I just want to be normal. II

So, today we have Gbemisola, with the sequel of her short-story.

If you missed out on the yesterday’s post, you should read it here: I just want to be normal. by @Gbemisola_A before continuing with today’s post.



Pakistani weddings are so different. It all went so fast yet I went through it all in slow motion. First there was the proposal party which held at my ‘rented family’s’ house with my rented parents and siblings. Then came the engagement, I can’t even remember what happened or how it happened. After that was the Dholki, I liked this one, I got Henna all over my hands and legs and I thought it was pretty. After that was the Mehndi which I got even more Henna. Finally came the Shaadi, the wedding itself. Here I was, a young girl in her second year marrying a man who had overnight become a stranger to her and of course £500,000 richer than I was before it all. I guess this is pretty normal. I am now Mrs Vanessa Tauseef, my names don’t complement each other.
Now I spend most days just talking to myself in my room. ‘My husband’ hardly comes home. Spends most of his time with his true bride. The power of a British passport. Shahid Tauseef never loved me, he never even liked me, but he needed me, he needed me so desperately, I was the gateway to a better British life. I thought I was more to him but I was merely a pawn in his large game of chess. I was the ticket for his family and bride to come into the UK and be citizens as well. I would never forget the day he texted me to come out, I never should have gone, I remember clearly the words he said to me as we sat on the bench just outside my apartment building. “Vanessa, I know you care for me, and I need a favour. My student visa would run out and I have not been using it, I have been working, I need you to marry me so I can stay in the country, I know you’re a citizen and I know you care for me that much, you can’t afford to see me go, do you really want to lose me?’. I was so naive, so gullible, I saw the pain in his eyes and I was so utterly in love with this normal man that I agreed to do it. I didn’t want the money but his father insisted. It is a lot of money, I just couldn’t say no.
It’s been almost a year now, sadly the rules have changed in the UK, not only do you have to have proof of the whole marriage shenanigans, you also have to remain married for at least 10 years, remaining in the UK. ‘My husband’ wasn’t aware of all the rules but now that he knows he is terribly bitter. He carries out his anger on me, he blames me for all of it, he beats me, insults me, deprives me of dignity and altogether demeans me. The one person in my life I thought was normal was one of the most abnormal people I had ever met in my life, this was why I knew I had to do something.
It felt good returning all the money to Shahid’s father. It felt even better turning myself in to the police and telling them all I had done, I knew deep down somewhere in me that purchasing a gun and doing what I had in mind wouldn’t have helped me,I felt liberated and at peace this way and I could move on with my life. What I didn’t expect was ending up in the same mental clinic with my mother for severe bipolar disorder and Major depression disorder. 
Well here I am now, again on a search for normalcy, but what exactly is normal? Is it perfection or is it a word made up in our minds that makes us somehow part of a wider vast system, and gives us a feeling of involvement? Is it that thing that differentiates a functional family from one that isn’t? What exactly is it? I ask myself everyday. All I wanted was a mother to love, a father to look up to and a life to look forward to.
Well I guess I’ll never know what ‘normal’ is.

I just want to be normal. by @Gbemisola_A

My name is Gbemi and I write short stories and not-so-short stories among many other things, I’ve been given a chance to write for Obafuntaydotcom and here’s a little something I finally found time to come up with.
Hope you like it.
My name is Vanessa Folusaye and I believe I’m normal. To be honest I can’t exactly determine what normal really is neither can I explain it. You see, I didn’t really grow up like the rest; I didn’t have a loving father who was affectionate with his kids, neither did I have a mother who was quick to discipline or offer any sort of reprimand. I lived through complete opposites. My father had ‘tough love’, what he saw as befitting compassion was rewarding us with two single hard sweets and sometimes a pat on the head with a straight face and a look that said, you’re worth nothing to me (I think I was the only one that saw that though). No special ceremony. Nothing. I had 2 brothers, one above and one below, you would think with three kids we would at least be a conventional family. My mother on the other hand was different, she would shower us with gifts, spoil us beyond our wildest thoughts and not once would she condemn anything we did. 
Here I am completely disillusioned with the world in general. I don’t know about my brothers, we all got sent away to different boarding schools after my mum was diagnosed with raging Schizophrenia. We should have known, no normal human being would hug and kiss a child for breaking sliding glass doors. My father would rather have his head cut off than look after teenage children, so we had no choice, we had to separate. I wasn’t bothered, I never knew my brothers. We all had the same problem, I was convinced that boys weren’t meant to show emotions of any sort and girls were meant to be overly loving and compassionate to everything, things got worse when they became the overly compassionate ones and I became the introverted disconnected one. I was sent to a school in the UK and that was where I spent my formative years.
My first year in university was just as you would expect a first year in university to be. I rarely got talked to because I didn’t seem approachable, I went for classes regularly, went out when I felt like and was starting to acquire a greater sense of normalcy. Then it finally came.
His name was Shahid Tauseef. He was the most good-looking man I had ever seen and he was so different from my father, he was sweet and compassionate, but not as extreme as my brothers. He came up to me in the café and just sat there for a while, before I could place my thoughts together we were conversing like old friends who hadn’t seen in years. It was very refreshing and that was the moment I finally felt normal, I felt human, I felt like a girl. 
Shad as I called him would take me around school, around the town where our school was located, soon it was to neighboring towns and cities and then we were travelling together, seeing the world together. I had fallen for this Pakistani boy who one day decided to sit next to me. It felt so wonderful. I knew he was feeling the same way, he just had to, from the light kisses on my cheek ‘by accident’ to holding my hands when visiting the chateau de Chambord in France or pulling me close when walking through Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome.
I knew, or thought I knew what was coming when he asked me to meet his family. His mum kept saying how I looked the part with my fair skin and long hair with big beautiful eyes and sweet pouty lips. His dad would say I acted just right and he was glad, I never understood what they were saying, I thought they were complements. I was none the wiser.
On this beautiful Sunday morning, I woke up with a start as I felt my phone vibrate beside my pillow, it was a text from Shad saying I should meet him downstairs in 30 minutes. I thought this was it, he was going to ask me to date him and have a relationship.
Boy was I in for a shock…
Second half of this story, continues tomorrow: 4pm


