Bolaji299:
ADuKe duke.. Nice story you have there.. Keep the update coming

Thanks a lot, Bolaji.

THE BOOK, JEWEL FROM THE GHETTO, NOW AVAILABLE ON ONLINE STORES!


Hello Folks,

Top of the hour to you all.

I really want to appreciate everyone here for taking out time to read my story and for the wonderful and encouraging comments.

I am delighted to inform you all that the book, Jewel from the Ghetto, is NOW OUT and available on major local and international online stores.

I will continue to post the story as episodes like I promised. However, for those who want a head start and don't want to wait for the episode by episode release, you can get Jewel from the Ghetto now at an affordable price by clicking on any of the following links:

1. OKADABOOKS: http://okadabooks.com/book/about/jewel_from_the_ghetto/18237

2. SMASHWORDS: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/814412

Thank you once more for your support.

Happy reading.

Cheers.

Qudus Oko-Osi

New Episode Loading ...

EPISODE 5
(CHAPTER TWO)



Fortunately, Yemi won the deal. His clients wanted to set up a cement factory at Ewekoro. The project, subsequently, took him through the route on a regular basis. As time went by, Yemi became so fascinated by Pink Roses that he deliberately used the bad road even when the traffic on the main road didn’t justify such bumpy rides. Each time, his admiration for the salon grew stronger and he never missed the opportunity to look at the beautiful faces that adored the exterior of the shop.

On a particular occasion, he got so carried away that he stayed in the middle of the road longer than necessary while admiring the alluring beauties. The action resulted in a drama that would have surprised him if he had seen the end of it. He was startled back to the present by the boisterous honking of the horn of a commercial bus (popularly known as ‘danfo’) driver.

The reckless driver cursed as he wheezed past his SUV, “Ọga Ade, shey you no go carry your motor comot for road before I brush am?” he shouted in Pidgin English. “You better go get driver if you no fit drive for road.”

His conductor, realizing the nonsense his boss was spewing out, cautioned him immediately, “Ah, Ọga mi, Baba Aláyè lélèyí o. Oshapranpran o! Range lélèyí o. Élèyí o kin ṣe ‘my car’ o. Ẹ́ jẹ́ sẹ́mpẹ̀ kí a màa jẹ gbẹ́sé ooo!” (Ah, boss, this one is a rich man o. This is a Range and not just any car so take it easy if you don’t want to land us in trouble!)

The passengers in the bus lent their voices to the conductor’s warning, “Alákọ́rì, o jẹ náa dádá ko to ra. Gbogbo bus ẹ́ ko ra ìná ẹ kan to ba kọ́lu!” (Stubborn guy, you better think well before hitting it. The totality of your bus when sold is not enough to buy one of its headlamps, so you better be careful.)

“Ehn ehn, tell am o. Me, I cannot come and wear shekesheke (handcuffs) as bangle ooo.” The conductor complained further in his rough voice.

The driver said nothing more but responded by stepping hard on the accelerator. The bus jerked forward violently. It bounced up and down in a break dance fashion as he sped off the bumpy road. The passengers collided against each other as it threw them up and down in rhythm with the bus. They cautioned but he paid no attention. They screamed but it fell on dear ears. They began to curse but he reacted by sizing them up from the rear view mirror and pumped the accelerator some more. The engine roared and the shouts grew louder:

JESUS!!!
BLOOD OF JESUS!!!
AYILALA OOO!!!
HOLY MARY, MOTHER OF JESUS!!!

A little pandemonium followed. Some passengers began banging hard on the body and roof of the bus but the psycho of a driver carried on his ‘business’ unaffected by the bedlam going on behind him. He must definitely be high on ‘paraga’ or ‘monkey tail’ (strong locally brewed alcoholic drinks).

That was the day Yemi, completely unaware of the chaos that rocked the bus that almost damaged his car, noticed a picture of one of the ladies. She wasn’t as conspicuous as the others but she was definitely the most gorgeous amongst them! He was seeing it for the first time and he wondered if it had always been there. She was dark and strikingly beautiful. She wore a smile that was innocent and natural; charming and inviting. And a set of dimples accentuated her delicate beauty. She was an exquisite sight to behold; a hidden beauty.

Yemi whistled. “Oh, goodness!” His eyelids fluttered rapidly several times. “How come I haven’t noticed this Princess of Enchantment all this while?” he heard himself saying aloud despite himself, “This is definitely a super model!” He stroked his hair. “Damn! Were she in the States or even Victoria Island here in Nigeria, she should be gracing the catwalk by now and adoring the face of every billboard in the city.”

For the first time since he discovered the beauty shop, Yemi faulted the judgment of the owner of Pink Roses. Such a captivating damsel should never had been pushed to the background. She deserved the most conspicuous space of all.

Since that day, all other faces faded into obscurity. Yemi saw nothing else. No one else. Only one person--the girl he had come to name, ‘Hidden Beauty’. And each time he looked at her, he felt an unexplainable pull towards her synonymous to the force of gravity; it seemed that she was always beckoning on him. He initially laughed off the feeling but soon realized that he couldn’t easily flush the image off his head. Even when he was miles away, it stuck to his mind like a placenta to a foetus. He was increasing becoming drawn to the Hidden Beauty he had not yet met. Soon, fascinating images of her began littering his dreams.


