Somehow my conversations seem inchoate with an unfamiliar person until I have said something about Christ. Months ago, I was sitting next to this dark, tall and huge lad in a popular public place. He needed one of my items and I handed it over to him , notifying him on where he could drop it after use owing to the fact that I had to leave. One sunny afternoon, I had set about my activity in the largest hall in the vicinity and the same figure I had seen earlier strode into the hall securing a space two seats ahead of mine. In some minutes, he reached for the rusty fan regulators and just then he realized I was there. We got talking for awhile and I asked, 'so what church do you attend?' He smiled, flashing a flawless dentition. 'Why do you ask?' He said. I just want to know. Then he shook his head and said, 'I'm not a christian.'. 'Ok.'. Don't tell me you are a christian, he said with such countenance revealing surprise and suspended disappointment. 'I am. Yes, I'm a christian', I said firmly yet in a gentle tone. 'You don't mean it. No! You are too kind to be a Christian,'he said. We spoke for a while and he narrated the ordeal that had spurred his last statement and he concluded, saying he needed genuine convictions(by attending a church and SEEING reasons why he should embrace christianity again after all his experience). I spoke for minutes trying to convince him, depositing some facts I wanted him to ponder on in my absence. The point is, I had just done a little favour, to think that someone considered it too much for a christian to do only shows a possible perception of christians by some other persons too... Therefore we must be CHRISTLIKE, "let others see JESUS IN US" let our words and actions speak ALWAYS.

Randoms.(1) I spent the early years of my life thinking of all the things I wanted to be, the things I surely wanted to do. At 12, my personal aspirations had become clearer. It's midnight already.. this reminds me of the nights I stayed up fantasizing about my achievements after my daily routines. One thing was certain, only God's grace and hard work could birth all my aspirations(I learnt from my parents) I had personally decided to heed these words which made more meaning to me as the years rolled by. Something happened! I knew little about these people who are often 'represented' in almost all the offices I have had to visit; an established pot bellied man saying, "this is Nigeria", a middle age woman willing to disregard due process in want of naira notes that have obviously been unable to hide her financial challenges and certainly an ignorant youth willing to yield with a disgusting glee. ....So when I put in that extra effort in my activities, overlook the frivolous affairs of contemporaries, it's not because I am trying to be 'super human' but because I want to be one of the several examples why hard work pays when coupled with GOD'S GRACE, I want to stand out for those who will choose to do be upright in the midst of moral decadence. Finally, the white walls which I shall subsequently be enclosed by shall represent ACCESSIBILITY, JUSTICE and those who may have decided to remain on the "other side" would never dare ignore the conviction that they have no business with the corridors of those walls where I shall breathe at noon on weekdays(whenever).

TWO WRONGS Busying myself with the bizarre pleasure of stretching my hair, muttering over the tardiness of my old microwave while defrosting a plate of food as usual would have seemed more worthwhile than this, but I had found my way to Harvey lane again. The thought of this drove me crazy; I unconsciously displayed my disgust by banging my steering thrice. I would have lowered my glass to tell the bus driver beside me, who had made vain efforts to overtake me, how dead he would be if I noticed even a crack on my wing mirror but I sped off instead. Jumoke, my six year old daughter ran towards me, caging my legs after I had slid the parlor door open. She was saying too much at a time, words I had no patience to decipher tonight. "Mummy needs to rest," Grace said, pulling Jumoke away, relieving me of my office uniform. "Grace, you have to wash that right away,"I said. "Yes ma, ma, do you...” I had hushed her with by signaling a NO to whatever questions she was about to ask, with my right hand as I walked up the stairs. I poured myself a glass of wine, making way for my ash chair. I had followed the soap opera displaying on my television for fifteen minutes then suddenly I realized I did not deserve any form of pleasure. What seemed appropriate was this irresponsible twenty-eight year old wife, mother, and medical doctor thinking of how to clear this mess. I resolved to pretend everything was fine, shut up about this and move on, like I had done before but this Dutch courage would vanish once my husband sets his eyes on me. I had no excuse, none! I had everything, everything but my husband to stop me from wandering into the arms of another lad. I thought I had heard Ade, my gate man open the gate. I hurried to peer through my window. I felt a brief relief, seeing him strain to listen to BBC news, I could guess, on his black portable radio. I retired to my recliner, thinking about all that had happened today. How I should have saved myself this stress by telling Stanley to take his hands off my shoulders the first time he did in my office earlier in the day. As we both hurried into his apartment at Harvey lane, an inner voice had told me to stop my foolishness and drive home, it had reminded me of the dangers of being caught, how I had promised God four months ago that if he let my affair with Stanley disappear without being revealed I would never indulge in the stupidity of adultery again. His kisses made me weak, giving in was the only thing I, Funke could do; a woman whose husband was busy chasing naira notes, if he had ambitions of competing with Bill Gates, I did not know. All I knew was we had too much already. I felt a sudden chill when Dabota, Stanley's fiancée had walked in, I covered myself, hurrying out of his apartment as she cursed. "What a shame...”she yelled. I did not wait to hear all the facts she had to spill, after all we both worked at the Marina General Hospital, she had all the details which were perfect enough to keep me within the confines of my mansion, she knew how I toured countries for vacations, she had never seen me wear a particular dress a second time, that confirmed the whispers around the office on the number of clothes in my wardrobe. Perhaps she was not as detailed as I thought, if she could not figure out my husband, Daniel practically lived in his office, had little or no time for his family. Dabota had threatened to reveal this, I didn't care. All I thought about was Daniel, I had no clue what his actions would be if he heard about this. I had dozed off, getting off the bed by 11:45pm only to find Daniel snoring beside me. I did not see right, I mused, staring at the lipstick stains all over his shirt. Definitely those red patches on his shirt belonged to a broad-lipped woman, I could tell from the conspicuous patches she had left. Whore! I yelled inaudibly. It had been several hours of arguments after I had managed to rouse Daniel, he had no remorse for his actions, he lied about the glaring signs of an affair and my fury had forced me into telling him about Stanley who has gladly been filling his space. That had earned me simultaneous blows, heated arguments followed. "Get out,” he said, with revulsion as he pointed at our bedroom door. In no time he had rolled one of my boxes throwing it angrily towards the staircase. It's 1.18am, Daniel did not think of that when he chased me out of his house without my daughter. By Merit Gogo-fyneface.

