. Chuma lol. Nice 1 ma'am

Welldone miss safarigal! Interesting piece.. How's school? More grace to you dear!!

****

It's been three months since Ismail started school and I must admit, the improvement has been quicker than I envisaged. Yes, i'm aware he's a smart boy, but he's been picking up rather quickly. He loves his school.

We ended up sendimg him to Turkish International, yes, it's quite expensive, but i've been making a lot of money and failing to spend it, plus Gladys and Chuma were much too eager to chip in. Chuma even took the extra effort and started up an account where we could all keep a percentage of our salaries for Ismail's school fees. He's been so involved with his training, you'd think we're co-parents.

He got the job with the SSS two months ago, so his work has kept him off my neck for a sizeable amount of time and as difficult as it is for me to admit it, sometimes, I miss him. I miss how bossy he gets and how annoying he can be, yes, I do get to encounter his usual attitude some days of the week, but for the most part, he's been out of my way. Whenever we do get to meet, Ismail is always around, so we don't get to interact as much as I wish we could. The conversations are usualyy formal, and mostly about Ismail's progress in school....he always asks about my well-being before I leave.

Sometimes, I think he truly cares, other times, I remember my little incident in his presence and I just conclude he's asking of my mental state. Beneath all of his annoying cheekiness, there actually is a sensible man there and i'm growing fond of that man even if he's not frequent in my life.

A couple of times, I've dropped by Gladys' place to check on him- I never say that though. I go with the excuse that i'm dropping off Ismail, I just manage to ask about him whenever I don't see him around, and the usual reply is that he's either at work or in the study....did I mention he uses recommended glasses? I saw it on him a couple of times, he looks better than i've seen anyone look in those. Hard to tell he uses them.

Recently, i've been occupied with a new job i'm looking to clinch, so it has kept my mind off thoughts of Chuma thankfully. It scares me how much I've become attached to him. This new prospect is much bigger than anything i've ever done and i'm eager to get it, so i'm putting in extra hours, this means, my rest is taking a big hit as well as my social functions....which aren't much really. I'm just thankful Ismail is an understanding kid and knows to not disturb me a lot.

A knock at my bedroom door draws my attention away from my laptop, considering there are only two of us in this house, it's easy to tell who could be at the door, "yes Ismail?" I call out.

He opens the door and peeks into my bedroom, he gives me a smile once he spots me and I quirk my head at him in response just as he enters the bedroom and jumps on my bed, he's become a lot more playful the past two months, I can't even begin to express how glad I am that he's going back to being just a little boy which is exactly how it should have been from the beginning. He's gained a healthy amount of weight, his previously sucked in cheek has gained some plump to it and his hollow neck has filled up. Whenever I see him, I feel a warmth inside of me which I can't quite explain, but I know it's a good feeling.

"What you doing?" he asks as he cranes his neck to look at my laptop screen.....yes, he's started to speak English. His teachers say he's a fast learner, and going by how much he's been conversing with us in English, it's safe to say they're right.

"Just work." I reply. He doesn't leave at that reply and going by how he continues to watch me, I doubt he's leaving anytime soon, so I drop the laptop by my side and give him my undivided attention, "So, what's up squirt?" I ask, using the term Chuma fondly gave him.

"Kobi's mother came to pick him up today." he says.

I co-ck my head to the side, wondering where exactly he's going with this. Kobi is his classmate, a little boy he bonded with mostly because they share similar issues, Kobi was born in France and lived there until recently, his father is Nigerian and his mother is French, he has a better understanding of English than Ismail due to his Nigerian dad understandably, but it's still rusty nonetheless. That name is a constant in this house.

"Okay" I reply, my own way of telling him to spill whatever he has to say.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asks.

"Of course, anything"

He looks down at his intertwined hands and my curiosity is elevated as I await his question. I always exercise patience with him, "It's just...I want....well, the others, when they talk about their mothers, they call them mummy, but you, us...." he lets out a small sigh which I barely catch as I await his next words with bated breath, I have an idea where he's going with this, but I want him to use his own words. I don't think i've ever been so anxious to hear anything.

His eyes return to mine again and quickly, he looks away, "...I look odd when I call you 'Isi'...I don't want to be odd."

I place my hand under his chin and raise his head up so he can look straight at me, I see the apprehension in his eyes, and a little fear. Fear of what? Does he think i'll reprimand him? I realise, he still has a residue of his past experiences withiin him, just lurking around and using certain situations to pop out, like now. I don't want such, "You don't look odd sweetheart, you're just unique." I assure him. I've never liked that term 'odd', I dislike 'weird' as well, in my eyes, those words connote negativity, like a deformity. They are never good for the psyche, they promote defeat rather than upliftment, it makes one feel like an outcast, like you'll never fit in, and that is not the right way to bring up any child.

