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About Me

My photo

 My story may shock you, but then again your situation may be worse. Delve in and find out....
The best moments are the ones when, that affect people positively and inspire them to laugh and live. 
             But is this, the entire story?
 The Human experience is Unique and every person has something to give, you just need to see it from my perspective and I craft words, actions and events from this very human angle.

Ade's Journal Part 6

Ade's Journal Part 6
My Valentine & The Elegance Of A Clean Breakup

Ade's Journal Part 5

Ade's Journal Part 5
My Scrumptious Valentine Kiss

Ade's Journal Part 4

Ade's Journal Part 4
A Scorpion is not a Lobster

Ade's Journal Part 3

Ade's Journal Part 3
My Insane Week Before Valentine

Ade's Journal Part 2

Ade's Journal Part 2
He Had The Guts To Come Back

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Saturday, 29 April 2017

Punishment Island, The Corrupted Paradise.


"ADE'S JOURNAL", 22

    The fish dived and leaped out of a chlorophyll rich sea, absent of waste and plastic. Water snakes glide over the crystal clear waters, belly filled with so much food the fish was of no interest to the reptile. And the water crabs, danced sideways, lazy and robust, unmoved by the presence of predators. This island is rich beyond words and thrives unapologetically. The only thing that shattered the peace of this island was man and his beast. It roared and announced to all living creatures to side step and run. The snakes skids and scuttled away to safety and the fish dived deep and far away from the boat that would or could cast a net. The net that would ensnare all forms of life and deplete the thriving population. Only, this one had no need for prey. The cries from the child bound on the boat filled the air, echoed far and wide. And migrating albatross flee from the branches of the surrounding mangrove trees. Spotted redshanks, shoebills, green-breasted Pitta, the African Broadbill, the great blue Turaco and curious Ravens watched as the men and women, struggle to place this child on land and keep her far away from  the boat. Finally, they  succeed and then leave the child alone on the shores. She begs and tries to catch the boat and fails. The sight of a water snake sends her fleeing back to the shore from the cold waters in the hot sun. And the poor reptile swam in the opposite direction, afraid it would end up as sandals or a belt to this grand predator. The afternoon sun blazed harder as the heat intensified. The little girl crawls beneath the largest mangrove tree and continued to cry. She looked up and almost got hit by bird sheet and ran from the sight of so many birds. They too flee and send feathers flying in the air. The child hides beneath another tree and starts to wheeze. The disease that made her allergic to bird feathers had started again, a source of worry to her family that has now dumped her. Blacking out, she knows she has to try to get more air into her or she would pass out. Relax and stop crying and try to breathe, the girl tells herself. When she is calm, she starts to pour out her heart. Did I know I would get pregnant at eleven? No. Did he ask me if I wanted to sleep with him or if I wanted to end up abandoned by my family on this Beautiful graveyard? No. The cries of what sounds like a monkey fills the air, and i look up at the strange bird with what looks like a balloon, under its beak. You won't tell me to shut up. I screamed at the bird that falls silent. Now I am pregnant and my family has left here to die, hungry and scared. If I survive this, I will ask my daughter if anyone sneaks up to her bed at night. Put a viscous dog by her door, one that only listens to me or her. Beg her to tell me the truth, that I will protect her no matter what. Get an education, so that her mother is not afraid to be homeless if she supports her daughter. But first, I must survive this Beautiful hell hole.
  The night is brutal, frogs croak and birds cooed and I watched snakes crawl past. Not a wink of sleep came my way. The next day, I am holding a stick, trying to catch a fish. Tales of my ancestors catching fish with Thier bare hands hunt my hungry mind. Another night is here and there is no food in my grumbling stomach. So, I go-to the tree that the birds eat the leaves and pluck it and chew. It is bitter and rancid but my stomach leaps for joy. An hour later, I am in pain. The leaves maybe poisonous, my tongue is swollen and I cannot breathe. Maybe I should sit quietly and pray this is just a dream.
 I dream of my mum baking a cake with my name on it. Justin, the daughter I got justice over, she said in her sweet voice. The oranges around the cake are from the orange tree behind our hut. And the cake ingredients are from my auntie that works in the city and always fills our heads with Dreams. My family didn't like that she married from another tribe but her money and gifts were never rejected. I wonder what they will tell her when she comes to visit next year? When I am a rottening skeleton, manure for this garden of paradise.
   I wake up exhausted and back on punishment island. Why is life cruel like this? I fight to hold on to sleep and feel water climbing up to my nose. Awake now, I feel the tide all over me and I know I will drown if I don't move. So I crawled away from the waters and accidentally, my hands grab a fish. I struggle and fight to hold the fish and don't care about the rising tide. It is safe within my grasps and I am thrilled at the thought of eating cooked fish. Then I stare around at all the wet twigs and have no match box. How will I cook the fish? Too hungry to think straight, I bite into it and wrenched in disgust. I throw up and fall forward. My mind was too messed up and I'm too hungry to think. The fish was actually already dead and I toss it away. Now I am starving.
I will die, just like the girls before me, all alone. The red ants will feast on my corpse as they feast on the fish I abandoned. Punishment Island, The Corrupted Paradise will thrive on the bodies of young girls like myself. Hidden shame and buried corpses of Family abandoned by Family. Oh how men get away with crime in this wicked wicked world. Tears from my face tell me it is over and then I hear a rumbling sound. Maybe my mother has come back to rescue me. I promise to stay away from my father and the other villager's. They will never know you rescued me. I whispered and tell her with my eyes shut. It's not your mother, a man said giving me rich goat milk. I am too tired to fight him and know this is the only life line I have. As I drink, I think. This cruel system that allows only men to rescue teenage girls left to die on punishment island. Ironically, put there by crimes society charged them with, Committed in collaboration with a man. I don't want your help, it's all lies, you want to make sure I am dead. I cried and stopped drinking the milk. You have been here for six days now and I could not let my conscience be. Please come with me and survive this, prove to all of them that you are a fighter. The choice was ultimately mine to make and I choose to survive and as I leave this island. I promise to have many girls and to teach them how to fish, make a fire and save money to escape if ever they are abandoned. I will form a survival route to help girls escape this wicked wicked world. And I will tell them it's okay to receive help from men too. Not all are bad. The snake flees from around the canoe I climbed into. I am free...
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Wednesday, 26 April 2017

