[size=8pt][size=8pt]The lady was looking at me. This was in the heat of the hot afternoon, in the spin of motorcycles and vendors, she was looking down at me from the backseat of her jeep. Her stare was too direct , not sufficiently vacant. She was not just resting her eyes on the car that was standing next to hers, as people are wont to do in lagos traffic; she was looking at me. At first , I looked away but then I directed my gaze back at the haughty silkiness of the weave that fell to her shoulders in loose curls, the kind of hair extensions that was popularly known as Brazilian Hair and was paid for in dollars in the prestigious Victoria island hair salons, at her fair skin, which had the plastic gleam that comes from using expensive creams; and at her hand, her forefinger was covered in expensive jewels which she raised to wave away a magazine hawker away, with the ease of a person used to waving people away. She was beautiful, or perhaps she was just so unsual looking, with eyes that were deep in her face. She was the kind of woman I imagined my lovers wife was, a woman who was accustomed to having everything done for her, who loved all her whims to be met as soon as they surfaced.

My lover, it sounds a little overemotional, but I don’t ever know how else to refer to him. Boyfriend seemed wrong for a stylish man of 45 who carefully slipped of his wedding ring before he touched me. Chijindu called him ‘your man’ with a faintly condescending smile, as though it was a joke both of us shared. He was in reality not mine. ‘Ah you are always in a hurry to leave because of this your man’ she would always say as she tilted back in her chair smacking her head with her hand over and over. Her scalp was itchy beneath her weave, and this was the only way she could come close to scratching it. ‘have fun, as long as your spirit accepts it, but as for me, I cannot have sex with a married man’ she said this often, with a self righteous tone as I packed my file and shut down my computer for the day.
We were friends by inevitability, because we had both graduated from Enugu campus and ended up working for mtn, in lagos as the only females in the community relations unit. Otherwise, we would not have been friends. I was vexed by how full of simplified certainties she was, and I knew that she thought I behaved like an irresponsible dimly foreign teenager; wearing my hair in a natural low cut, smoking cigarettes right in front of the office building in the full glare of everyone and refusing always to join in the prayer sessions our boss led after Monday meetings. I would not have told her about my lover- I did not in fact tell her about my personal life- but she was there when he first walked into her office, a lean dark man with a purple tie and an affluent manner. He was full of the sleek self regard of men who shrugged off their importance in a way that only highlighted it. Our boss shook hands with him with both of his hands and said Welcome sir, it is good to see you sir, how are you doing sir, please come and sit down sir.................

