Short stories Archives - The Olive Branch

The man

theolivebranchadmin — Thu, 09 Jul 2020 20:53:12 +0000

His cloak was still hung by my father’s door. I wish he threw it away or at least talk to me about my brother, yet he did neither. I did not know my mother anything about my mother nor brother. I was a baby when my mother died and a toddler when my brother was killed by a wild animal. For these reasons my father never let me out of his sight, and I never went to farm with the others, all I could do was to be my father’s companion. The only thing my father told me about my mother was that I had my mother’s eyes. I would sneak out to learn more from my siblings especially Dinah and the maids. Though Dinah always answered my questions, she seemed distant to the family especially my brothers. The maid told me it was due to a fight with some men instigated by Simeon and Levi, the wild cats. My aunt/stepmom also sparsely spoke about her sister, but unlike my dad, it did not seem like she was very hurt but instead a bit indifferent.
When I could, without my father’s knowledge (he usually warned me to stay away from my brothers, which I always found unnatural, nevertheless, the old man had his reasons), I approached my brothers to talk about my brother and how he had died. They too were not so helpful. Once when asking Reuben about Joseph, his countenance became very sore and he muttered repeatedly “I tried”. I found it strange because the maids often told me, my brothers did not like my brother and ever since my time with Reuben, I ceased asking questions. Everyone had holes they wanted to be left buried at the surface.
At my father’s side, I would hear stories. Stories about my grandfather, father and uncle. When my father spoke about his encounter with God, he would glitter, this was one story I frequently asked him about to make him glad. I would ask different questions I knew would lead to the story like: how did you get the name Israel? How did you dislocate your hip bone? what was your meeting with God in flesh like? Etc. He would smile, sit me down and narrate the whole story again. I knew every detail and could imagine every bit before I slept like I was there. This was what I could do to ease my grieving father.
Although my name means the son of my right hand, meaning my father’s authority, I did not have any say of my day-to-day activities let alone the affairs of the house. I was more like the son by my father’s right side and sometimes wondered if my brother would have been my father’s authority if he was alive. I could hear the grim voices as I awoke. I pretended to be asleep, my brothers had returned from their travels to Egypt. We were facing famine and instead of moving like others were doing, we remained. My father said the same thing happened to my father and God had told him not to go to Egypt, so instead my brothers went to buy the food we would need. Even if they could not get food, it was still not a good reason for them speaking with a frightful tone. I rolled gently towards their direction to eavesdrop. I heard them talk about Pharaoh’s right-hand man, I had heard about him from my friend before he and his family had left to Egypt weeks ago. He told me that the man oversaw the food distribution in Egypt. I even joked that the man must be the Benjamin of Pharaoh. I now pondered, what this man would want with my family?
I heard Reuben swear that he will protect me if I went with them, then my heart skipped. To Egypt? Maybe my friend had gotten this man’s audience, told him about my joke and my brothers especially Reuben had slipped my name to someone close to this man, but this was very unlikely I thought. I arose and looked at my father, he saw me and with tears swelling in eyes, he said no to my brothers. Reuben tried to persuade my father further, but Judah held him, and they all went away.
After many days, the argument was brought on again. We needed food and my brothers wanted to take me to see this man. I had no choice in the matter, I just watched as they debated, promising with their life to protect me. My father sadly accepts, looks to the cloak hanging then gloomily wishes us farewell and like that, I will be away from my father’s reach, I am going far away from his side. I cried on the way; I was not used to being alone with my brothers and even though they took turns to watch me, I always kept one eye open to watch cautiously. I did not trust them.
Although the man was adorned with many pieces of jewellery, it did not mask his very masculine physique. He looked stern but by his voice, he sounded mild and gentle and had invited us for a meal. It was weird he arranged us by our age, maybe Simeon had told him that much. When he asked for my name, I stylishly told him looking out the window, where I could see a long line of people taking orderly turns to purchase food from the barns. I wondered why one of us was not on the line, it looked very long. The man and my brothers were talking about my father and the man kept taking quick glances at me. At first, I smiled when I saw him look my direction then it became awkward, I put my face down to the food. I just wanted to go home, to return to my father.
I was lost in my thoughts that I did not notice the man leave abruptly and return with wet eyes; I was not looking anyway; I did not care. Reuben leaned towards me and asked if I was ok, I replied asking when we would get the food and leave, then he said gently soon and soon we were on our way back home. Before we left, food was put in our bags and my bag was taken out especially. It was returned much heavier than any of my brother’s. I felt so happy because I knew my father will be glad. We cheerfully walked home, I was walking as fast as I could, while Naphtali leads us in songs to our God.
I felt jitters when I heard the chariots raging, I was hoping they were not for us. Levi brought out swords and Simeon took one without a blink, nevertheless, Judah told them to put it down and Issachar took the swords. When we saw the men on the chariots, we knew they had come for us. The men asked us to return and Reuben kept asking in a loud voice, “What have we done wrong?” but he got no answer just a stern look. The men surrounded us with no way to escape, Dan and Judah stayed by me.
As we walked into the carefully decorated chamber, the man looked fiercely at us and howling angry words to his interpreter. According to the man, we had stolen his special cup. I had seen the cup, in fact, the man often put the cup at my side, yet unlike an average Egyptian we did not care so much about fancy utensils.
My brothers were furious, they brought out all the money they had and wanted to give the man. I also was irritated, the man seemed callous and strange as it seemed as he repeatedly shouted, his eyes melted when he looked at me. In the end, it was concluded our bags will be searched. Although I wanted to put mine down first, it was insisted our bags be searched from the eldest.
One by one my brothers submitted their bags grudgingly to be searched. The man asked me to sit down but I instead ignored him, and he looked away, although did not seem angry but hurt. The man was confusing me. It was my turn; I dropped my heavy bag to the ground and then I heard a clattering noise. I was startled before I could try opening the bag, it was snatched from me and this time the man went through my bag instead of his subjects.
The cup was found in my bag. I was stunned and perplexed, while my brothers tried to conceal their
irritation. Simeon pulled me aside and asked me angrily why I took the cup, I instead repeated I did not take the cup. They did not harshly scold me, they instead begged for me. The man did not care, it seemed he wanted me for a slave in his house, meaning I would never see my father again. My heart was racing, and I hide my tears, I could not bear to think of the dismay my father would have if I did not return. Judah steps out to put himself in my stead, he pleads with all his heart. I wanted to join begging for mercy, I feared what could become of us.
As I came closer to the man against the pull of Gad, then the man begins to cry. His hands reach out to me, falling on my shoulder before I could push back. Then he exclaimed in Hebrew he was our brother, my long-assumed dead elder brother.
My tears fell freely at his chest.

