My only story ever posted on Nairaland, Magdalene, was a victim of the attack... I may repost it very soon, but let's do this meanwhile...
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What happens when Ohiorenuan met Tricia on facebook and thought he had fallen in love with her? Find out shortly...
Tags: ishilove, sammyhoe, repogirl, frank3:16, royver, flakkydagirl, agybabe, missmossy, elantracey, emmaphina, princesa...
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*Let's embark on this trip together; first post after
church today.

Hmmmm,please don't keep us waiting ooooooo






Happy Sunday......

I'm in. Thanks for the invite

Aw waiting o

Flakkydagirl: Hmmmm,please don't keep us waiting ooooooo






Happy Sunday......

Same here, ma'am. Update in a moment.

princesa: I'm in. Thanks for the invite

Thou art welcome, ma'am.

Aipete2: Aw waiting o

Thanks for the vigil... Update shortly.

All rights reserved.
All resemblances unintended.
All criticisms welcome.
20th July, 2014.
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I woke up that morning, and as was my usual ritual since the commencement of the ASUU strike, logged into facebook. I saw many notifications and carefully scanned through them. Some were comments made by some of my online friends on a photo I had uploaded about two years back. I was surprised that a photo already two years old online would garner up to five comments in a single night when it had only three for the two years it had been online. I smiled, acknowledged and responded to some of them before going to check the other notifications. Most were group and page updates. As I checked through them, I made a mental note to leave some of the groups. I hate receiving useless updates and most of the updates I saw that morning were just that. I refreshed the page to clear off the notifications I had attended to and discovered that the only ones remaining were two friend requests. The surname of the first, Paul, was familiar; it was a family in which I had two friends. Though, I didn’t know the particular person behind the name, I deduced it must belong to a sibling of my friends, Yemisi and Tayo Igbokwe. The second request was from an unfamiliar name, Tricia Ogbemudia. Her profile photo was a portrait sketch.
I decided to check that first and clicked on the name. I knew where I was going to – her photos. I liked the name and hoped to like the photos too. As the page loaded, I searched my brains, trying to recollect if I had had any previous encounter with a person bearing that name. I couldn’t remember any and my curiosity was heightened. The new page opened, showing her profile photo and some details about her: she was a 300 level student of History in the famous University of Ibadan and had previously attended a polytechnic which I hadn’t heard of before. She was from my state and was a year younger than I was. Not too bad, I thought, but needed further details. Her profile picture was a sketched female portrait. Could that be her? I thought. The sketch was beautiful, but it could be of anybody. I saw that her photo count exceeded a hundred and I clicked on the “photos” icon to see them. The first photo that loaded was one of her in a sky blue, long-sleeved shirt with a black tie to match. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and her smiling, parted lips showed a very perfect set of dentition.
‘Waoh!’ I sighed in excitement. ‘She is so beautiful!’
I clicked back so I could mentally compare both photos. They were of the same person. Though the hairstyles were different, every other feature matched. I was about to reload the photos folder when I heard a knock on my door.
‘Yes, who’s that?’ I shouted, making sure my voice reflected my displeasure.
‘Daddy says you should come out for Morning Devotion,’ sounded the voice of my little sister, five years old Eseosa. I had wasted the effort on making my voice hard; Eseosa was never considerate of such.
‘I’m coming,’ I replied, jumping off the bed and putting on a singlet.
I was barely done with that when I heard the baritone voice of my dad.
‘What are you doing inside that room, my friend?’ the volume of my dad’s voice defied the barrier posed by the locked door. I wonder how he did it, his voice could penetrate any part of the house and it was obviously without much effort on his part.
‘I’m coming, sir,’ I replied and grabbed my bible from the chair beside my bed. I flung my phone on the bed and rushed to the door. I remembered with a smile how I had placed it on the chair the previous night after reading some verses from it. I had wanted to meditate on those verses – to get the inner meaning, like my pastor would say – when I fell asleep. I unlocked the door and stepped out. My sister, Ivie, was clearing her throat to lead in worship when I took a seat beside her. She eyed me and smiled knowingly before raising a song. I wondered why she was smiling, was she a witch? I ignored her and closed my eyes, but was forced to open it when we joined the singing in a chorus. My dad was boldly going off-key and his voice was loudest, the same way it reverberated around the house, penetrating even shut doors when he was angry. Ivie noticed it too. This was obvious from the smile she couldn’t suppress when our eyes met. This was my dad who never tired to repeat tales of his experience as a chorister while in secondary school. He would sit us down and tell us of how we were killing music with our unnecessary adlibbing when singing.
‘You guys rarely sing in parts nowadays, probably once in a whole year,’ he had said the last time he walked in on us while I and Ivie were arguing about the lyrics of the song we had rehearsed that evening. It wasn’t the first time we would be hearing him say so and we knew we hadn’t heard the last of it too.
‘Dad, we do, but it’s usually subtly applied as most of our songs aren’t classicals…’ Ivie tried to explain before she was interrupted by Dad once again.
‘Why aren’t they classicals? Because you guys are lazy and don’t want to learn. How I long for the old days when I was a member of the St Gregory’s choir, all our songs then were done in parts, not the repetitive tremolos you sing nowadays…’
I knew he would go on to lambast our choir mistress’ adlibbing and I wasn’t disappointed. It was useless arguing with him whenever he was in such mood. I eyed Ivie when I noticed she was about to launch into another attempt at justifying our “modern” music styles. It would only lengthen the argument and yield no positive fruits. My dad was too set in his old ways to appreciate contemporary music styles, except they were native songs.
My dad was clearly in the spirit, his eyes tightly shut as he murdered the song. My mom, while being a good singer herself, didn’t seem bothered by dad’s murderous act, she swayed her head from side to side singing with relish. I quickly shut my eyes when I noticed Eseosa’s eyes on me. She could report me later of watching others while they were worshipping, an act that could prompt my dad to launch a tirade – something I wasn’t prepared for. Eseosa possessed the exclusive right to open her eyes during worship and prayers, but even she had begun imitating us. Socialization, my lecturer called it; influence, I called it.
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To be continued.

