I had made up my mind. Nkechi was my community project. Problem was I didn’t know what to do about her. She may have opened up to me but I knew she wouldn’t find it funny when I told her I wanted to help her. She was too proud. And she would tear my head off for even thinking about it.

I was in this dilemma when Toyin, one of our Corper friends posted in the city, visited. We were enjoying yam and egg sauce in the lodge. Toyin munched yam like she hadn’t eaten yams in years.
She closed her eyes in bliss and sighed. “Omo, I can’t remember the last time I ate yam.”

I scoffed. “We dey chop yam like say we dey drink water. My leg sef don dey turn to yam leg.”

“Yam must be cheap in this village. How much?” She asked, curious.

“Buy ke? We don’t buy yam. The villagers supply us for free.” I boasted.

“Ah, you people are enjoying o.”

“I thought it’s you people in the city that are enjoying.”

Toyin scoffed. “If I hear. Forget that thing, my sister. Things are so expensive. If I tell you how much a tuber of yam is, you will pity my life.”

“If you like, you can take some before you go.” I offered.

Toyin’s eyes lit up with pleasant surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, take as much as you can. It’s too much. In fact, I’m beginning to think we should start yam business.” Debbie concurred.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Toyin said gratefully.

“The only thing is you will have to bring what you will use to carry them.” I said.

“Don’t worry. I have nylon.”

“So, are you doing a community project?” Debbie asked, changing the subject.

“Community project?” Toyin asked back, confused.

“As in secondary assignment.” Debbie confirmed.

“Oh, that? Why are you asking?”

“Debbie wants to win National award?” I informed her.

Toyin’s brows went up at Debbie. “You want to do a community project for an award?”

“Aren’t you?” Debbie asked defensively.

“No. I don’t have time for that. I’m focusing on winning the National Prize for Literature.”

That got my full attention. “Wait, National what?”

“Yeah, they called for entries on short unpublished stories. The winner goes home with a book deal, a brand new car and five million naira.”

“Jesus is Lord!” Debbie exclaimed. “Five million naira! It’s like I’m going to forget this community project o. Please, who will write a story for me? I want to win…”



I wasn’t listening. Because right there and then, I knew what I was going to do.

That weekend, I found myself at a cyber café in the next town browsing more on the National Prize for Literature entry requirements.

“What did you do!” Nkechi barked at me as she entered the staff room on the next Monday morning.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“A friend of mine informed me that she saw my name in one short story competition.”

“I thought you said you don’t have any friends.”

“I don’t. That doesn’t mean I don’t know people. Answer the question.” She ordered.

“Well, I submitted your story for the National Prize for Literature short story competition.” I announced proudly.

“Who asked you to do that?” She demanded.

“The prize is a book deal, a brand new car and five million naira.” I announced again with emphasis.

The news shut her up for a second. Then she resumed glaring at me.

“And so? Come this girl, it’s like over familiarity is worrying you. You have no right to steal my story and publish it for the whole world to see.”



I was stunned. Couldn’t she see I was trying to help her? What was her problem?

“I didn’t steal it.” I said, offended.

“You didn’t ask for permission.”

“I just wanted to help.”

“Do I look like I need help?”

“Fine. I’m sorry, okay? I thought your write up was interesting, that was why I did it.”

I turned to leave. I got to the door and turned back, bristling in anger.

“You know what? The first time was your ex’s fault. But this is your second chance. If you don’t take it, then it’s your fault.”

I turned to the door again, about to storm out.

“Wait.” Nkechi said behind me.

I stopped and turned back to her.

“I’m sorry.” She apologized. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. It’s just… I’m scared. I don’t think I can take another disappointment. What if I don’t win?”

“And what if you win?” I asked back. “You can’t know for sure unless you try.”

She paused. I watched her face battle between hope and fear. She looked so lost and scared that I wanted to cuddle her like a baby. Finally, she smiled.

“Thank you, IT.”

I was surprised. I smiled back. “You know; this is actually the first time you called my name.”

She laughed. “I know.”