He shakes his head at me, "I don't want to be uni..." it takes him a while to remember the term I just used, "...unique, I want to be like my friends." he replies, "...can I call you mummy?" he asks

I stare at him for a while, my brain is momentarily blank. That word seems so alien to me, i've never imagined myself being referred to in that term. Ismail may not really be my son, but I know that if he begins to use that title with me, it's going to be a huge deal, it changes our relationship somewhat. Many may think differently, but I find that term 'mummy' as some type of strong attachment that would mean a bigger responsibilty than what I shoulder right now as pertains Ismail, besides, wouldn't it be somewhat odd for a black woman to have an Arab-looking kid?

I reach out to him and stroke his soft cheek affectionately, "Ismail...." I let out a sigh, his expression suddenly becomes sullen as if he's about to cry, "...if that's what you want, then you can call me mummy"

Like a light bulb, his face brightens up and he pounces on me in excitement, "Merci! Thank you, je t'aime tellement." he says in excitement. I pat his back softly as I digest his declaration. He loves me. I fear Ismail has found in me, a mother figure. I'm a lot of things, but i'm no mother figure.

Safari Girl, I swear I read this update under 3 minutes. This kind of hunger for ur updates is scary o.
Well done. Another beautiful update.

tijehi:
Safari Girl, I swear I read this update under 3 minutes. This kind of hunger for ur updates is scary o.
Well done. Another beautiful update.

same here

do u knw hw lng i hv been waiting fr n update

hmmmm

at last
thank you

Isidore is in love with Chuma!!! Tho she z yet to acknowledge it...I'm happy Ismail is now cheerful..

Following. Aww I love Ismail so much. Safarigirl where re u?

If you following safarigirl's story, you have to have patience, lots of it

. :Dwow....love ur story miss you are just so awesome.....following....

Wow!!!!!! This is just so awesome. Ma'am u r doing a great job. Keep it up. In Oliver Twist voice.... MORE!!!!!!!!

More pls

This story is captivating, thrilling, exhilarating, touching, what have we! Safarigirl nice work and weldone!

Hello Safarigirl,

I saw you just now viewing this thread . Are you giving us another update ? Don't forget IN MEMORY thread also ....

lateef4me:
Hello Safarigirl,

I saw you just now viewing this thread . Are you giving us another update ? Don't forget IN MEMORY thread also ....

You go fear Monitoring spirits o


Safarigirl Pls update o

lateef4me:
Hello Safarigirl,

I saw you just now viewing this thread . Are you giving us another update ? Don't forget IN MEMORY thread also ....

lol...yes, I'm posting another update in some minutes

Chapter Four

In my not-so-long life, I've made some rash, impromptu, crazy decisions, unlike many my age, they're thankfully not so much, and I do look back on those decisions with just a pinch of regret.

But today....today I can say that I have made probably the most rash, senseless and craziest decision and there's a niggling feeling within me that by the end of the day, I will definitely regret this....and by far more than just a measly pinch.

I look down at my IPhone, the time on the screen says 6:09....he's 9 minutes late. Maybe he's nit coming anymore, of course, he either changed his mind or it slipped his memory, i'm willing to accept either explanation. The truth is, i'm somewhat relieved that he's saved me the awkwardness of meeting with him alone.

I honestly can not say what sort of demonic spell camer over me when I called up Chuma and suggested we meet up for dinner at my house. All I can say is, after Ismail had begged that he spend the weekend with Kobi and I very reluctantly agreed, I had gotten this brazen and as I now realise, foolish idea to finally confront Chuma one on one concerning all he knew and what he wasn't saying while I had the house all to myself. As much as a public place would have been preferable, I knew there would be a possibility of our meeting turning to a full on confrontation and I fully intend to have any verbal wars on my territory.

So I called him up and asked if he would be free by the weekend, after keeping me on hold for 4 minutes- which i'm sure was an intentional act- he finally answered that he would be free and would drive by after work......the estimated time was 5:30pm, 6:00pm tops. Now eleven minutes past, it's obvious he doesn't think me worth his Friday night, probably went to have a couple of drinks with his office colleagues, or went dancing with that girl.....Peju?

He calls her Pei.....I almost cringed the day I heard Chuma has a colleague he's so fond of, he's given her a nickname. How very cliché, I roll my eyes remembering the cheesiness of it all, sickening, I know.