ONLY YEMI KNOWS I'M DARK.

I did not fall in love with Yemi because he promised me the whole world. Whenever I walked along the street he was there, on occasions. Our first stares grew into first words, first words ripened to a first visit and here my story begins. I am Adiba, calm and easy going. My albino skin is 19years old and my brown eyes does not make me prettier and for this cause people would rather keep their distance. When Yemi tells me I'm beautiful, my head sparks and there is a shocking sensation in my bones because for him only, I am dark. Ordinarily, I should cry but I can't for all the tears I should shed now had dried up in my childhood where several humiliating and isolating experiences lay. I did not cry. I looked straight in his eyes and he said it again this time with a depth of sincerity in his voice that hastened lip locking and before one could say jack, I had toured that filthy path that made me forget Sunday school lessons. Soon, the remorse I had felt each time I left Yemi's was history and all I could do was yearn for more moments with the only man that didn't see the awkward colour of my skin. I had learnt to love him, to trust every word he said. If the whole world would not associate with me; knowing Yemi cared made me care less. Everything seemed perfect till one beautiful morning. One morning just like the others something changed, with me precisely a lot of things I could not comprehend. Days later, the nurse told me I had acquired the dreaded disease (HIV) and if I regularly took the necessary drugs, I may live longer but if not death was near, but before I die if I had to; my mother would kill me for there was no place to go, no where else to watch this belly of mine grow since she was all I had and Yemi for whom I was beautiful and dark, I lately repelled.........
by MERIT GOGO-FYNEFACE.

Welcome To Ladun Liadi's Blog: Shores of Despair By Merit Gogo

Welcome To Ladun Liadi's Blog: Shores of Despair By Merit Gogo

NUPTIAL BLISS.
The sky rumbled, rain drops hit the ground fast, with the force it had withheld earlier in the day when it threatened to rain. I tried to calm my nerves with the pop music from my stereo but I knew that was not enough. Dozie was still on my mind.Eventually, I resolved to get to Ada George.                                    
The road was abnormally free, except for the terrible pot holes here and there, which hindered my speed and I hoped would not damage any part of my KIA optima, my birthday present from Dozie. Walking into the estate, I had unconsciously turned visible heads towards my direction ,with my dark blue gown which was some reasonable distance above my knee, enhancing my light skin. Some part of my long hair fluttered around my eyes and I stylishly put it aside as I walked towards the staircase leading to Dozie's apartment. He was sipping a glass of red wine when I walked in. His white and black moustache parted, revealing the flawless dentition of the thirty-nine year old civil engineer as he smiled at me.                    
I did not even fake a smile to please him. "Baby, what's the matter," he began with the subtle voice that I fancied. I remained silent, dropping my pink bag on the bed, I folded both arms across my chest, staring at Dozie. He moved behind me, holding my shoulders.
"What do you take me for," I began with a firm voice I believed would carry me through the conversation however it turned. "Are you alright?" he asked, raising his brow as he took a place on the king sized bed. "Of course I'm not, how can I be alright with all the deceptive stories of you being a single parent".                  
"Where is that coming from?" he asked. "Incredible, do I sense any attempt to deny your wonderful family, do I ?"I said, staring at him furiously. He remained silent, staring at me in a manner expecting me to exhaust my ranting, this silence raged me even more.                                              
  "You are ignoring me!". There was no response, he switched channels, settling for BET. I stood there in the centre of his well furnished sitting-room, not knowing what to say or do next. I reached for my hand bag, determined to leave but Dozie held me, burying my head in his shoulders.
"Yvonne, I'm sorry. My bad, I should have been honest with you but apparently doing that would have made me loose you. We've come this far, two years together is not something we should waste because of some facts, we can do nothing about right now.I love you and you...".
"Don't go there, don't!"I yelled.
"We shouldn't fight over this," he said.
"Do you think this is funny, I have given you two years of my life Dozie."I said, demonstrating with my fingers in case he did not understand what two years meant to a twenty-six year old girl.
"Yvonne, it's not as terrible as you make it"
"No it isn't, you have a wife and son there in London and you were going to marry me next month if my curiosity didn't lead me to your cell phone." Dozie held me close. I was broken and didn't realize when I let him
kiss me.                
I drove home that night with a feeling I could not describe. I was supposed to be extremely mad at him, for fooling me for too long but here I was still thinking about him.
I lit a stick of cigarette to relieve my heavy heart, emitting the smoke in a carefree manner after each passionate thrust. I should have known all along, I told myself but Dozie exhibited much dexterity when he had lied about being an orphan, starting up a life here in port-harcourt on his own.
All these meant nothing now. I took a look at the ring on my finger and I knew there were just two sides to this; a court marriage with Dozie- after all he was not legally married to his wife, or letting go. I would have settled for the latter but I couldn't deal with the thought of starting all over. We carried on with the wedding and with Angela and her son there in London, I had the privilege of enjoying my marriage until Dozie subsequently told me he was relocating permanently to Nigeria with his family- I realized the huge mess I had walked into with my eyes wide open. by Merit Gogo-fyneface.