The following weeks, we waited with baited breath for the outcome. Nkechi went about her business like she didn’t care. But I knew she did in the way she glanced at me with a nervous smile whenever we passed by. Me, I was a walking nervous wreck. It was as if I was the one dong doing the competition instead of her.

Then it finally happened.

I ran and knocked excitedly on Nkechi’s door one afternoon. She barely came out before I blurted.

“You did it! You did it! Your story was nominated among other four stories out of thousands of entries!”

Nkechi blinked at me, stunned. “You say?”

“You’ve been selected for the prize among four other persons.”

Nkechi couldn’t believe it. “What? WHAT! WHAT!”

“YES! YES! YES!” I screamed back.

We hugged excitedly.

“Oh my God!” She exclaimed. “I can’t believe it. Wait, this means I can actually win.”

“Of course.” I agreed.

“Ewo! Chi m o! Five million naira. Book deal. New car. Hei! Wait, let me sit down before I faint.”

She sat on the bench in front of the house and began to hyperventilate. I patted her on the back.



“Take it easy. Breathe slowly.” I said, soothingly.

“Five million.” Nkechi said in between breaths.

“Five million.” I confirmed.

“Chai!”

I continued to pat her back until she recovered.

Then I continued. “Now that your name is out, the press will come for you. They would want to interview you. You have to package yourself. You can’t attend interviews looking like a village teacher.”

“I am a village teacher.” She said, offended.

“You know what I mean. You’re a celebrity. You need to package yourself.”

“How am I going to do that? I don’t have enough money.”

“Don’t worry. I will help you. We can manage with what we have. Let’s start with your clothes.”

And that was how Debbie and Dami became her Fashion designer and make-up artists. I was the manager. I didn’t recruit Dami. I couldn’t stand her and her invisible bae. But Debbie did. She needed an assistant.

Together, we were able to package Nkechi. Just as I predicted, she became a celebrity. The press was all over her. News about her spread all over the village. Everyone in the village wanted to be her friend. The same people who shunned and avoided her now visited her house to “greet her.”
One day, Debbie was taking her measurement while I browsed through her photo album. I paused at the picture of Nkechi posing with Cordelia (read about her here and here) in their school uniforms and smiling for the camera. They were teenagers.

“You and Cordelia went to the same school?” I asked, surprised.



“Yes.” She said. “We were class mates and best friends since primary school.”

“What happened to break your friendship?” Debbie asked.

Nkechi’s face fell with remorse. “I caused it. She didn’t do well like I did in those days. So I looked down on her. I thought she was too local. Then she married the man that I turned down. And now, she’s doing the same thing to me.”

But an incident brought them back together again. It was during school hours. They bumped each other in front of the staff room, scattering their books on the floor. They looked at each other and the books and began to laugh. And their friendship was renewed once again.

We continued to work together, Nkechi, Debbie, Dami and I. Nkechi’s room turned into our office. The four of us became great friends. I even began to like Dami and her annoying bae. We became better people and better teachers. I didn’t know teaching could be so much fun.

Then, the day of the National prize for literature award came.

Watch out for the Final Episode next week Monday at www.litafrik.com

I gulped. “Erm, I’m sorry. I came to collect my lesson note and I got carried away.”

She snatched the book from me. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to snoop on people’s things?”

I stiffened. “Really? You want to start this again?”

“Just get out.” She barked.

“Fine. Can I have my lesson note? I have a class.”

She rudely handed the lesson note to me, dismissing me. I turned to leave. I only got to the door and looked back.

“By the way, your story is very interesting. You’re a good writer. Ok, bye.” I faced the door on my way out.

Then an extraordinary thing happened.

A gentle and surprised voice said behind me. “Really? You think I’m a good writer?”

It took me some minutes to know it was Nkechi. I turned to stare at her. She stared back at me like a compliment is a foreign concept to her.

“Yes, I think you should publish it.” I replied.

Another extraordinary thing happened. She gave me a shy smile. A smile! This woman is really beautiful. I thought. If I were not female and totally into males, that smile could be doing me tinkuli tinkuli in my chest. Her smile did a total transformation of her face from a she devil to an angel.