I had just shut my eyes when my phone rang inside the room. It would be a crime for anyone in my house to receive calls once devotion was on, except my dad, of course. He justified his right to take calls at any time to his profession.
‘I’m a medical doctor,’ he would say, looking around as if to see if anyone will counter his assertion, ‘and sometimes emergencies come up.’
My mum would laugh sarcastically, but would say nothing. I and Ivie would eye ourselves, but say nothing too.
I listened until it stopped ringing; it’s tone seemingly louder than the singing around me. I squinted to peep at those around me. Others, including even Eseosa, were fully immersed in the task at hand. What was wrong with me? Why was I finding it so difficult to concentrate? The harder I tried to concentrate, the more distractions arose in my mind. I wondered who the caller was, I wondered if Ivie wasn’t faking her pained facial expression as she led in worship, I wondered what Eseosa could actually be thinking. So many thoughts crisscrossed my mind. Then, I remembered Tricia Ogbemudia, the beautiful lady that had sent me a friend request. Her surname was popular, the immediate past Senator representing us bore same name. Could she be his daughter or was it another Ogbemudia? I remembered having a jotter with the former senator’s portrait; I would have loved to check if there was any resemblance. I would have loved to do it that moment, but for the morning devotion. Why was I finding it so difficult to concentrate on the task at hand?

Nice nice nice one,i must say....




I like the delicate use of words and the intended innuendos...very good beginning.

Lolz

Present, thanks for the invitation.

Elantracey: Present, thanks for the invitation.

You are welcome, thanks for coming onboard.

Aipete2: Lolz

Smiles...

Flakkydagirl: Nice nice nice one,i must say....
I like the delicate use of words and the intended innuendos...very good beginning.

Thanks, I'll continue before noon.

My thoughts were interrupted when the worship session ended and the praises commenced. The clapping and energetic singing rendered my thoughts disjointed. Thank God, I thought, He was proving Himself more powerful after all.
I joined in the clapping and tried to raise my voice even higher than the song leader’s. Eseosa, sensing a contest, raised her voice even higher. In spite of all our best efforts, my dad’s voice still boomed through. How he did it, I didn’t know. It was so effortless. I could still notice some pitch variations, but it was no longer as pronounced as it had been during the worship session. The only time he seemed in his musical elements was when the song in question was a native one. He had never sung a classical song in the presence of any of us, his children. How we wished he would, at least for once. All he did was to occasionally sing some tonic sol-fa, the accuracy of which I couldn’t readily confirm. I was still learning the piano and didn’t know the sol-fas offhand. Who knew if those weren’t incorrect too?
After some minutes of singing praises, my mum did the Bible Exposition; it was on a topic that had to do with Samson’s love for strange women. I half-listened as my thoughts returned to Tricia Ogbemudia. I hoped my mum will be through soon so I could go and accept the request and possibly start chatting with her immediately. I was surprised when all eyes turned in my direction suddenly. What was wrong?
‘Are you deaf, my friend?’ Dad asked, looking at me angrily. We only became his friends when we had done something he found offending.
‘Uhmm?’ I muttered in surprise.
‘I asked you a question,’ mum said gently, ‘does it mean you haven’t been listening?’
I nodded and shook my head, smiling stupidly. My dad’s stare made the smile disappear instantly. In its place was what I was sure would be a look of uncertainty.
‘Mum asked what you would have done had you been in Samson’s shoes after Delilah’s first betrayal?’
Oh, so it was just that? The smile returned as I prodded my memory for the complete story of Samson. I was never scared of answering questions once the answers were available. I had good diction – many friends had told me so in the past. I cleared my throat.