THE FIRST DAY OF AN UGLY BEGINNING.

Mama is sitting in the courtyard, her palms on her chin and elbow on her laps, which is covered with the worst of all her wrappers- she saves the rest for the women's meeting and special occasions. Solomon, my four year old brother is playing in the sand, which Papa would have flogged him for but unfortunately, he is absent and Mama does not care at all if Solomon fondles the filthy sand, full of saliva and other dirty items. From the impatient tapping of feet, to the smacking of her black lips, I can smell trouble all around our small apartment. I run around the kitchen, searching for every possible weapon Mama must have envisaged would break Papa's head, for having the guts to touch her savings, savings meant to make up my fees for the next session which was only a week away.
"Segun,”

"Ma," I responded running to the kitchen, from my prying spot .

"Segun where is my kitchen knife, “she began.

My heart beat because if I tell Mama I have no clue, she would fling the back of her palms carelessly on my face, the rational half of my mind tells me to pretend to find it but before I even decide which to follow, Mama angrily walks out of the kitchen to meet Papa.
"The fool is here, “she barks, clapping her palms together, firmly tying her wrapper which is faded and confuses me on what colour it had been before its present state, when I try to think. Papa tries to ignore her, moving towards our room door. Mama hurriedly races towards the door, covering it with her massive size.
"You spend my savings on that scarecrow your loose brain tells you is better than I am, and you come here with the thought of resting, you must be mad. “
"Biola, I am in no mood for your foolishness right now, get out of my way, “he said, moving towards our door again.
Mama pushed him so hard that his body hit a part of the old stem that has been used to hold our twines on which my school uniform was spread. My blue school shirt flew into Omawumi's veranda, our neighbour who had left her four children to rage Mama with the kind of side talks she would like to hear, which confirmed Mama'ssuspicion.
Papa forced himself up, aggressively moving towards Mama. In a split second, Mama's nose had started bleeding as a result of the force of Papa’s punch. She wailed, running up and down the compound, calling out to the neighbours and threatening Papa must kill her.
"Ayoola, you must kill me today, “she said, proceeding into our clustered kitchen, disorganizing it more by throwing down most items in search of the knife. Then her eyes rested on the wooden pestle, she gladly pulled it from its position running out of the kitchen.

"Papa, “I screamed running towards Solomon, to raise him from the ground. My voice was not loud enough, Mama's pestle landed on the rear of Papa's head; he fell with his face to the ground. With the gravity of Mama's pestle, I knew Papa would never watch me get into secondary school; he would never witness any progress in my life, never. Before our neighbours gathered the scene to shake their heads and tell Mama to take heart, I carried Solomon to the backyard to shed the entire tears that welled up in my eyes. As I cried, drops of my tears fell on Solomon’s head, some on my khaki shorts. This was obviously the first day of an ugly beginning. Two days later, Omawumi inadvertently told Mama she was not certain if Papa was actually having an affair with the girl at his workplace, she said she had only seen them chat and her conclusions were based on the way she had seen Papa smile at her. We fed on a meal per day, and I did not complain, I did not dare intensify Mama's sorrows by complaining I was tired of eating poorly cooked soup on a daily basis, I ate them with feigned excitement that made her rub my head and tell me everything would be alright. It was never going to be, I could imagine as soon as the police van halted in our compound and the thin man who looked bereft of strength to pull even an arrow, or the gun beside him, took Mama away after using the rusted handcuffs to marry her wrists. by Merit Gogo-fyneface.