Misery by @pheesayur

A work of Fiction by @pheesayur.



Source: Google

Source: Google

It’s Monday morning where we finally go to court. His fate is to be decided. And I can make him go to jail or not. Forgive me I started losing you there. My name is not necessary now, because it’s a major reason for my story, my story is about my life, my life? One word “misery”.

I lost my mother last three years I was 18. She died of a cardiac arrest. Her will was to be read to me at the age of 20. Like her death was not bad news enough, she told aunty sola to give me the note that explained that my father, The one I have always known as my father is not my biological father. Without telling me his name? My heartbeat skipped like a 120kg woman who was trying to lose 50kg before her date that same day.

Questions start running in. Literally running, like fighting for first position to be answered. Who is my real father? Where is my real father? Does my “father” with all his wahala know this? I doubt it. Perhaps my real father is dead? Maybe? But hey. There it was. They say what you have been looking for in sokoto is inside you shokoto. Wait for it, my real father is the… I can’t even type this with still hands I feel I am lying to myself. I am convincing myself about the obvious truth. I do no not even understand.

Bode Thompson is the name of my father, erm my make-believe father. Well to do should be a way of narrowing things down, but let humility stay with my words. I am his only daughter! He has always seemed to be proud of me, says “my only omoge, sisi London. You will bring home my retirement money with your bride price” and that made me laugh so hard because I hardly dated anyone that could afford my crème de la crème lifestyle. Hehe. Our long time gateman, Mr. Jamiu will tell some guys that come to look for me that, “you better bring better car, next you are coming to see her, unless you want her father to cut off your legs” this was not an empty threat, anyway.

Dad is close to perfect, except he has this anger problem, that aunty Sola says killed mom. I never quite agreed with her. Apparently it killed my dad as well. Yes the “anger” problem. Relax let me answer your questions.

One fateful evening; aunty Sola came to pick me up. So we could go and do our hair together. The next thing, I started hearing loud arguments from the living room downstairs. Before I could place the cause. Getting to the living room, my aunt is really shouting. On the hilltop of her voice. You should be very ashamed of yourself, you are not a real man, you killed my sister and you can’t even make a woman pregnant, all the miserable days of your life. I start shouting “aunty sola calm down”.

She replies “shut up, you don’t know anything. You don’t even know your father is at the gate”. My knees are weakened. In confusion. My eyes feel like they have started hearing rather than seeing. My lips are wide opened, they are now for seeing. What does she mean, at the gate? She continues with my dad.. Bode; Sule Jamiu is a better man than you. The next thing I saw, my father stormed into the room. Picked up a gun went out, its like a dream. There I was drowning in confusion. Gunshots that’s all I can hear. Dad shot Mr. jamiu twice. The devil had come into our house in form of aunty sola.

We run outside together. Aunty sola is rolling. Tomi.. Bode has killed your father! A knife was too blunt a tool to drive in to aunty sola’s chest at the moment. Dad’s domestic workers are all out. Wailing. Aunty sola is up again jumping like she’s clueless about what she has caused. I am right there. Lost. Cold . Insane. Then I become so Numb I would not even feel a gunshot.

Without mincing more words, my name is Tomilola jamiu. The daughter of Mr. jamiu the gateman. My father just died. Tears? That’s an understatement. Sadness? Hahaha.

