Tired Heart

At 29 and not yet married, I was tired of games and unnecessary time wasting from time wasters who are just after me to eat and clean mouth. I broke up with my boyfriend of 3 years because the journey to the alter with him seems like pregnancy to a wombless dog.

I was done with love, I switched it with common sense and great discerning attitude. I was giving out my phone number to any eligible bachelor who seek it and accepting dates like I was the calendar itself. But I was smart to sieve the wheat from the chaff. I ask them serious questions, questions about future and what they want with me. Anyone without a concrete plan of meeting my people within six months is relegated and substituted immediately.
And did it yield fruit? Yes. Because not long into my search for a husband I found Tolu. A tall handsome guy, a geek and shy but nonetheless he was perfect for me. Tolu approached me on Instagram, he slide into my DM and ladies, I shut the door immediately he was in, such a fine man cannot escape. After a couple of dates, Tolu the computer security expert was a perfect match with a plan to marry in less than a year, and within a month, he used the word "love" for me.

Oh yes his love making was exceptional, boy, how did I get so lucky. He was virtually in my house every evening as I couldn't go to his place often cos he mostly sleeps in the company's lodge and that is not comfortable. He has a house in lekki, OH yes, I have been there, slightly furnished to the taste of a man rarely home, but my Tolu was a gem. A man of little words but of great sexual appetite.

He rarely gives me money apart from occasional gifts. He told me, he was saving for our wedding and building a house. Tolu was eager to get me pregnant but I told him it's against my parents' wish. The urge for pregnancy alone made me realize he was not a pretender like other men, wow I am finally going to join the married gang. His parents are based in Canada and by December I would meet them officially and to set a wedding date, a news he told me his parents have been anticipating since.

Every Saturday evening we always spend time together mostly indoors as he was a really shy and indoor person. But this Saturday, he called to say he is coming for a quickie as he misses me but he won't stay more than 20 minutes.
Immediately he entered my room, he started devouring me as he rid me of every pieces of fabrics on my body. I love it when a man is a gentle lion. Our love making was divine as I came multiple times. I kissed him after and thanked him for the perfume he got me. Because of time, he told me not to bother escorting him downstairs to his car. He dashed down and I laid on my bed still recovering from the awesome joy my Tolu just delivered to my loins when I heard screams and wailing downstairs, I peeped at my window but I couldn't decipher what is causing the commotion.
I dashed downstairs and as I was exiting the gate I saw Usman our gate man shaking his head with a really sad face.

"Usman wetin dey cause the noise outside" I enquired

"Aunty Susu, na accident fà, tipper I jam am for one motor with two children inside for there" Usman said pointing to the source of the commotion
"And the children don die walahi" he added.

I felt sadness. Innocent children and I shook my head as I made my way to the accident scene. At the scene what I saw and heard was both shocking and unbelievable.

My Tolu was on the floor, crying, bearing the two children to his chest weeping shouting "Dare, Tola wake up you know daddy loves you"

Did he just say "daddy loves you, Am I hearing correctly?

" Oga Na your pickin dem be" a policeman asked Tolu

Tolu amidst tears and to the the great shattering of my heart answered "Yes they are my children, what will my wife say, how will she cope..."

Tolu's voice fade in my ears as I withdrew into the crowd of sympathisers with my body shaking seriously homeward to ask my head serious questions of how unfortunate I have turned out in life.

Written by Segun Solomon Longe

The Lost Wallet: A Great Love Story

As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it up and looked inside to find some identification so I could call the owner. But the wallet contained only three dollars and a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there for years.

The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible on it was the return address. I started to open the letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline–1924. The letter had been written almost 60 years ago.

It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on powder blue stationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a “Dear John” letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael, that the writer could not see him anymore because her mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she would always love him.

It was signed, Hannah.

It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except for the name Michael, that the owner could be identified. Maybe if I called information, the operator could find a phone listing for the address on the envelope.

“Operator,” I began, “this is an unusual request. I’m trying to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is there anyway you can tell me if there is a phone number for an address that was on an envelope in the wallet?”

She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who hesitated for a moment then said, “Well, there is a phone listing at that address, but I can’t give you the number.” She said, as a courtesy, she would call that number, explain my story and would ask them if they wanted her to connect me.

I waited a few minutes and then she was back on the line. “I have a party who will speak with you.”

