Category Archives: Short Story

Do You Love Me?

Posted by Dan Ochu-Baiye on

I had just taken this picture when she asked me that question.

Had to distort her image… Sorry. Privacy policies…

Yes, that question.

We were in a popular frozen yogurt franchise. We were sitting around a table meant for four people.

She was seated by my left hand side. ‘Mrs’ (not mine, but another’s) was seated by my right hand side. Her husband was still at the toilets.

My angel had ‘to go’ and I had taken her to the female side. Handed her over to a vivacious looking female employee who benevolently escorted her in and out. I had waited outside (of course) trying to look busy and non-creepy loitering around the female half of the toilets.

Mrs’ husband had also felt the burden to unburden. And so we three had left her, (Mrs) guarding our frozen delights, and table.

‘Vivacious’ returned my angel safe and sound, but she was suddenly flirty and inquisitive… Sigh… At the risk of being immodest, I am compelled to inform you that women find me attractive.

That is all I have to say about that… No, no, that is a story for another day.

Anyways…

I diplomatically defused Vivacious and turned just in time to see my angel walking back toward me. She had a look in her eyes that reminded me of me. She and I share DNA… A lot of DNA I think. Like me, she is territorial. Not jealous, territorial. I immediately assumed that she did not like Vivacious.

By the time we got back, my frozen yogurt was now a complex mixture of atrocious flavors and color. Undeterred I raised my cup to sip…

Out of my peripheral, I saw Mrs visibly inhale in near ecstasy as I opened my (rather small) mouth.

‘Mrs Johnson’…

Hmmm…

Where do I begin with her?

She refers to me as ‘the one that got away’.

She has liked me for years!

She was (in my opinion) one of those misguided people… Those rebels without a cause. She seemed determined to live life on her own terms and made sure that we all knew this.

Interestingly, no one cared what she did with her life or vagina.

I was part of a small ad hoc committee she once assembled. She had slept with all seven of the eight men there. And with two of the women too. Her agenda was ‘career advice’. I was glad that I could not make that meeting.

I do not suffer fools lightly.

Without regard for my personal code of ethics, she did not just overtly convey her feelings for me, she proceeded to hint that I marry her.

Me!? Marry… Her?

Haaaa!!?? (in a Yoruba accent)

Anyways…

A few years ago, this young man bravely walked up to me and requested that I introduce him to her… He said that he wanted to marry her.

And Shazam!

He did.

All is well that ended well…

My contract with the United Nations had me in Nigeria for a year at this time and I had another year to go.

In light of recent kidnappings, rape of children and other such abuse, I had established a ‘safe word’ with my seven year old angel.

An innocuous phrase. To be used when, and if she was ever molested in any way. Especially if the perpetuator was within proximity. Or it was urgent but I had company.

The phrase was the question, “DO YOU LOVE ME?”

I slowly lowered the cup and dropped it on the table without sipping.

My mind went nuclear… Then I channeled the rage in seconds to a single laser beam.

“I love you baby” I replied softly looking deep into her eyes. Searching for the hurt… The pain… A sign… Anything!

Nada.

It was like looking into my own eyes… No dice.

The abuser(s) was / were definitely on our table. Mr and / or Mrs.

But how?

When?

Why?

Were they mad? Did they not know what I would do to them? The lengths I would go to kill them painfully?

Then ‘Mr’ re-joined us.

The atmosphere had suddenly changed. The tension though intangible, was palpable.

“What did I miss?” He quipped eyes roving from his wife, to me and then my angel.

“Nothing bruh… Just some love between my baby and me…” I rhymed sing-song like lightly punching my daughter’s shoulder.

My angel’s eyes were like laser beams boring through the back of my head.

Something was wrong… Dear Lord, what was she trying to show me!?

Her eyes wandered toward the entrance and all our eyes followed hers…

“Is that your car driving away Papa?”

We all craned our necks and established that it was not my SLS AMG.

“Let’s finish up…, bottoms up!” I suggested.

We all quaffed the contents of our cups and dropped the cups simultaneously.

My angel looked downright distressed at this point. Her curiously beautiful features further enhanced by tears in both big innocent eyes.