I smiled back. “Well, you’re very talented. I don’t know why you’re hiding it.”

She looked at me for a moment as if deciding to tell me something. She sighed. “I want to tell you my story.”

To read Nkechi's story, visit https://www.litafrik.com/a-corpers-story-episode-8-nkechis-story/

Thank you. My head is about to explode with pride already

Thanks dearie. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

“Hello, is anybody home?” I knocked on the door.

Nobody responded. I knocked several times but to no avail. Part of me was happy that nobody answered which meant I didn’t have to see Obiakpor’s face again. Another part was angry that she dared to refuse to answer when I trekked to her house under the hot afternoon sun to deliver her own package o. I almost turned back but my curiosity won. Before I knew it, I was making my way to her backyard.

I stopped half way when I heard angry voices. I tiptoed forward and leaned on the wall to spy what was going on. Auntie Obiakpor was quarreling with her mother. Figures!
"Mama, why are you disturbing me this afternoon?” Obiakpor angrily asked. “I said I will replace it. What do you want me to say again?”

“Bia Nkechi, how many times have I told you not to touch my cream?” Mama Nkechi angrily replied. “How many times have I asked you not to touch any of my things?”

Nkechi scoffed. “Most of the things you’re talking about, I bought them with my money. Anybody listening to you now would think I stole them.”

“Is it not stealing when you take something without my permission? And yes, you may have bought them but it’s my house. If you don’t like it, go and marry!” Her mother spat out.

Obiakpor’s face colored with rage. “Did you dash me any husband?”

“When all those men were coming for your hand in marriage years ago, you refused. You said they were too local for you. Look at you now. No husband. No children. No money. You’re still in this village dragging my husband’s house with me. If you were not my daughter, I would have thrown you out a long time ago. Nna ga-alu!” Her mother ranted.

“Marriage is not by force.” Nkechi muttered with hurt in her voice.

“Shut up!” The elderly woman shouted. “Look at Cordelia. Is she not your mate? She’s happily married to Emeka. He has money. He’s taking good care of her and their children. Did you see her new car? You could have been the one enjoying all these things. Remember he proposed to you first. You turned him down. You said he was an illiterate and a local champion. You wanted an international husband and a big career in a big city.”

“What is wrong with that?”

“I said shut up before dogs lick your eyes this afternoon!” Mama Nkechi shouted again. “I can’t go anywhere in this village without people gossiping about you. Even Mgborie, that ugly girl with her caterpillar face is married with five children. Her mother rubs it in my face every time we have our association meetings. Everyone is saying I have a daughter who wasted her youth and beauty waiting for a perfect man that never came. Now she is old enough to be a grandmother but no man is looking at her, even the local champions.”

It was obvious Nkechi was not taking this well. But very unlike her, she was quiet.
Her mother continued. “Look, I give you a year! If you don’t find a man that will manage you, I will throw you out of my house!”

The woman stormed into the house. Nkechi deflated like an overused balloon. She sat on a low stool. All the fight had gone out of her. It was the first time I was seeing her like this. Wow, who knew Obiakpor was getting the heat from home? No wonder she was always bitter. For the first time, I felt sorry for her.

I pretended I was just arriving and clapped my hands to announce my presence. She jumped and glared at me transforming back to her Auntie Obiakpor status.

“What are you doing here?” She snapped.

I offered her the package. “The Principal asked me to give you this.”

She took it and glared at me like what-are-you-still-doing-here. Strangely, I wasn’t offended. Probably because I knew it was a front. I had glimpsed the real her. But I didn’t want her to know I felt sorry for her.

So I retorted. “For the record, I didn’t want to be here. Next time, pick your own packages. I cannot come and be trekking under the sun.”
I turned and left. But I didn’t go far. I returned to spy on her again. Nkechi was back on her stool. This time, she was crying! You know those silent tears that come from a broken heart. I regretted my rudeness.

Nkechi resumed coming to school a few days later. But she was totally subdued. Before, she was looking for someone to pounce on. Now, she avoided everyone and concentrated on teaching and writing on her desk.