Drowning, This Suicide Victim Cried For Help.


  "ADE'S JOURNAL", 21

    Clustered and wiggling their moisture keeps them alive. These unwanted magots fighting to complete their metamorphosis to change into the next phase of their short lives. No one likes how they look or what they feed on, the outcasts in a world filled with diverse creatures. Jellyfish is formless and shapeless, with a sting that can kill ten grown men. Yet, people are in aw with them and do not loathe them like they do magots. Imagine you are one of these unlucky bunch. Trying to pass the exams that comes easy to most. Fighting to get and earn a living in a world that does not forgive failure. I am in tears, crying and begging for a reason to live. Clasping and grabbing at straws, soaked in poisonous chemicals. Should I even still try? Hope is lost and I'm tired of crying. Life put me a an old rail track of failure and i choose to walk away from it all. There is no need, I have been cursed to never succeed. Maybe this time, I will succeed and frown. As polluted waters fill my lungs, I see the future. I am destined to do more. To forever fight and for the first time in my life, I am fine with failure. I will fail at this task I have given myself. I choose not to die and then Drowning This Suicide Victim Cried For Help. Too late, I can't even fail at this. I'm going to be a stain on my family lineage, that suicide victim that drowned because life was too tough to handle. Maybe I am sick, depressed and went undiagnosed throughout my short four decades on this wicked earth. I heard a loud splash and wonder if heaven would let me in. Pain from my lungs, chest and earlobes made me cough out water. Iopen my eyes to a crowd gathered all around me and cough out a stream of water. And then, I start crying. I am not dead but I am alive and familiar faces stare at me in disbelief. Tell us you slipped and fell, that you did not just try to kill yourself. Someone shoved her and I heard them whisper, obviously he did. I start to cry and ask why I am not dead. You have more to offer and do, use your failure as a ladder and prove you are stronger. I hug her and cry and feel them place me on a stretcher and slip into slumber. Awake in the hospital, my sister paced up and down and bit her nails. She looked back at me and screamed. Blamed me for bringing down the family name and adds that it's all over the news. If only I had suceeded. I proclaimed and she snapped both fingers over her head. God forbid.
If it doesn't get better, I will succeed... And we will cover up, she adds with no remorse. To her, the water in my brain gave me delusions. I could never be suicidal in her mind. I smiled and she points, how can a suicide victim smile? And I realized why, the lies we tell ourselves are too many. She too was failing her course, had no money to go back to school and just found out that her fiance was already married. We all have our troubles and for her religion saved her. Who will save me from myself? She heard me speak without opening my mouth and squeezed my hand. Please talk to me, I know I am difficult. But if you had died, I may not have survived it. I poured out my heart and we cried. I told her what I could, she believed my two year failure Could be turned to success that the school could change my grades. I know better And the School had offered me counseling sessions, which I accepted. I now have a chance to start all over again. But this time, with a course I loved and could handle. My sister wont listen and I won't judge her. I just believe that this time, I can do more, do better.... So can you....
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Busola Elegbede
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Friday, 21 April 2017

