“Tea or coffee, sir?”
He finally turns to her, looking up with weary, sad eyes and she immediately feels guilty for yelling.
“Tea or coffee, sir?” she asks more softly. He’s one of the good ones, and heaven knows, you don’t come across the good ones very often in this line of work. No sir, you don’t. Air hostesses don’t have it as glamorous as the movies say, so when they come across a nice passenger they treat him right.
She smiles even more brightly, “Tea or coffee, sir?”
No, he doesn’t look sad, he looks anguished. She must fix it, rub her perkiness off on him somehow, turn that frown upside down like the motivational books say. You don’t come across many nice ones, not many quite as nice as this one has been, so she has taken it upon herself to ensure he is well taken care of and above all, happy.
“Tea or coffee, sir?” she asks again. Read the rest of this entry
Hi, mes amis. I’m so sorry I’ve been gone so long. I won’t even give any excuses, I’ll just throw myself at your mercy. And (again) I’m sorry about the length, I tried…
Didier liked to say we met at the office on a Monday morning. I’d been running late for a meeting, actually running, and he’d been sending a text message, head bowed. The crash had been inevitable.
But I’ll tell you the truth, after I’d thanked him for helping me gather the files and make-up strewn around the parking lot I promptly forgot him. There was no reason not to. You see, I worked on the 20th floor as a junior partner, and from his jeans and tool belt I could immediately place him on the ground floor with the technical staff. I didn’t mingle with the help, it was that simple.
On the other hand, I say I met Didier on a sunny Friday afternoon. I’d just left the office and was walking back to my car, soaking in the beauty of the day, when out of the blue I heard a woman laugh. It was the most beautiful sound I’d heard in a while. Read the rest of this entry
Another really long one. I’m really sorry! Maybe I’m working my way up to novel standards.
He promised you a rose. And thus it started. You didn’t ask for it, you would have been quite fine without it, but he walked past you on the staircase one day and held your stare. That was nothing new, you were beautiful, men looked at you, it was normal. Then he walked up behind you as you looked at your favorite painting in the lobby, the one of the single red rose, and he promised to bring you a red rose, one almost as beautiful as yourself. Read the rest of this entry
The fear of my friend Hetty won’t allow me break this post in two, so please bear with the length!
They say disasters happen in threes but I was on my fourth and counting that Monday afternoon. What a day. I had called a prospective client an agbaya for inviting me to his hotel room even though he was old enough to be my father, that of course had led to the bank losing his multi-million Naira account and that, as you well know, had led to the boss bringing down the roof and threatening to sack me. I didn’t see his daughters doing corporate ashewo work o, but who was I to bring that up? Then as I was waiting for a cab my mum called and ended the conversation with her now familiar “se okunrin kan kan o ti ko enu si e ni?” I was 23 years old for goodness sake, what was the find-a-husband-or-die-trying rush about? And then just as I was hissing my end to the call (she had already dropped, I’m not suicidal) and turning around to face the road I got my face and body sprayed full of mud by this idiot speeding past in his BMW. Read the rest of this entry
I’m suffering a case of writers’ block at the moment. A bad one. But don’t worry, I know the reason and I’ll deal with him soon enough.
Speaking of blocks, I seem to remember something that happened in my hostel back in Uni days. I had a roommate, let’s call her Lola. No, let’s not call her Lola, one of my roommates was actually called Lola. So let’s call her Funke instead.