To be continued ... Watch Out for the Next Episode!

NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

1. OKADABOOKS: http://okadabooks.com/book/about/jewel_from_the_ghetto/18237

2. SMASHWORDS: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/814412


Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

u write so well..... looking forward to ur updates

joromi36:
u write so well..... looking forward to ur updates

Thank you. Joromi.

Blos continue na. This kind 10hrs break no dey help o. For those wey fit afford am, make una patronise una niqqa

emeraldlife:
Blos continue na. This kind 10hrs break no dey help o. For those wey fit afford am, make una patronise una niqqa

Lol!

EPISODE 6
(CHAPTER THREE)


Two Weeks Later, Pink Roses Beauty Shop.


THE SALON WAS A hive of activities as the girls busied themselves with one task or the other. Shakirah then entered carrying shopping bags in both hands. She sported a pink camisole on a three-quarters-length denim jeans and a pair of pink Nike Air trainers. She tied her denim jacket round her waist and wore her sunglasses on her forehead, almost forming a hair band for her hair. She chewed her gum noisily as it was her custom.

Risi, her best friend, was the first to welcome her, admiring the shopping bags in her hands. “Bestie, this your waka sweet today ooo. Na only you get all dis bags?” She peered into the bags. “Oya, open dis thing make we check them out nah,” she continued in Pidgin English.

“Babes, gist plenty o. Na Alhaji carry me comot o ...” Shakirah began.

“Which of the Alhajis? Alhaji Kazeem or Alhaji Usman or Alhaji Cash Money?” Ngozi wanted specifics.

“Alhaji Cash Money, of course! Who else would it have been?”

Auntie Funmi, a mother of three and the owner of Pink Roses, watched on as her apprentices clustered around Shakirah who was narrating how she had had a good time with Alhaji Cash Money who took her shopping. Auntie Funmi smiled as she shifted gaze from one lady to the other starting with Shakirah ...

Shakirah, born Shakiratu Ajenifuja, decided to stick to the ‘funky’ version of her name—Shakirah. She was the most senior in Pink Roses and a lecherous ‘local champion’ who paraded herself as a Beauty Queen. For a fact, she might have qualified as one if not for her over-bleached skin that now had some dark patches at places like her elbows, knuckles, and ankles. She was slim, tall, and well-shaped. She wore a nose ring and had four earring holes pierced into her left ear. There was something about her that attracted men—one of whom was Kasumu, The Scorpion. This gave her an inflated ego of a ‘happening girl.’ She had a penchant for chewing gums noisily. But she was generous to a fault.

Her best friend was Risikatu Ajala called Risi for short. They were birds of a feather. Also with an over-bleached skin and an equally salacious personality. She had a stout and plump structure. Two thick dark facial marks stood on her round cheeks like number eleven. She had a poorly drawn butterfly tattoo on her right breast close to the cleavage and a dot tattooed above the corner of her upper lip. She was outspoken but witless.

Pink Roses also boasted Simisola. She was quiet and reserved, qualities which made her prone to being relegated to the background often, especially by Shakirah and Risi. She was no doubt the most beautiful of all. She was easy-going and simple; articulate and highly intelligent despite dropping out of school at Junior Secondary School (JSS) 3 because of the financial constraints of her struggling parents. Her case was a foremost proof that intelligence didn’t necessarily have to do with secular education. She was focused and driven by the plights of her family to achieve success in life. She was the closest friend of Ngozi’s and Auntie Funmi’s favourite.

Ngozi, usually referred to as ‘Omo Ibo’, was the only lady from the eastern part of the country in their midst. Having been in Lagos for a long time, she understood and could speak the Yoruba language very well, though her use of the language was heavily laden with her thick Ibo tongue. She was very fair and voluptuous; morally decent and had a good heart. She and Simisola were very fond of each other to the extent that people called them sisters from different mothers. She could be very dramatic at times.

There were also Taiwo and Kehinde, the identical twins who did things and shared everything together. They went everywhere together. They were the inseparable clowns that brightened the salon with their humour. They were usually fun to be around.

Deborah, Abike, Bukola, Lolade, and Tolani also added colour to the shop. They were equally very pretty and were part of those whose pictures branded the shop.

Auntie Funmi’s eyes came back to Shakirah who was now sharing the items with her colleagues. Just then, two customers entered. The short recess was over.

“Alright girls,” Auntie Funmi called on her ladies, “time to get busy.”


To be continued ... Watch Out for the Next Episode!

NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

1. OKADABOOKS: http://okadabooks.com/book/about/jewel_from_the_ghetto/18237

2. SMASHWORDS: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/814412


Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

This story is gonna be very very interesting

EPISODE 7
(CHAPTER THREE)


Somewhere Far Away in Osun State, Ajele Village, The Fatundes’ Residence.

Mr and Mrs Fatunde (Simisola’s parents) were eating a plate of eba and vegetable soup which lacked any meat or fish (they could hardly afford such luxury at this time) when they heard a loud bang on their door. It was as if the person was determined to bring down the door.