I approached her one morning with my lesson note.

“Good morning.” I greeted.

She looked up from what she was writing.

“I’ve come to submit my lesson note.” I said when it was obvious she wasn’t going to say anything.

“Drop it here.” She replied indicating her desk and resumed writing.

I complied and hesitated for a moment. She didn’t look at me. I left and joined Debbie under a huge mango tree in the school compound.

“Have you noticed that our Auntie Obiakpor is very quiet these days?”

Debbie chuckled. “If I were her, I would be quiet. That Ijeoma drama must have humbled her.”

“Something tells me that that’s not the only reason.” I said.

“Who cares?” Debbie shrugged. “At least, someone can now have peace in this school.”

“I feel sorry for her.”

Debbie stared at me, surprised. “You, I.T, sorry? Ha! If I hear. Was it not you that was fighting her all the time?”

“I don’t know.” I replied. “I kind of miss her wahala. This place is boring without it.”

Debbie laughed. “If you’re looking for wahala, go to someone else. Start with Dami.”



I rolled my eyes. “Dami ke? Nobody notices her except when she’s whining about her invisible bae.”

“My bae is not invisible.” Dami said behind us.

We jumped.

Later, I went to retrieve my lesson note. Nkechi was not around. In fact, nobody was around. I wasn’t surprised. Teachers and Corpers hardly stayed till school was over.

I found my lesson note on her desk and went to pick it. But something else got my attention. It was what she was writing earlier. Again, my curiosity would not let me be and I found myself reading it. It was a story about a poor single lady in her thirties living in a society that always reminded her of her single status. It talked about love, heart breaks, shattered dreams and bitterness against the world that mocked her.

It was a beautiful story. Every word, every sentence showed the beautiful mind of the writer. Nkechi had a great knack with using words to create pictures for the imagination. I was lost in her story. I was so absorbed that I didn’t know when time passed.

“What are you doing?” Nkechi barked behind me.

I jumped in shock and turned to face her.

Episode 8 is coming out next week Monday on www.litafrik.com

I was wearing an earpiece and watching a movie on my phone as the students copied notes on the board, when one of my students ran into the classroom, panting and startling us.

“What is it, Chidinma?” I asked.

“Auntie please come. Auntie Obiakp—Nkechi wants to kill Ijeoma.” She answered, frantic.

“Why?”

“Ijeoma is pregnant. Her parents reported her to Auntie Ob—Nkechi and she’s flogging her now like nama.”

Ok, did I forget to mention that I hated flogging with passion? It was because of an unpleasant experience I had in secondary school when a teacher almost crippled my left palm with twenty-five strokes. I hadn’t finished recovering from the trauma. And now as a Corper, another teacher was flogging one of my students? No way. My teacher’s block was officially broken!

Read the rest at https://www.litafrik.com/a-corpers-story-episode-6-auntie-obiakpors-downfall/

We paid our Okada men off and moved towards the lodge together in silence.

“That man is so gross.” Dami said, breaking the silence.



“Did you see the way he swallowed his eba? Disgusting.” Debbie replied in agreement and shuddered. “But he made sense sha.”

“Oho, I’m glad you noticed.” I said. “It’s not by table manners o. It’s what you put on that table that matters. The man is loaded and good.”

Dami scoffed. “Please. He’s not as good as my bae… even though my bae has not called me since yesterday.” She added sadly.

We ignored her.

Teaching was frustrating. And teaching in the village school was hell. I wasn’t even a good teacher. Writers talk about writer’s block. Me, I entered teacher’s block full time. I would enter a class, write notes on the board without bothering to explain them and the students would copy while I played Candy Crush with my phone. That was when I was in a generous mood. In my stingy mood, I would enter a class and dictate the notes.

On one of such days, I was dictating a note on Parts of Speech when a student interrupted me.

“Auntie, please spell ‘Plonoun’.”

Read the rest at www.litafrik.com/a-corpers-story-episode-5-bad-teacher/

I left the class and walked towards the Staff room.