It’s more like insanity. I still go for lectures, it is my final year. I was supposed to have graduated last year, but I took sometime off because of the absence of my mom. I went through all the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. I am an orphan technically, right?

A court case has been birthed. I am to testify against Mr. Bode Thompson. So that “justice” will prevail. Here I am cooking a case to implicate Aunty Sola. She’s the murderer. The case is scheduled for 28th January 2013. Exactly two months after the incident.

It’s Monday morning the 28th where we finally go to court. His fate is to be decided. And my testimony is a big part of that decision. I need to hear the full story; I am not even clear about what happened to mum, how the gateman is my father. What will happen when Mr. Bode is in jail, rotting? Mr. bode is at the other side of the house. He has been instructed by the police not to speak to me in private. Thanks to aunty sola.

I have not been able to tell anyone, after all nothing has changed. I still have my fancy white range rover. A buoyant pocket. My friends just noticed the gateman is no longer there. Who cares about the gateman anyways?

Its 4:35am in the morning, court hearing is for 9:15am.

I do not have an inkling of what sanity means anymore. How I have had normal conversations Human beings is beyond me. The fake smiles, laughter born out of deep grief and pain.

What should I do?

Tale of a Little Child [Down By The Riverside]

The view was great especially during the evenings: the sunset was usually rosy and radiant, calming yet inviting. You could feel its friendliness as though calling upon you to come closer; it was just a sight to behold. This was where I grew up. Everything was peaceful; you could almost hear the crashing of waves and the rhythmic sound of the ocean. I had never been away from The Riverside, never seen the outside world. I felt bounded because the only thing I could see was the horizon from beyond. Most often, Traders and Sailors came around with shipments filled with Western clothing, foods, books and several other things which were foreign. They even had toys too :). I was poor, so I never really had anything given to me besides food and good clothes. It’s just exciting to see all of us children run down to shore whenever the men from the outside world came.

I loved to play with my friends. “Hide and Seek” was our favorite game. My favorite hideout was behind the bushes where no one ever checked but sometimes I would opt to hide behind the rocks when at the beach. I usually picked sea shells too. I had collected thousands of them in the hope that I would be able to exchange them for toys whenever the men came. I had two siblings we didn’t get to see much of each other but it was always fun when they were home.

One night while we were playing in the moonlight, a ship docked. We went to see if it was the usual men because I thought they were due to return the next week as usual. I immediately grabbed my basket filled with shells I had gathered and ran to the Port. My friends ordered for me to return that instant but I refused. I began seeing people being pushed into waiting ships. What was happening? I couldn’t tell. I tried to get closer as I hid behind the rocks on the shores. It was a full moon but the light didn’t seem enough, rather it was blurry. I didn’t move any closer as I saw my friends in the distance. They seemed to be shaking their heads; yeah they disapproved me being inquisitive.

As I walked towards a bunch of reproachful faces, I couldn’t stop looking back at the men being pushed into the ships. I sought an explanation and it came to me, “The New World”! On second thought, I wondered if the men were tired of staying here at the Riverside. I scowled for a moment, I hope not. My friends laughed at the idea of the men being taken to The New World, but seconds later they all rested their hands on their cheeks dreamily. I shook my head in disbelief and immediately assumed the same position as them. That was all we ever dreamed about; when we were older we made a pact to leave our poor remote Island. Soon we returned to playing our games and forgot all about what had happened.

Later that night, I eagerly told my mama about what had happened. She seemed stunned and broke down, that wasn’t the reaction I expected. She should have been happy they were taking the men to The New World. She walked towards the wall and looked at the picture of a man hanging from our mud hut in our poorly lit room. She was crying so I asked her what happened. She found it difficult to say anything, so I asked if my father was ever taken in one of the ships down at The Riverside. She nodded her head and wiped away her tears with the edge of her wrapper. I knew the answer already; I just wasn’t sure why I decided to ask. I couldn’t wait to tell my friends, I was sure Bola, Seyi, Deola, Dayo, Shola, Ife, Eze, Titi and Naomi would all be jealous by the time I told them my father had been to the New World before :). Mamma didn’t say a thing and I soon returned to playing moonlit games. Every day I would go down by The Riverside, hoping one day the men would take me away in their ship to their own world, just the thought of that made my face light up with a smile. I was going to the see the world beyond the one I grew in. I ran to shore, I could see the ship in the distance. They were soon out of sight. Until then, I intended to enjoy my childhood maybe they would take me away one day.



#MyThought –> How blissful it was to be a child, having not to worry and think about all these many things that dance all up in my head now. The innocence back then was without blemish and yes! We all were once as naive as the little girl in the story.  :p

Thank you for reading! 😀 Please make use of the “Thought box” below and tell us your own naive childhood tale. Yes! You have one! #GodisWatchingYou