I am like an assassin
That is reluctant to cause hurt
I am like a dragon
Holding its own jaws shut.
×°×°
I have an inferno within
Raging, crackling tongues of fire
Your love Vesuvius, mine Krakatoa!
×°×
That is why I am silent
My words will break your spirit.
×°
I am trying not to end us.
×
If I get enough requests by way of comments, I will tell the story of his mother…
He is my wee little man.
The boy is a wonder. Not just because he is my son, but because he has the capacity to creep the hell out of me.
Do not get me wrong, I love him. Most people do too. He is only three years old, but he carries on like one much older.
I had been out of the country for a week, and so he had to stay with his mum. It is not as if I have custody or anything, but he prefers to stay with me.
From the moment he was born, he took to me. He loves his mum, but he has decided to terrify me incessantly.
He loves almost every thing I like. The smell of coffee, aftershave and incense.
He loves fast machinery… My Mercedes-Benz AMG® GT, a Harley Davidson I have had for years and watching formula one.
He even likes Spartacus (the series) and boxing highlights that end in knockouts.
Oh, and he also knows how to bypass parental control settings on my decoder.
Did I mention that he is three years old?
I picked him up from his mum’s place and was headed for the Silverbird Galleria when he spoke for the first time that day.
“Dan, we have to be careful today…”
Yes, my three year old son calls me by my first name and is a bit of a psalter.
Creepy-ass kid!
I have an office in the penthouse of Silverbird Galleria. I planned on a brief meeting because with a kid in tow there was little I could achieve.
“Da – an…”
“Yes my Chairman?” (that is his nickname)
“Don’t worry, I will be alright yeah?”
“Oookay… Just hold on to my hand…”
He hates unnecessary physical contact. Predictably, he declined.
Silverbird Galleria is simply a well – maintained shopping mall. It houses a cinema, gymnasium, designer brand outlets, bank branches, lounges, fast food brands amongst other flashy franchises.
Security is strict. Due diligence is consistently observed.
The affluent and wannabe’s alike throng the mall in self – induced self respect. It is a safe place to be.
Chairman and I had just gone through the metal detectors of the VIP entrance. We were then headed towards the private lifts to the west of the mall when a ruckus at the main entrance distracted us.
I remember smiling down at Chairman and telling him that a celebrity was visiting the mall.
Ms. Ini is an amazing actress, recently divorced. Not too tall, and a bombshell. ‘She would be a perfect date for Valentine’s day,’ I told him.
To which Chairman favored me with a sly smile. He is a good looking kid… But creepy as hell! Lol…
I looked across one more time and caught a glimpse of my crush being escorted by her private security up an escalator.
I looked back down and my son was gone.
Poof!
In less than five seconds… My kid was just gone.
I felt my heart constrict painfully.
I started to hyperventilate.
I looked around wildly, nada!
In the center of a sparsely populated mall… Bloody hell!
I shouted for the mall security and they came running.
I am a known patron within the mall. I guaranteed the jobs of at least ten of the malls’ security officers and have another five staff of the mall that owe me favors. They literally shut down the mall for me that day.
A couple of minutes later, his cryptic admonitions started replaying in my head. I felt tears cloud my eyes.
I was hurriedly ushered upstairs towards the security room. All cctv footage were processed there. It was located on the third floor.
Announcements were already being made describing my son over the mall’s public address system.
I was knee – deep in shit!
The heat and malicious rumors his disappearance would generate would ruin my empire! His mum would die of heartbreak. She would sleep tonight and then die in her sleep before morning.
I called the commissioner of police and he benevolently put out a BOL & an ATL. He is a close ally and a great man. The city of Abuja was sealed almost instantly. Check points were activated at strategic locations in concentric circles from around the mall into the city.
“Oga, no be your pikin that woman hold so?” An excited mall official yelped pointing excitedly at the monitor.
“Which floor is that?!” I yelled already dashing out of the door.
“Fourth floor sir, make we follow the stairs. The ‘lift’ fit waste time.”
I was grateful for the dedication of the posse that were panting behind me.
Bless those men… All of you!
I came up out of the spiraling staircase with murderous intent. Whoever she was, I planned on inflicting pain in a few seconds.
I knew that the mall security would hold me back and so I deliberately increased my pace…
And almost ran into Ms. Ini.
The actress / celebrity / crush – thingy I was talking about earlier…
She was even lovelier up close. A lot smaller than the big screen portrayed… But as certain as sunrise tomorrow, she is stacked!