What's even more sickening is the thought that he may have bailed on me to go and make a complete idiot of himself with her. I wonder if such foolishness is allowed in the secret service.

I snort to myself, arggh! I can't do this. I dump what's left of the glass of whiskey i've been nursing the past 10 minutes into the sink, it's gotten warm anyway. Suddenly, I miss Ismail's presence, at least he would have been able to keep my thoughts away from what's his face. I wonder if it's too early to call and ask of his well being, I dropped him off about three hours ago.

I pick up my phone and scroll through my contacts for Kobi's mother's phone number. Just as I reach it, the familiar sound of an engine in my driveway pauses my hovering thumb from pressing the 'send' button.

6:17....quite the punctual one he is.

I walk over to my door just as he knocks, I unlock it andd open with two words, "You're late" I say tersely

He guffaws, I mean, literally guffaws, who the hell guffaws?, "Barely" he replies, following behind me, the sound of a click the only indication that he closed the door after him.

I spin around and more or less shove my phone in his face so he sees the time, "18 minutes so, 48 if i'm counting from the initial time agreed upon."

"So I was a little late, cut off my balls and hang them on your doorpost" he makes a tempting offer,he has no idea how much.

"I would, but I doubt anyone who isn't 3 inches close to my door would see it" I retort.

He chuckles at my jab, i'm glad his sense of humour is still very much intact despite the fact we've barely spoken in four months now, "Good one, very good. Would've been much better if you were right. Fortunately, it takes some really big balls to stay in Law Enforcement in the US"....his emphasis on big balls is not lost on me. Well played.I decide to end the jabs there lest we enter uncomfortable territory, If I know anything about Chuma, it's that he loves to have the last word in these things.

So I concede defeat this once.

"Where's squirt?" he asks, using Ismail's now generally accepted nickname. I'm somewhat glad he chooses to nit continue that line of conversation. It surprises me sometimes how he just knows when to end a particularly touchy conversation. It's like he can read my inner thoughts so I don't have to voice them out. I don't know how to feel about his abilities in that regard, i'm just.....grateful.

"He's spending the weekend at Kobi's place." I reply. Chuma knows ALL about Kobi, he probably knows more of him than I do after all, he spends hours on phone with Ismail before I have to end the call just so the kid can retire to bed. The way Ismail goes on and on about Chuma and all the 'fun' they have you'd think they're dating.

"He left you all alone? That's not very chivalrous. I really should have a little chat wuth Ismail on leaving helpless damsels all alone"

I snort, "I'm not a helpless damsel. I can do fine by myself" I reply.

"You might not be helpless, but you certainly are a damsel." he says. I turn to him to give him my best eye roll, but i'm unable to execute that bevause he beats me to whatever cynicism I'm set to execute with a heated stare that leaves me dumb and my throat dry. He shouldn't look at me like that, it's very unsettling, especially as my reaction isn't the more familiar skin crawl feeling, it's instead a very unfamiliar warmth that seeps through my skin and sommething else....I divert my eyes intentionally.

The sound of him clearing his throat is the only thing that tells me he probably finds this situation uncomfortable too, "So, what did you want to talk about? I assume you called me for a reason?" he asks.

Getting down to the business, good move. I'm so thankful he's proactive, if it were left to me to dig us out of this awkwardness, we'd be deeper in it. Then I remember why I asked him over and my nervousness comes to haunt me. It's another feeling I haven't known in many years, not since I overcame it in Secondary school, somehow, Chuma is able to ressurect these previously dead emotions which I thought long buried. A part of me is of the opinion that I shouldn't bring up the reason he's here, just dilly dally around until he tires of my company and leaves. After all, it's not like he's been giving off any vibes of outing me anytime soon. Hell, he acts like we never had any conversation concerning my homicidal nature. I could just let this die off, what good would it do still discussing it when it's apparently a non-issue, right?

"How about you get a drink and we discuss this while sitting?" he suggests. Bless this man's intuition for it has saved me many difficult times. Somehow, I feel his time as a detective in the US really did him a great deal of good, well, as far as making people comfortable enough to discuss otherwise difficult matters.

I nod at him, a drink is the perfect idea right now, the wonders of a little liquid courage are enormous. I go over to my kitchen and conspicously open the upper shelf where I keep my strongest bottle of imported Irish whiskey, it serves it's purpose times like this. Once I drop a block of ice in the cup, I open up the bottle and pour some of it in the small cup, Chuma will have to settle for beer, I certainly am not keen on sharing this bottle of whiskey with anyone.