I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she knew anyone by the name of Hannah. She gasped, “Oh! We bought this house from a family who had a daughter named Hannah. But that was 30 years ago!”

“Would you know where that family could be located now?” I asked.

“I remember that Hannah had to place her mother in a nursing home some years ago,” the woman said. “Maybe if you got in touch with them they might be able to track down the daughter.”

She gave me the name of the nursing home and I called the number. They told me the old lady had passed away some years ago but they did have a phone number for where they thought the daughter might be living.

I thanked them and phoned. The woman who answered explained that Hannah herself was now living in a nursing home.

This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself. Why was I making such a big deal over finding the owner of a wallet that had only three dollars and a letter that was almost 60 years old?

Nevertheless, I called the nursing home in which Hannah was supposed to be living and the man who answered the phone told me, “Yes, Hannah is staying with us.”

Even though it was already 10 p.m., I asked if I could come by to see her. “Well,” he said hesitatingly, “if you want to take a chance, she might be in the day room watching television.”

I thanked him and drove over to the nursing home. The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door. We went up to the third floor of the large building. In the day room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah.

She was a sweet, silver-haired oldtimer with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye. I told her about finding the wallet and showed her the letter. The second she saw the powder blue envelope with that little flower on the left, she took a deep breath and said, “Young man, this letter was the last contact I ever had with Michael.”

She looked away for a moment deep in thought and then said softly, “I loved him very much. But I was only 16 at the time and my mother felt I was too young. Oh, he was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery, the actor.”

“Yes,” she continued. “Michael Goldstein was a wonderful person. If you should find him, tell him I think of him often. And,” she hesitated for a moment, almost biting her lip, “tell him I still love him. You know,” she said smiling as tears began to well up in her eyes, “I never did marry. I guess no one ever matched up to Michael…”

I thanked Hannah and said goodbye. I took the elevator to the first floor and as I stood by the door, the guard there asked, “Was the old lady able to help you?”

I told him she had given me a lead. “At least I have a last name. But I think I’ll let it go for a while. I spent almost the whole day trying to find the owner of this wallet.”

I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown leather case with red lacing on the side. When the guard saw it, he said, “Hey, wait a minute! That’s Mr. Goldstein’s wallet. I’d know it anywhere with that bright red lacing. He’s always losing that wallet. I must have found it in the halls at least three times.”

“Who’s Mr. Goldstein?” I asked as my hand began to shake.

“He’s one of the oldtimers on the 8th floor. That’s Mike Goldstein’s wallet for sure. He must have lost it on one of his walks.” I thanked the guard and quickly ran back to the nurse’s office. I told her what the guard had said. We went back to the elevator and got on. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up.

On the eighth floor, the floor nurse said, “I think he’s still in the day room. He likes to read at night. He’s a darling old man.”

We went to the only room that had any lights on and there was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to him and asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr. Goldstein looked up with surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and said, “Oh, it is missing!”

“This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if it could be yours?”

I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the second he saw it, he smiled with relief and said, “Yes, that’s it! It must have dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want to give you a reward.”

“No, thank you,” I said. “But I have to tell you something. I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned the wallet.”

The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. “You read that letter?”

“Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah is.”

He suddenly grew pale. “Hannah? You know where she is? How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was? Please, please tell me,” he begged.

“She’s fine…just as pretty as when you knew her.” I said softly.

The old man smiled with anticipation and asked, “Could you tell me where she is? I want to call her tomorrow.” He grabbed my hand and said, “You know something, Mister? I was so in love with that girl that when that letter came, my life literally ended. I never married. I guess I’ve always loved her.”

“Mr. Goldstein,” I said, “Come with me.”

We took the elevator down to the third floor. The hallways were darkened and only one or two little night-lights lit our way to the day room where Hannah was sitting alone watching the television. The nurse walked over to her.

“Hannah,” she said softly, pointing to Michael, who was waiting with me in the doorway. “Do you know this man?”

She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but didn’t say a word. Michael said softly, almost in a whisper, “Hannah, it’s Michael. Do you remember me?”

She gasped, “Michael! I don’t believe it! Michael! It’s you! My Michael!” He walked slowly towards her and they embraced. The nurse and I left with tears streaming down our faces.

“See,” I said. “See how the Good Lord works! If it’s meant to be, it will be.”

About three weeks later I got a call at my office from the nursing home. “Can you break away on Sunday to attend a wedding? Michael and Hannah are going to tie the knot!”