Miracle Was Buried At Birth And Grew Three Days Later


"ADE'S JOURNAL", 20

     Screwing and burrowing Deep and hard, these creatures inflict irrevocable damage
on something so beautiful and natural it is forever irreversible. Woodworms are rarely seen but the dust from munching on wood above, sprinkling wood dust on everything below piles up. And like clockwork, Evey being knows, hears and sees the handwork of these abnormalities.
The hands jerk as they move and halt and make sure that everything works. A new life struggle's out of an impossible tiny hole. The smell of decaying wood filled the outside air but still they scratch and scrape at life. Waiting to sprout out and form perfectly imperfect holes. The mother grunts as if they drill into her bones. She cried and prayed and pushed and saved the pain. Alas, a cry could be heard echoing far and wide, inside the depleting bleeding forest. The mother looks around at the vanishing forest and pushed one last time. The baby fights and like amoeba, wiggles and lands on an open palm filled with sawdust. The weary eyes of the fresh new mother searches all around and listened. Alone, she looks down at the bloody baby. A life that would have made sense, five years later. But now, an inconvenience and a reason to commit this devilish act. She drops the baby and snips the Cord linking her to this secret she tried to hide.
 Now she grabs the pile of sawdust and starts to cover the baby. The child cried and the need to hide him grew as she buried his tears and cries. Like a constrictor, she squeezed hard at the earth and particles of timber and buried the truth. In pain, she walked away. Pretending that none of it happened. Day one, she was not caught, day two, she was acting all normal. Day three, she walks past the grave of her child and he cried. The sound was faint but spoke volumes. Guilt made her gasp and the timber on her head falls to the ground. Someone else heard the sound and then falls to her knees and starts digging. It was a real ironic situation. The woman digging with her bare hands, had suffered three miscarriages. She had heard babies cry all day but this time, she was at the buried child's grave. Miracle Was Buried At Birth And Grew Three Days Later. The baby wiggled and tried to suck on the hand that rescued her. The ninety nine days for the Thief was up and I knew better than to remain. Dropping the wrapper, twisted and cushioning the pain of the timber on my tiny head. The pair of eyes Watching me, proved I was not safe. And the horror in the eyes of the woman that unearthed my baby made me run. The angry mob figured out I was a liar and chased me. I tripped on my precious timber and fell and cried. Kill me, burn me alive, I know I am a monster. They stop and move away from me and reveal this childless woman rocking my dying baby. I see they have found milk for him and I know my life is over. Alas, they stop and hand me over to the police. As they photograph me, I know I am not normal and pray that God has mercy on me....
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Wednesday, 19 April 2017