"Is that whiskey?" I freeze, my hand caught in mid-air with the bottle of whiskey which I'm just about to return to it's abode before Chuma's voice cut through the silence. I bring my hand down and turn around to meet his incredulous expression and a sudden feeling of guilt washes over me. For the life of me I cannot begin to imagine why I feel like a kid caught with her hands in the cookie jar, in fact, much worse.

I watch Chuma walk up to me in strong strides and unceremoniously drag the bottle of expensive whiskey from my hand, what the hell? Does he have any inkling of an idea what that is worth?, "Return my drink please." I grind out. Nobody messes with my drink, I do not need him pissing me off right now

"No" he says with such finality I literally feel like he hit me. What the hell?

"What the phuck is your problem? I need that drink" I attempt to grab it from him, and he uses that disgusting age old trick- he raises the bottle high above his head, this dude is almost a foot taller than I am, consider that he's raising the drink above his head, so you know it's wayyyyy beyond my reach and it grates on my nerves that he's so annoyingly tall.

I struggle to reach for my bottle of whiskey, but he uses his other hand to hold me back so I end up looking like Daniel Radcliffe trying to outmuscle John Cena, it's a fruitless effort suffice it to say, "You don't need it and this is the last time you're going to even see it"

The nerve of this man,"Who the hell do you think you are making demands in my house?" I spit at him.

"Someone who gives a shiiit about you." he replies.

I pause to stare him in the face, "You're just like the rest of them, you don't care about me, you never have, you never will. All you see is a vulnerable woman you want to take advantage of." I shoot back at him. I can't say how I conjured those words or what in the world possesses me to speak them out, all I can say is I've been pushed to the edge and snapping is my only way of escape.

I watch his face contort from shock to pain and then anger, before I can even blink, he flings my bottle of whiskey aside and it smashes against a wall, I blanch, oh my goodness! Does this gringory know how much I bought that drink? I barely even drank it before today.

Before I can begin my tirade, I feel a strong hand clasp my arm and my focu s is back on his face, "Don't you ever....ever compare me to the sick phucks who used you or any other perverted creature out there. I am nothing like them and never will be. Do you think all I care about is your body? Do you?" his voice is such a deathly calm it shakes me down to the tips of my toes, he keeps the anger I see in his eyes away from his voice, but I know i've hit a raw nerve.

I remain mute to his question, but he continues to speak irrespective of my vocal state, "I won't stand here and lie to you that i'm not attracted to you. In all my years, i've never met a woman who affects me as strongly as you do, never met any who can unsettle me like you do, who can make me want to strangle her and kiss her all in the same breath,.so yes, Isi, I am hopelessly attracted to you and I think of possessing your body every single second of the day, but I would NEVER touch you without your permission even less harm you, certainly not after what you've gone through...."


"What do you know about what i've gone through?" this is the part where I temporarily lose my sanity and spill my guts out no holds b arred. He keeps.making me feel like some sick person, I've seen him look at me like that, like he's sorry for me, like i'm some charity case he and his mother have to look after to ensure I don't end myself. I know he feels responsible for me, but i'm a grown adult. I don't need Captain America all up in my business, I don't need him walking about thinking he knows shiiit about me. He's absolutlely clueless.

"What the phuck do you know about getting ra-ped at eight? What do you know about living in fear that another slimy bas-tard will just barge into your room and take you to rut like a wild beast? What the hell does a silver-spoon only child know about growing up in a slum? You never had to see your mother watch you get ra-ped and do nothing about it, you never had to see her sell you to some alcoholic, smelly, drug addict for a meagre fifty naira, fifty phucking naira! That's all it took to have an hour with the daughter of the neighbourhood pros-titute and sometimes less! So, tell me, what does an entitled kid who got loving parents and went to the best schools, graduated with awesome grades, served in the American Police Force and resigned with tons of accolades know about what it's like to be Isidore?"

I don't even realise i'm crying until I feel the wetness of my cheeks, phuck it! I haven't cried in fifteen years! But this time, it's much too overwhelming. I haven't poured out my heart to anyone like this my entire life,.not even Gladys has heard the raw details of the two tortuous years I spent being my mother's sl-ut . Nobody knows....well, not until now.

