OneMotolani

The mysterious noise that ushered me back to the area was uncanny. What now? I asked myself, why did the drama have to come when I should be my Mother's side sipping this dark goodness? Life is never fair, and no two circumstances are ever equal. Such racketeering only occurs in the case of a garage fight which we have thankfully not had in three days. That is some good news. Good news in this area is short-lived, and there we go again. I found my legs moving faster than they had been doing; all I needed was to be sure my Mother had not gone mad again. Not mad, but you know, the crazy kind. Honestly, she could be a handful, but that woman is still all I have. As I moved closer to Mama's shop, the voices only increased, and no one seems to allow anyone to talk. Everyone was trying to speak at once,  sigh, "these people will never change."  I know no one would pay me mind, so I slipped through the forming crowd to see how my Mother was at least faring. Push, s

                        I have two bottles of chilled Coca-Cola in my hands. My Mother's instructions were clear. Take the Boli she wrapped inside numerous newspapers to the man at the Trailer Park just 15 minutes' walk from the Garage. I needed no extra information to tell me I was to walk back and forth. When I was finally ready to leave, she squeezed a crispy hundred naira note for two Coca-Cola drinks into my pocket. Good gracious! I exclaimed inwardly; it must be my birthday. "Make you buy two bottles of shill Coca-Cola as you dey come back" she smiled knowingly, the one for you, one for me kind of smile. I suppose that the later part of our discussion should be a motivation for my movement. There is no lagging, and I could already feel the slithering progression of the drink down my throat. I believe I made it to my destination in good time, I delivered and waited on the man to send me back to my Mother. He said not to worry that he would be seeing her la

"The Runaway Jury" is fundamentally a twist within a twist. Four Business Moguls have themselves unavoidably amid a trial. No, the battle did not begin with this trial. They have fought so hard to stay on top of it all, and they will rather keep it at that. The real player behind the scene is Fitch Ranchin. A man who everyone answers to, even his very employers. Fitch is a no-nonsense ex-drinker. His employees quiver at the breath of his nose. He has been sober for about nine years because drinking did not look good on him.   He had an extensive reserve of cash called THE FUND at his disposal; the man could buy anyone.   His significant contenders were the set of Lawyers who had risen to the occasion of aiding the plaintiffs. Fitch is the man working from the shadows. After as much as 55 cases, they had seen enough of each other and Fitch's team had information on everyone. Wendall Rohr, the lead lawyer of the Plaintiff, has fought hard to be a force t

Basira, the daughter of Iya Basira OniParaga, is one of the girls that allow agberos to  by force  her. I wonder why they speak of it as  by force  since Basira giggles like a wild duck on honeymoon during the act. In my understanding, whatever you enjoy is not forced. At least that is what our English said when a schoolboy told us his Mother forced him to eat his favorite food every day.  Hearing Basira's cherry moan amongst parked cars is everything but  by force. Right, what does a boy know? Everyone in the  Lungu  knew Basira's gist. Well, except, of course, her very Mother. If she knew, she never let it on because Iya Basira was only in the second position to my Mother in curses and fake enmity. Lizards in the wall cracks carry on the tale of Basira's numerous  by force  escapades. Denial is just denial. That woman has heard the stories; she is lying to herself. On this day, Basira and one of these no do-gooders were sharing a moment in broad daylight. I m