Just the way I like my women.
She and her entourage seemed to be headed towards the stairs I just lunged out of. My mien, speed and bulk had terrified the group into an impasse.
She had my son in her arms.
“Daddy!” He screamed out in glee…
Wait.
A.
Minute…
Why was he calling me ‘daddy’?
Forget that he was in the arms of one of the country’s sexiest filmstars…
And how he got to her at all…
He did not like to be carried…at all!
“Chairman! I was worried! I am so upset with you! I am not happy at all…”
“Dah-ddy… Meet my friend Ms. Ini. She does not have a date for Valentine’s day either.”
She and I burst out laughing nervously at first. and as soon as I took her tiny hand in mine the laughter got quieter. Warmer. Tingly-er…
Everybody loves my Chairman… his cryptic admonitions started replaying (again) in my head. I felt tears cloud my eyes…
“Awww… It’s okay… I found him wandering. He’s such a smart kid. I love him! I would have never allowed him get hurt. We were coming to look for you… He insisted that we take the stairs…come here…”
And she dropped him and gave me one of the best hugs of my life. ‘The first of many’, I mentally promised myself.
Long story short, we exchanged contacts and shared a few cocktails that same night.
Everything ended well. Ms. Ini agreed to dinner come the fourteenth of February by seven pm. She magnanimously agreed to meet up in Abuja.
I planned to call @benmurraybruce, I was going to shut down Silverbird Galleria come February 14 for that night. Just Ms. Ini and I, and maybe some violinists … No matter the cost.
As I sat looking down at my sleeping son at about midnight (that same night), his eyes flew open.
“Dan, she is not your wife. Just have fun.”
He turned away to face the wall, leaving me with my mouth and eyes wide open.
Creepy-ass kid!
If I get enough requests by way of comments, I will tell the story of his mother…
Hmmmm….(in a Nigerian accent)
I do not know where to begin this story from. But indeed I must.
As is common in my religion, the first few days, weeks and /or months of a year are dedicated to fasting and prayer.
Yours truly did partake thereof these holy rites.
The fasts end by six in the evening, followed by prayers for another hour or so.
The priest, prophet or pastor would close the meeting by making declarations, prophesying or just sharing a simple prayer.
I do not attend this ministry. I am new in town and this parish is close to where I live and where I work.
For some reason, I refused to break my fast as was the norm. I was fasting without food or water.
Understandably by the fourth day I was in another realm. I had been praying and meditating throughout. Trust me, I was spiritual, raised to the power of infinity.
A week into the ordeal, and after closing prayers, the priest, prophet or pastor requested that I wait behind after the prayers.
I did.
He is a rotund fellow. Slightly shifty in my opinion.
He said that he had a ‘word of knowledge’ for me. He said that a close relative was bent on ‘stealing my bright star’ and that God had been fighting for me in the spiritual.
He proceeded to advise that I give an offering to ‘perfect’ all God was doing in my life. He stressed that it did not need to be anything large. Just a token to acknowledge God’s grace over my life.
Sigh!
Luckily I was in a good place spiritually, and so I gave up my ‘widow’s mite’. It was literally all I had.
That night I was awakened to the sound of rustling and slight thumping in my kitchen. My neighborhood is opulent, thus secure so I assumed that it was an open window.
Lucky thing that I turned on the lights first… It was my window alright, but the said window somehow had a cobra writhing about. Stuck.
I kid you not.
A brown cobra that reared up and began spitting at me the moment it saw me.
Sigh!
I was spiritual do not forget. Yet tired. The windows were made of white painted aluminum. Set in a wall of white tiles.
I observed the serpent for a moment and timed its open mouth… Then squirted insecticide into and onto it.
It was not a good way to kill a serpent. I stoically watched it die.
It suffered.
In the end, it was foaming at the mouth. Mouth agape.
For some reason I was still clutching the can of insecticide when I returned to my bedroom.
I decided to wash my hands in the ensuite bathroom before going back to sleep. I thought that I could keep the big ‘extra-value’ canister of insecticide in the bathroom. Come to think of it, where it should have been! Not the kitchen…
Sigh!
God works in mysterious ways.
Lucky thing that I turned on the lights first… Because standing tall in my toilet was a snake.
A bigger cobra.
Black.
And it was standing stock – still seemingly waiting for me.