“Iya Simisola, open this door now before we break it down, thief!” They heard the dreadful voice of the extra-large Iya Afusa. She had lead an angry mob to their doorstep.

Simisola’s mother’s heart skipped a few beats. She held her chest and started fidgeting. “Ye, mogbe! Iya Afusa, the trouble marker!” She reluctantly opened the door. Her heart thumped against her chest like the huge bell of a Catholic cathedral.

“Come out, onigbese (debtor) ... Iya Simisola, onigbese ... come out ooo and give us our money, ole (thief)! Today is today. We must collect our money today; all of it,” Iya Afusa called out at the top of her voice. “We gave you our association’s money for safe-keeping but you squandered it and started telling us stories,” she continued ranting with dramatic gestures.

“Yes ooo. Give us our money.” The mob echoed Iya Afusa’s piercing words.

Simisola’s mother was the treasurer of her trade association and had kept the contributions of the association for years without any problems until one day. On that fateful day, she had come back from the market to see that her room had been burgled. The thief had broken into the mud house through the window and had made away with all her savings including the association’s money. She had suspected Adelaja, Iya Afusa’s good-for-nothing son, and his cohorts but she had no evidence to back her suspicion. Ever since, she had been paying back the money from sales of her farm produce. Her husband had been of tremendous support in contributing all he had to the repayment of the debt. This was responsible for their present financial predicament and why they had to make do with vegetable soup without any meat or fish. But every now and then, Iya Afusa instigated other members into causing trouble with the poor woman.

“Ah, please my fellow members. I didn’t spend the money,” she explained, hands jammed into her armpits. “You all know what happened to it and you know too that I have been struggling to pay up as much as I can,” she pleaded.

“Lies!” An angry woman shouted from the crowd.
“And who is your follow member? God forbid,” another woman roared snapping her fingers over her head in disgust. “We have annulled your membership long ago. Who would have a thief as a member?”

“Ah! It’s not what you people think. Please give me some more time and I promise to pay up the balance.” She began to cry, placing one hand on her head and biting the index finger of the other. Merely seeing a mob at her doorstep had humiliated her and provoked her to tears.

“How, much time do you want again, ehn? Haven’t we given you enough time already?” Iya Afusa countered, untouched by her cry. “The time you begged for the last time expired a fortnight ago and you are now begging for more time. We need our money.” She wagged her finger furiously in front of Simisola’s mother’s face. “I am warning you o, Iya Simisola, I’m warning you. Don’t try me. You better go inside now and get our money if you don’t want trouble. You know me ooo, Iya Simisola you know me. If you asked for it, I will give you double!”

“We all know that times are hard now, please, my people, I will pay up,” she pleaded further.

Her husband tried to intervene but Iya Afusa shushed him up disrespectfully, “Hush!” She sealed her mouth with her forefinger “Will you please keep your mouth shut? You useless husband of a thief! It is your wife we have business with and not a good-for-nothing man like you.”

Simisola’s father was too shocked and humiliated to say anything further.

Then, Iya Afusa saw that her hand was soiled with soup, a sign that she was eating when they arrived. She laughed hysterically clapping her hands as she did so. “Pekele pekele! Look at the person that claimed that times are hard. Look at her hand. Is that not vegetable soup? She doesn’t have money and she is eating vegetable soup. Wonders shall never end.”

She then removed her gele (headgear) and tied it round her waist. With that, she pounced on Simisola’s mother and dragged her to their midst. Within a twinkle of an eye, they had torn her cloths and started beating her. Another person went over to where she displayed her pepper, tomatoes, and vegetables for sale and turned them over. The rest stamped on the produce squashing them on the ground. Her husband rushed in to save her but Iya Afusa shoved him away like a piece of paper. For someone the size of Iya Afusa whose thigh alone was bigger than the whole of Simisola’s father’s body, tossing him away was like a piece of cake.

Ademola, Simisola’s younger brother quickly ran to call Chief Balogun, one of the village elders, who came to the scene to quell the mob action. He mollified the angry women who agreed to leave on a condition that the money would be ready in two days. Urged on by Iya Afusa, the women threatened that nobody, not even the king, would be able to stop them from carrying out their wish should they return and the money wasn’t ready. The women left and Simisola’s mother broke down in more tears.

After the family put themselves together, Simisola’s mother put a called across to Simisola. She narrated all that happened and the threats of the women. Simisola was moved to tears. She pacified her mother and promised to send down the money she had been saving to pay up the debt. Her mother was relieved and thanked her very much. She prayed for her from the bottom of her heart. After that, her father collected the phone and picked up the prayer from where his wife left off. In fact, if prayers were answered instantaneously, Simisola’s life would change so drastically for the better that it would shock all those that knew her! Such was the intensity and magnitude of the prayers she received from her parents on that day.


To be continued ... Watch Out for the Next Episode!

NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

1. OKADABOOKS: http://okadabooks.com/book/about/jewel_from_the_ghetto/18237

2. SMASHWORDS: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/814412


Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

EPISODE 8
(CHAPTER THREE)


Back in Lagos.