Chained To A Generator Set, The Height Of Wickedness


"ADE'S JOURNAL", 19

        The cocoon is cracked and I struggle to spread my wings and fly. But first, I must escape my own self imposed prison. This butterfly must sprout her wings and fly. If  only, this horrid fly would just stop feeding on my life line. His useless lies are  epic, he feigned and pretended to have the wingspan I have. To be a stretched out Beautiful butterfly, instead he is a grubby old fly filled with magots. Claimed to love me and yet chained me to a monster. To the beast coughing out carbon monoxide and electrical energy, all vibrating and making me afraid of what might happen. Just like a rabbit, stuck in an open empty carton. Free to escape before now, but I am stuck now. Doomed to forever live in fear. But sometimes, a ray of hope shows up and a voice speaks up. Catching this rotten soul feeding on my hope and love and converting it to a moist pile of rubbish. The generator sparks jolt me back to reality and the fear that I may rip open the fuel tank. Because I am struggling to break free. So, I stop trying to escape. I stop fighting and start crying. My wings shove out of the crusty cocoon and I wince in pain. Cramps, fear and disbelief fill my mind. I see the neighbors peep and stare in disbelief at my predicament. Yet they do nothing, say nothing. I am a victim of my desperate mind, plagued by a manufactured love. A false ideal, a fake union. Time was against me, so I said yes to the next man that proposed. He was nothing like the man I could live with, angry all the time and violent towards his siblings. His sister received a blow in the stomach for stealing the little time I spent in his family house with her. The scene was Shocking and her cries and words, echoed and hunted my troubled mind. He will beat you, she clapped and screamed in my face. Her words were true and I wanted to turn around and run. But his aged mother held my fleeing limbs and begged me to stay. Begged me to understand, that he was under pressure and loved me completely. I knew it was a lie and ended the relationship a week later. But the men stopped coming and I was getting more and more depressed. I was lonely and when he got back from London and asked me to marry him, I said yes. He beat up the neighbor for moving the generator set and trying to stop the fumes from entering the poor neighbor's room. He threatened to burn everyone in the block of flat if they dared touch his generator set. Holding a keg of petrol and a lot matchbox, no one argued with him. Angry and mean where his middle name and our son felt his wrath when he distracted him from watching a football match and missing a goal. I watched him toss our child across the room and rushed to break my baby's fall. I was lucky I got there on time but sprained my wrist in the process. My husband didn't care that we were both crying. He was too upset with me to care. I have defied him and continued to work, ask me what work he has? Shishi, he collects his mother's rent from her tenant's and gives her whatever he deems fit. I should have known, now I am in this mess. Diner was late because I had my wrists bandaged in the hospital and my son treated for shock. My husband let me finish cooking and abused me, bullied me into dropping my fork. I was too fat to be eating and according to him, should start fasting. I was too hungry to care and fed my son and then he grabbed my plate of food and finished both. Insisted I tuck our son to sleep and threatened to beat him to sleep. The little boy knew and grabbed me tight, sleep mummy, sleep. His words broke my heart and his shaking little body made me cry. You spoil our son, he screamed and I tuck my tired baby in his bed. The sound of my name made my son jerk out of fear and I massaged his back and whispered, ssssshhhh. Out of the bedroom, I could see my husband was hiding something. A whip, a cane, at this point I did not care. Come here, his annoying words rang like an irritating fly, across my ears. He dragged me to him by the twisted wrist and clamped a handcuff over the swollen joint. I screamed and then remembered my son would rush out and also be beaten. So I covered my mouth and begged him. He twisted the wrist and I screamed. I could not see and started begging him and begging the world to rescue me. I feel the generator set burn my shin and open my eyes. I was biting into his rugged hardened hands that dragged with evil intent, my sprained wrist. He was enjoying every minute of my pain. Twist out of this and I will burn you alive and watch your son hold your burning body. His threats made me freeze in disbelief. Even the horror films I watched didn't have wickedness of this magnitude. Chained To A Generator Set, The Height Of Wickedness. I was crying silently as he dosed me with petrol. My son was crying and hanging on to the burglary proof, trying to come and rescue me from his father. The neighbors watched and I cried. A fire would disrupt their life and getting involved would stress them. So, they did nothing. I watched the exposed wire and tried to stop the generator. My husband unlocked the door and grabbed our son, if you off that generator, I will use this handcuff to cuff him to the generator. I stopped struggling and watched my son wriggle and cry. It's okay, go to bed. Daddy is just playing, I tried to pacify my child. I told our frantic son and he ran into my arms and I cried. The sound of vans approaching made me look up and realize what was happening. One of the neighbors had called the police. I cried and tried to steady my son and the generator set. The neighbors grabbed my husband and stop him from lighting the match. The policemen and women switch off the generator set and I start to wail uncontrollably. The women hug me and take my baby from me and take pictures to catalogue his crimes. I look at the pic and could not recognize myself. Just to please people that I would never see, I married a monster. And now, my story will be seen worldwide. My shame seen by all, the abuse I tried to cover up, now witnessed by all. It's never worth it, to allow evil to go unpunished. To allow abuse to continue. I was that tamed rabbit in a cardboard box, everyone expects that I should jump out and run away. Expects me to be free, but I was conditioned into complacency, threatened with my son's life into staying. But now, I will now be a voice of the abused, make sure that everyone knows how much I suffered in the hands of my abuser.