SO THEN WE STAND.
I never got the opportunity to meet her although I tried all my possible best. I had started making efforts to forget her and was finally succeeding. I had by now finished school and started a business for lack of funds to further my education. I can say I was both lucky and blessed, as I did not have the privilege of serving ‘’Oga’’, hence the start off capital that is usually given to young entrepreneurs to venture out, I never got. I had to start off from the scratch and kept on scratching and my scratch marks were sure holding water. I had a bar in and a provision store in Umunnachi. I was into building materials and house accessories and my shop at Onitsha was booming. I also had some ‘’Okadas’’ and two cars I used for ‘’Kabu-kabu’’ and these brought me substantial income. By all standards I was rich and young too. Only I didn’t have the luxury to engage in the escapisms of the nouveau rich. I had responsibilities to my 6 siblings and my aging Parents.
It was 7 years after our last encounter that I met her again. I had gone to my provision shop to balance account with my sales girl. I was telling my sales girl off about some errors in the balance booklet, when I heard the all too familiar sing-song voice. She had come to my shop to buy tura soap, when she recognised it was me, she immediately enveloped me in a Bear hug. I had this warm fuzzy feeling and then I realised that I was still into her. We started talking and I realised that she had graduated from International relations and had completed her service. We spent about 6 hours in that shop catching up on old times. Plenty waters had indeed passed under the bridge since we last saw. When she finally decided to leave, we swapped numbers and promised to meet again. Need I say, we had the times of our lives then. We just couldn’t get enough of ourselves in those days. She had visited my house about thrice and we used those times to read novels, play ludo and even cook. She had become an expert cook and I wasn’t so bad myself. Ugonma was a well-trained girl, every day I got a little bit more impressed with her, like on the occasion she had come to visit and met me washing my clothes and had insisted to join me. I had vehemently refused and the thing was almost becoming an issue until I agreed to let her help me rinse. I had all this while resolved never to indulge in any carnality with her. I think this really impressed her and made her trust me.
All this while we had kept our relationship hidden, although the local busy-body Mercy was already spreading the word. One day during our rendezvous at my place, we had just finished eating ‘’Ukwa’’ which we had both deliciously prepared, when I raised the topic. I asked her if I could come see her parents to let them know that something was going on between us. She had agreed and even said jokingly ‘’Now you talking like someone that was exclusively breastfed’’. We scheduled the visit for the following Saturday. I was highly spirited throughout the week and couldn’t wait for the day, and when the day finally arrived I started wishing that it was a week ahead. We had scheduled the visit for 1pm in the afternoon, but as early as 4am in the morning, I was awake. I was like a school boy on his first date. I agonised through the day and when it was exactly 12:30pm I set off to the Omengbojis resident. As I reached the gate, I had a flash back of the events of 7years earlier and smiled. On reaching the gate I knocked and was answered by an angry harried gate man. ‘’Onye ka I na acho?’’ he asked meaning who are you looking for. I explained to him that I came to see Ugonma, but he still refused to open the door. Now looking back, I should have turned back at that point. However I insisted and he started making a scene and said things about releasing dogs and spirits on me. In the heat of the argument, we both did not notice Ugonma who materialised as if from the blues and immediately commanded the man to open the gate. He then opened up for me but not without cursing me out under his breathe. I made a mental note to deal with him later and decided to enjoy my stay despite his sour attitude. We went to the living room and made ourselves confortable. She informed me that her parents were entertaining visitors upstairs and would come to see their daughters secret lover thereafter. She put on a home video and brought some drinks which we were enjoying hence did not notice when her parents came into the parlour. It was not until her mum asked in her very saucy way, ‘’Ugo where is the visitor you were talking about ?’’ like I was a decoration in their sitting room. It was then I knew that there was going to be trouble. Ugonma however seemed unperturbed and said without that I was her secret friend and that we were in love. Her father stepped in at this point and said ‘’Look young man maybe you do not know but Ugo will be engaged to Elibe next year and you will not stop it, now get out of my house!’’ I stood up from the chair, by this time Ugonma was crying, I asked her about the engagement but she refused to answer, I then stormed out of the house half expecting her to run after me begging. She did not.