“Corper!” Someone shouted.

I turned. A woman around Aunty Obiakpor’s age hurried towards me. While Aunty Obiakpor could have been beautiful if she didn’t look like she suffered from constipation all the time (read about her here), this woman was neither ugly nor beautiful but her open friendliness made her very attractive.

She walked up to me, smiling. I smiled back and greeted her. “Good morning, ma.”



“Good morning, nne.” She replied. “You’re one of the new Corpers, okwa ya?”

“Yes, ma.” I replied.

“My name is Cordelia Onyema. I teach Igbo Language”.

“I’m IT”.

“IT kwa? Is that your name or nickname?”

I laughed. “No, it’s short for Itohan. I’m Edo.”

“Oho, Itohan. O di mma. I want to invite you and your friends to my house this weekend to give you a proper welcome. I hope you will come?”

Finally, a friendly face to welcome someone in this Godforsaken town, I thought. I smiled gratefully at her.

“I will, thank you. I will tell the others.”

And so, that weekend, Debbie, Dami and I had lunch with Cordelia and her husband in their home. Cordelia’s house was located at the nearest town; the same town we went when we wanted to use the internet. The house was big and beautiful. It was one of the best houses in town and could even compete with houses built in the choicest parts of Lagos. The living room alone smelt of serious money.

Cordelia’s husband, Mr. Emeka Onyema, aka Mekus Zentus, was a huge man with a pot belly that could accommodate seven strong babies and there would be enough space left for more – a result of too much bottles of beer, pepper soup, nkwobi, isi ewu, and other menus at those local joints...

Read the rest at https://www.litafrik.com/a-corpers-story-episode-4-mekus-zentus/

HOD! Nkechi ‘Auntie Obiakpor” Mba, HOD! I just insulted a woman whose authority I was directly under. I don enter be that.

Doing the sign of the cross in my mind, I approached her desk in the staff room. She took one look at me and knew why I came. She leaned on her chair and gave me an evil smile.

“When a termite has finished flying around, it perches for the frog” she said, smugly.

I swallowed. “Erm… I’m here to introduce myself as the new English and Literature teacher for SS1 and SS2”.



She looked at me up and down like she was sizing me up for butchering.

“Go and collect the syllables from Bunmi. I want to see your lesson note on my desk first thing tomorrow morning”.

“But ma?”

She merely looked at me like I was a disgusting parasite. I continued. “I’m traveling tomorrow for a two week break as part of NYSC policy”.

She snapped. “Does this place look like NYSC to you? You’re not the only Corper. All the teachers including myself were once Corpers. So don’t let this your khakhi you’re wearing enter your head. Ask around. I’m not the kind of person you want to make an enemy. Go to Bunmi and collect the syllables, my friend or you won’t like the rest of your Corper days!”



Normally, I would have told her my mind and damned the consequences. But I didn’t know how the spirit of calmness descended on me. I stared at her for a second and I said.

“I will see you in two weeks”.

And I walked away.

I spent a month. One very short month. I would have spent more but I didn’t want wahala with my CDS plus the Dracularess that was waiting for me in the community school. So with a heavy heart, I found my way back to that village hell.

The first person I saw as I reached the lodge was Dami crying into her phone and hugging that tree with the only network in the village.

“Bae…” she cried.

I rolled my eyes and moved on. Then, Debbie and Bunmi came out to greet me. I had hardly dropped my bags when they started telling me about school in my absence and how Aunty Obiakpor was ranting and raving and threatening to deal with me. But I already knew that, duh. And I was prepared.

The next day, I stood in front of her. She glared at me. “You’re late”.



I rolled my eyes in my mind and replied calmly. “I overslept. I just came back yesterday”.

“You were supposed to be here two weeks ago. But I don’t have your time now. Where is your lesson note?”

“Ah-ah,” I said. “Shebi I told you I just returned yesterday. How did you expect me to prepare a lesson note?”

That flipped up an automatic knock out. “Look here, be careful o this girl. I don’t like the way you run your nonsense mouth anyhow. I’ve been keeping quiet for you because I’m a peaceful person. But don’t push me. You will not like it”.