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The Flower Shop by Ayokunle Adedipe.

theolivebranchadmin — Sun, 17 May 2020 11:48:38 +0000

Love wasn’t a walk in the park like writers described. It wasn’t a fairy tale like scriptwriters described. It wasn’t that easy.
It was a roller-coaster ride. Those ones that almost throw you out but you don’t fall out but you puke when it stops and suddenly want more. That type.
It was a puzzle. The type I cant solve. I think no one can. Only God. And he made love the basis of life.
All these thoughts were running through my head as I walked to the location given to me by the team manager. She wanted to have coffee before we began the project. I hadn’t been to Copenhagen in years and my friends felt it would be nice to have a vacation. But i was a workaholic. If I was going to be back here, then I could do some work at least. I couldn’t waste a month in Denmark just vacationing.
It wasn’t like i had never experienced love. I only experienced this type of love once and trust me, it was earth shaking.
I was 22 and I had just graduated from university coming back from a job interview when I met him.
It was spring in Copenhagen and it was the most beautiful sight. Tulips, cherry blossoms and daffodils were in full bloom and that was when I noticed the flower shop. It was just at the corner of my street.
After admiring the ones out front, I entered the shop and greeted the owner in the only Danish I knew,
“god dag” my accent was so floozy. Luckily he spoke English back to me probably recognizing the funny accent.
4 years in Denmark and I still wasn’t fluent in Danish. I had gotten a scholarship to study business as an exchange student from New York and I took the opportunity. Who wouldn’t?
As I admired the tulips, I heard someone speak by my side.
“sådanne smukke blomster” the person spoke and I realized it was directed at me.
“Sorry I don’t speak Danish” I answered and that was when I got a good look at him and all I could see was his blue eyes then we were both staring at each other. It was like a Netflix movie and none of us moved till he broke the silence.
” I’m sorry” he mustered up and moved closer. I ignored him and continued my sight seeing.
“You know the significance of red tulips?” He asked and I noticed the fluency in English too. I wasn’t too fond of talking to strangers but I still replied.
” No I don’t. I’m not that deep” I smiled and he smiled back.
“Maybe I’ll tell you one day” He uttered with so much confidence.
I picked a bunch of the pink tulips and walked to the cashier then laughed to myself. I had spent too much time in the shop and there was no point arguing with a stranger.
The blue eyed guy who was actually average height then took some flowers and walked to where I was standing.
” Do you want to know what I said in Danish” I nodded. Not because I didn’t want to know but I just didn’t want to pursue the conversation further.
After paying, I grabbed the flowers and left the shop. I couldn’t wait to set them on the balcony. They would give the apartment a homely look.
“Miss!” I turned around to see the blue eyed person again.
I checked to see if I forgot my purse or something because I didnt understand why he was calling me.
” Yes.” I answered almost frustrated.
” These are for you.” he offered some flowers and I just stared at him.
” Well, i also got mine but I figured these colours match your eyes” he continued. I looked at the flowers and saw them; purple and white.
“sådanne smukke blomster” He repeated.
“Such beautiful flowers” he translated. I collected the flowers hesitantly still stunned.
“how about I see you again and I could tell you the significance of those tulips?”
Well, we saw again and again and we started dating.
Frederik was amazing. He was an engineer in a tech company and was a Danish national but he had studied English as a minor in college and was very fluent in it. I also got a good job in Copenhagen in a multinational company so I only needed to brush up on my Danish and he helped a lot.