Simisola headed home to get the money. On her way, she thought about the ordeal of her parents at the hands of Iya Afusa and her ‘gang’. She could picture how the scenario played out. She knew Iya Afusa so well and knew what she was capable of doing. She was the bully of the village and everybody, including her husband, feared her. They had been stories of how she had beaten her husband to a pulp on several occasions. People had taken her case to the king too many times that the king and his chiefs had grown tired of her matter. She was the fish bone stuck in everybody’s throat in the village. If she had threatened to let heaven loose by the time she and her ‘gang’ returned and didn’t get their money, then she was sure to do just that. Simisola cringed at the thought. But she relaxed when she remembered that her savings could cover the debt. She had planned to use the money for something else. Actually, it was the money she was saving towards setting up her own beauty shop. As important as that was, saving her parents from the looming chaos was more important at the moment. She smiled and quickened her steps. She just had to get the whole thing sorted out at once and put the matter to a permanent rest.

She soon got home. Immediately she opened the door, she was greeted by a terrible feeling that something was wrong. She paused. She squinted. Her gaze darted from one corner of the room to the other. But everything seemed to be intact. A deep sigh of relieve escaped her mouth. “Thank God,” she uttered inwardly. She walked briskly to the drawer she had converted to her vault; it housed all her valuables. She scanned the full breath and length of the room and shut the windows to be sure nobody was watching her before opening the drawer. She had to be careful. She had to be discreet. It was her life savings so it had to be well protected.

As she was about to insert the key, she noticed the drawer was loose. Her heart pumped at an alarming rate. ‘Oh God, please don’t let this happen,’ she prayed silently. She quickly pulled the drawer and hoped it stayed intact but it gave way effortlessly--it had been broken! “Ye! Mogbe!!! (I’m finished.)” She screamed and then froze. She stared at the empty drawer, shaking her head in quandary. “No, no, no.” She gulped in air. Her body felt cold. She took some wobbling steps backwards and collapsed to the floor!


To be continued ... Watch Out for the Next Episode!

NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

1. OKADABOOKS: http://okadabooks.com/book/about/jewel_from_the_ghetto/18237

2. SMASHWORDS: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/814412


Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

Queenflourish:
This story is gonna be very very interesting

I can guarantee you of that. Just stay tuned.

EPISODE 9
(CHAPTER THREE)



Same Day, Not Far Away.

The day was bright. It was a Thursday morning and Yemi did not have to go to the project site early, so he left later than usual. Just like other days in recent times, he decided to use the bumpy road not because traffic was heavy on the main road but because he wanted to indulge himself in the pleasure of watching the salon--it was fast becoming an addiction to him. By the time he approached the shop, it was fully alive.

For the first time since he discovered the shop, he saw the pretty ladies outside the confines of the pictures on its walls; he saw them in person bustling with vitality. They were going about their business unaware that a pair of handsome eyes was watching them. He watched as their hands did magic to the customers’ hairs and nails. He saw as they chatted freely with each other. Someone made a comment and the rest laughed. The glow in their happy faces warmed his heart. He admired the tremendous sense of camaraderie that existed amongst the girls and between them and someone he presumed must be their boss. The gesture touched a soft spot in him and he fell more in love with the shop and those who worked in it.

Then without a second thought, as if sucked into the eye of a hurricane, he pulled over in front of the shop. The instance the noiseless Range Rover came to a halt, the shop came to a stand still with it. Heads turned! Everyone stopped and watched with keen interest as the tall, fair, handsome Yemi came out of the SUV. His skin was as smooth and fresh as a new born baby’s. He looked every inch of an ‘Aje-butter’ that he was. Everyone admired him. Even the heads of the customers spun at his presence. He was breathtakingly gorgeous.

The ambience of the salon caught his fancy and the sweet smell of the hair creams and shampoos romanced his nose. Some smelt like candies but the scent of the relaxers were less inviting. The sight brought back memories of his childhood when he used to follow his mum to the salon. He smiled as he remembered how stubborn he was then, pestering the poor woman until she wouldn’t have any choice than to take him along.

He greeted and everyone reciprocated. Auntie Funmi, wondering what a cute guy would be doing in a ladies’ salon, approached him, “Hello sir, how may we help you, sir?”

“Um ... Um ...” he started to stutter. He did not know how to start. “Um ... I want to see ...” He groped for words.
Auntie Funmi watched him expectantly with raised eyebrows. “Um ... I want to see ... my wife.” He eventually forced himself to say in his American accent. That wasn’t exactly how he meant to say it but that was how the words flew out.

“Your wife?” Auntie Funmi was confused. There was no woman in the salon presently whose husband she didn’t know and Yemi was definitely not one of them! “Sir, I’m not sure your wife came here. Perhaps she entered somewhere else. Could you describe what she’s wearing maybe someone might have seen her by any chance?”

“Hmmm ... Ma’am ...” He clasped his fingers together and smiled like a nerd. “I haven’t met her personally too.”

Auntie Funmi was completely lost. “You haven’t?!” She turned around to look at Shakirah who was as confused as she was. “Sir, please can you make yourself clear. I am completely lost here.”