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Busola Elegbede
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Saturday, 15 April 2017

93 he Died, 103 Widows he left, 203 Children Wept And The Whirlwind Begins


"ADE'S JOURNAL", 18

    Fetch a perfect dew drop of water, gathered and rounded up from the moist morning air. This tired worker ant gathers and rounds up, miniscule dew in the air repeatedly. Until alas, it starts to settle around my spiny forelimbs. Then I do what I must, raise the ball of water up high, heavy now with the an equivalent pail of water that I must take back home to the thirsty lot. I taste the rust sipping through the air, old and timeless. The air that has traveled and gone with the wind, yet this land remains here. I, like my siblings have defied the odds. Thrived and survived admist pain and suffering. Survived, when we were expected to cave in and disappear. I miss the sound of the rusted wheels striking the age old rail tracks. I miss the hooting sound of the trains, announcing there will be plenty to do. The silence haunts me and my clan, but it does not dampen our spirits. A generation that has grown and multiplied just as time has. I do not cry for my father, he is one that has made history. Not one that built a monument or left a business legacy. No, at 93 he Died, 103 Widows he left, 203 Children Wept And The Whirlwind Begins. I do not cry because I am sad. Instead I cry because of all the sadness in the air. The man gave me precious moments I will forever Cherish. But his time is up and mine has just begun. I wonder why unlike him, I don't have seven children already. That is at my age, that's how many he had already. His children too are like him, averaging ten children each already. I envy them, but I'm also scared I will end up like him. Her sweet smile catches me and distracts me from my goal. And I almost dropped the dew drop I have gathered all morning. I put on a straight strict face and look away. I want a different path for me. I don't want to spend my life grooming children. But alas, I am in serious denial. The truth is that I am already raising children, my brother's and sisters. And the one growing inside her, bulging out and popping out any minute now. Like my family, hers is plagued with multiple births. So I expect at least two from our frolicking together under the Oyinbo, Idi Oro moon light. Isn't life ironic.....

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Wednesday, 12 April 2017

The Fool Demands For 500 Destroys Three Million For It


"ADE'S JOURNAL", 17
 
       The lone hyena struts and bounces, taking larger strides as it approaches it's prize. A succulent juicy rodent rodent-like meal with spiny fur. Munching majestically and totally ignorant of the strength of the predator lurking around and behind it. The prey is too busy munching on the scrumptious green shoots from an Agbalumo tree, cut down to save the foundation of an old house, tilting from the strength of the root of the massive tree. I can smell how rich and delicious this meal will be and if you must know, my family lurks near, waiting for me to strike.The heat is escalating and the streams have dried up and the wells, sealed off because of rumors of cholera. These strange two-legged beings, spread horrific tales to control a confused people and to cause panic. Not to worry, I will get my drink from one of these homosapiens right now, a rodent rodent-like one will do. But for now, let me wait and squat at the neck high dry grass in the bushes. The sound of hope lingers in the air and as I pounce and strike, my canines sink deep into the spiny back of my prey. The taste of the salty iron rich blood, quenches my thirst, for I am victorious. Many have tried, experienced and skilled but none can and only  I know how. I let go, not because it's spines prick at my jaw and cause my jaw to bleed. I'm too hungry to care about that. What I want is for the rumors to stop. For my mother's label as a witch to end and for the stigma inflicted upon this Hyena clan to stop. My mother's swift movement catches the fleeing prey and a large chunk of it vanished down her throat. She realized that she was greedy and paused, she set down the prize and I rush and bite into it and swallow. Bitter is the taste of bile, the taste of entitlement and greed. I stop and look out at the field, there's a fat cow behind a flimsy bamboo gate. My mouth waters in the blazing hot sun. And the three fattest cows, turn to my skinny bony structure. They Melt like Ice cream, all Beautiful and delightfully succulent. The three flavours look like three ice cream scoups in a beautiful bowl.
The male is thick and massive, like sweet vanilla flavor, mine to take. The female is pink strawberry flavor is juicy and ripe, tender and succulent I imagine. And the dark chocolate is smaller but I can taste the tender interior already.
This is my garden of Eden.
 But alas, the sound of an archaic shakabula rings in the air, no doubt to scare me and my family away from a bigger prize. I look behind him, he is alone. The one person with him is shaking, afraid of the strength of our numbers. I approach and he does not shoot. There are no more bullets. In all my rage I burn, I scorched him and his partner. And why not, they dare deny me my prize. The ranch is on fire and I watch it reduce to ashes. Until I realized that we were surrounded. My mother tries to escape and I leap and jump over and into the crowd. I am clear and have gone, until my mother's screams stop me. She has been caught and struggle's to set herself free. I turn around and know it is over. I will be judged harshly by people who don't know me.
   I heard them say, that, The Fool Demands For 500 Destroys Three Million For It. I know not about the value of things, only about hunger and thirst and doing all I can to quench and satisfy my needs.
As the verdict is read and the chains clasped around my neck. I watch my family watch me. I am to be imprisoned, to be shackled for life, to go about hungry and be stigmatized by my ignorance and greed for all eternity....

