Keep it coming

"Hold am. Abeg, I need to make that call" Moji said determined, looking into the girl's eyes with his, trying his luck to see whether the girl maybe, would see the pain and hurt in his eyes. It was still fresh in his heart, actually it was today, that he returned from a cell to find his mother dead. And now, this twenty naira note in his hands which claimed to be able to tell him the truth. Before he sighted the call center, he had tried other methods. He had ran up to cars, some few 'rich' people who had a phone, and begged them profusely, with more drama and enthusiasm than he's doing now. But, they all waved him aside, one even slapped him, when the young boy offered to wash his car for free.

"Filthy thing. You wanna add more dirt, you mean?" the obviously vain old man had said.

He was doing this now again because he knew the fat girl couldn't slap him.

"Wetin I go use these yeye clothes do?" she asked, pointing to them in obvious irritation, unaware that the state of Moji's clothes and hers were distant relatives. None was better.

"I go just cross over, i'll be at the other side. If I attempt to run you can shout, that i'm a thief."

"Okay" she finally said in a resolute tone, letting out a sigh. The boy's determination was something else.

She opened the bag which was supposed to be the encasement for the phone. When she brought it out, Moji was happy for the first time that day. She gave it to him, it was the nokia phone with a horn, quite expensive. She looked at him suprised, and asked him if he thought a call was free.

"No. I have money" he replied

"Can I have it?" The girl spoke, for the first time since their encounter in English. Something Moji suspected had to do with money. It was a well known fact that money was worshipped.

Moji explained to her that the number he wanted to call was written on the naira note he intended to pay with. Perhaps if he was any wiser he would have 'crammed' the number. But he didn't, for he had one or two little problems with his brain ability to memorize, to 'cram', as teenagers his age do. He was once called a 'dummy' in primary school when he was sent to buy a bubble gum by his teacher, but returned with a latex condom in his hands as he presented the 'bubble gum' to the shocked teacher, imploring him to take it with his innocent eyes.

Maybe a day in which he has trekked more than Moses, and had his tender head beaten by the inhumane sun drained his medulla of the ability to cram. What would have happened if he lost the note?

The phone was in his hands, finally, as he crossed over to the other side of the street, on only his boxers. His sad frame was greeted with suspicious stares by passerbys, who thought he was the newest person to have smoken Igbo and driven mad. He cared not. He held the phone to his right ear, as the number was ringing. No answer. He called again. No answer. Again. No answer. Just when he wanted to tag himself a spectacular failure, he heard creaky sounds, at the other end, signalling that the call was on.

"Hello?..." Moji asked, rather than said

All he could get as a reply was incessant gibberish. The people were making distant noises and even, Moji could hear music playing.

Silence.

The other end was now silent, as it was obvious the receiver of the call had know left, or excused himself from the jamboree.

"Hello?..." Moji asked again as he caught the fat girl looking at him. He quickly escaped her stare and put his head down.

"What's the truth?" the young one asked, in a sudden burst of boldness, as his facial features adjusted into a frown.

The person at the other side chuckled. It was feminine, as Moji heard.

"The truth?..." the feminine voice said

"The truth is, Nigeria is in a country called Africa" the voice was now male.

Moji bit his lower lip in anger.

Following u bumper to bumper Op

"You want to know who killed your mother?" the weird person who kept changing voices said

When those words emerged, Moji's interest was roused. He wanted to know more but he bid his patience, the person on the other end could not be provoked, otherwise his fingers get bored, and he hits the 'cut' button.

"Your mother was a very fine woman. Beautiful. It's sad what happened to her"

"Who..." Moji was struggling hard not to cry. His voice was laden with the emotion he felt at the moment "killed my mother?"

"I don't know if that's what you're asking. What I know is that the person who killed her is only a mercenary. Your worry should be, who had her killed?

I am most unfortunate to have played such a vital role in some very dark events of the past."

"What events, and what has it to do with my mother-wait, you called her a beautiful woman. You have seen her, haven't you?"

The person coughed terribly, he must have smoked a lot, or his body was allergic to the environment. He talked like he had all the time in the world, but the one who wanted answers didn't. He paid only twenty naira.

"Yes, I have seen her. The handwriting on the naira note isn't mine, it belongs to Blackie Olokpa. But, I wrote it. You see, i'm a master impersonator, and I am skilled in anything that tricks the eye. Some have even called me a magician. But mind you, i'm not.