Interesting.!!!

‘Had I been in Samson’s shoes, I would have acted differently,’ I began. ‘Samson’s actions, I think, lacked common sense. He should have known that he was headed down the way of destruction with Delilah when she betrayed him the first time. It was clear that she meant business when she called in the philistines after binding him. That he would continue in the game of death was unthinkable for a wise man, I really would have acted differently…’
‘My friend, will you tell us what you would have done and stop beating about the bush?’ My dad demanded, his voice deeper and louder this time.
I was taken aback, I had thought my audience would be impressed by my speech, but they obviously weren’t.
‘I would have cut all contacts with her, since she obviously didn’t mean well for me.’
‘That’s good,’ my dad boomed. I saw a smile on his face for the first time that morning. Maybe he had given one to my mum inside the bedroom, I didn’t know. ‘Samson should have escaped very fast after Delilah’s first betrayal, but he didn’t. That is why the bible asks us if we shall continue in sin that grace may abound. The answer is a straight God forbid.’ My dad had automatically taken over from my mum. ‘How often do we go after strange women today? How often do we go after strange men today? These are personal questions we need to ask and provide the answers ourselves. May God help us to avoid the allures of strange women in Jesus’ name…’
‘Amen!’ We all responded. My mum closed the daily devotional guide and we closed our bibles.
‘Like Ohis just said, when we have such encounters with strange women, our reaction should be to run…’ I couldn’t remember making any such statement. ‘We are not to wait and expect God to help us. Heaven helps those who help themselves…’ He went on and on for the next ten minutes, with my mum glancing at the wall clock on several occasions. She had to be at work by eight, but my dad’s job was the only one that allowed emergencies. It was eighteen minutes past seven already. We all heaved a sigh of relief when my dad finally called for prayers. My mum immediately took the cue, she probably didn’t trust anyone else to maximise the little time she had remaining.

Flakkydagirl: Interesting.!!!

Thanks!!![b]

Lolz. Your mum is so funny, dats how i do too. Lolz, dats how my dad do take off key too, and dats why am always punctual to our family altar, every morning and night to make jest of everybody, to make observatns n to check time. If my mum lead prayer, ehn? Lolz, 4 d next ten hours u will nt leave the sitting room. Lolz

Hmmm.wat a story... Nice one dearie!!!!! I like d words used

Aipete2: Lolz. Your mum is so funny, dats how i do too. Lolz, dats how my dad do take off key too, and dats why am always punctual to our family altar, every morning and night to make jest of everybody, to make observatns n to check time. If my mum lead prayer, ehn? Lolz, 4 d next ten hours u will nt leave the sitting room. Lolz

It's well with you O!...and your family...

Ohibenemma:
It's well with you O!...and your family...

Amen,tanx sir

I must c to the end of this
ride on: op

nyce story

but when u were trying 2 mk us knw ur dad's love 4 music.d description was too much and it cld mk d whole story boring.its a short story,characters shouldnt be fully descibed.but u have a nyce story here.more data to your phone

kingphilip: I must c to the end of this
ride on: op

Thanks for joining us. I may not be the best driver, but our destination is guaranteed...

missyhorlah: but when u were trying 2 mk us knw ur dad's love 4 music.d description was too much and it cld mk d whole story boring.its a short story,characters shouldnt be fully descibed.but u have a nyce story here.more data to your phone

Noted, ma'am.

emmaphina: Hmmm.wat a story... Nice one dearie!!!!! I like d words used

Thanks dear.

Update comes later today. Keep a date...

Ohibenemma: Update comes later today. Keep a date...

Bring it on!

Ohibenemma: Update comes later today. Keep a date...

Thought it was set already?

It's about set, just a bit tired now. Got an assignment this evening that's a bit mentally sapping. Update once I'm back from DIGGING DEEP.
...And I'll expect this on a new page too...