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Saturday, 8 April 2017

Educated Idiots Like Myself


"ADE'S JOURNAL", 16

   Swirling swiftly across the river and paddling briskly as we all kick and float. The circle is complete, the cycle over done and the heat is escalating. If you didn't know, you would envy us, thinking we are bonding g together for a meaningful purpose. The aim is clear, even if most of us are in denial. We have bonded together to end it all, to die here and not in a beautiful manner, no. We have come here to drown. But I didn't know the reason, until it was too late. I asked the question too late into the journey and did not prepare for the perilous waters. My comrade has made this journey, three times now. And twice he almost drowned. For the third journey, he trained and swam in the sports stadium. He was the envy of many who watched and a twenty year old man trained with him. To test their abilities, they jumped into an angry Lagos lagoon and he made it across from the Ikorodu shores to the trepidatious CMS slanting shores. Sadly, he alone made it. His companion had drowned and he did not notice. Only when that suicidal doctor jumped into the Lagoon and the wrong body was fished out, did he know for sure that it was him. The twenty year old corpse and his swollen face, splashed in front of the newspaper, was unmistakable. The face filled with false dreams of swimming from Morocco to Spain to get the European dream. At least, he was trying, I told my swimmer friend. I on the other hand, was completely lost. I did not know how to swim, was lied to. Sold unserious lies. Told that from the shores of Gambia, that I would see Italy. My swimmer friend laughed and asked me where Gambia was on the map of Africa. The last time I held a map, was in secondary school. I hated School, didnt pay attention. But lied and said I loved School. I failed woefully and lied to my parents that I passed. I left for Lagos, because I lied I was admitted into two universities there. And when on my trip to Lagos, at the busy Enugu market. That was where my money ended. It is also, where I met my swimming friend. Not before I met my pimp and human trafficking gangster. I watched in awe, a well dressed and could smell his designer perfume from two miles. I watched him tell an eager crowd about going by boat to Europe. That sounds even better than going to Lagos, I thought. Just imagine what my parents would say when I call them from Italy. But I had no money, so I did the best I could. I sold my soul to this devil on the streets of Enugu market square. He was rich and very sharp, as I turned. He grabbed my hands and said out loud that the next time they see me. That I would be clad in gold and designer clothes. I was embarrassed but he reassured me that once every year, he found a beautiful light skinned gem he sponsors. And asked if I was lazy. I disagreed and he gave me his leather pouch. It was heavy and when his phone rang, he told me to pick it up. I opened the bag and it was an iPhone 7. Live and in living colour and the crisp hundred dollar notes all around it made my eyes light up. He was collecting a thousand five hundred from educated idiots like my self. Well, I didn't go past secondary school, but as far as I told him. I'm in Unilag on holiday. It was after I have been housed fed and used to convince the rich desperate illegal immigrants to drop more money. That I met my swimming friend. He was irritated by my scrubby hands attempting to touch his hard limbs. He asked me for my story and like a shark, my pimp circled and tried to stop him. My swimming friend was traveling that night and paid for my freedom from his jaws. I cost a thousand five hundred and on our way to Europe, I learned how gullible and naive I have been.
  This circle got tight and drowning people all around, held on to my swimming friend, dragging us to the bottom of the Morrocan sea. My feet touched sand and my lungs start to fill up with water. Just like the story of bullet ants circling and Drowning together. We were all going to die. I opened my eyes and thought of the letter I sent to my parents. The lies I sold about Europe, now I would be one of the African bones at the bottom of the sea. Lining the shores of Spain, drowning in the lies Educated Idiots Like Myself buy. But my swimming friend swam towards me and lifts me high up, out of the waters to the shores. We were just a few meters from Spain. Pumping water from my lungs, I coughed and breath again and then looked all around me. From the one thousand people on our boat, only twenty of us made it. Then my swimming friend shouts at me. Run, they are coming. I looked all around and spot a speed boat with armed police men approaching. Now, my race to freedom begins....
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Tuesday, 4 April 2017