Some years ago, I was hired for a job. I was paid Fifty thousand naira in cash, untampered. My job was to watch over a pregnant woman, who seemed to be kidnapped. This woman who hired me for the job provided me a hideout to keep the pregnant person hostage. My mission was to make sure she gave birth

After five months, she gave birth to a girl, and my mission was complete. I was told to walk away. I did, walk away. But not before asking if they would kill the woman that had come to trust me. The woman laughed hysterically and said 'eventually' "

Moji listened with rapt attention.

"What does this have to do with my mother?" the boy asked, for as long as he knew, he was the only child of his parents.

The person coughed again, this time it was so terrible and pitiful.

"Eventually." he simply said

Moji felt the vigor of the conversation dying so he used tender words to rekindle the fire.

"You seem to be dying" he said, with a feigned concern. He would do anything just to extract something close to the truth from this all-knowing person.

"Ah-nothing I haven't tried to die naturally. I am asthmatic, and I smoke over six packets of cigarettes daily yet, death won't come

I have told you what you should know now. Bury your mother, and search for the truth you seek. I have to return to the party.."

"Wait, wait...who's Blackie Olokpa?" Moji asked, he thanked his poor memory for remebering.

"The Blackie-Olokpa is a bereaved policeman, whose only daughter was killed by her cultist boyfriend. He went into the depths of the south-east in search of charms to enact his revenge on all cultists. He just returned"

"Uhm, can I...?" the line froze off. Moji wanted to know if he could meet the person, in person. He tried the number again, and he got a reply from the 'computer's voice' that such a number didn't exist. He rembered. He had said he was a master impersonator. Such a person could easily write a letter that requested that the line be blocked.

Moji returned the phone to the fat girl, who collected it with a smile.

As he wore his clothes, many questions and thoughts occupied his head. But to search for clues in his quest for the truth, he first needed to stay alive.

It was then it dawned on him. He had no place to call home.

Lolz... Nigeria is indeed a country call Africa.. Wat a reply... Weldone bro, u are doin gr8 job here

Weldone... Good write up

Wow! This is beautiful! I'm motivated to post my work on Nairaland. Never let anyone read them before, I'll just try n see.

Op. cool.

Jaynewrite:
Wow! This is beautiful! I'm motivated to post my work on Nairaland. Never let anyone read them before, I'll just try n see.

Post it baby, here is a mini-world....once it's here, it's everywhere

Jaynewrite:
Wow! This is beautiful! I'm motivated to post my work on Nairaland. Never let anyone read them before, I'll just try n see.

pls Mention me.

I love Virgin works, I want to premier it. JAYNEWRITE PLS COMMAND WRITE FOR US HERE ON NL

mention me if you want to start the Beautiful work.

Jaynewrite:
Wow! This is beautiful! I'm motivated to post my work on Nairaland. Never let anyone read them before, I'll just try n see.

You'll do great. Be sure to mention me so I can read it.

Thanks for reading my humble work.

The first thought that popped into Moji's head was that he finds somewhere safe to sleep. It didn't have to be comfortable, comfort wasn't something he could afford. His brain suggested the canteen he had gone to earlier in the day. It was really far from where he was at the moment, but better for him to trek than live at the mercy of merciless street thugs, that wandered the place at night, looking for whom to devour. He set on his journey, this time, he didn't wander endlessly, he had a destination.

It was approximately forty minutes it took, when he got to the canteen. He went under the huge table that was placed just outside a closed store. He rolled himself inside, and coiled his body together, seeking to provide warmth from the inconsiderate wind which blew through the place that night. Moji put his two hands into his laps, and there was warm.

Disturbing, was the noise that woke the young Moji up from his slumber as he was sure, it was the sound made when a bottle was broken. He got up with immediate alacrity. He peeped from under the table and saw some youthful men, playing a very dangerous game with bottles, as if their skin wouldn't tear if the bottle kissed it. They noticed movement under the table and were pointing at it. Moji knew they were coming for him. He had to act, and act fast.

He stood up, shielding his eyes from the dim torchlight one of them pointed from afar. He staggered, and talked gibberish, persuading them he was drunk. When he got to where they stood, watching at him in amusement, he fell to the ground, singing a popular Fuji music. He clawed at the ground with his fingers, and even poured sand on his head. They were convinced. As he continued walking in shaky steps, gradually escaping the scene, he heard them say

"This one dun high oo!" in their collective masculine voices, appraising their foolishness and gullibilty.