I winked at her…

She sat up blinking and cleaning her eyes hopeful…

“I wish we had a child together Dan…”

Mrs Johnson gravely intoned. Eyes dreamy.

Sweeeeeeetttt Jeeeeeeessuuuss!!!!! The shock almost killed three of us.

Her husband viciously spat out her name in lieu of a dire warning.

“I imagine your girth in my tightness Danny – love …”

“inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un…”

(PLEASE ask Wikipedia for the meaning)

I jumped up like a bullet and bodily picked up my kid and ran for the front door.

“I’m sorry, but I love you…”

I heard her shout at me as I fled into my automobile and fled the vicinity like a banshee exorcized.

I pulled over a few minutes later and parked. Engine idling.

“I saw her pour something in your yogurt Papa… I didn’t know what else to do”

“Thank you baby. You did good. I am proud of you. Using my car as a distraction… Epic” I remember saying, nodding in approval.

Her face scrunched up… “Distraction… I was not…” Her voice trailed off.

“Papa… No! How…?”

“I switched cups with hers” I replied laughing.

“Why was she trying to kill you Papa?”

Mmmmmmm…

The blissful wonder of innocence and its attendant peace.

In rare moments like this, the true essence of kids beam forth. Bathing their listeners in righteousness.

Where would I begin? The devil? Demons? Witchcraft? Hexes? Love potions? Love charms to enslave? Kayan Mata?

Naaah…

“She is a very, very naughty aunty… She is no longer our friend.” I (parent-ally) informed my ward.

Mrs Johnson suffered a mental breakdown from that instant. She deteriorated in mental health until she passed.

I hear that it was not pleasant way to go. She died in pain and agony.

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Prophet (Dr.) Abi’ Samuel

Posted by Dan Ochu-Baiye on

(Thank you R. O for letting me do this. May you always have parables to tell.)

I have never deceived myself. I think that that is the worst sort of deception, when you lie to yourself.

My name is Prophet (Dr.) Abi’ Samuel. I shepherd a flock of about three hundred and fifty souls in the capital city of Abuja.My ministry is called, “See His Glory International Ministry”.

I am not your regular pastor. I was not ‘called’ into the ministry, I chose the ‘call’.

Why?

Simple… It was either this or the Nigerian police. Jobs were scarce back then. I was raised by liberal catholics. I was always religious.

My decision was ordained. (trying to keep things Biblical hehehe…)

As with any entrepreneurial venture, I encountered teething problems. I was in dire need of parishioners. Unfortunately for me, they were all in other people’s churches.

I was stranded around the same time in a popular north-central state. I was passing through the state on a journey. Car problems arose and the driver practically bailed on us.

One of my fellow passengers was a middle-aged gentleman who was from that state. He was helpful but hard up. By the time he got me to a motel, it was midnight and I knew that he had nowhere to go.

Contrary to my nature, I shared my room with a total stranger. In a strange land.

He was appreciative in the morning. He told me that he was a priest. His lineage were those chosen by a river goddess to serve. They were the oracles, diviners, servants and custodians of that marine deity.

I told him that I was a struggling pastor. I was honest. It was only a business for me. But at least I would not be a menace to society.

I was actually going to preach and encourage holiness, but get rich in the process.

He nodded objectively and suggested that I visit his shrine. He said that the only way he could thank me was to help me see ‘his mother’.

There was something deep about that man. And so I went with him.

He got us to a secluded bank by a river. He had me follow him across waist-deep water into a sandy enclosure. It was like a tiny island hidden from view.

I noticed artifacts and effigies that depicted the image of the river goddess.

The place was clustered with sacrifices of fresh food and fruit.

Dead and dying livestock and premium aromatic schnapps.

He changed into a white wrapper and donned his regalia.

He had me wrap one of those white cotton wrappers about my loins and then he showed me a chest-high lake of brackish water.

His mother was waiting for me he said.

As of that point in my life, I had nothing. Fortune they say, favors the brave. And so I stepped into the rather ominous-looking pool.

I saw and heard things. The deity is real. She told me when I was going to die. She told me my entire life story. She was not wrong about anything she said to me.

She offered me power. She offered me charisma, wealth and fame.

All I had to do was to have sex with her regularly. She said that she was not jealous, but I could never tell another woman that I loved her. She said that would visit me at least once a week. Wherever I was in the world.