We had that puzzling, rollercoaster but once in a lifetime kind of love. I introduced him to my family in new york and my friends loved him. It was like I was truly in a Netflix movie. But like all movies, there must be an end.
I got a promotion during our 3rd year together but it required me to move back to New York. I was excited and even suggested Fred push for a promotion but he wasn’t eligible till another 5 years so I moved alone and we both swore we could make it work.
It did work for the first 6 months then gradually we faded and faded till winter 2015. I had just turned 25 when I decided we broke up. He wouldn’t give in and he was ready to sacrifice his job for me but I was tired and I gave up. That was the end of our movie.
Maybe it was karma that I never found that type of love again and maybe I deserved it but I would give anything to even feel an inch of what I felt with Fred.5 years later and I was back. I lost contact with him over the years and I silently prayed that maybe I would run into him. My phone beeped and I saw a text from the team manager saying her boss would like to meet with me instead. I just hoped the meeting went well and the boss was nice.
Getting to the location finally, I recognized the street immediately. It was where I lived. I looked around for a certain landmark and it was still there.
The flower shop but it now had coffee tables outside.
I walked to the shop and sat then a waiter came to take my order. i kept looking at the shop and the many memories I made on this street kept flashing back.
“sådanne smukke blomster” I whispered. Fred never did tell me the significance of the red tulips and I never bothered to Google them. It was a mystery for me and I preferred it that way.
” Miss.” I looked up to see the waiter.
” These are for you” he offered some flowers. I collected them hesitantly and looked at them. Red tulips.
” I never did tell you the meaning of red tulips” a voice said. A voice I recognized so well. Looking up, I see a pair of familiar blue eyes.
“Fred..” my voice croaked. I was shocked. It was Fred standing in front of me. I stood up still stunned and he smiled.
“perfekt kærlighed” he said in the most beautiful Danish accent.
” The red tulip signifies perfect love”.

The post The Flower Shop by Ayokunle Adedipe. appeared first on The Olive Branch.

Love in the time of corona

theolivebranchadmin — Fri, 27 Mar 2020 08:49:33 +0000

It was still a shocker how this virus started. How it took over the world in a split second. How it changed the course of life and time in a minute. It still surprised us all but we had gotten used to it.
During the peak of the virus, a lot of people died; Loved ones, acquaintances, politicians, celebrities.The ones that survived were left with half of their lung function. COVID19 like it was called left scars deeper than we could imagine.
Noone could shake, hug or even come 1m near each other during the outbreak and that was the beginning of a different era in society.
It became a norm gradually then it became a law. You aren’t supposed to shake or hug anyone that wasn’t your family member. The extremists took a win for this one. People fought and rebelled but slowly, the rebellion was tapered and everyone started complying. No country wanted another outbreak, it was too much pain to recover from.

I was 21 when the outbreak began and it ended on the eve of my 23rd birthday. I am 25 now. I graduated immediately it ended and I am currently doing my masters programme in Europe.
Europe had the worst laws and they were enforced with ease.
Looking on the brighter side, these laws somehow allowed for the true essence of relationships to be discovered and for relationships to be tested. But still, Imagine speaking to someone 1m away. Everyone was in a shouting match almost all the time.
Restaurants, churches and everywhere possible had complied with the laws and it was really hard to imagine how 4 years ago, things were far different.