“Actually,” He was gradually regaining his composure. “I ... I am referring to one of your ladies, ma’am.”

“Ooh!” Auntie Funmi said with her mouth forming an ‘O’ shape that refused to close.

All the girls froze and exchanged glances in astonishment. The comb in Shakirah’s hand fell off and her mouth imitated the shape of Auntie Funmi’s.

“And who amongst them is this fortunate girl, sir?” Auntie Funmi probed now smiling. She wondered how such a good looking man that exuded confidence easily lost his nerves when it came to expressing himself about one of her apprentices.

“Well, I ...” But Risi didn’t allow him to finish before she jumped forward and paraded her stout and plump structure up and down. “That will definitely be me,” she said in a voice far from being sexy.

“Hey, hold it, Risikatu! You better pack well. How can you come here and lay claim to Bros Oyinbo (Americana) when he is not blind and can see true beauty here?” Shakirah silenced Risi and pushed her aside. She then took over the centre stage, flaunting her purported beauty and lovely shape. She bragged about how she was the best and most deserving. Risi, her best friend, hissed and eyed her angrily.

As if the drama wasn’t enough, all the other ladies took to the stage one after the other and strutted like models on the runway. It was as if an impromptu beauty pageant was arranged for Yemi. The customers whose hairs were abandoned midway were too carried away by the drama to complain. In fact, they enjoyed every bit of it and were interested to see the end of it. Yemi who was equally surprised by the turn of events, watched on as the girls sashayed in front of him. Truth be said, most of the girls didn’t disappoint in terms of glamour and carriage. Neither did they betray the beauty of the images that branded the exterior of the salon. For a fact, they weren’t at all photogenic--they were actually more attractive in person than in the pictures.

After watching attentively, Yemi shook his head and said, “She’s not here.”

“Not here?!” They all chorused including Auntie Funmi. “Then who?” The disappointment on their faces could not ne missed.

“There she is.” Yemi pointed to the picture of the Hidden Beauty that was on the wall.

“SIMISOLA?!!!” They all squealed in unison highly taken aback by the biggest upset of the morning.

Simisola was the least conspicuous, the most reserved, and the most unlikely to be picked ahead of others going by their judgment. No one doubted her beauty though but they took her quiet and reserved nature as a disadvantage!

Shakirah and Risi were more than flabbergasted. They couldn’t hide their emotions. Risi twisted her mouth and frowned her face, an expression that left no doubt that anger and disgust in cahoots with envy had pitched a tent in her heart. Shakirah, on the other hand, folded her arms across her chest and chewed her gum violently reflective of the whole gamut of explosive emotions building up in her. Her eyes were cold, hard, and flinty. She assumed she was the favourite. Was she not the ‘happening girl’ in the area? The rave of the moment? The one whom all the men in the area were dying for--top on the list being Scorpion, the Alpha of the hood? Who else was better qualified to have this golden apple?

Auntie Funmi smiled. Deep down, she was happy for Simisola.

At that very moment, Simisola walked in...


To be continued ... Watch Out for the Next Episode!

NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

1. OKADABOOKS: http://okadabooks.com/book/about/jewel_from_the_ghetto/18237

2. SMASHWORDS: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/814412


Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

EPISODE 10
(CHAPTER FOUR)



“YES, THAT’S HER!” YEMI pointed to Simisola, his eyes as bright as the sun.

All eyes became fixed on Simisola as she walked into the salon. The stare was so much that she got embarrassed to the point that she almost tripped over. She became more confused when she saw the ‘Aje-butter’ that just pointed at her, smiling from ear to ear as if he won a lottery. She was forced to speak out, “What’s going on here?”

Auntie Funmi answered, “This bros here ...” She indicated Yemi, “said he was looking for his wife and that you were the one.”

Simisola was taken aback. “I? His wife? How so?”

“Well, he was simply saying he is interested in you.” Auntie Funmi hit the nail on the head and turning to Yemi, she reconfirmed, “Am I right, Mr ... erm ...?”

“Yemi ... The name is Yemi,” Yemi responded, “yes, you are absolutely right, ma’am.”

Simisola raised her brows in surprise. “Oh, I see,” she answered casually and went further inside to sit down quietly at a corner of the shop.

Auntie Funmi looked at her closely and realized something was wrong with her. She walked up to her. Yemi followed her movement with his eyes. “Simisola, is everything alright? You look bothered to me,” She asked.

“It is my mother ooo ...” she said and began to cry.

“Your mother?!” Both Auntie Funmi and Yemi exclaimed at the same time. “What’s wrong with her?” Yemi probed further empathetically. He hastened to where she was sitting.

After a while, Simisola took a deep breath and narrated what just happened amid sobs. She explained how her mother had gotten into trouble and how her life’s savings which she wanted to use to settle her mother’s debt had been stolen. She expressed her fear of what might happen to her parents in the next two days without the money.

“Damn! Are you serious?” Yemi reacted. Simisola nodded her response.

“What a pity! So, how much are we looking at here?”

“One Hundred and Fifty Thousand, sir,” she replied drying her tears with the back of her hands.

