Buy This Book! : ’32 Days In September’

SNIPPETS FROM:- 

‘DAY 1’ 

(THE SENIOR ADVOCATE OF NIGERIA)

“…Her speedy rise professionally had always bothered her. It was too good, too sweet to be true. Now she knew why. 

She knew about Omuha, Ogboni and even the Illuminati. Several of those seated here were members of some or all of these fraternities. 

The shame though… the inevitable fall to nothingness, after soaring so high professionally. The sniggering and jeers from her many detractors…”

The Greedy Slut

Last month was February. 

My boyfriend was hard up and so I knew that I would not be getting any extravagant gifts. But I wanted an iPhone. I wanted the iPhone 7 Plus specifically. All my friends had one. It cost a lot, but I do not earn a lot. 

“Use what you got girl!” Elena had coyly whispered. 

What I had was just a vagina. Vagina’s are overrated really. 

I am hot, lightskinned and endowed. Men have always wanted me. 

But then there was Dapo. We were in a committed relationship. He is the sweetest man ever, and he loves me to bits. But in Elena’s words, 

“Na who love help?!”

Dapo though is fiercely territorial and possessive. He is a very intuitive and a very intelligent person. He is not someone you could cuckold. He is almost impossible to cheat on. He knew my body even better than I did. Down to the days, duration and dynamics of my menstrual cycle, he knew. 

I was not willing to break up with him just to date someone who would buy me expensive stuff. But I wanted that iPhone. 

I know how to manipulate a man any way I prefer. And so I chose a mark off my many admirers and strung him on. He would buy me the phone without laying a finger on me. 

Ladies back me up on this, we have this gift; 

A free lunch, a date to see a new movie, airtime recharge vouchers or a trip to the salon, we all have that ‘ATM-man’ or several of them we can manipulate to achieve this or that

I told Dapo that I had to go for a meeting in church that evening. As he knew, the church had a Night of Bliss programme coming up. He nodded his consent and then I got him to drop me off at the church. 

My ‘ATM’ came by about an hour later and we left in his well-maintained Honda Pilot. He was obviously rich. He was well dressed and smelled even better. But he not very good looking. He was nervous and eager to please. He could not get his eyes off my breasts, the lecherous pervert kept licking his thick lips as he overtly undressed me with his eyes. 

He let me choose where we would go and so I chose the Elephant Bar at the Sheraton hotels. No danger of running into anyone I knew there. 

The date went very well. Dapo had surprisingly not called, and my ‘ATM’ was so much in lust that he promised to give me the $769 in cash that same night. 

True to his word, he did. In crisp dollar bills. In appreciation, after tucking the bills away safely, I allowed him to occasionally stroke and grope my boobs. What a girl goes through! 

We were by this time driving back and not too far from the church when he suddenly swerved off the road, parked and practically jumped me! It took a couple of seconds for me to realize that I was suddenly in hot water. 

Then I began to struggle with him. He was as though possessed. He somehow broke my bra strap and the top buttons of my silk blouse. His face dove down to my exposed breasts while his hand went under my skirt. As his fingers grazed my covered pubis, fear spurred me into violence. I clenched my Samsung Edge tightly and viciously drove it into his head slobbering over my breasts. I felt the phone splinter as he howled in agony. He raised his head and before he could bring his hands to check his injury, I speared the phone into his face. He screamed even louder. 

I was out of his car and running blindly back the way we came. I heard him come out and begin pursuit. I was wearing a pair of flat shoes, but my skirt was a tad too tight. He was gaining on me quickly. 

It was about eight pm and it was dark. Not surprisingly, the road was deserted. The church is located in a fairly undeveloped area of town. I instinctively knew that I was going to die horribly if he caught up with me. 

My untethered breasts were wildly flapping about, clutch purse containing the cursed dollar bills and hot tears of regret, terror and resignation all impeded my race for life. 

“God…! Please…!! Help!!!”I remember hoarsely crying out over and over again as I ran. 

Just then I saw a car approaching at full speed, it had the oh so familiar halogen headlight and fog light off on the right side. Dare I hope? Dapo’s Toyota Camry! 

