Thank you so much guys for hanging on as we go on this wild rollercoaster fun ride, to revealing my nominees for the ‘Liebster Award’! Y’all have been such great sports and am simply just blown away by your magnanimity and kindness, I shan’t forget by golly! Plus, do have y’all a very glorious Easter Day Celebration! Enjoy!
That said, I present to y’all the crazy, that is; the good kinda crazy mind you,…..Kingsley Okechukwu of ‘Hard Voices’! Dude’s extremely funny and I coined for him the appellation…’The Humor Merchant’! He’s a total, absolute crack-up and his cool, unrivaled sense of humor shines through every single line of his writes, which are for the most part satirical, as he attempts to thrash out societal vices in the most hilarious of ways that will keep you shaking your head in complete disbelief and total hysterics! If you’re a fan of literary writes bursting with sheer hilarity and sarcasm; look no further than to the ‘Humor Merchant’ for a fix and you shan’t be disappointed! He blogs here, so then, be off with you! Thank you guys, I know I can count on y’all! Mwah!
And to you Kingsley, I couldn’t possibly thank you enough! I remain humbled and totally grateful for heeding my call! You’re the man and you do rock….pieces! May you be mighty honored far above and beyond your very wildest dreams, expectations and aspirations in Jesus’ Name, Amen! I gat only mad love for ya buddy, thanks ever so much! One love! Mwah!
The old woman told Ife to make a wish, to see anything about her future. Ife’s heart began a violent throb on her ribcage and her breathing became a loud whisper. She had barely helped the hapless woman across the highway, and now it seemed she will get a fearful view of her tomorrow; not all of them of course, but a substantial part of it, any piece of tomorrow she so wished to see.
‘ Speak, my daughter’.
Ife could have wished to know if she would be wealthy or if she would graduate with her third class result. She could ask if her mother would survive the diabetic attack that had plagued and turned her to a sack of bones, or if her father’s pension would ever be paid…, or even ask to know when she would die. But, she didn’t ask any one of these questions, she just noticed her lips moving, mouthing off the words….’I want to know the man to whom I will be married’.
A mischievous smile crossed the woman’s ancient face like a crack in an orange. ‘Tomorrow’, the woman began, her voice cutting through the air with an antique authority, ‘you will know your husband, the first person to ring you up; will marry you.
Now, there are many men in Ife’s life, three of whom she considered marriageable….Mike, who’s studying in the United Kingdom, Eugene, working in the German Embassy and John, who’s gainfully employed in an oil company and whose father’s an erstwhile renowned political contractor. She would settle for John. Ife thanked the old woman and hurried off to her hostel.
In her room, lying atop the upper bunk, she brought out her phone and dialed John’s number. Three times, the phone rang to its fullest, and three times, the ringing ended with the irksome ‘No Answer’. After an hour, the restless Ife dialed him right back.
‘Hello Ife’, John alone called her by her name. Her other male admirers called her a sea of sweet names…..’First Lady’, Darl’, ‘Ma Queen’, ‘Chocolate’, ‘Berry’, and the list goes on. To him, she was Ife, just Ife.
‘John, I need you to call me early tomorrow morning’. ‘Very early’. ‘Please, please’.
‘Why’? Came the lukewarm response.
‘Just call me…first thing, I have got something important to tell you my love, pleeease’.
John let out a grunt.
‘I’ve heard you’.
‘Please, say you promise’.
She placed the phone on her bosom, heaved a sigh of relief, relieved yet; not so relieved.
That night, Ife’s sleep was haunted by a large book of hallucinations, broken into a thousand pages of feverish reality. In one, she was getting married to John, in a syntactic stadium with the President as Priest, and the stands were filled up with mascots painted in green and white shades of color. Then, the scene dissolved into a yellow beach, where a fisherman with his hook and line hung around his neck like a necklace, counseled them. Then, they were in a hotel , somewhere in Dubai, with the world of celebrities cheering them on as they took and exchanged their marital vows. Suddenly, she discovered she was wearing a black wedding gown and John was adorned in suits over jean shorts….
Ife woke up with a banging headache. It was 7am. Her room mates were fussing about the place. She hissed. Then she remembered and made for her phone, tucked underneath her pillow. Her excitement knew no bounds as she was expecting a barrage of calls…..all from John. She thumbed at her phone, only one text message advertising an archaic song as caller tune. Not a single missed call from John. Her excitement light, like a poor candle died before the wind of John’s dishonored promise. She became worried, frantic. At this time, anybody could call her……wrong and or blacklisted numbers, forgotten acquaintances or worse still, ‘chewing gum boys’. She knelt down beside her bed and prayed….
‘God please, let John be the first to call’.
She returned back on to her bunk….waiting.
Her phone didn’t ring. She sat up, her matrimonial uncertainty; squeezing the breath out of her. She would call John and ask him to call her back. There was no shame in taking your destiny in your hands. As she touched her phone, she heard it ring in her hands. ‘Thank you Jesus, at last’! She exclaimed.
Ife turned the phone.
Kingsley Okechukwu calling…….
Then, her tongue loosed and she yelled out a wild….’NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO’!
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