“I don’t have a lesson note. I didn’t have time to write one”. I said.

“I’m your HOD. When I tell you to bring your lesson note, you bring it without question. And for your information and necessary action, you were supposed to teach SS1A twenty minutes ago”.

“What am I supposed to teach them?”

“Your head”.

It took everything I had to hold my temper. I simply walked away.

As I made my way through the classrooms’ corridor, I glanced at the classes. One teacher was mumbling to herself in the name of teaching. The students stared at her with supremely bored eyes. One student was snoring with his eyes wide open. In another class, Debbie was backing the students and writing on the board. She wore a sexy dress that showed off her Mercy Johnson curves. The male students, most of them too old to be in secondary school, were drooling over her. One of them literarily had saliva dripping from his open mouth. As I made to pass another class, a student ran out, holtly pursued by a male teacher who caught him and began to flog him like Fulani herdsmen and their cows. I cringed in sympathy for the boy but it wasn’t my business. I moved on.



Finally, I paused at SS1A. Shebi them talk say make I teach? Oya na, teaching here I come. I entered the class. The students rose to greet me.

“Good morning, Auntie!” They chorused.

“Good morning. Sit down.” I replied.

They sat and I addressed them.

“My name is Itohan Godswill. You can call me Auntie IT. I am a Corps Member and your new English and Literature teacher. Before I start, here are some rules you must know”.

I paused and scanned the room.

“First, as your English teacher, you must address me in English only. I no wan hear another language, not even pidgin. Second, I’m allergic to noise. I don’t want to contact any diseases from your mouths. Third, I hate flogging. It makes me sweat. But I will deal with anyone who annoys me in another way and that person will wish I had flogged him or her. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Auntie!” they chorused.

“Good. Class dismissed”.

Episode 4 will be posted on www.litafrik.com

The next day, we went to the school for our primary assignment. Students were already lined up for the school assembly. Suddenly, silence fell everywhere as a woman in her late thirties strode to address the students holding a very long cane. She could have been beautiful if she wasn’t stone faced and dressed like she had a problem with good clothes.

“Who is she?” I whispered to Bunmi.

Bunmi curled her face in distaste and a little intimidation.

“Nkechi Mba. But everyone calls her Auntie Obiakpor”.

“Auntie Obiakpor?” Debbie asked.

“It means ‘dry heart’” I replied.

Debbie raised her eyebrow, “I thought you were Edo?”.

“My mum is Delta Ibo”.

“Why is she called dry heart?” Dami asked.

Before Bunmi could answer that, Nkechi alias auntie Obiakpor called out.

“Cletus Okeosisi!”

The silence that replied her could be cut in half with a chainsaw.

“Cletus Okeosisi!”

Again, silence. She was visibly angry.

“Cletus, if I call your name one more time, just prepare to die before your time. Come out before I count to three. One! Two…”

A frightened boy emerged from the crowd. She dragged him up to face the students and gave him a loud knock on the head, the type that could rearrange even the devil’s brain.

Read the rest at https://www.litafrik.com/a-corpers-story-episode-2/

Camp was fun. Name all the activities, I was there. I was my platoon’s commander during parades. I excelled in all the Man ‘O’ War activities… in reverse. I broke almost all the bones in my body. I contested for Miss NYSC in the State but I didn’t win. The judges were biased. I grooved the mami like kilode. I even had a Corper boyfriend who I loved so much because of his generous pockets. I had hoped that he would use his connections and help me get posted to one of best towns in the State. For where? It didn’t work. The useless guy didn’t come through for me. After all my love for him.

I was posted to the only community secondary school in Amakpuma. The name will tell you the type of place it really was – archaic, backward, disgusting village I had ever seen. A bus was sent to convey all the corpers that were posted to the village. Our faces were like soured egusi soup, like we were being taken to the sambisa forest. Even the over tired village sign post that read, “WELCOME TO AMAKPUMA AUTONOMOUS COMMUNITY” with A and M missing in Amakpuma and Community respectively, fell off as our bus passed by.