Sender The Owner, souhaitez-vous


"ADE'S JOURNAL", 15
 
  The green grass, plump and fresh is lush and full of life. The tree stub cracked just in the center, creating more room for more life. From inside its core, a life moves majestically downwards and all about. This creature that loves the shadows and detests light. Does not shy away from the sunlight blazing down on it, from up above. The scorpion has no reason to run, it just holds up and forward heavy pincers. Swaddling along as it advances or reverses, choosing to move in whatever direction suites it. And if that does not get your attention, then it's maeleable tail strikes. Pumping paralyzing venom deep into your bloodstream. But if for some reason, it decides to delay the strike and distracts you from eminent doom. Are the heavy limbs a distraction or the awkward movements out to deceive you? You can wish it different or ignore the truth. Either way, the scorpion will still sting you and suck your brains dry.
 Slow poison, circulating like gossip. At first, none of it makes sense and then you start to believe the ridiculous news. That's how rumors start, but this is not just a rumour. It's a vindictive, calculated evil story, designed to destroy your good name. Plaguing on your on how naive you are. But like my hard working industrious grandma would say, Sender The Owner, Souhaitez-vous. Decoding her words that mean literarily, you wish me good or evil, back to sender. You need to be spirituality inclined to even come close to decoding all what I'm trying to say. It's so much more complicated than any of us thinks. But every Beginning, has an end. And every vindictive rumor dies. After passing all around, the proud scorpion splits and cracks and then the earths natural environmentalists step in. The red ants slice with tiny pincers and mouths and reduce the proud giant down to manageable pieces. They match up and down, until they reach their anthill and share the loot. Reducing the giant to an empty shell, now buried under the earth and decaying. No one remembers the beginning of the end of it, because life goes on. Only the victims of the rumors remember and few survive the harm done...
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Busola Elegbede
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Saturday, 1 April 2017

This Python Dislocated, Stretched And Swallowed The Lies


"ADE'S JOURNAL", 14

   Holes dug in the earth to spring forth life, that is the fate of this cold blooded reptile. The eggs sprout out of its ends and the open jaws, shift and shut and salivate. The saturated hunger, drives it to pull at its serrated bones and the dry stomach walls, that last felt any food waits and releases bile to its pallet. Any food right now would help. The over grown reticulated Python, watched a fat Grasscutter, bum into its tail. But before it could react, the creature ran for its dear life. Hope was lost and the eggs that dropped in the burrow, seemed to be the last generation. Exhausted, the large reticle watched a curious lizard, nod and agree with its fate. How many lizards, would fill up this stomach soaked in bile? The noisy footsteps approaching, gave the snake hope. This was the weight of ten Grasscutters. The meal would feed the cold blooded creature for another full year. The unsuspecting farmer, carried a bundle of freshly havested palm nuts in the blazing sun, and removed the sweat soaked shirt on his back. The shoes on his feet, dragged on and he stopped, right in front of the snake and decided to take them off. The last of the reptiles eggs was long buried and it's slant eyes watched this easy meal bend and remove it's shoes, awkwardly. The taste of the bike woke the sleepy creature and it knew, that it was now or never. It launched and grabbed the succulent man, by his fleashy butt. Sinking deep it's jaws and surprised itself by the speed at which it's body quickly wrapped around its prey. The man bit at it and scratched and the sharp end of the knife he use d to tap rubber, sunk deep into the snake. The pain engulfed the reptile and it squeezed harder, breaking bones and squashing organs, until the lungs and heart, constricted into one big mess and all life seized. This Python Dislocated, Stretched And Swallowed The Lies of this promising meal, basking in the glory of an easy meal. It shut it's eyes and smiled at the taste of victory in its mouth. As the bittee bile taste had vanished and the full stomach massaged the earth. The ground, preparing for the hundred eggs that will become a hundred Pythons. The sleep was brief, as the sound of multiple Grasscutters approaching, made the reptile raise its head, there was no where to run with a full stomach. Maybe they would not come this way. The echoes of slippers found and a shirt, made the snake attempt to move. It was sorted and descended upon, from left to right, from in front and below, rocks and sharpened cutlasses, hit its head. It launched and bit the closest and watched the man point a cylinder at it. The spark and bullet, sent it's head fling and the cries that echoed. The sound that escaped as it's belly was sliced opened. Lingered on for all to hear, across continents and the universe above....

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Busola Elegbede
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