“Which Dauda? Isn’t that the name of Otunba Adekunle’s gateman?” Mrs. Phillips asked in a voice that was devoid of empathy.
“N-n-n-o-o-o, ma,” Gloria stuttered. “Dauda na de mechanic wey dey–”
`A quick slap across the face ended Gloria’s explanation.
“You got pregnant for a mechanic?” Mrs. Phillips asked, as if she felt that getting pregnant for a gateman would have been far more prestigious or easier to swallow than getting pregnant for a mechanic. The timing of the revelation made it necessary for Mrs. Phillips to desist from immediate judgment. But the following morning, she sent Gloria packing. Read More
Growing up in Nigeria, it was common to hear food that had pepper in it described as being “pepperish.” So, I am used to that word: pepperish. But, I do believe the correct word is peppery. Today, however, I don’t particularly care about the difference between pepperish or peppery (should I care?). My gripe is with the use of the word “spicy.”
It was when I moved to the US that I heard the word “spicy” used more often than pepperish. Over here, spicy usually means one of two things: Read More
Twice it had happened that morning, and Mrs. Phillips was losing her patience. She had called this boy almost five times, before he finally answered. Dotun had only worked for a week, and she was already counting down to the day when she would kick him out of her house. Yes, she had a date picked.
One has to be ready for such things, if every single house help you’ve hired in the last six months has left under less-than-pleasant circumstances. That was Mrs. Phillips’ experience and she was ready for Dotun. He was already displaying what she termed the “warning signs,” and strongly believed that to be forewarned was to be forearmed. Read More
If you missed the preceding two parts, you can read them here:
And now for the final part. Feel free to leave a comment too.
She walked into a compound in the middle of which stood another two-storey house. The architecture was similar to the house where the pregnant woman lived. This time, however, the person who had called her was not on the balcony. He was on the ground floor and stood with his arms akimbo, in front of the house. One would think, from the way he stood boldly, that he was the landlord. Alas! He was just a tenant. And he wanted to buy mangoes. Read More
Yes, it’s true. 1, 2, 3 Disappear is the name of my first published short story this year. Never mind that I actually wrote it last year. What matters is that it is now available on … you guessed it … Smashwords. The synopsis, which I don’t believe does it justice, reads as follows: Read More
I would never describe myself as a sports fan, but I know a school’s mascot when I see it. Well, I saw these two side by side at a farmer’s market: University of Memphis Tigers and Mississippi State University Bulldogs. Whose side are you on? As for me, the answer is neither. But, this is my entry for this week’s photo challenge.
If you missed Part 1, you can read it here. Now for Part 2.
Keeping a close watch on her tray of mangoes now resting on the floor outside the shop, she asked the woman who owned the shop, if she knew the places in that neighborhood where people would want to buy mangoes. The shop-owner, a kind woman who had a daughter of about Risikat’s age in school, gave her a list of places she recommended. One of them was a mechanic’s shop, which was on another street, a few minutes away. Read More