The bus finally stopped in front of a house. Flies were hovering over our open mouths as we stared at the building. You really don’t want to live there. It was an old modernly built mud house with shabby wooden windows and over rusted roof. Donald Trump should have taken an architectural sample model that says, “how not to live in a shit hole”.

Two older Corpers, David and Bunmi came out to greet us.

“Hello Ajuwayas, welcome to your new home” David beamed.

New home? So this is where I, Itohan aka I.T, will spend the next eleven months? God forbid, I thought. Not for the first time, I began to think of a fatal disease I could claim that would accelerate my redeployment. Na who wan stay for this kin’ yeye place?



The greater shock came when we entered inside. If we thought the outside was bad, the inside was an eyesore. Cracked walls, cracked floor, no furniture, very dark and hot as the desert. It was then I decided that I had Ebola. Anything to be redeployed. Who NYSC epp? Dami, one of the new Corpers and an Ajebota burst into tears.

“Come on, it’s not as bad as it looks” David reassured us.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked, scandalized, “Is this where we are going to live?”

“Yes”.

All the new Corpers including myself gasped in shock.

“No way. I am not going to spend another night in this dump. First thing when I meet the Principal, I’m going to ask for a better accommodation” I said emphatically.



Bunmi merely looked at me, “my sister, this is the better accommodation. The other one has no roof”

“What?”

Debbie, a perpetually cheerful new Corper I got to know as a jack of all trades, chipped in, “No problem. We can contribute money and fix this place. I’m an interior decorator”.

“Really?” I turned to her, coldly, “You want me to spend my small allowee and expensive nails fixing this place?”

“I fix nails too. Manicure and Pedicure”.

“Anyway”, David said, “food will be served soon. After tomorrow, you all will start contributing money for the welfare of this house. The guys will fetch water. Luckily for us, a Corper who finished last year dug a borehole for the school”.

“Ladies will do the cooking. And everybody participates in the sanitation”. Bunmi said.

David continued, “the toilet is at the back. Make sure you go there with a flashlight. We killed a large snake there last week”.

Dami started crying again. The rest of us didn’t know whether to join her or faint. As for me, my spirit had already vamoosed back to my father’s house.



“But there’s an alternative”, David reassured, “this is a village. So there’s plenty bush and farms that need manure”.

“Are you saying we should avoid snakebite by running into the bush to shit?” I asked like his head is not correct.

David shrugged nonchalantly, “at least in the bush, there’s a lot of space and fresh breeze while shit to your heart’s content”.

“There’s no network. I want to call my Bae”, Dami sniffed, holding her phone.

Bunmi pointed outside, “you see that tree over there? That’s the only place in the entire village where you can find network. Go there and call your Bae”.

“And if you want to browse the internet”, David continued, “you will have to go to the next town”.

“So no Facebook, no Whatsapp, no Instagram, no Snapchat or Twitter?” Debbie asked.

“Nope”.

“Thank God we’re passing out in two months”. Bunmi said in relief.

“Yes o”. David agreed, the relief evident in his voice. He smiled at us.

“Make yourselves comfortable. We wish you a happy stay as you serve your fatherland”.

And that was how my first day as a Corper in the Godforsaken village of Amakpuma went.

Watch out for episode 2 at www.litafrik.com

Please visit www.litafrik.com for all episodes and more

The day she had found out about the pregnancy, she was devastated, lost, and scared. She had cried throughout the day and gone to sleep. That night, she had prepared Ayo’s favorite dish to sweeten the mood. She had expected him not to take the news well. What she didn’t expect was his volcanic reaction.