He laughs, but it's a mirthless sound, hollow of any emotions, "Entitled? Did I hear you say entitled? You think you're the only one who's been through shiiit? You think you're the only one who's been mentally phucked? Well, newsflash, Isidore, a lot of us have gone through shiit as well, the fact that we don't take it out on the world and wear long faces about doesn't mean we're any less scarred. I barely even knew my father because he died when I was barely eight, we weren't always rich, I had to wait till I turned 6 to go to school because my father's salary was spent paying off ten year old deb ts, and you go about like you're scarred. You want to see a real scar? I'll show you a scar"

I watch him, totally mortified as he takes a breather from his tirade to pull his shirt over his head and fling it to the ground, I unconsciously step back as his singlet joins his shirt leaving him bare-chested. My eyes take in his broad chest and bulging biceps covered by beautiful, light caramel skin, they dance along the ridges created by his stomach muscle until they catch an odd sight on this stretch of beautiful skin, there's a very obvious raised skin trailing from just below his chest, I don't see where the offensive scar ends as it disappears from my line of sight once it reaches his lower ribs.

"This is what a scar looks like...." he says as he steps closer to me, his finger trails the line, he turns around so I can see where it stops- right at the middle of his lower back, I cringe at the sight, how did he get that?

As if reading my thoughts, he provides the much sought after answer, "This is what you get when you're caught trying to save little girls who have been kidnapped for their kidneys. This is the reward for making other people's business, your business. So don't stand there and tell me about trauma because I had to experience the trauma of little children as well as mine for three horrible months and drinking never stopped the nightmares and it certainly didn't erase this scar from my body."

I watch this big, burly man heave as he attempts to reel.I'm his emotions. I can't wrap my head around his story, it's just....how.....but he's so big, he's so friendly, so happy. My eyes return to that big scar as if to confirm the truth of his confession, to assure myself that he isn't really playing tricks on me. As if on auto-pilot, I step closer to him and reach out to feel the outline of the scar, with shaky hands, for the first time ever, I find myself touching a man. I run my hand over the scar, studying the form of it in awe, what sort of pain had he experienced when he got this injury? How did he survive it? I can't imagine any person surviving such brutality.

"Does it hurt?" I ask softly, my eyes following the movement of my hands against his skin.

"Not anymore." his voice is back to that even deepness i'm familiar with.

We remain silent for a few more minutes, i'm unable to take my hands or eyes away from that scar, my mind just refuses to accept that someone who exudes such raw strength was somehow held down and scarred this badly, it's hard to reconcile such pain to his jovial nature.

"Isi, stop." he says suddenly, I pause and look up at him as he exhales heavily, he holds my hands and drops it to my sides, i'm not sure if I should be offended by that act or not. He doesn't give me a chance to decide as he turns sideways to pick up his clothes and make his way out of the kitchen.

"i'm sorry" I blurt out before he leaves. It just has to be said.

He stops in his tracks, "You shouldn't be, you didn't do this to me." he replies without turning to face me. I watch his broad back tense and then lose the tension before with a sigh, he turns to look at me.

"Isi, a true survivor doesn't kill pain with liquor. The liquor will kill you, and you'll die with the pain" he pauses and looks up at the shelf where I store my drinks, I suddenly feel ashamed of a collection I used to be proud of, a collection I used to cherish, "Get rid of that shiiit" he spits out and then walks out of my kitchen without another word. I remain there like a statue until I hear the sound of my front door closing.

The silence of the house speaks to my soul, taunting it. Taunting my loneliness, my pain. The tears fail me now, now when I need an outlet for my pain, I can't seeem to find it. I turn around to my liquor, my own little amnesia drug. I'm forced to really consider it's purpose in my life. Has it ever really done me good? Or does it just stave off the troubles only to worsen the pain when it wears off?

Hmmmmmmmmm....................wow!

Hmmmmnnn..Thanks for the update. Never judge pple by their outward appearance. U never knw what they 've been through

I love u safari girl

Safarigirl ooo, I doff my hat, gele, baseball cap for u o.
You are fantastic with words. It just comes out seamless.

Those two are on fire for each other....as in blazing fire.....cant wait when they get downnnnn.

Well done SG.

Safarigirl you are fantastic but please don't keep us hanging again. Good story line.

safarigirl:
lol...yes, I'm posting another update in some minutes

Hey .Hope you are good .This My Song is not complete until I have gotten a Review from you ooo .

https://my.notjustok.com/track/18462/otubante-synord

looking Forward to that !!

deep the message here is clear God bless u really good

I'm glad I discovered this story and most especially the author Safarigirl. This is a very lovely and strong story. Well done

safari gal this was emotional and an interesting read!! thank You very much! Like oliver twist, I want more especially jaiya and Lanre ( in Memory only) Well done!

Wow!what a very beautiful,captivating& touching story u got here. Safarigirl u are indeed a very gud writer. More grace & mb 2 ur phone. keep d updates coming ma...

neva knew the guy has been through a lot o.......following to the end...

Seriously, I'm glued 2 dis thread, well done safarigirl.

Ah luv u safari gurl....u da best....awaitin ur updates