UGONMA.
I have to dedicate a whole chapter to describe ‘’Her’’. Being that this woman is the cause of this man’s woes. Her full names are Ugonma Okafor, her father was Ichie Otuanya who also happened to be the richest man then in Umunnachi. He was the owner of ‘’Omengboji’’ ventures. He was business savvy and street wise and probably had more business brains in his little fingers than most Professors of business had in their balding heads! Omengbojis business empire included sale of second hand clothes, female trinkets, a bakery (Omengboji bread), a couple of filling stations and 8 tenement blocks each 8 storeys at Awada (now Iba-Poopu) in Onitsha. Ichie Otuanya was rich enough to live anywhere but opted to Umunnachi rumour had it that he had his eyes on the Igwe stool, as the incumbent was very old and sickly and billed for a date with the Grim reaper. And when the incumbent actually died Ichie Otuanya actually did campaign but lost. His wife Olaedo who was Ugonma’s mother was the most cantankerous woman ever and as saucy as an Indian soup. She however had one good (bad) character and that was, she would do anything to have her name mentioned in mass at St Monica. So when the church asked for compounds where children could come for Block Rosary she voluntarily donated a part her husbands compound.
It was in Block Rosary at Omengboji’s compound I first met her. I think I was 10 years then and she was 7 years. There was something striking about her even then. And when she led the prayers, It was something else. I was doubly impressed when I found out that she was the daughter of the famous Omengboji. I later noticed that she was a year my junior at Central School and by and by we became friends. I would like to say at this point that there was nothing amorous about us. We just happened to be two young kids with an unquenchable thirst for stolen mangoes and free cheleku (that is what kids call licky-licky don’t know the English name). We subsequently graduated from Primary school and while I went to Community Secondary school Ozzuh, Ugonma left for Queens School Enugu. And this is where we lost touch. She did come back for holidays but I never really had a chance to see her, she had moreover discovered the status ‘’richman pikin’’ and was playing it real good. I however had my chance one day, I had come back from mumsi’s shop and asked Johnny (Johnny was my immediate younger brother) where my catapult was. He said that Ugonma had seen him on the road and borrowed it and said specifically that only the owner should come collect in the evening. I feigned annoyance at Johnny for giving my ‘’thing’’ out without my permission. I entered my room and danced a jig. I immediately changed my clothes, there was this jeans mumsi bought the previous Christmas for me, it was a size too big. I put that on then for good measure wore my Christmas canvass. I then bounced with all the confidence of a neuro-surgeon to the Omengboji compound. I knocked with even more confidence, luckily it was Ugonma that came for the gate.
When I saw her I had a visceral stun (the good type). She had changed a lot her face was fuller and her dark skin seemed to give off its own glow. Her face was well chiselled with high cheek bones and a pert nose. Her lips were luscious and had some kind of lipstick that seemed to accentuate them but not exaggerate them. She had acquired the much sort after cocktail cup appearance, and what was a 14 year old girl doing with Tanners stage 5! My mouth went dry immediately and when she had stood like 5 minutes expecting me to talk, she finally asked ‘’what do you want?’’. I stuttered and stammered like a broken gramophone but couldn’t say anything reasonable. Feeling angry, disappointed and very embarrassed I turned back and started walking away. However I heard her call ‘’Okwere is it your catapult you are looking for?’’ I turned back and said yes, somehow she magically produced it at that spot. When I made to collect it our fingers touched momentarily and it
seemed the world stopped for a second, atleast to me. I went home as happy as a bull dog on steroids and I regurgitated the happenings of the day savouring it piece by piece and even embellishing it in my head to make the encounter sweeter. I was in love. I had to see Ugonma again but how
P.S Please critic my work I need to know how am doing that is what we nairalanders do right? We watch our back abeg make una try 

Umunnachi.