He drove past me and slammed his brakes between me and my pursuer. The suddenness of Dapo’s maneuver caused my ‘ATM’ to practically run into the front of the car in a head on collision. The impact sent him flailing backwards in ungainly heel-over-head somersaults. 

By now,  I was in Dapo’s car. He put the car in reverse and gunned the engine ferociously, after a few meters he executed a flawless hand brake turn and then we were on our way home. 

He kept his eyes and face grimly on the road. His expression was inscrutable. I remember crying… No, edit that, bawling all the way home. Sweet Lord I cried! 

“Dapo… I’m sorry… Please…??”

Not one word. Not one syllable. 

I remember thinking then that we were over. I know his silence. It is not a good thing. I hung my head in grief and sobbed some more. 

Then we were suddenly parked in front of our apartment. He got out and walked away behind the vehicle. I originally thought that he was coming to get the door for me until I saw our front door open and Dapo come out looking worried. 

I stepped out of the car slowly. I cannot describe my state of mind, please try to understand. 

I was trapped standing, was I to run to this Dapo or to the other one… that was suddenly no where to be found?

“Baby what happened? Why is your blouse torn? Talk to me…! Why are you crying? How…Did I leave my car open?”

I dropped in a dead faint.  

I am a greedy slut. 

At least I used to be. 

I could regal you with the reasons why I was the way I was, but I will save you the tirade. 

I am not a good person. But these days I try daily to be a better woman. Experience they say is the best teacher. 

Spawn of Satan

I imagine that you are reading this from somewhere not in Africa. 

As you read, you will probably sneer and then dismissively chuck me off as backward, gullible and ostensibly religious-bordering on the insane. 

But I know what I am talking about. 

Welcome to a warm and dark continent. The traditions and customs here are still archaic. The first gods are still worshipped here. Worshipped, not merely served. There is a difference. 

I do not believe in coincidences. 

Once, yeah… Okay. 

Twice, I start to reach for my sidearm. 

Thrice, I come out of my den snarling behind a hail of bullets. Machete in the other hand. 

The following took place about ten years ago. (Between the eighth to the tenth years… to further misdirect you… I am smiling broadly right now.) 

One. 

I was in a long term relationship with a lovely young woman. By this time I already knew that I could not marry her. She was a snooping, manipulative, arrogant bitch! (Hmmm… Now where did that emanate from? Forgive me, I am clearly still upset with her). One midnight, she surprised me while I had my pants down. Erect phallus in hand. Indulging in self-help and self-love. She lost it! She broke down in self-righteous tears,  and when that did not work she told me that it would never be well with me until I learned to treat her right. In retrospect I regret not replying her ominous words. You see, I am a creature of habit. I am a maverick, but I have method to my eccentricity. So I know and notice when my jewellery and items of my clothing suddenly disappear. I know about her father, and I know that her mum still worships the first gods. Despite being a deaconess in a local community church. So I knew that her threat was not idle. 

Two. 

By now things had deteriorated quite badly. I was in a bind in every respect. While I did not owe money at the time, I used to be a millionaire. Yes I was still involved with ‘Evil-ynn’, that conniving, stinking maggot. And sibling of Satan! (Hmmm… Now where did that emanate from? Forgive me, I am clearly still upset with her). It was a hot and dry Friday afternoon. I was in between (seemingly futile) business meetings. I drove to a quiet park. They were typically leased to vendors who maintained them via recreational facilities and restaurants and / or a beer parlour. All sorts of mobile vendors would stop by tables offering wares ranging from roasted peanuts to lingerie to cheap electrical accessories. This particular vendor was a Yoruba traditional medicine man. He was selling bottled plant roots and potions purportedly able to cure piles, diabetes and all sorts of ailments. I was bored and I am likable, so he told me that I was on the verge of greatness but that I needed to pray more fervently. He said that my prosperity had been tied up in a tree somewhere. He advised that I prayed that night with a white handkerchief last thing before I slept. That he would stay up and pray in agreement with me at my preferred time. He was a Muslim. I am a Christian. 

Three. 