I was tired of poverty. Besides I had heard that most men of God got power from the devil. They were rumored to use juju to perform miracles.

I made love to the goddess.

She was pleased.

Over time I learned more about my goddess. For one thing, no woman was allowed to spend the night in any bed I was in. Even my wife. We had separate bedrooms.

Those unfortunate to have been caught in bed with me were tormented with nightmares, bloody scratch marks and sometimes suffered a supernatural beat down.

My church grew. Top government ministers started attending my services. Within a few years, I had branches all over the world.

God’s work spread through my ministry. I am on television and radio everyday. I am revered and respected. Life is good and the ministry is doing well.

Part of what the water goddess wanted was for me have sex with as many women as I could. She helped me understand that that was the best way to keep my powers. The more sex I had, the easier it was to perform the miraculous.

I heal many people. Hundreds in fact. I have raised the dead. Opened blind eyes. I really do these things. People ‘sow’ millions of Naira in appreciation for the miracles I perform.

Part of what the river goddess told me is that I would not only die old, but severely diseased and blind. This is not how I want to die.So I agreed to transition at the age of forty one years old.

I would die suddenly at the height of my ministry. I was set to go out when the ovation was loudest.

The only way to ensure that I died at that age was to pass the disease and blindness to other people by way of oral sex.

Though I lost a few years, but those are years of sickness and suffering. These women would either die early and their destinies used to propel mine upward and forward.

They usually died soon after or passed the scourge on in fractions to other sex partners. Extending their lives by a few months or years.

I like it when they give me oral sex.

I like it when they swallow.

Whoever she is…

Swallow my child…

Brother’s Keeper

Posted by Dan Ochu-Baiye on

I am of the opinion that my sister is a cow.

A very cow-ey cow at that.

Hi.

How are you doing today?

Enough pleasantries exchanged… To my matter…

Said sister arrived the country with her family in tow for the Easter holidays. It was great seeing her again.

She and her family of course, but we were raised in a small family of four. I am her only brother. She is my only sister.

At least to the best of my knowledge. Who knows?

Anyways…

At some point she offered me a raggedy clock. It was poorly packaged in its crumpled original box.

I am not materialistic by any means, but this…

“Babes (our pet name for each other), it’s a ‘spy cam’. For keeping tabs on ish innit?”

Her British accent amuses me thoroughly.

She finds my American accent ridiculous.

We jointly blame our parents for the dilemma.

My girlfriend and I did not have kids yet. We have been together for about four years. I wanted kids. She said she did too. But we have none yet.

Busy body! Tattletale!! Happy now?! I know what you are thinking. Yes you!

Babes did not like my girlfriend much. I do not like her husband much either. So no worries there.

I say the above because the only ‘ish I had to keep tabs on’ would be my girlfriend … My sister is a cow walahi!

For lack of a better location, I placed the ugly time piece on a cabinet opposite a wash hand sink in our shared bathroom. That way, I could honestly tell my beloved cow that her Trojan horse was in use.

Babes helped me set up the contraption so I could look in on the live feed from my tablet. It was a cool toy, but my girlfriend and I live a boring life. There was nothing to see.

Since my sister et al were billed to spend about a fortnight in my home, I found it expedient to hire a man-Friday of sorts. Someone to help with coals for the grill, lifting up heavy stuff, a bit of driving… That sort of thing.

I contacted a popular ‘Nannies and Household Help’ company and a young man was sent over.

I introduced him to my immediate and extended family. My sister did not like him at all… Which was not an issue… I mean do you ever ask beef if it wants to be eaten? Or a cow how it feels about being slaughtered? Forget my sister!

My girlfriend appeared indifferent to his presence.

The only man my mom can see is my dad. Does not matter that he has been dead for a while now. She still sees him and manages to have short conversations with him.

Shake. My. Head.

Family!

Right?!

Holidays went by blissfully. Nothing life-threatening or bad.

My sister and her family returned to the United Kingdom. The ad hoc staff was retained for one extra day to help clean up. He was to work 9 to 5. I left for my place of business at about 1 pm.

There was not a lot to do at my office. Business was still in holiday mode generally, so I ended up watching documentaries via Netflix on my tablet.