Umunnachi.
I am a typical village boy, and although I am not proud of it, I am neither ashamed of that fact. Life for me began in Umunnachi, but as the story progresses you’d get to see that life didn’t end there for me. Umunnachi is a town in Dunukofia, Anambra state, Southeastern Nigeria. It is made up of Nagbana, Ozzuh, Mgbuke, Umueze and Nkwelle. It shares boundaries with neighbouring towns like Ogidi, Umudioka, Eziowelle and Ifite-Dunu. Umunnachi is one of the 6 towns that made up the ancient Dunukofia town from which the local government was created.
Early life was interesting, and although we lived almost a Spartan life( not out of choice but due to conditions), we were a happy family at least initially. Dad was a bicycle repairer cum palm-wine tapper. Although the money from these ventures was small it was constant enough to maintain his family until he started sampling more than he sold. You see dad was a civil war veteran and his medals and war paraphernalia were proudly displayed in his ‘’Obi’’. However ironically he never liked talking about the war. The few times he spoke about the war was when he was sufficiently oiled with ‘’Ngwo’’ or ‘’Nkwu-ocha’’ and even then the stories he reeled out were of doubtful credibilities. Like the one time he regaled us with the story of how he carried a lighted ‘’Ogbunigwe’’ on his head to an enemy camp. After the bomb destroyed the enemies leaving him of course. He switched it off with water and even used it or what was left of it in a future battle. Need I say he was as drunk as a skunk on this one occasion. Having said that, for us as kids, dad was our hero. He was our gargantuan Piscean in a minute mere. We loved him, we adored him and even prayed for him to be drunk so we can hear his stories. Prior to the war, he was a thriving second hand clothe dealer in Kafanchan. He was among the first to use the famous ‘’ladies bike’’ in his time. This article conferred on him an exalted position among his mates then. However post war he lost everything including his house in kafanchan. I suspect he also lost his drive…that’s what war does right?
Mum on the other hand was a petty trader. She sold everything and anything depending on demand and supply. She had travelled to places as remote as Yelwa in Bauchi, Zaki biam during her yam selling days and even Ogbomosho. She spoke Igbo, Yoruba, Hausa and Ibibio. She was the perfect example of globalisation until technology hijacked that word noisily. In her hey-days she used to be the village ‘’Belle’’ she also could sing like an Angel which garnered for her the moniker ‘’Nightingale’’ and tons of jealousy from her mates. The profiles of her suitors often got me thinking why my dad? But love is blind right or so they say. In the early years of their marriage they had problems conceiving and people often called mum ‘’mgbaliga’’ or ‘’nwanyiga’’ of course nobody thought the problem could be from the man. Vintage Africa! Anyways 7 years into their marriage and mounting pressures on dad to take another wife. Their prayers were answered and I came by, hence the name Okwerenkwameeya. Suffice it to say that 6 other children followed in quick succession.
Like I said earlier growing up in Umunnachi was great. There was always joy around the house and the house was full, what with 7 children! Ummunnachi was a small village of about 450 people compared to Mkpuke of about 1000 people. Life for us was centred around home, Centre (which was short for Central School) where we started ‘’nta-akara’’ which is equivalent to play school in the city and St. Monica Umunnachi. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays we attended block rosary in Omemgboji’s compound. There were 5 rivers in Umunnachi namely Uduma, Ogbanani, Mkpurueto, Ikenga and Dakwasi. Every child knew the dynamics of these rivers like Uduma and Dakwasi were for drinking, Mkpurueto and Dakwasi were for washing and bathing. You dared not enter Ikenga. A typical day started with us waking up at about 6:45 am. We then joined the company of other children going to the stream to fetch water, on our way back we stopped for a swim at Dakwasi which was close to Uduma. We immediately rushed back home to eat breakfast which more often than not was the remnant akpu of yester night. Then off to school we went. (The school system was divided into nta-akara (play group), Abiisi (prep class) and then the primary school proper. Most pupils on graduation went to Girls High Nagbana or Community Secondary school Ozzuh). After school we often rushed home, ate , did our asssignments if there were any. We then rested before joining our parents in the farm for those of us whose parents were farmers or going hunting for those who had no farm work. The day ended with dinner and us telling ‘’Akuko ifo’’. And this my dear nairalanders is a typical day in my early life. *the next post will usher us into the story proper* STAY TUNED

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I'm not exactly a writer neither am I a lover. However the plot of my story which due to my excess imagination *or more truthfully lack of it thereof* is actually my true life story.....I've thought of it times on end and each time it shapes like a love story but then thats for you the reader to judge. Like I said earlier am not a lover, so turn between posting in love section and literature section I opted here.
Okay let me not bore y'all with my excess rantings and get down with the story.
My name is Okwere which is short for Okwerenkwameeya meaning He-promised-and-did-it.

hmmmmmmmmmm *in the voice of a thirst crazed man stranded in the desert who rushes forward to find out that wat he thought was a mirage of sand was actually Life giving clean cool spring water*
Oga Royver thank Sir but like Oliver Twist n Ras Kimono "We want MORE"

Stephy I salute u o. Nice write up. Keep it coming dear

Royver, I loyver ur write up mahn....Abeg I tk Pachios beg u. Try day update atleast twice daily or else some of your addicts like me fit get acute withdrawal symptoms...Way to go Bawse!

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Count me in
Kankem is the name
whisper2peezle@yahoo.com the email
08084307310 is the number