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Friday, June 28, 2019

Headaches And Admirers


Sweat trickled down my face, the only things that kept the office ventilated were a small standing fan and small window. The fan sputtered every five minutes or so. Files were stacked against the four walls of the small office from top to bottom, making the stuffiness palpable.

 I fanned myself with a piece of folded A4 paper, as I worked on the stack of files on my table.
A client, who had no business being in my office walked in smiling. I say he had no business, because he did not come for any sane reason.

 I did not return the smile.

“Lepa ti ko ni imi,” he said.

The heat was smothering and I was on my last nerve, and there he was calling me some senseless nickname. I paid him no mind.

“Ahn ahn na,” he said. “Can’t you hear me? Am I not the only one that calls you by that name?”
I frowned; perhaps that would make him go away. It did the opposite. He pulled the chair opposite me and sat down.

“Shey you go give me your number na? So we can hook up sometime.”
He winked at me.

“Okay, Okay, I get it. You don’t want to give a stranger your number abi? But I’m no stranger. Am I not the only one who calls you Lepa ti ko ni imi, so when you hear that name, you would know its me.”

I kneaded my temple muscles, I was in no mood for this nonsense. How in heavens name did giving me a nickname make us acquaintances.

As if on cue, by divine comedy, my boss shouted my name. I had never been so glad to hear her scream out my name in her high pitched voice, as I was at that moment. I stood up without saying a word and went to her office.

I ensured I stayed at her office for a long while, making unnecessary comments and bringing up unnecessary issues. After thirty minutes, my boss got tired of me.
“Shade, you can leave now”
I smiled, enough time.

“Thank you ma”; I replied giggling.
She just shook her head as I took off.
I returned to my office and fortunately, he was gone.

About an hour later, another client walked in, one I had never seen around. He sported dark shades, an afro and a grey coloured suit.
He stopped on his way midway to my desk, removed his shades, smiled then resumed walking, with what he probably assumed was “swagger”.

“Baby, I like girls with this your physique”; he said using his hands to draw my physique in the air.
I sighed. Oh brother, here we go again. I wondered what kind of soap I used to have my bath that day, that caused all this attention.

Sunday, June 16, 2019

Gift Of Crabs

Jimi twirled the pen in his hand, gazing intently at the woman in front of him.
“Sade, how long have we known each other?” he asked suddenly.
“One year,” she answered hesitantly.
“And how long have we been dating?”
“Six months,” she replied a bit faster this time.
Why was he asking all these questions on a Tuesday afternoon? As if he was reading her mind, he said:
“You know these questions have a purpose.  In the six months I have dated you, the question of compatibility has never come up.  We have both carried on under the assumption that we were suited for each other.”
He paused.
Sade began to shift uncomfortably in her chair.  Jimi ignored her body language and continued.
“You know most men don’t date women for their intellect.  What initially attracts a woman to a man is her body.  Specifically, her ‘attack,’ ” he said, patting his chest, “and her ‘defense’ are relevant features.  A pretty face is just jara.  There are certain men who want their women to come fully loaded with a formidable attack, the kind that does not require the additional services of a padded bra,” he said, using his hands to form the shape of a full, well-rounded set of mammary glands.  From his antics, Sade surmised that he was trying to describe a set of double-D cups.  He wasn’t done though.
” … And there are others who prefer that their women have a heavy and capable ‘defense,’ the kind that can comfortably support a glass of water, and if necessary, a complete 3-seater sofa.”
By now, he had gotten up from his chair and had migrated to a spot beside her, using his hands to form the shape of a firmer, fuller butt.  Sade uncrossed her legs and leaned forward slightly.
“So, which class of men do you belong to?” she asked coolly.
“You’re an intelligent girl.  I’m sure you know the answer to that question.  I am a member of both classes.  Now, I have convinced myself for …. how long have we been dating again …?”
“Six months.”
“Exactly.  For six months, I have convinced myself that your intellect was enough to make up for your obvious deficits, but I am tired of preaching to myself.  Anyone with eyes can see that you are both flat-chested and have absolutely no defense.  In fact, my brothers are more endowed in the defense department than you.  I think I can safely tell you that I’m moving on.  It’s over.”
Sade said nothing.  The crooked smile she had on her face the entire time Jimi was decorating her with insults, was still there.  His speech had not wiped off that smile.  It was now his turn to feel uncomfortable.
“Oya say something now … “
“Why? I rather enjoyed your speech.  You must have rehearsed it a couple of times, and I am certain that you’re not done.  You still haven’t told me who you’re leaving me for.”
Jimi was shocked.  This girl was not floored by his break-up speech, and was even demanding to know who his new girlfriend was.  He began to worry.
“What?! You’re not entitled to know that.  It’s none of your–“
“Oh, but I already know.  I just wanted you to say it with your mouth.  Since you’re not going to be a gentleman and finish what you started, I’ll do it for you.  It’s my kid sister, Bose, isn’t it?”
Jimi did not say a word.  He was dumfounded and began to ask himself how she knew.  He had covered his tracks very well and taken extra precautions, but–
“Don’t trouble yourself, ehn.  You’ll be happy to learn that she has Herpes.  In a few days, when you start itching and scratching your–” and at this juncture, she briefly glanced at the area below his waist, and then back at his face, “–you’ll know what your second early birthday present is. Two special gifts, just for you.”
Picking up her purse and leaving an astonished Jimi behind, she turned around and added: “I hope the crabs eat you for lunch, Mr. Attack and Defense.  Happy Birthday o!”
By Sharon Salu (courtesy

Thursday, June 06, 2019

A Touch of Spite (1)

True loves are the ones you reminisce about. The kinds you remember with a pang and an ache. They are always in past tense, because you never really know love till you are out of it. 

You also never forget the worst romantic involvements of your life. It is a well known fact; love and hate are siblings, very identical.

The other day I saw an ad for a writing competition with the theme, A Touch of Spice. They wanted a steamy love story. These writer people and their captions. They believe all experiences are to be chronicled.

 If I were to write a story about each of my relationships, the caption would be a touch of spite, or better, a handful of spite.

I ran my mind over some of my relationships, ticking them off one after the other till I got to a particular one that refused to be ticked off. That relationship was terrible.

 You see, they give you no warning in the beginning, these terrible ones. They always start up like the best thing to ever happen to a man. You keep feeling lucky and blessed until the ultimate shock.

 It is not anybody’s fault; spice and spite are so similar that if, while in the middle of the act, Spice goes to the bathroom and returns as Spite, you will not know the difference till the next morning, or the morning after.

And the girls in such relationships are always exquisite. The one in this particular relationship of mine is not like the others you have read about, or even thought about. 

You have heard people claim that someone is perfect and you have lied to your lovers that they were perfect. But I assure you, this one is no lie; she is perfect.

 I can repeat if you don’t believe. It is not a beauty one can capture on canvas or on any lens. God is the only artist that can draw her, and if He tries He might not even get her as He drew her in the beginning.

She is fair. Not screaming fair, but the creamy kind that is a blend of all light colours. Of course you know all beautiful girls are tall and slim, like mermaids and Sicklers.

 Her eyes cannot be described in words. If they fill with tears yours too will. This kind of girl you do not resist; this kind of girl you do not disagree with.

But I can really not convince you. I have only described her here like a work of art. You need to see her as she is.

I met her at a junction, the bus stop near my house. A taxi had just dropped her off. I tried very hard not to stare. She was all light and bright things, and she was walking towards me.
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