The second it reared it’s head backwards, I reflexively raised the insecticide and squirted the spray into its face.
Oooh the ruckus!
Sweet Jesus!
This sucker went berserk! It finally drove its fangs into my bathroom cabinet, smashing the glass. Then it started attacking sharp shards of the mirror still held by a wooden frame.
I testify that this thing slit its own throat by itself.
I imagine that I was just standing there mouth agape.
In the end, I could see through the self-inflicted wound all the way to the bones of its vertebrae. It’s blood pooling in a widening circle around its dead head. In my bathtub.
By this time it was three am. My alarm went off just then.
It was time to pray.
So I prayed until four am, with the canister of insecticide in my hand.
But then, the hunger, the thirst, the weakness, the toxic fumes and above all, faith prevailed. I fell asleep on my knees…
I jumped awake quoting scripture a few hours later. Psalms 23 I believe.
It was about seven am.
Groggy and sore, I opened my bathroom cautiously… The dead cobra was still there.
The other one was still in the kitchen too.
I decided to break my fast with a drink of warm water.
Called the office and took the day off. Then dressed up and headed to see the priest, prophet, pastor…. As usual there was a crowd of ‘faithfuls’ waiting to see him. He lived within the place of worship.
But then I noticed that the faces of the crowd were sorrowful.
I pushed my way to the front and into the house. There were policemen everywhere.
I knew what I had to do, I pushed my way to their kitchen and sure enough, the preachers wife lay dead. Mouth open, foam in her mouth.
The bathroom had the corpse of the rotund and shifty priest, prophet, pastor. Throat slit. Pool of blood around his head in a circle in the bathtub.
Broken and shattered glass everywhere.
And for some reason, the cloying smell of insecticide.
Insecticide that was never found at the scene of the deaths.
Sigh!
Happy New Year (I guess).
I would like to tell you a story.
First off, forget all you think you know about the story.
The Story is set in eternity. I would not dare to add or subtract from The Truth.
But I am compelled to entertain you. I am obligated to open up the eye of your understanding.
As always, embedded in all I will ever write; exist ‘gates’.
If you know, you know.
Once upon a time there was one made in the likeness of the Author and Finisher. (This is how I was told the story began.)
He that was newly created, he was alone. Not lonely.
He traversed the length and breadth of his dominion.
The story says that he had been commissioned to name all things; animals, plants et al.
He was a maverick. He was a pioneer. He was was a (Before Christ) Tarzan.
In short, he was badass!
Original badass!
Now El Shaddai ran a few algorithms. In His brilliance, He deemed it fit to make a Help Meet for Badass.
And then voila! there was this hottie at the whim… The caprices of Badass.
Let us be real for a bit… We are all adults here.
Fellas back me up on this;
A virgin.
Younger than you are.
Totally ignorant and largely naive.
And lest I forget, perpetually naked.
Yes naked.
As was he… Bad-assery!
Keeping it real… This was the first recorded insinuation of sex.
This was also in that year when men lived to be hundreds of years old.
Can you imagine the libido in that dominion?!
The unmitigated and uncensored lust!!
Their eagerness. Their dedication. Their devotion. The love!
They must have tormented the animals incessantly. Their ruckus most likely made primates cover their eyes and ears in embarrassment.
He was whipped
She was dick-matized.
They were in a utopian euphoria of some sort.
Inseparable.
In the version of this story, (the story that was told to me and I am telling you), one day Badass stumbled on the devil weasling around The Forbidden Tree.
Of course he had his bride… woman, queen, sex slave etc in tow.
Hey… She must have been gobsmacked by Badass.
Inseparable.
And then the devil sold his lies convincingly.
And Badass nodded in permission to his Help Meet.
Whereupon she hurriedly picked /collected / harvested / plucked a fruit off of The Forbidden Tree.
Eve? In that era and dispensation? Dare leave her protector / husband / lord / new-found lover??
And dare to strike conversation with any other thing without his say so?
Impossible!
Rubbish!
According to the way that the story was told to me of course…
According to the story, the one I was told, Badass instructed his woman to eat of it. And then he ate.
Help Meet was old-school; loyal, graceful, obedient, wise and respectful. She backed up her man’s story. She did not let him down.
From the sentencing all the way to banishment she refused to snitch.
Of course Tsidkenu knew exactly what Badass was doing. He was not deceived. But He saw them as one. A few centuries later He would allow the ‘untimely’ death of a couple. They lied to an apostle about proceeds from land sold.