“You mean, One Hundred and Fifty Thousand Dollars?”

“No. Naira, sir.”

“Oh, my bad! Sorry, I forgot I am now in Nigeria. Just a minute, please.” Yemi excused himself and hurried to his car. Simisola’s gaze followed him as he walked out. That was when she realized that he was the one who parked the sparkling black Range Rover Sport outside the shop. He opened the safe and brought out his cheque book. On his return, he sat on a chair next to Simisola. He crossed his legs and using his laps as a table, he began writing a cheque.

“Do you have a valid means of identity?” He asked Simisola without looking up.

“Valid identity? What do you mean by valid, sir?”

“Oh, I mean either a driver’s licence or an international passport or a national I. D card or a voter’s card?”

“No, sir but I have my work I.D card--Pink Roses I.D, sir.”

“Okay. That will be fine. Can I have it please?” Simisola checked through her wallet and handed the identity card to him.

“Hmmm ... Simisola Fatunde. What a beautiful name.” He took in the details on the card. “Now tell me ...” He returned the I.D card. “You said you kept the money at home where it was stolen. Why didn’t you deposit it in your bank account? It’s not safe keeping money at home, you know.”

“I don’t have one, sir.”

Yemi stopped dead and looked up for the first time since he began writing the cheque rather appalled. He couldn’t comprehend that some people didn’t have bank accounts and still kept money under their mattresses at home in this time and age. “You don’t have an account? That’s ridiculous!” He had forgotten he was in the ghetto.

A customer who seemed enlightened spoke up, “Sir, this is Nigeria and it’s not everyone that has a bank account. In fact, it may surprise you to know that the number of the unbanked population is far more than those with bank accounts.”

“Oh, I see. My bad!” Then he turned back to Simisola and held out the cheque to her. “Sure you can handle this, right?”

She nodded.

Auntie Funmi added, “Simi should be able to handle that. She’s the most intelligent lady around here.”

“Perfect. Here’s is a cheque for N200, 000.00. You can settle your mum’s debt and keep the rest for yourself.” He covered the pen and put it back in his pocket. “I have written behind the cheque that you should be paid with Pink Roses I.D card so I don’t see you having issues at the bank.” He opened his cardholder. “Hmmm ... here’s my complimentary card. Just in case they are trying to make trouble, give me a call.”

Simisola whooped immediately the cheque touched her hands. She quickly dropped down on both knees and kept thanking Yemi until he got embarrassed. Auntie Funmi followed suit.

“No! No! No! Get up, please. That isn’t necessary.” He urged them to get up in his American accent.

Simisola’s face shone with joy as she sat up on her seat once more and stared at the cheque as if it were a bar of gold.

Yemi continued, “Well, since you don’t have a bank account, I think we need to open one for you. Do you mind if I come pick you on Monday to open one for you?”

“I don’t mind, sir. That will be fine.”

“Okay, expect to see me on Monday then.” He thanked Auntie Funmi and bidding everyone good bye, he walked to his car and drove off.

Simisola and Auntie Funmi who had seen him off to the car waved continuously at him until the vehicle got out of sight, “Bye-bye.” They kept saying like a stereo placed on auto-reverse.

Simisola hugged Auntie Funmi several times. Her happiness knew no bounds and it was understandable. At a time she thought the worse was going to happen, an angel surfaced from nowhere and came to the rescue. She looked at the cheque again and raised her eyes towards the heaven in appreciation. Though she didn’t utter a word, the gesture said it all and God must had understood her perfectly. She pondered how fortunate she had been. The amount stolen from her drawer was One Hundred and Seventy Thousand Naira and now God had given her Two Hundred Thousand Naira in return! How thankful she was. It was then she remembered her parents’ prayers earlier in the day. She was convinced that God just answered the prayers!

When she and Auntie Funmi returned inside the shop, they were met by a loud applause from the customers and her colleagues who were blown away by the drama that just played out. It felt like a scene from a Nollyhood movie. Ngozi ran up to her and gave her an affectionate hug.

“Congratulations, girl. You are a very fortunate girl,” One of the customers said.

“Thank you, ma.” Simisola blushed and quickly looked down to hide her grin.

All the other colleagues came round her, admiring and congratulating her except Shakirah and Risi. Taiwo and Kehinde, the clowns of the house, came to the center and started mimicking Yemi’s American tongue.

“Mehn ... Yeah, mehn ... Simisola is gonna go to America ... Yeah, mehn.” Taiwo started.

“Shurrup, Taiwo!” Kehinde countered. “It’s not ‘yeah mehn’, it is ‘yo mehn!’” And everybody burst into a resounding laughter.

“Yo, you are right, mo’ mehn ...,” Taiwo continued, “It’s yo mehn! So, yo mehn ... Simisola catch Oyinbo.”

Everybody chorused, “Yoooo mehn!” And the guffaw took over the entire shop. Ngozi’s response was very dramatic and everybody squealed in one accord, “Omo Ibo, you too?!” They all laughed again.