One morning after her shower Funke returned to the room naked as the day she was born. She proceeded to take a full body nude picture, type out a naughty message underneath (I didn’t see the message, I just assume based on the smile she had on her face) and send both off to her boyfriend, let’s call him Dan. Read the rest of this entry
Just to mention, today I’m writing as a guy…
So there I was, standing in the kitchen staring at the cup of gari that was my home and abroad. You see, like the Widow of Zarephath, this three quarter cup of gari here was my last handful of flour. And the three or four tea-spoons of over-warmed egusi soup ‘without’ left in the pot? That was my little oil in the jug. After I ate this meal I had no idea where my next one would come from, but I had decided not to think about that just yet because sufficient for today was the trouble thereof. I had bigger fish to fry – I had to decide how to prepare this last meal. Did I want to drink gari? Or did I want to make eba? Either path had pros and cons. If I drank the gari then I could trick my body into recognizing the egusi soup as another meal tomorrow. If on the other hand I made eba, I would use up the soup but it would send me straight to sleep allowing me forget my troubles for a while, hopefully till Jesus came or the Lord called me home. Yeah, that was the better choice. They say if you want to eat a frog you should eat the one with a big head. So if I was going to have my last meal I should have a proper meal, not a snack. Eba it would be. And then like an affirmation from the gods my phone rang. Read the rest of this entry
I know I ALWAYS write in ‘first-person’, probably a sign of literary laziness? I don’t know. But today I thought to try something marginally different. Still writing in first-person, but from the points of view of three different people – Abby, EnKay and Jide. Enjoy, and when you’re done please let me know what you think. Merci beaucoup.
It’s about 11.30 on this dusty Monday morning and a young man walks into the lobby looking lost. My eyes, trained to spot money (or lack of it) a mile away, take in his frayed collar, faded tie and dusty shoes and I wonder what on earth His Royal Wretchedness is doing here. Yes, he’s handsome, but his one dimple and perfect eyebrows can’t make up for this contraption a very wicked tailor has sewn for him in the name of a suit. I guess he’s one of those job seekers coming to drop another CV, the manila envelope clutched in his left hand sort of tells the story. Seriously, I almost feel sorry for him.
He seems to gain some confidence as he spots me at the reception desk, smiles and says hello. “See my life?” I say to myself as I hiss inwardly, on a good day this one wouldn’t have the guts to look me in the eye if he passed me on the street, let alone expose teeth and “hello” me like I’m his mate. But in this firm I’m paid to be nice to whatever brand of humanity the wind blows in through those doors so I smile half-heartedly and mumble a reply to his greeting, they don’t pay me enough to win an Oscar, abeg. Then he gives his name as Jide and mentions he’s here for the 1pm appointment with the MD and something clicks! Read the rest of this entry
I started gisting you my story yesterday and had to go quite unceremoniously, I’m sorry. You can catch the first part here if you missed it, and I’ll continue today…
So, from his shyness and general awkwardness I could tell Preye was young, my age maybe, and he probably had limited experience with the fairer sex. But that was ok, in 21 years I’d gathered up enough experience to go round. I begged him to hang around for a bit while I freshened up so he could show me around town and then I dashed into the bathroom and scrubbed as quickly as I could. I towelled off, put on some make up and perfume and then stepped out as nude as the day I was born. Yup, I got the reaction I wanted – bulging eyes, jaw on the floor and Adam’s apple bobbing up and down on fast forward. If I wasn’t terribly horny I’d have found it all quite hilarious but today I was on a konji clearing mission Read the rest of this entry
Look, I’m not being dramatic, my life is actually over. Seriously. You don’t believe me? Fine, grab a seat and I’ll tell you the story.
It started the day they released us from Camp. I swear down, the person that invented white and white will never know peace. I had just wasted 2 weeks of my life living behind walls and being chased around by a bunch of good for nothing soldiers. Even in secondary school I never had to frog jump! A big shior to them all. Anyway, that was all over and we’d been released into the wild, I was determined to cruise the rest of the year to the max. I can’t shout, there was no way I was going to endure one full year in some water logged creek at the backyard of nowhere so I’d fought tooth and nail to get myself posted to town and it had worked. As the only girl in the family Daddy and my brothers had showered me with wads of cash before I left home, so when we got to town I refused to join the mere mortals squashed together in the Corpers’ Lodge and decided to get a cab and find a hotel instead. And on that one decision lie all my troubles of today. Read the rest of this entry
My boss wants to marry me. No, don’t hold your head and shout, now, I want to marry him too. In fact, I have the proposal all planned out, down to the restaurant he’ll take me to on my birthday and the shirt he’ll wear when he pops the question. It will be that sky blue shirt I bought but haven’t given him yet, I’m waiting for the opportune time. Yes, I know it’s strange that I’m the one planning the proposal but it has to be this way, you see, because my boss wants to marry me but he doesn’t know it yet. Read the rest of this entry