On a whim I brought up the hidden camera.

My girlfriend was in the bathroom top less. She was trying to hold up her hair with some pins. Some of the pins were sticking out of her mouth.

My woman is quite busty and I found spying on her at that point in time quite erotic.

Every time she lifted up her elbows to get her hands to her hair, her firm and heavy bosom would jut out enticingly… Mmmmmm…

Busy body! Tattletale!! Happy now?! I know what you are thinking. Yes you!

So you can imagine how and why my boner deflated when a man suddenly walked into the bathroom and cupped my/her breasts from behind and started nuzzling the side of her neck.

The feed was video only. So I could not hear what was said. Or any sound.

She however spun around and shoved him…

He looked to be placating her… She threw a slap at him that fell short…

He was quick, that was why she missed. He tweaked her nipple and one boob laughing…

I immediately barked at Siri, and my girlfriends phone started to ring. Her phone was perched on an unoccupied soap holder, I could see it ring. She looked at the phone and hesitated… She said something to him and he walked out.

She did not pick up.

She did not return the call for the next fifteen minutes.

He did not return to the bathroom.

She however locked the bathroom door, collapsed sitting with her back to the door and cried.

As soon as she locked the bathroom door, I picked up my phone and called in a few favors. Then watched her for another thirteen odd minutes before I logged off.

I leaned back and replayed what I had just watched in my head. I replayed the clip mentally about a hundred times.

I pondered. I thought. A lot.

About two hours later, I locked up and went home.

She was alone. She was bleary-eyed. She was moody.

I casually asked what the matter was. To which she mumbled, “nothing baby”.

I asked her four more times over the space of three hours.

She maintained her stand.

At about eleven pm, she came up behind me and got me all worked up. I was in the den channel-surfing. She proceeded to straddle me and sensually bring us both to an above average ‘happy ending’.

Then she French kissed me and said ‘goodnight’.

My phone rang at about 11:55pm. My favors had been granted. I dressed up and drove to a destination at the outskirts of town. It was in an industrial layout. I own nine warehouses there.

My ‘friends’ were waiting for me there.

They had the man from my house tied to a chair.

I knew that he was ‘the man from the video’. But I was aghast when they told me that he was my man-Friday.

I was shocked not because he was my employee, but because of the damage he had suffered to his face. He was unrecognizable!

He had not just been beaten up. He had been systematically mangled.

Over the course of his malicious manhandling, he had confessed that he used to date my girlfriend. It had been a sexual relationship many years ago.

His posting to my house was a mere coincidence. He was as surprised as she must have been. He said that he became pleasantly surprised when he still had his job the next day.

He said that he mistook her silence for the possibility of rekindling their romance.

He said that he was sorry. But that he had only ‘tried his luck’. And that ‘nothing happened’.

He was telling the truth of course.

I am also telling the truth when I say that he was murdered that morning by my ‘friends’.

I am also telling the truth when I say that my girlfriend died ten days later.

On the day that she died, I requested that she pack up and leave. When she asked why, I told her.

My issue was simple… I could not trust her anymore.

I am the sort of character that you do not need as an enemy. But now she scared even me.

After I communicated my fears and my decision. She got up and packed without a word.

She dutifully packed up all of four years of living together in about eight hours and left.

She took her own life outside my environs that same day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Verily, verily I say unto you; my sister is a cow!

A cow in whom I am well pleased.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{“Say something I’m giving up on you…”}

I played that song incessantly for you…

Till the very end though, you could not fellowship or communicate… with me…

Rip Jacqueline …

The Hospital

Posted by Dan Ochu-Baiye on

I am many things. But tonight, I am a doctor.

The man had diabetes.

When we met for my prognosis he weighed 292 pounds, all of which supported a diagnosis of type 2 diabetes mellitus.

His disease was initially managed with diet, exercise, and metformin (Glucophage). Four months later, with weight loss and exercise, his blood sugar levels were consistently under 100 mg/dL, and metformin was discontinued.

All was well until a week ago, when he noted polyuria, polydipsia, and rising fingerstick glucose values, higher than 200 mg/dL. He has been eating well, with no nausea, vomiting, or symptoms of dehydration. He denies having any fever, chills, cough, nasal congestion, chest pain, abdominal pain, or dysuria.