It was really late, and Moji really needed to find somewhere to lay his head. He began walking back from whence he came; the street in Boundary where he made the phone call.

He got back there and stood at the front of a compound, beside a mango tree, perfectly hiding himself with the dark shade that was casted over him by the leaves of the tree. He was looking for a shop he could pass the night in, outside of course.

Shocked, was an understatement to describe the feeling when someone tapped him from behind. He could feel his skeleton run out of his body. He turned around, and met the huge eyes of the girl who operated the call centre, he was calm, and saw his skeleton enter back into his body.

"Hey, call girl" Moji said to the girl innocently, oblivious of the unwelcome meaning behind the phrase.

"What are you doing here? It's almost eleven, the ignorant girl said in suprise, her eyes popping outside Moji thought it would fall off. But then he remembered the girl's question and he put in his head down in pain.

"I have nowhere to sleep"

The girl was quiet, and she wanted to know how it was that he didn't have a home, but common sense was able to overpower her curiosity. She held him by the hand and they walked, most likely to be where Moji could pass the night.

While on the way, Moji's silence was disturbing and the girl tried in vain to strike a conversation.

"Do you like football?"

"Shey Pasuma's real name is Wasiu?"

"What's your name sef?"

Moji's stomach rumbled, he hadn't eaten today. The fat girl meanwhile, noticed that Moji dragged his legs on the ground, something she did when she was hungry.

"Are you hungry?"

Moji replied in the affirmative with a weak nod. The girl took him to an aboki's shop and bought him a Gala sausage roll and 'nylon water'. He ate with so much gusto that the northern trader called him back and gave him another roll for free. He thanked him, saying "Na Gode" to which the aboki waved off, saying "Yo wa" whilst displaying his finely disarranged teeth.

They arrived at a bungalow and the girl tip-toed to the back. Moji followed suit. They got to a door at the back. The girl's hand was on the knob and Moji was obviously disturbed by the nature of their entry. It seemed like burglary.

"Whose house is this?" Moji asked in a hushed tone, trying to maintain the secrecy.

"Shhh..." The girl implored Moji to keep quiet, placing her index finger over her lips.

They were inside.

"The house belongs to my friend's father. The old tenant left, accusing the landlord of wanting to steal his star"

"How can a human being steal a star?" Moji asked once he had sat down.

"It means to steal someone's destiny, ode" the fat girl explained, chipping in the insult to take a swipe at Moji not knowing.

"I dun dey go" as she turned her heavy body and made for the door

"Wait!..." Moji called out

She turned and faced him.

"My name is Moji"

"Fatima" she said

"Nice meeting you"

"Likewise"

She left.

Nice story.... what an interesting read.... keep it coming

WOW!

I can only exclaim like the poster above me. Your work raised the bar higher and it's literariness is quite beautiful to admit. I started today and I am here happy to have a close understanding of this famous place that has produced some of Nigeria best musicians.

My friend who lives there fondly refers to it as AJ city and he is quite familiar with phase two bar. Keep up the good work and may your imagination aid your narrative. Nice use of grammar except for some few errors.

Following...

I'm enjoying every bit of this story. Kudos to the op. I like the way you take your time to explicitly explain events in the story. Makes it possible for me to relate and create a vivid picture of the story.

Abeg, oga santana, give this op 2 shots of ogogoro for doing a nice job.

I pray you continue to drop updates frequently cos nairaland's writers have this habit of delaying updates the moment their story begins to gather momentum.

*i know it's not easy to type a story*

CHAPTER FOUR
Unlike the norm in village settings, there was hardly any cock that crew, to wake the boy up from his sleep. Most birds that didn't possess strong enough wings to jostle a flight route in the sky stayed down, and fed off the rich ground of Ajegunle. The abuse that came with 'sabi sabi' too further solidified their convictions. Moji was forced to wake up by the noise which erupted very 'late' in the morning, by 6:23am. Unlike what people thought, Ajegunle wasn't just any ghetto, it was one full of hustle, and everybody had dreams. No one ever achieved his dream by being stuck inside of it.