I was out of town officially. I was mentally chastising myself on why I had bothered to arrive by air. The assignment was clearly not going to be as lucrative as I had hoped. Then that sneaky, succubus that hated Jesus called. She typically called at my lowest times, just in time to make matters worse. Witch! (Hmmm… Now where did that emanate from? Forgive me, I am clearly still upset with her). Luckily a former colleague called me right after her call. He knew I was in his town and wanted to swing by. He arrived with a young man he introduced as ‘his prophet’. They were on their way to dedicate a parcel of land or something. Just before he left, he told me that I had made a mistake dating ‘Evil-ynn’. He told me that I needed deliverance. He said that ‘they’ had ‘tied my progress’ to a particular shrub somewhere in Ankpa. A town in Kogi state, Nigeria. 

Sigh! 

I had no choice but to speak with my pastor. He had us both pray at a set time with a set of specific prayer requests. 

It has been a while since that prayer session. Believe it or not, I am wealthy and rich. More so than ever, and this is me modestly understating things. Everything is going well. Perfectly actually. 

Evilynn’s mother ran mad. She had a mental breakdown in a NEXT –  CASH AND CARRY supermarket. She was said to have rambled on and on about her being a witch. She reportedly asked for my forgiveness. 

Evilynn’s sister ran mad. She had a mental breakdown in a popular Abuja market. Same story, she mentioned my name too. 

Evilynn. Chikadibia – went slightly bipolar. She broke into my convenience while I was there seated waiting on gravity to call on nature. She sank to her knees right there in the ‘shitter’ and apologized. She told me that her mum did it to protect her daughter from harm. I absolved her of wrongdoing in my books. Hey, I loved her once. 

A popular shaman in Ankpa apparently lost his damn mind and stepped in front of a truck suddenly. Before he died, I hear he confessed to a lot of vile things. Yes. Yes, my name came up… Again! 

At this juncture, I wisely relocated. Left town for good. Good thing I did. 

Inside of a week all the aforementioned, plus one or two unmentioned were dead. 

They all died in their sleep. They were insane until they died. 

When Words Fail… 

I know it is going to be hard for you to relate to…  

Yes you… (sick, degenerate lech!) but she is in a committed relationship.  And so am I by the way… 

Thank you for asking…but Vivian and I are just friends! 

Now do not get me wrong, Vivian and I are attracted to each other… But that is where it must end. Too many lives would be ruined if Vivian and I cross that line. 

She is a wealthy banker and is engaged to be married to Franklin. He is a stock broker. We are all mutual friends. 

I am emotionally committed; lock, stock and barrel to Alicia. Alicia is utterly besotted with me. She is currently earning a masters degree in a private university. I am an author, my first book just grossed a little over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars on amazon.com.

Alicia and I will marry soon. We have been dating for two years and have decided that our honeymoon would be at the Obudu Cattle Ranch, Cross River state, Nigeria. 

Alicia has never been to The Ranch and she says that she cannot wait to make love to me there. Neither can I…wait to make love to her… anywhere I mean. 

Vivian and Franklin were supposed to holiday at The Ranch last week. 

That is until he broke up with her. 

The holiday was booked months ago, it was a promotion and she had planned on giving Franklin a surprise treat. It had cost her a small fortune, because she had arranged for the best. 

And so she approached me to accompany her there. No point allowing the money go to waste, since there were no refunds she reasoned. 

I thought it would be a great way of getting to know my future honeymoon spot free of charge. 

In a bid to absolve (our popular) selves from gossip and slander, we both agreed to tell no one else. Not family, not Alicia or even God, we joked. 

And so we went and were lodged in the tastefully prepared Honeymoon Chalets. I promise you that it was fun. I made sure Vivian got over her heartbreak whenever I looked at her. There was nothing sexual or inappropriate that was done. We were extremely close and friendly  ‘asexuals’. 

Our neighbors though… By Jove! The ruckus! 

The chalets were about fifty meters apart, but their every sound carried like they were next door. 

She was a screamer! I have never, in all my life, heard a woman moan, groan and scream as loud as the woman in that chalet. 