In addition to his type 2 diabetes, he has hypertension, for which he takes losartan (Cozaar); hyperlipidemia, for which he takes atorvastatin (Lipitor); and gout, for which he takes allopurinol (Zyloprim).

His blood pressure is 148/70 mm Hg, pulse 100, and weight 292 pounds, and he is afebrile.

On examination, his skin, head, eyes, ears, nose, throat, lungs, heart, and abdomen are normal.

Urinalysis in the clinic shows large amounts of glucose and ketones.

He is a big man physically. Well heeled. His wife in my opinion, a trophy. About twenty years younger than he.

She did not like him a lot. As a woman, I can tell.

Though I am not her doctor, her husband told me that she too had his exact symptoms. She did not look it at all. In fact, she looked like a couple of million dollars. I wager that she is worth that indeed.

My hospital is famous. We handle hopeless cases. We have even raised the dead. Several times to be precise. We attract the rich and wealthy. Only the elite can afford us. It is public knowledge that if you passed away in our care, your time was up.

He was a politician on the rise. She was a celebrity… A socialite. She did nothing we knew, but she was popular. She was his second wife. His first wife passed away suddenly five years ago. She had been his mistress for just as long.

It would seem that she insisted on sitting with him throughout our consultations. I did not approve, but I am many things…

I am a twin. My brother is a pharmacist. We are in business too. We own a franchise to organic herbs and potions. We have never been able to meet demand. Do not take my word for it, but our products work.

My brother and I come from a long line of healers. We know herbs and medicinal roots. Our lineage is respected, and feared.

We are feared I hear because a few uncles and aunts went rogue. They crossed over to the dark side and were known to cavort with entities that may not be named.

My patient believed that he was going to die. He believed that someone had placed a hex on him. He believed that the same person was after his wife too.

He was right of course. But I could not tell him that.

I requested that she help us settle some bills in an office adjacent to mine. She did not like my suggestion very much. She hurried back less than five minutes later cross and totally in hate with me.

I wrote out his prescription and sent them off. But he knew that he was to go see my brother for alternative medicine. I was uploading my prognosis when she barged into my office rudely.

“I don’t know what you are up to, but it will not work!” She spat at me. Her face vicious and her eyes shooting daggers.

In response I pointed up behind me at the video camera installed.

“Audio and video”, was all I said.

She stormed out slamming my poor door on her way.

In contrast to my natural disposition, I did not like her all of a sudden.

My patient met with my brother and collected his medicines.

Later that evening however, he was rushed back to our hospital in critical condition. He did not look good. He was quickly stabilized and was soon asleep.

I was poring over his chart when I finally noticed her glare.

“Can you forgive him?” I whispered to her.

“Never!” She hissed back at me. She had flecks of spit at the corners of her mouth. She was a beautiful woman, but her anger made her even more beautiful.

“It is my job to save him…you are in my way.” I gently informed her.

Then she began reciting The Tears of Hannah. She turned her right hand upward and made the Claw of The Damned.

I smiled and respectfully warded off her spiritual assaults.

I saw tears glisten in her eyes as she tried to cast her spells over and over again. Her teacher was good, but they were all rudimentary. The lights in the ward and all our ‘technological’ equipment began to flicker. She wore her kinky hair in an unruly afro… But her enchantments altered her. Her hair was now stretched out like it was permed in that instant. Glass, metal and PET containers alike were rattling all around us on their own accord…

I felt our realm peel off slightly from the west and the Custodian of spirit’s lost slither in toward our location. He was bearing in swiftly, at this rate there was going to be a harvest of souls shortly. There were too many fragile souls recuperating in this hospital. They stood the risk of translating prematurely.

“ENOUGH!” I decreed.

And instantly an even eerier calm settled upon the satrap placed under my watch. The peace mildly interrupted by the sound of her weeping.

She was broken.

“You should have not allowed him to come in here. This is a sanctuary. He is here seeking mercy and refuge. You had every opportunity out there. Within this sanctuary… This satrap… This hospice… He is untouchable.”