Replicating the stealth movement from the previous night, Moji carefully escaped, although he was seen by possibly a 14 months-old baby, who almost betrayed him with a cruel and loud laugh. But Moji did well to bend and twist his facial features to achieve a comical effect, to which the laughter of the kid only intensified. He, Moji, then put on a devilish grin and frown, and the humuor was no where to be found in the baby. Moji left.

He wanted to go to the house of Fatima to thank her, and was almost there but was discouraged by the vigor with which people went about their morining duties. She might be occupied by chores. He shunned the idea, for now. He let tears flow freely from his eye when he remembered his mother. Here he was, thrust into the thick of street activities, when on normal circumstances, he'd still be sleeping innocently and even when he did wake up, it'd be to the aroma of expertly-cooked noodles. He missed his mother, and he wasn't leaving her to rot, without paying respect to her beautiful body, that was most unfortunate to have ever witnessed suffering.

Moji got to what used to be their house. The street was mildly intense, and was considered as part of AJ but was on the outskirts, closer to Berger Suya.

Moji walked into the compound, ignoring terms of sympathy that was thrown his way. However, he thanked them for their 'concern' with a sly smile, formed thinly on his lips. He didn't want to, but as 'custom' demands, he obliges. The stink had lessened and Moji was beginning to think that something had happened to his mother's corpse.

He slowly opened the door and for the second time in two days, he was presented with the shocker of his life.

He saw the bare back of someone, and the person was thrusting in frantic paces.The demented person felt his presence and turned back and Moji saw who it was. It was the landlord. He looked at him, he was sweating profusely even in the chill of the morning. He looked at his mother, she'd been stripped naked, and her corpse even seemed tired from being thumped in and out by the massive rod of this perverted demon. Moji's anger knew no bounds as he charged at the man and dealt him two heavy blows in his cheek, the kind his youthful fist could prescribe. The man though, shocked somewhat staggered, and he looked fazed. Moji pushed him and he fell, he could have been high on cheap liquor. The young boy climbed on top of him, sending a series of blows and slaps on the face of the landlord, who didn't protest. The tenants rushed in and took the furious Moji off their landlord. The lunatic might serve them quit notices for failing to help him. Moji was held by the strong arms of two bachelors, but his anger couldn't be contained. He spat on the face of Olawale, the landlord.

He didn't know why but his eye caught the big bulge and expanded state of the landlord's organ. He was disgusted. It was well over six minutes since the fight broke out, and Moji was restrained, yet his phallus was still erect. He must have enjoyed it a lot; having sex with a dead woman. Had Moji been a slave to the premonitions of some people, he'd have thought that it was for fetish reasons. But, it wasn't. Olawale just was a pervert, who couldn't release seminal fluid after sex. Moji thought more clearly, since his head was his. He threatened the landlord that he will enlist the help of a young policeman who was his mother's 'client'. He threatened the landlord that except he provide a bus and transport him and the corpse of his mother to a cemetary, he would rot behind the bars of a cell.

The landlord shook violently in fear. He didn't want to be locked. It would deprive him of his money. It would deprive him of the pleasures of the flesh which he constantly enjoyed with Imabom, the woman of his tenant, Akpan who looked on, unsespectingly. Imabom had been the fiancee of Akpan for seven years, and they had a three year-old baby. This kind of relationship was 'in-vogue' in Ajegunle, most stemming from unwanted pregnancies.

"Okay" the crooked voice of the landlord said in agreeance, although his will disagreed. Hiring a bus, to carry a corpse, was quite cost, and challenging to his pocket.

Moji sent everyone out of the room, and wore his mother her wedding gown. He sat with her and waited for the bus to arrive. He did something he hadn't done in a long time; he prayed.

Olawale, the landlord explicitly told the driver he hired not to assist Moji in anyway, as far as burying the deceased goes.

Moji, with the help of some boys, whom he paid with his belongings, carried his mother onto the back of the bus. He got on the front seat. The driver didn't show any sign of pity on his hard face which had a bottle scar run through his right cheek, the left seemed as if the devil himself had given him a slap from the heights of anger. Moji wanted to solicit for physical support, but was discouraged by the face.

"Bros, abeg I wan go call alfa wey go pray for my mama" Moji pleaded, tapping the driver lightly on his arm, in a bid to get him to stop the locomotive.

