating; I hadn't got any sleep in 10 days. I was losing my mind.

One windy market day, I got up, picked up my machete; the same machete that beheaded my grandmother and the 'amili' priestess. I made my way into the palace and killed the king in his inner chambers. Two strikes against his neck, the king's blood was gushing like a Japanese fountain.
                                                    (The story continues next week)

Saturday Special

I bumped into an ex-girlfriend at Cold Stone creamery and I couldn't help but write my about encounter. My one-time African Queen had grown to become a colossal nightmare in the space of barely 5 years. She looked like Nemo as she walked back to her seat with 2 large cups containing scoops of different flavours.

 With my eyes, I traced her to her seat and watched her eat. What I saw was shocking, if I decide to narrate, things would definitely get awry. Let's just say nobody should eat like that especially as a lady in public.

 I was still watching her eat greedily when she caught my gaze on her. She screamed excitedly and came over to my table 'pizza in hand'. I couldn't have wished for worse; she force hugged me, rubbing her seemingly water-logged body against mine and planted a kiss on my cheek with her ice cream stained mouth. Her breath smelled of onions and I could even hear her breathe loudly.

 After the usual pleasantries which I kept at its briefest, I tried to dismiss her to no avail. She kept talking loudly about old times and asking what happened to our love. The embarrassment was killing me, I didn't want to be associated with her in any way, most especially not before an audience.

 Eventually, she left. I could swear that this same girl who once oozed the pulchritude of Mila Kunis now had a striking resemblance to an Egyptian onion. So much dangling fat and many folds encompassed her corpus. I considered talking to her about her weight but decided to keep mum.

 If this write-up sparks up anger, resentment or makes you feel uncomfortable, so much so that you are asking yourself certain questions or concluding about the writer's position, then the following are for you:

 •Yes I know some of us have it in our genes to be big, this doesn't mean we should go about doing what slimmer people would do especially in the area of food. We are at a risk already, why put ourselves in harm's way?

 •The modification of certain words in the dictionary such as Fat shouldn't delude us. There is a clear difference between being plus sized/thick and being fat. Any misuse would attract great scorn from the public. Hence, be sincere with yourself about how you look and take it from there.

 •The holy book says "if thou be a man given to appetite, put a knife to your throat...". Self control is key. I know you have various slimming teas and shakes, I'm aware you go for detox sessions too. Notwithstanding, make a conscious effort to eat with caution judging from the fact that you're not aspiring to become a sumo wrestler.

 Nuff said.

Never Leave Me

I remember when my wife broke the news of her conception to me; it was like I had won the lottery. So much joy swelled from my inside, I couldn't contain it. My countenance changed instantly; every kid I saw at the mall or on TV suddenly began to look adorable and cute. I couldn't wait to get my fatherly hands on mine.

We discovered that we were expecting quadruplets and we were excited by the news. I publicly acknowledged God's multiple blessings in our lives. "Kids are the heritage of the Lord", I told anyone that cared to listen.

It was all lime and tequila up until the quadruplets arrived, all boys. The first few days after their birth were full of excitement, then reality set in. The provisions shelf would go empty a few days after being fully stocked, there was need to buy everything in fours, my wife suddenly needed a maid, the generator had to be on overnight so the babies could sleep.

This was beginning to get to me, financially and in other regards. Sometimes I bemoaned the situation. Our blessing suddenly became our predicament in my eyes. Finding me staring blankly and sighing thereafter was a common occurrence. I sold my plot of land at Mowe (my only asset) to raise the much needed funds, thus implying that we were going to be tenants till I could afford to develop another plot.

Everything happened so fast, I couldn't even fathom what was going on. Shortly after, I lost my job. I concluded that the kids were not a bundle of joy but a bouquet of misfortune. Then I blamed my wife for having a bad head, an "oloriburuku" as my kinsmen would say. God's issue was on another level, if he truly existed he must have been an evil person.

I was very bitter. Two days later, my body was dangling from a rope tied to the fan in my bedroom. I thought peace from the wicked world and my unfortunate kids would come thereafter. I was wrong!

Looking down from the land of the dead, I saw my unemployed wife live every day in sorrow with 4 infants in a rented apartment. The only assets I left behind were our belongings and my 2005 model Toyota; all liabilities. No real friends to even comfort her; that didn't look like peace to me.

One quick look at my wife's thoughts and I regretted leaving her. She thought I was a coward, that I was selfish and insensitive. Yet she prayed for my soul to find peace. I was really silly to have treated my wife and kids that way. "Too late!” the ministering spirit assigned to me cried.

It is too late for me but not for you.

Never leave your loved ones alone especially in trying times, be sensitive enough to know that whatever decision you make goes beyond you; the lives of others may be made or marred by a choice you choose to choose.