She wiped tears and snot and drivel alike with the back of her hands. Just like a toddler would. Then she fell on her knees and opened her arms wide and finally petitioned The Watchers…

“He killed his first wife for advancement in his career. This I know. I have been sick for a long time now. I have underwear missing, used sanitary pads missing from my bathroom! The Prophetess told me… I will die by his enchantments. All I want is to live. And to have this wicked beast put down. I meant no disrespect. I am fighting for my life…”

Three of the thirteen (unsee-able) Elders nodded at me solemnly.

She was telling the truth.

The Grim Reaper coughed respectfully behind me.

Without turning I walked over to her and lifted her up into a tight embrace. She returned the hug and burst into tears… I did not want her to see the Reaper ‘eat’. No mortal should.

I pronounced him dead at the stroke of midnight.

X/xx/xx 2358 Called to room by pt.’s wife, Mrs. ****, stating pt. not breathing. Pt. found unresponsive in bed at 0000, no respirations, no pulse, no heart or breath sounds auscultated. No code called per advance directive and signed DNR order in chart. Death pronounced by Dr. R. I. Pollock at 0000. NG tube, indwelling urinary catheter, and I.V. access device in L forearm removed and dressing applied. Postmortem care performed and dentures placed in mouth. Belongings checked off on belongings list and signed by Mrs. ****, who will take them home with her. Body sent to morgue at 1315.

Renee Irene Pollock —

‘Yo Mamma’

Posted by Dan Ochu-Baiye on

Every time I see him, I ‘die’ inside.

On the night we met, everything was perfect.

My cousin had invited me to come hang out with her boyfriend and ‘his friend’.

I know her boyfriend, but I did not like him much. Since birds of a feather flock together, I was certain that I would not like his friend either.

I was a freshman. My last relationship had been about a year ago. That idiot was my first in every way. He obviously was a mistake.

But, my cousin never takes ‘no’ for an answer. And so we presented ourselves at her boyfriend’s place at about six pm.

I was dressed in a peach colored t-shirt. Worn over hot pink bomb shorts. I am well endowed, and I knew the effect I was creating.

Max was typical Max… Ogling me overtly. I do not like him.

He called out for his friend and then my world burst into gold flecks and rainbows…

He is tall, dark and handsome. Well built. Bald. A goatee. And then his eyes!

Jeeeeesusss! (Forgive me Lord)

He had high cheekbones beneath the slits he called his eyes. His eye sockets were sunken. But when (and if) he focused on you, his eyes illuminated your soul. He would be inside your head, your heart… He was too much…

He walked straight to me and introduced himself in the softest and the most cultured voice I had ever heard live – in front of me.

Jeeeeesusss! (Forgive me Lord)

My body betrayed me sorely. I am still ashamed till this day. My orifice moistened of its own accord; all nubs all women possess stiffened and puckered sensually.

I was a quivering mass of desire and lust.

And he is a gentleman!

My sisters, you know that perfect male character in romance novels? That man your mummy warned you about? This man is it.

The evening was a blur. All I remember is how he makes me feel. Yes, he still makes me feel.

He is intelligent and well-read. So when he volunteered his age (33), and then asked me how old I was, I lied. I was eighteen, but I told him that I was twenty one. I had to lie! I could not risk losing this one.

He did not need to invite me back to his place. Max and Myra dropped us off at the Hilton where he was lodged and drove off. Do not forget, I was eighteen. I did not stand a chance.

He made me a complete woman that night.

All night.

Yes.

ALL NIGHT.

I wept, orgasmed countless times, squirted copiously, laughed in pleasure and self pity, and mercifully passed out.

I passed out just when the nearby mosque was calling for the first prayer of the day.

I awakened in his arms, he was kissing my forehead and running his large hand up and down my naked back.

I woke up with tears in my eyes.

I was in love.

He communicated with me.

Really talked to me.

He told me that he was leaving the country for twelve months on a scholarship.

He told me that he liked me and that he would like to date me exclusively.

He told me things that he did not like. They were just a couple. He was big on loyalty, fidelity and Jesus.

Jeeeeesusss! (Forgive me Lord)

I said yes. Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!

Then mandingo ravished me until I was a quivering mess. He barely made his flight back to Abuja.

He left the country a week later.

He called me every day. Every single day!