It was a beautiful wedding with all the people at the nursing home dressed up to join in the celebration. Hannah wore a light beige dress and looked beautiful. Michael wore a dark blue suit and stood tall. They made me their best man.

The hospital gave them their own room and if you ever wanted to see a 76-year-old bride and a 79-year-old groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see this couple.

A perfect ending for a love affair that had lasted nearly 60 years.

RAPE: MY SWEET EXPERIENCE

The evening is calm and darkness has swallowed the sun. The wind is gentle and that is a joy to me as the Atupa that is illuminating the shop produces a flame that dances seductively and dangerously close to extinction yet alive to cast it's light on the noodles business I am overseeing for my mother.
It was a slow day and so is business. Arike my friend had gone to hawk peppered ponmo for her mother so I am all alone with my thoughts. My name is Tinuade, a 16 year old girl. The only child of my mother, who never knew her father because my mother does not know him too. Anyway the story of my conception is so complex that I could not even tell it.
Although 16, I posses the body of an adult so attractive that uncle Thomas the mathematics teacher ogled at me one day till he walked into a pole. Letters of affection and requests for relationship flood my locker daily. Even some NYSC Corp Members attached to my school never fails to invite me to their house. Male antics are well known to me, thanks to my mother who drummed it into my head how unwanted pregnancy ruined her chance for a better life. She told me they would come with sweet tales of affection and boy, did they come?

As I reminisce the days event, someone covered my eyes from the back. I knew it was Brother Yemi our jovial neighbour. Brother Yemi a graduate who works at the bottling company is very free and well loved by everyone.
I have been expecting him. I smiled as he turn to sit beside me.

"How are you my wife" he asked

I giggled "I am fine bro Yemi"

"How was work" I added

"Work is fine"

Bro Yemi looked at me skeptically as he touched my chin then he asked "hope you are no longer angry with me"

I smiled and replied "it's okay, after all you have apologized"

"Should I bring your noodles to your room later?" I asked to reassure him that I am no longer angry.

"Yes, make it two eggs this time" bro Yemi said as he stood to leave.

He touched my cheek playfully and I held his hand against my cheek and smiled.
Bro Yemi is such a fine and attractive young man. Standing tall, one wonders why he does not have a woman in his life.
After he left, I fired on the stove, prepared his noodles and fried the eggs the way he likes it with lot of pepper; packaged it, quenched the Atupa and advanced to bro Yemi's room in the face to face house that he shares with my mother and numerous other tenants.

I entered into his room quickly without knocking to avoid being detected by the neighbours. He beamed with smiles and hugged me tightly. I handed the noodles to him as I sat beside him.

"Bro Yemi please can I use your phone to Google an assignment we were given today at school?" I pleaded

"Of course Tinuade, you are my girl now and a good girl who knows what's up" he said as he handed over the phone to me.

He opened the noodles and starts eating while I type on his phone. Halfway into the food he coughed, I handed over a sachet of pure water to him and I began to type frantically on his phone.

Not quite long, bro Yemi grabbed his stomach and began to groan in pain, I quickly walked towards his sound system, increased the volume and then crossed over to him.

I crouched low, looked into bro Yemi's eyes as he grows increasingly weak and his pains intensify, I raised his chin and began to speak as tears stream down my face.
"Do you remember what you did to me last month? Of course you remember. You were the hunter and I was the prey. You took advantage of my innocence and robbed me of my hymen. You raped me and begged me with promise of money and a phone not to cry or tell my mother. Yemi! Can money or phone equate the pain you gave to me and my virginity that you stole? Oh you thought you won right? No I won. Inside your noodles is a potent poison that is currently ripping apart your internal organs. No do not bother to scream as you won't find the voice to. I have composed a well written suicide note for you explaining how you are tired of this life and want to tap out."

Bro Yemi's eyes revealed real fear as he realises the implications of what I just said. He struggled to get up but his feet couldn't find the strength as blood oozes from his nose. I brought out the bottle of sniper and place it beside his food, I hit send on the phone to deliver the suicide note to his Facebook wall. As I closed his door careful not be seen, Bro Yemi breathed his last and I felt a weight lifted off my shoulder. He had stolen my virginity and ruined my life, and I have stolen his life and gave him a quick passage to hell. Trade by barter.

Written by Segun Solomon Longe