First, he choked on his eba. Next, he sent a tirade of insults that would make the devil blush, calling her a careless woman who should have protected herself against such ‘nonsense’. Amara imagined herself splitting her stomach open and placing the baby in her womb before informing ‘poor’ him of her pregnancy. Ayo continued his rants. He could barely provide for her and the children with the meager income he made from his okada. He wasn’t even sure the children would go to school. He hadn’t paid the loan he took when the eldest child came down with malaria. He hadn’t paid the rent for the month. And now there was another child on the way? Did she want to kill him before his time? As he spoke, his temper kept building and building until it reached a breathless crescendo. Then he walked out of the apartment leaving her stunned face behind.
He came back three days later to calmly inform her that she would have to get rid of the baby. He knew one Iya Agbomola in Ijebu. They would leave the children in their neighbour, Iya Ibeji’s care. Iya Agbomola could easily take of their problem and cheaply too. Amara could only stare at him in disbelief. Did he realize what he was saying? Didn’t he know that the ‘problem’ was their flesh and blood? That abortion was against everything she believed in? Did he not see how dangerous it was? It was unfair to her and especially the baby. He had curtly replied that it was equally unfair to bring in a child that they couldn’t provide for. Better it was never born.

Amara had desperately and tearfully pleaded with him to not make her do it. She would try to get another job to supplement the proceeds from her kiosk. He could do likewise and they would pool their resources together and manage the family. He could restart his music career, right?

He had snapped again. How could he make music when all he thought of everyday was how to provide for the family? Did she think it was easy to sign on a recording deal? Where will he get the money to release his single? Who listened to his type of music anyway?

“If you keep this baby,” he had threatened coldly, “you are on your own.”

For all episodes, visit www.litafrik.com

It was Aunty Ifeoma’s sharp eyes that first noticed the suspicious changes in her body. At first, Amara denied it but when it became glaringly obvious that she was pregnant, she confessed. The family could not believe it. Afulenu, who hurried to the city, did not bother hiding her disappointment and regret for persuading her daughter to take ‘this foolish girl’ to the city. As far as she was concerned, Amara was a disgrace, involving herself with an ordinary okada man -a Yoruba man for that matter, ha! Why couldn’t the stupid girl be smart enough to hook and get pregnant for one of those rich Igbo boys in Alaba market, eh? Tufiakwa!

https://www.litafrik.com/amara-episode3-busted/

She was on her way to the bus stop where she would board a bus that would take her home when an okada zoomed past her missing her by a few inches. She fell on the dirty road with her books scattered around her. She sat up in shock and slowly got to her feet brushing off the dust on her minor bruises and books. The okada stopped at a little distance, reversed and stopped in front of her. A young man in his early to mid-twenties, stepped out and went to her aid. She screamed invectives at him calling him every name she knew while he apologized profusely, picking and dusting her books. When she calmed down a bit, he offered to take her home...

https://www.litafrik.com/amara-episode2-herecomestheboy/

amara sad black woman
Photo credit: GETTY IMAGES
Amara can almost touch her, this girl laughing in joyous wonder. In her mind’s eye, the girl twirls in the afternoon breeze, her face filled with undiluted joy that comes from finding happiness in unexpected circumstances and unexpected places. Amara can only stare her, unable to touch her, to be part of her joy. Then the image vanishes and she finds herself blinking at a little schoolgirl who wants to buy chic-choc vanilla flavored biscuits and a lollipop. As soon as the girl leaves, she picks the yellow custard bucket beside her and counts the few ten, twenty and fifty naira notes along with the money her little customer paid. She sighs. Three hundred naira. What is she going to do with just three hundred naira? The naira has crashed like the walls of Jericho.

She sighs again.

If Aunty Ifeoma can see her now, she will laugh her head off. She can picture her Aunty now, sprawled on one of her magnificent sofas in her sitting room, howling in that I told you so attitude. She would taunt her, daring her to look right in her eyes and confirm how market.

Amara shakes her head and chuckles regrettably. Market is bad, thank you very much, she thinks sarcastically. She has a hustling and unhappy husband, two perpetually hungry and underfed children and a small kiosk. And she has another one on the way. Amara wonders what happened to the girl she saw in her daydream; the girl she once was. She wants to have that girl back; wants to warn her not to allow herself get to her present condition.



It was not like her life was easy from the start. Her father had run off with a strange woman when she was still a foetus and was never heard from again...

https://www.litafrik.com/amara-episode1-the-girl/