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Leaving

The day Dad left, I was in school. There was a quiz competition and I was representing my school. I was in Primary 5. Buses belonging to the competing schools were parked in the school car park, emblazoned with names like Apex Comprehensive School, Fountain of Knowledge Comprehensive Nursery and Primary School, Excellence Nursery and Primary School… names like that. At the final stage, it was me and one other child. I can no longer remember if it was a girl or boy. I just know that the child had on huge glasses and looked like a genius. We had gone ten rounds, and facts and trivia I had learned for the quiz was almost exhausted. I was almost shivering in trepidation. Not this child though. This child still had a confident, almost smug grin on its face. Until the child got a question wrong. The grin was replaced with…

The Bro Code #1

The Bro Code, written by Great Opara, follows the lives of three long-time friends; Obi, Ayo and Pablo and their relationships, the challenges and obstacles they face trying to make it in the real world, and the realities of living and working in Nigeria for the millennial generation. The smell of burning bread had been spreading from the apartment’s kitchen for some minutes and had made its way into the dining room and was now steadily slipping under and around the door of the master bedroom to the left of the eating area. It was the room closest to the kitchen and had the advantage of its own bathroom and toilet while the other two rooms in the apartment had to make due with a shared one. The smell which had now transformed into lightly dense smoke penetrated into the bedroom and started to dance around the head of the…

Girls #9

Happy New Year Moskedapages readers. May this year bring you all the best and some more.       Sorry about the long wait for this episode. It couldn’t be avoided, I’m so sorry. Anyway, here it is, episode 9. Have a great day.      Catch up on Girls here *** “I don’t want to.” “I need you, Kenny.” “I don’t want to.” Kenny shrieked this time.                     She had meant to be gentler. Tried to be. But her refusal came out forceful and disappointment gripped her like a fever as he collapsed on top of her. The annoyance she expected from him did not come. It manifested as weariness. He stayed on her without speaking or zipping up his jeans. His head on her chest. Stiff and content at the same time. “Can I stay like this at least?” His lips were pressed to her skin.                  “If you…

Memoirs Of A Repentant Escort #10

Previously on Memoirs of a Repentant Escort Some people no get good thoughts for mind. Even some wey get, na one good thought, two terrible thoughts. I think Mama Seun fits that category. “She dey alright o.” “Okay. As I no see her na why I talk say make I just ask as per Jesus talk say, love your neighbours as yourself na. . . But you never tell me where she dey.” “Mama Seun, you know say I don tire. All that matters is that Amaka is fine. That info sef suppose do you now. I’d see you in that morning. Good night.” “Okay o.” I didn’t even bother looking at her face while I talked. It is said that ‘he who looks at the bride’s face will know she’s crying.’ I knew what I said would have hurt her aproko body small but who cares. I have bigger…

Memoirs Of A Repentant Escort #9

Catch up with Memoirs of a Repentant Escort Staring at the blood-stricken rug, reminiscing my first moment and moments with Amaka, I couldn’t help but pray earnestly in my mind that she stays hale and hearty. I love the fun she gives me; to hell with the stress that comes with it. Even though a part of me wanted to think it was all a prank, life doesn’t pull pranks, so does Amaka and even if she was up to something, it was never gonna be something threatening as this but woe-betide her if this is all for nothing cos I could swear I had already lost a pound in the process of worrying about her The compound was still very much silent, nobody around still; didn’t know who to call or whose opinion to seek. Jide would have been my first go-to counseling centre if things hadn’t gone sour…

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