In truth, I was miserable all through. I missed Alicia terribly and I was emotionally drained from constantly bolstering Vivian’s heartbroken spirit. The loud lovers next door did not help matters, they made me pine for Alicia even more. 

A night before we were (mercifully) due to return home, there was a barbecue Vivian had preordered outside our chalet. Though it was chilly, I was bare-chested. The fire from the grill and the crossfade I was on from the moonshine and cannabis liqueur I was sipping had me feeling invincible. 

I saw our ‘neighbour’ come out for a smoke, and after respectfully raising hands in respectful salutation, I beckoned him over. 

He was good-natured and straight shooting. 

I teased him about his sexual prowess when Vivian was not listening and he swore (down) that he was always on a diet of Viagra. But because his girlfriend was paying for their current, annual  holiday, he was presently on a cocktail of Viagra, Spanish fly and a Chinese aphrodisiac. 

They had been together for four years and came up here every year. 

He was (clearly) a cool dude so Vivian and I insisted that he and his girlfriend join us. There was more than enough meat and drinks. 

I waited till they were clearly headed towards us from their chalet before I dashed in to wear a shirt. 

As I stepped out, they all had their backs to me. 

“I’m back…, miss me?!” I remember shouting cheerfully. 

She understandably reacted  faster than Vivian and my male neighbor. Let’s face it, a man suddenly shouted out gibberish from behind her in the dark… That would startle anyone. 

But I was startled that it was Alicia, my Alicia that whipped around to face me. 

In retrospect, crossfading probably saved a life or two that night. 

It is a miracle that neither Alicia nor I caused a scene, screamed or fainted. 

All words failed for the first few minutes. 

Then my buzz and my high smoothened me out. I was like silk, the crossfade kept everything nice and easy. 
Vivian had never met Alicia in any capacity, so she was none the wiser. 

My male neighbor was too busy munching on grilled protein to be aware. 

When it was time to call it a night, I decisively shook Alicia’s hand… goodbye. 

THIS IS MY ABUJA 


I NEED YOU TO VOTE FOR MY STORY!
The Etisalat Flash Fiction Competition 2016 has graciously approved a lot of my stories for voting.
However the story I would like you to vote for is; 
THIS IS MY ABUJA 
http://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=53
I would be grateful if you:
1. Share this information 
2. Help me motivate friends and family to vote for the story “THIS IS MY ABUJA”
3. Most importantly, PLEASE VOTE FOR MY STORY ! 
Voting lines are open for a few days. I’m sorry for the pressure, but for you my friend, voting is TODAY! 
Thank you. For your data, time and benevolence. 

I hope to return the favor some day, if (for a reason I can’t imagine) I cannot, you have my eternal loyalty and appreciation. 
Regards, 
DAN Ochu-Baiye. 

#danochubaiye

https://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=53 NEED YOU TO VOTE FOR MY STORY!
The Etisalat Flash Fiction Competition 2016 has graciously approved a lot of my stories for voting.
However the story I would like you to vote for is; 
THIS IS MY ABUJA 
http://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=53
I would be grateful if you:
1. Share this information 
2. Help me motivate friends and family to vote for the story “THIS IS MY ABUJA”
3. Most importantly, PLEASE VOTE FOR MY STORY ! 
Voting lines are open for a few days. I’m sorry for the pressure, but for you my friend, voting is TODAY! 
Thank you. For your data, time and benevolence. 

I hope to return the favor some day, if (for a reason I can’t imagine) I cannot, you have my eternal loyalty and appreciation. 
Regards, 
DAN Ochu-Baiye. 

#danochubaiye

https://prize.etisalat.com.ng/flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=53

Mama Mia

My mum is just a mum. 

No slaying… 

Not a diva… 

No swag… 

Does not own a smartphone. 

The quintessential mother; loving, selfless, godly, religious, safe… You know, mummy-ish. Every phone call from her ended with a prayer. She is a Christian and a ‘prayer warrior.’

I come from the Northern part of the country. A job in the federal capital territory was a dream come true. I jumped at it enthusiastically. 

The first few months were tough. My learning curve was steep. But I balanced out. As things got better, I moved into a better part of town. I got a car and started to make new friends. 