The driver didn't reply. He stopped. He came down and brought out his little organ which was as a result of his obesity. He turned and faced Moji, saying

"Go call your alfa, but by the time wey I piss finish and you never return, I go drop the body here"

Moji took to his heels even before he could say the last parts of the sentence. He wondered and was scared, as to how long this little thing which was like a premature worm would take to dispense urine. Logically, a small hole at it's head meant it should take longer but it was the neck Moji was worried about. It was so thin he didn't think it would contain process more than three drops of hot urine.

Moji was at the alfa's house. He knocked thrice in a harsh manner that revealed the urgency of his coming and desperation. A middle aged man opened the door. His face was oval-shaped face and was flanked on both sides by grey beards. The heat on the afternoon conspired with his skin, as beads of sweat were lazily situated like policeman-in-checkpoints on his forehead.

"Good afternoon, sir" Moji bent down in greeting, to which the scholar responded by nodding his head.

"My mother is dead, sir"

Abeg who get e-book?
I'm itching to read something. Prefferably African Literature.

The Islamic scholar, popularly known as alfa, a generalised title given to clerics of his kind cast his eye over Moji. He felt pity for him. He placed his right hand on Moji's shoulder and shook his head.

Moji raised his head up and held unto the hand, looking into the eyes of the man.

"Please, alfa. Come and pray for my dead mother. I want her to have a proper burial"

"How did she die?" the cleric asked

"I don't know" Moji replied, with tears now forming in his eyes.

"Okay, i'll follow you"

The cleric held his free flowing clothing as he ran behind the faster Moji, who was leading him to where the hearse was. Moji finally stopped in front of a yellow commercial bus called danfo and the driver was sitting in the driver's seat, door opened, and talking to a young girl who sold agege bread. He flashed his unhealthy dentition at the girl, touching her hair occasionally to which she reacted with a giggle. When he saw Moji and the alfa coming, he quickly requested for the girl's digits, and while she punched it in on his phone, he licked his lips in relish, obviously thinking of the different styles he would engage her in.

Inside the danfo was quiet, as Moji caught the driver occasionally steal glances at the alfa who sat beside them. He looked at him from the front view mirror and his eyes was full of guilt. Moji knew a conversation was imminent. The alfa coughed, and shifted slightly unto the right side, where Moji was, so that he could see the face of the driver well.

"Are you not married?" He asked the driver, who tightened his grip on the steering, he was taken aback by the question.

"No, I am not."

"Is that why you are living on the dangerous side?" he quizzed further, with a tone of condemnation. The driver was a devout muslim, but he had survived in Ajegunle by minding his business. This alfa better adopts the same philosophy, he thought.

The silence resumed until they came to the gate of the cemetary. Trinity Central Cemetary was boldly written on the gate. The driver honked his horn and a queer looking fellow who should be the security detail rolled open the gate. They drove in, and if anything, it was unlike what Moji had heard of cemetaries. Trees were planted on each side, leaving the middle to be a peaceful walkway. The trees provided a lushful scenery as cool breeze entered into the bus from the windows. The cemetary was peacefully quiet, and Moji smiled, as he thought of how ironical it was that so much peace could be found in a cemetary. Nobody knows what awaits them at death. His smile however thinned into a frown when he remebered that he saw people sleeping on top of graves. He thought of it as disrespect to the dead.

this is getting more interesting, u r the bomb man.though I noticed some few typographical errors, just try and read over ur work again. waiting eagerly for the next episode

Good job Op. Keep it rolling

[quote author=fikfaknuel post=492081
The heat on the afternoon conspired with his skin, as beads of sweat were lazily situated like policeman-in-checkpoints on his forehead." [/quote]

This is my best line so far.keep up the good work.

This is my best line so far. keep up the good work.

latbas:
this is getting more interesting, u r the bomb man.though I noticed some few typographical errors, just try and read over ur work again. waiting eagerly for the next episode

Thanks for observing em. Typing a full length novel with a Nokia E71 could be tiring and mistake-prone.

I'll modify them.

fikfaknuel:
Abeg who get e-book?
I'm itching to read something. Prefferably African Literature.

Got some e-book that has to do with research on African Liter

Akposb:

Got some e-book that has to do with research on African Liter

Can you send it to my email? Thanks.
My email's emmanuelesomnofu@gmail.com

I've received it, thanks a lot sir. Any other e-book you have, African or not would be highly appreciated.

Been long I read.