It was obvious that everybody was happy for Simisola and wished her well except Shakirah and Risi who stood aside. They watched in disdain as Simisola’s beautiful face exuded happiness and how the other ladies clustered around her. The envy in their eyes was so intense that if stares could kill, Simisola wouldn’t have lived to see the next second!


To be continued ... Watch Out for the Next Episode!

NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

1. OKADABOOKS: http://okadabooks.com/book/about/jewel_from_the_ghetto/18237

2. SMASHWORDS: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/814412


Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

Dis is getting interesting.

YINKS89:
Dis is getting interesting.

Glad that you are enjoying the story, Yinks89. The interesting part is just loading.

JamesKudooski:


Glad that you are enjoying the story, Yinks89. The interesting part is just loading.

u wcm ...

Thumbs-up jameskudooski!

phoenixchap:
Thumbs-up jameskudooski!

Thks, Phoenixch. Glad you're enjoying the story. Stay tuned for more interesting episodes.

EPISODE 11
(CHAPTER FOUR)


Later that evening, Simisola went to Auntie Funmi to have a word with her.

“Auntie ... Hmmm ... about what happened in the morning.”

“Yes, what about it, Simi dear?”

“Hmmm ... I’m just a bit afraid. I’ve been thinking about the whole thing.” She sat down next to the ever inviting Aunty Funmi. “A strange man walked in riding a big jeep and said I was his wife. He then gave me huge amount of money and promised to come and pick me on Monday to open an account for me ...”

“Okay. But I still don’t get your point,” Auntie Funmi reacted with an expression of someone missing out something.

“I’m just thinking ... what if he’s a ritualist trying to entice me with money. You never can tell what all these rich men do for money,” she expressed her fears.

“Hmmm!” Auntie Funmi sighed. “Simi dear, you have a valid point, you know.” She sat up on her seat. “But what if it’s not so? Remember, you told me about your parents’ prayers earlier in the day? What if this is God’s answer to their prayers? One thing I know is that our old parents’ prayers, especially when said under the circumstances your parents said theirs, always have a way of getting God’s attention quickly.”

“Hmmm!” Simisola nodded in agreement as she sank in every word spoken by her boss.

Auntie Funmi continued, “That young man should be in his early thirties or less. He looked like someone who just returned from overseas to me. I don’t see him being a ritualist trying to sacrifice you to his god of money. I only see a young man who was smitten by your dazzling beauty.”

Simisola smiled shyly. She felt flattered by Auntie Funmi’s description of her beauty as dazzling. At the same time, Auntie Funmi’s assessment made sense to her. She became a little relieved.

“I think you have a point, ma,” Simisola noted and then asked, “but do you think I should go with him on Monday?”

“See my dear, I don’t think there’s anything to be afraid of.” A reassuring smile lit up her face. “My instinct tells me he is genuine.” Auntie Funmi thought for a while and advised, “Well, to be on the safe side, I think we could tell Scorpion to trail the car when you two leave. I know with Scorpion around no harm will come to you.”

“Perfect, Auntie. Perfect!” She hugged her boss. “What can I do without you, Auntie? Thank you so much, ma.”

The idea of Scorpion watching her back dissipated her fear. She was confident that no harm would come to her with Scorpion in the picture. Now relieved, she went back to her work and thought about what Monday would look like. But first, she had a more pressing issue at the moment. She had to get to the bank as soon as possible to cash the cheque and send the money to her mother in the village...



To be continued ... Watch Out for the Next Episode!

NB: The book is NOW AVAILABLE on online stores. For those who don't want to wait for each episode to be released, get the book here:

1. OKADABOOKS: http://okadabooks.com/book/about/jewel_from_the_ghetto/18237

2. SMASHWORDS: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/814412


Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

No vex sey I b Oliver twist Bt I want more..

EPISODE 12
(CHAPTER FOUR)


There was a BTC Bank branch at Iyana-Ipaja which wasn’t far away. So, the following day, Simisola and Ngozi visited the branch. It was their first time to visit any bank. The air-conditioners were at their best and the air fresheners added a sweet smell to the ambience of the banking hall. The corporate feel of the environment intimidated them. The corporately dressed bankers they saw around added to the tension. They looked and felt completely out of place.

They saw different queues meant for different transactions but had no idea what the queues were for. They also saw people with big bags and polythene bags entering what looked like an inner office with the sign, ‘Bulk Room’. At a corner, were three ladies dressed in suits behind computers and customers, some filling out small slips, sitting in front of them. A sign with the words, ‘Customer’s Service’ hung down from the ceiling above their heads. They also saw people picked up slips from a stand that stood in the middle of the hall and walked to a long counter at the extreme end of the wall where they filled out the slips. All of these looked strange to them. They became so confused that Ngozi suggested that they turned back and leave.

“Ah-ah! Omo Ibo, what is that now? Why are you behaving like a village girl? See all these people on the queue, are they better than us? How can we go back after coming this far? I’m confused too but I think if we asked questions we would be fine.”

“Okay ooo. If you say so.” Ngozi concurred.

Simisola looked round and saw a smartly dressed security man. “Ehn-ehn, see that security man, let’s go and ask him what to do.”