I met a group of attractive women et al. They were called the ‘witches of Harlem’ behind their backs. They had a Goth/Emo combination going on. They were easily the life of any party or occasion. 

I have always done well with women. Women love me. I think it is because I am nice… Yes, really I am. 

The ‘head witch’ was Ada. 

She was hot. 

Hawt. 

Haute. 

She had a tattoo of a tiger over her left boob. It started between her breasts all the way… Uhmmmm… Left. She was tastefully pierced and studded here and there. I first met her at a soiree hosted by the American embassy. 

She walked up to me and told me that she liked me. She then asked if we could date. I was single at the time so I said yes. I love tigers…

My rep’and market value skyrocketed afterward! I suddenly began to get invited everywhere. My affiliation with the witches of Harlem was well received. I began to be called, ‘the wizard of Oz’. 

Teehee… Me, church-boy, a wizard?! Teehee…  

Anyway, Ada was okay. I truly have dated better. Looking back now, I think I had started to find her boring. All bark and no bite. I have been with ‘church girls’ that behaved like your favourite pornstar. So, I found Ada a tad lacklustre. 

I have always insisted on condoms. Despite the fact that Ada hated condoms. 

I insisted despite the clean bill of health her blood work from National Hospital showed…She raved and ranted about her hatred of condoms… Shed a crocodile tear or two… Threatened to sexually starve me…  (and she did). I insisted on the condoms regardless. 

Remember that she sexually starved me? Right…it lasted about a week. She staged the fight on a Friday. 

By the next Friday then, I was on a casual date with Adriana, the daughter of a Brazilian diplomat. We were at MarionStones® eating grilled steak and vegetables when Ada suddenly showed up and was disrespectful to me and my date. She caused such a scene that we were all asked to leave the establishment. 

Adriana already knew about Ada, so she was cool and wanted another date if I “survived the night.”

I got back to my studio apartment to meet a livid Ada, who proceeded to verbally abuse me. She said that she would make my life miserable and that I “had better fall back into formation!” 

I calmly broke up with her and walked her out of my house. 

The nightmares started that very night. I woke up screaming every night for the next few days. I would wake up and see scratches and cuts all over my body. Injuries that were not there the night before, injuries that no human could have inflicted. 

I became skittish and paranoid. I was tormented by ghouls and nightmares every single time I shut my eyes. 

I uncharacteristically called my mum and requested that she come spend a few days. She uncharacteristically accepted and said she would be at my place by dusk the next day. 

That same day,  Ada called and asked if I had “come back to my senses” yet. I told her to “go and die!”

That night, she showed up in my dreams with a few garishly dressed women and told me that I was going to die the next day. 

I woke up troubled. I was starting to understand that these women were not just called ‘witches’ for fun. I was suffering the wrath of a witch scorned. I am not ashamed to admit that I knew I was going to die the next day. I was a broken spirit. My only regret was that I could not reach my mum to spare her the trauma of being the first person to see my corpse. 

I actually put my affairs in order before noon the next day. My mum arrived towards evening. After fussing and praying over me for half an hour, she left me in my room. I was now more optimistic. I had faith and hope. 

I must have drifted off to sleep because when I opened my eyes, Ada and three of her friends were in my room holding gourds and cowhide whips. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. My heart began to beat violently, my tongue felt swollen and my eyes bulged as they took turns assaulting and battering my strangely supine (and somewhat restrained) body. 

Ada then pulled out a long porcupine quill sharpened at the tip, dipped it into her gourd and approached me, her intention obvious… Just then the door of my room flew open and my mum stepped in. 

I tried to call out for my mum to save herself until I saw that she was smiling.

 Yes, smiling! 

You do not want to see my mum smiling when nothing is funny. 

She locked eyes with Ada who was now looking back and forth between my mother and I in confusion. 

“Rachel, I… I don’t understand… What are you doing here?”

“He is my son!!” Was all my mum said through gritted teeth. 

At her words I felt a great weight lift off me, unseen shackles seemed to fall off my body and I regained  my faculties instantly. 

I looked up to see Ada and her goons curtsy humbly at my mum and then, I swear (down), vanish into thin air. 