Rohe would not interfere in the affairs of man without requisite invitation though. So He did what He had to do. This version of the story agrees with the original one.
No… That was not Freudian. I slipped for a reason.
She lost her home, her comfort zone, her security. She was cursed alongside her man and she served her time with dignity, style and grace.
That woman was certainly ‘ride or die’.
Wife-material!
Ahem! The above is exactly the way the story was told to me of course… Hehehe…
The story goes on to reveal that Help Meet may have been less educated than Badass. And so there exists Badass’ version of this same story that is popular and well accepted. And original.
No… That was not Freudian. I slipped right on point.
And so my friends, I have come to the end of the story that I was told.
If I ever hear another story I deem worth your time, I will tell it.
You may leave your comments on this blog.
Thank you.
Do not read this story out loud at night.
Do not read this story in front of a mirror.
Do not. Never ever. Do these two things at the same time.
The first time it happened, I was about five years old.
My mother was out of town I think. We were left with her beautiful sister. My aunt was a ‘babe’, and so she had loads of distractions. My sister and I were left to our own devices.
It was a safe neighborhood. Mama Carol was a Grey-haired, overweight neighbor. Kept to herself largely, but always had a smile for kids.
I had just been smacked and so I was downstairs weeping. I was seated on the steps waiting to report my aunt to my mother the second she arrived.
Mama Carol shuffled over and consoled me. She pressured me into eating some sweets. She promised me that it would be our secret – secret.
That night I was in a dream. At least I thought it was one. Most of the kids on my block were there. Except for Zoe, my sister.
Mama Carol and a few other adults were in charge there. They taught us to be rambunctious. They taught us spells I grew to recognize them as curses. They taught us to basically terrorize our families.
There was a premium on blood and death. Big bonuses were promised if anyone died by our hands.
I always woke up tired in the morning. I found it stressful.
They stopped bringing me into their meetings when I asked why we could not drink a cola or Kool-Aid as opposed to blood.
The second time was in my freshman year.
Of all the fraternities to join, I ended up being tapped by one neck-deep in wars and battles. You could get shot or stabbed by these people for anything (real or imagined) ranging from a fart to your height. They were just so… Bloodthirsty! Their bloodlust was bananas!
A lot of brothers died. But Bello took a shine to me and protected me. Prior to his graduation, he oversaw my initiation ceremony. It was performed by the banks of a large river. I saw and heard things that I cannot talk about. Let me at least say that there are many entities on earth that are not human.
One day I deflowered the woman who would become my wife. I love her. While she slept, I felt nature ‘call’ me. Afterwards, when I stood up to flush, I was astonished to see the cistern filled with bolts, nuts, keys, chains, padlocks, a small bearing and all sorts of metal.
Suffice it to say that I wisely avoided getting shot at or stabbed after that incident. I was hitherto impervious to death.
The third time was when I was contesting for public office.
Whilst on campaign, I visited with my constituency. It was a townhall meeting.
The oldest indigene attended and requested to meet with me. At the end of that meeting, I foolishly allowed him to lay his hands on my head and pray in a dialect I did not understand. My sycophantic team kept screaming ‘amens’.
I won in the general elections.
I always win.
Even when I play chess online, I win. And I do not play chess! The game or prize does not matter. If I competed for anything, it was mine.
But people around me seemed to die every couple of months. Like clockwork. I have been attending more funerals than ever in the last four years.
And so I have taken to telling everyone of my experiences.
Uhmmm, no. This snitching is not allowed. It is an offense punishable by death in every coven.
I teach people how to break free of; blood oaths, selling of their souls, demonic possession, enchantments and divinations… I set free an average of twenty five souls every month. For the last year or so.
Then just last night, the fallen one shows up offering ‘my soul’ back to me… Lol…
Really?
Really?!
I am having too much fun with this rogue behavior. He can keep ‘it’.
I up and accepted Jesus into my life a while back. Lol…
I have a better deal with God.
Do not read this story out loud at night.
Do not read this story in front of a mirror.
Do not. Never ever. Do these two things at the same time.
If you can manage it
Except when you make love to her
Do not make her cry often.
In retrospect I suffer wisdom
Because I learned the hard way
Tears make up your love in her heart.
Every time you make her cry
You deplete her love for you
Happy tears though, fill love back up.
They get ‘cried – out’ sir
Then they feel nothing
Indifference is the opposite of love.