Both of them walked up to him and he proved very useful. He showed them what queue they needed to join and what to do. The man’s friendly and helpful deposition calmed their nerves. Simisola who was always eager to learn asked the man series of questions about the different departments and he was generous with the answers. They thanked him and Simisola joined the queue meant for withdrawals while Ngozi waited for her on the visitors chair placed close to the man-trap-door. Before long, it got to her turn and she was paid the money.

“Babe, biko dote ego ahu ofuma ooo,” Ngozi advised in her Ibo language.

“Omo Ibo, what is the meaning of this now?” Simisola replied with a frown. “Do I look like an Omo Ibo to you? I beg, speak the language I understand, jor.”

“All I said is that you should keep the money very well.” She added in Pidgin English, “but you don suppose dey understand Ibo language small small nah, olodo.”

Simisola rolled her eyes. “Shey, you teach me ni? Yeye friend.” She defended herself in the same language.

“If you no be olodo, you don suppose catch am small small by now.”

“Duh! Talk to the hand. Abeg, make we go, jare,” Simisola kept the money inside her hand bag.

Moments later, they came out of the bank and headed to the garage to board a bus to Agege. Just then, two men started trailing them on a bike. The men would have caught up with them before they boarded the bus if their bike had not failed them; the stupid bike had refused to start immediately. By the time it came alive, Simisola and Ngozi had already boarded the bus. Disappointed, the rider made an attempt to turn back to the bank and pick on another target but his partner urged him to follow the bus. He had seen Simisola collect the money in the banking hall when he pretended to be a genuine customer.

“Ol’ boy,” he explained, “that babe collect correct dough o. Make we pursue the motor ooo.”

Hearing that Simisola collected ‘correct dough’, the rider’s ears tickled and he fired the bike without questions. The engine sputtered a few times and blasted off in pursuit of the bus.

Soon, Simisola and Ngozi got to their destination and alighted from the bus completely oblivious to the disaster trailing them. They turned into the road leading to Pink Roses, deeply engrossed in their ladies’ talks. Suddenly, they were alarmed by the noise of a reckless bike heading their way at top speed. It appeared to have lost control. They held tightly to each other as they screamed their lungs out in fear of being knocked off. Instead, the smoking bike whooshed past them almost knocking them into the gutter by the side of the road. And within the flash of a second, the man seated behind the rider snatched the bag and they sped away. Everything happened as if it was a dream!

“Ye! Ye! Ye! Ole! Thief! Ole! Thief!” the ladies screamed as the bike disappeared into thin air.

Simisola jumped up and crashed herself to the ground. The ground was cold. It was coarse. Her body felt it but she was too grieved for her brain to register its harshness. She rolled up and down the road. She wailed inconsolably. “Ah! My mother ooo ... Ye! My mother ...” She slapped her palm on the ground repeatedly. “What will happen to her now ooo?!” She continued wailing. But there was nobody to console her. Under her very nose, the money was gone and she was back at square one!

Ngozi, on the other hand, jumped up and down. She held her head. She beat her laps repeatedly. She shouted at the top of her voice, “Somebody help! Ole! Thief! Somebody, please help!” But nobody came to the rescue. They were alone, all by themselves, in their world of disillusionment!


To be continued ...

*What do you think would happen next?
*What would happen to Simisola's mother now that the money is gone again?
*Would she be able to withstand Iya Afusa's assault?
*Would Chief Balogun or even the king be able to save her from the cruelty of Iya Afusa?
*Would Simisola or Yemi be able to make up for the collateral damage Iya Afusa might cause?

DROP YOUR COMMENTS PLEASE. If you already purchased the book, please don't comment.


Àdùkẹ́!
...My Story, My World.

YINKS89:
No vex sey I b Oliver twist Bt I want more..

Yinks89, I just served you more. What do you think about the questions at the end of the episode? Please drop your comment, please.

Simisola's rich guy would come around and she go lay the complaint give am na. That wud be on Monday or may be next time (if work got the better if his time).

The mother has been coping, this won't be an exception. The king might intervene. Even the villagers will.

Yes o bro. Yemi is equal to the task. If iya alafusa like make she increase the debt over 500%.

Me dey think on starting this writing stuff. U sha start somewhere, make I start too

Me been thinking say that well respected thug scorpion will come to their rescue because it happen in his hood

JamesKudooski:


Yinks89, I just served you more. What do you think about the questions at the end of the episode? Please drop your comment, please.

at dis junction yemi needs to kom to deir aide again or else all hell wld let loose... Bt I suspect scorpion shld b able to retrieve d money.

Jameskudooski abeg I nor read again jhoor all these troubles for one person... It's too much to bear bikonu

emeraldlife:
Simisola's rich guy would come around and she go lay the complaint give am na. That wud be on Monday or may be next time (if work got the better if his time).

The mother has been coping, this won't be an exception. The king might intervene. Even the villagers will.

Yes o bro. Yemi is equal to the task. If iya alafusa like make she increase the debt over 500%.

Me dey think on starting this writing stuff. U sha start somewhere, make I start too

Emeraldlife, wonderful line of reasoning. Let's just wait and see... Thanks for sharing your thoughts.