When I told him a few weeks later that I was pregnant, he did not miss a beat. He had his mum call me and check up on me weekly. He was there every step of the way. In every way that he could.

‘Chairman’ was born nine months later.

When we ‘Skyped’ mandingo jokingly called him ‘Mini – me’. ‘https://danochubaiye.com/2019/02/11/mini-me/

His dad was due back into the country in a couple of months. I combined education, motherhood and gym subscriptions and got excellent results in all three areas.

And why not? I was young and in love. And most importantly, I knew that my beloved loved me back.

He had done right by me. He was blameless in all honesty.

A week before his arrival, my cousin Myra came by my apartment off-campus. She was with Fatima, a mutual acquaintance of ours. Fatima swooned over my love story, we all had tears in our eyes when I was done.

I proudly showed them the e-tickets he had sent. We were going to see him in Abuja. They squealed in joy. They seemed happy for me.

Then Fatima asked me if I had ever heard of ‘Kayan Mata’ (‘Property of Women’ translated directly).

I said ‘no’.

With a twinkle in her eyes, Fatima explained that Kayan Mata was an assortment of incense, Oudh perfumes, sweets and powders. Aphrodisiacs in short. She said that these aids had been used in the north for centuries.

Her voice dropped an octave when she started to tell me about a new addition to the Kayan Mata range. A chicken prepared with natural herbs and spices that I had to eat alone. If I ate it and made love to my man, or any man for that matter they would (and could) never leave me. She said that I would have such a man loyal and committed to me for life!

Instantly I protested. It sounded like voodoo to me. And my mandingo was very clear on his disapproval on all things un-Jesus (except fornicating with me I guess, LOL).

Myra and Fatima cut me off and went on and on. Swore it was not voodoo. And said that they were only advising me as their sister. My man was now exposed to the world, and ‘hot’ as he was, I had to step up my game.

I reluctantly caved in and the Kayan Mata were delivered same week.

**************

Mandingo came back like a messiah!

I swear (down) that he was even more gorgeous.

I was glad that I had my figure back and his generosity over the year had me looking quite chic.

He was still smitten by me (thank God!) and he fell in love with his son instantly.

I have never, till this day seen a child take to his father so quickly and seamlessly.

He introduced me to his family over the next few days. It was a relief how quickly they embraced me.

His dad actually called me ‘his daughter’. The man insisted that we present him with a wedding date within a fortnight… And mandingo contritely answered, ‘yes daddy’.

Jeeeeesusss! (Forgive me Lord)

LOL…

And we were finally alone. Three days later, and we now had time as a family…

I had just exited the nursery when he lifted me up bodily. I was bereft of clothing in seconds. I swear that he ripped off some of my clothes.

I was so turned on that I began lactating, dripping… He was like an animal! The milk did not deter him…

I was flat on my back, moist, wet and ready…

He was ripping off his clothes, his tumescence larger and longer than I remembered…

His turgidity had just grazed my moistness… I was arching my hips in readiness for his initial assault when I felt…

Nothing…

In confusion I opened my eyes and saw him looking down at his flaccidity in even greater confusion…

I sat up bewildered as the problem dawned on me in earnest…

“Baby what is wrong?! You… You are…” I stammered pointing at his limpness.

Then he uttered words that have haunted me to this day…

“What have you done?”

As he looked at me, I saw tears fall down his handsome cheeks. His eyes bore into my soul and they were so intense that I had to look away.

I heard him stumble out of the room and a few minutes later out of the house. I heard his car start and he drove away.

I cried.

I wept for the entire three-odd hours he spent before he returned. He went straight into the bathroom to bathe before he came to bed. He gathered me in his arms and fell asleep.

I could smell the expensive shower gel he had used.

I could also perceive the musky smell of sex.

I wept most of that night.

I wept because I knew what I had done.

I cried because I knew that he had to go see if he was impotent… It is what he would do. That is who he is.

Over the next few months it dawned on us that he was impotent around me.

Just me.

Our son was excellent in his father’s arms. Even more than mine.

Mandingo had, did and has not changed toward me until this day.

It is just that he is impotent around me.

Just me.

Mini-me

Posted by Dan Ochu-Baiye on

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…

My 2019!

Posted by Dan Ochu-Baiye on

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).