 

I tried to bring up the topic the next day, but then my mum started to smile… 

A Tale of Two Sisters 


“Fury! 

Baal-khenaz, I beseech thee

May her happiest day be her saddest 

I pledge my life as surety 

Give her sorrow, shame and stigma… 

Fury!!”



This tale of two sisters… Where do I start? 

One was called Goldie. The other Tiwa. They were neighbors. They were family friends. 

They were physically alike. Both beautiful and intelligent. Both were the same age. And as the story goes, they hailed from the same state of origin. 

They were used as reference points by their parents to motivate the other academically, spiritually and morally. 

They attended the same schools. Fiercely competed for first position in class. Both were eloquent speakers. Both were destined,  to all of us that had the pleasure of their friendship, destined for greatness. 

That was where their similarities stopped. 

Goldie was a gifted dancer. Tiwa, a blessed singer. 

Goldie tended towards the sciences, Tiwa preferred arts. 

Goldie was fair-complexioned. Tiwa dark of skin. 

And so they grew. And got older and wiser. In retrospect, their parents meant no harm. The proof lay in the almost unholy alliance Goldie and Tiwa shared. 

Aye, they stuck together throughout college. They went to the same schools. 

They were roommates even in the university. They were disturbingly intertwined in almost every way, a dorm mate stated emphatically that Goldie and Tiwa were lovers at some point. “There was something strange about those two.”  

It is not quite clear how and why they started poaching each others lovers… Which by the way were few. But they seemed to need to prove to each other that one was better, hotter and sexier than the other. Not against Joanne or Catherine or any other female, just betwixt them both. 

As they grew older still, their lovers (though few) thinned and then became specific, special beloved. Love, romance and marriage found anchor and became possibilities. 

Goldie at this point was an architect of great reckoning. She was a public figure and a real estate authority. She had become very wealthy and engaged to a fine young man called Felix. It was common knowledge that she was utterly besotted with the man. 

Tiwa on the other hand fell in love with a man yoked by marriage. When it mattered, his wife cloaked herself in abject humility and submission. And alas, he chose to remain with his wife. Tiwa, a popular talkshow host on television surprisingly took the heartbreak in stride and went on to seduce the entire country via her daily television talkshow hits. She was like Oprah. 

The devil incidentally came by (yes him… Satan, Lucifer, whatever you know him as), consequently Felix, (Goldie’s beloved) had reason to be featured on one of Tiwa’s prime time shows. 

And as only the devil is capable of orchestrating, Tiwa and her best friend’s lover fell in love thereafter and commenced a very public and a very torrid affair. 

To the utter amazement of the country, they elected to get married a few weeks later. And to the utter bewilderment of the country, Goldie elected to utter nothing. 

Understandably the wedding was high society. The wedding colors were gold and white. The upper crust of society were in attendance, duly arraigned in dazzling shades of gold and white apparel and accessories. 

Felix held his own, the vice president of the country was the sponsor of the wedding and presided over the ‘cutting of the cake’ segment of the wedding. 

At his bidding, Felix performed his first official role (of many more) by feeding his wife a piece of cake and then some champagne. It was beautiful. Guests, celebrities and those in attendance cheered and attested to his composure and gentle nature. 

At his bidding, Tiwa performed her first official role (of many more) by feeding her husband a piece of cake and then some champagne. It was beautiful… Until suddenly Felix clutched his throat and staggered backwards a step. His eyes bulged in obvious pain as he sank slowly to his knees. Reaching out to his wife for help it seemed…, a drink perhaps? Tiwa reached out and barely had her fingertips touch her husband’s before he keeled over sideways in a dead faint. 

All these took place within ten seconds. No one had the presence of mind to react. Though she could not confirm Felix’s death at the time, as she looked around in shock and confusion, her arm now pressed to her bosom, she saw Goldie stand up with a grim smile and sashay out of the cathedral.

Goldie was dressed in a black dress. A black veil of see-through chiffon over her head. A black diamond-encrusted  brooch bearing the likeness of a spider was pinned to the dress, on the left side of her bosom.