I didn’t have a good night’s rest because I was up late studying for a test so I slept in and now i had just 25 minutes to get to school. I rushed out of the bathroomss quickly as I rushed in and quickly left my apartment to get my regular coffee in the shop down my street before I drove to school.
Coffee was the only thing that could make me less jumpy this morning. It was my drug.
I entered the shop and joined the line. There were boxes to show and demarcate the distance so it was easier to comply to the distance rule. It got to my turn and I made my order. After 3 minutes, I got the coffee. Checking my time to make sure I was still on time, someone hit me and the coffee poured all over.
“Excuse me!” I screamed angrily.
“I’m so sorry. So so sorry” A male voice answered but I was too embarrassed to look up.
I could feel everyone’s eyes on me so I ran immediately to the rest room. After washing my hands with soap but my face too. My makeup was destroyed but that was the least of my problem. I rinsed the coffee off my coat and my bag and dried my hands. I was really annoyed and I had just 10 minutes to make it to class. The normal drive to school was 15 minutes. I rushed out and forgot about getting another coffee. There was no time.
I drove to school as fast as I could and passed a shortcut. After basically running to class, I made it before the lecturer came in but I was still disoriented and annoyed. Not trying to even think about this morning’s situation and trying to catch my breath, I heard a sound beside me.
“Hi” I looked to my right where the sound was coming from.
“Hi” i replied the unknown guy.
“You seem really out of it” the man replied.
I was really confused on who he was but it couldn’t hurt to be polite.
“I have had a stressful morning so far” I sighed.
“Oh, well maybe this could help” He offered a cup.
I looked at it properly and realized it was coffee but I didn’t take it. What kind of stranger offers coffee. Europe is a crazy place.
“You don’t remember me” he continued. I nodded.
” I was the one you bumped into” he announced, I was still wondering then I remembered what initiated my stressful morning and the annoyance came back.
“You bumped into me, I was going the right way” I retorted.
How could he have the effrontery to even think that i bumped into him.
“I was going the right direction, you were the one who bumped into me” he defended again. I didn’t really want to argue with anyone this morning so I stood up and walked to another empty seat. It was too early for this and I didn’t even have the energy.
” You should take the coffee though, it’s getting cold” I heard the voice beside me again. The Seats were all 1m apart. So he had to raise his voice a bit for me to hear him.
I ignored him till he came close and dropped the coffee on my table. “What do you want from me?” I shouted. Everyone in class was looking but I didn’t really care at this point.
“Sorry I bumped into you, please take the coffee” I grabbed it from him.
“Thank you now can you excuse me” I snapped. I didn’t like the attention he was causing at all.
The lecturer came in and the test started. I looked around for the coffee guy but I didn’t find him, I looked at the coffee he dropped and quickly took a sip. It actually tasted really good. Before I knew it, I had finished the whole cup. It didn’t taste like my usual coffee surprisingly.
After the class, I was far less jumpy and not annoyed anymore. The test was awesome and the coffee had worked it’s magic.
As I slipped out, I heard a now familiar voice. Still 1m apart.
” I can see you enjoyed the coffee” he smiled and I could see his face clearly since the whole debacle in the morning. I stayed quiet and just gave a stifled smile.
“I’m Victor though” he said and I made a mental note of his name.
“Where did you get the coffee?” I asked curiously.
“Somewhere downtown” we were walking at this point.
” I know basically all the coffee shops around. Which one?” I asked.
” I can take you there if you want. it’s better experienced” He smiled again and i can admit, he had a really nice smile.
I was quiet still thinking of what to say.
” Okay then” I answered.
” 8am tomorrow?” I nodded as he walked away.
” My name is Tola” I said and we both smiled at each other.

The post Love in the time of corona appeared first on The Olive Branch.

Yagazie -Ebosetale Oriarewo

theolivebranchadmin — Tue, 10 Mar 2020 21:44:41 +0000

YAGAZIE

I remember my mother. I remember mama, just like yesterday was the last time I laid my head on her chest and listened to her endless stories. I remember how small she was and how slim, she was the type we Nigerians referred to as ‘lepa’. She had to be the most beautiful person I ever set eyes upon. She had lovely big brown eyes and very full lashes, thick well shaped brows, full, dark and thick lips with the nicest set of white teeth that I believed sparkled the very few times she smiled openly. She also had a head full of thick and dark hair. I always wanted her hair, suffice to say I always wanted to be like my mama; have her grace and all.

I remember mama telling me the story of the day I was born, she explained that she had never felt such terrible pain in her entire life and thought that she must have done something wrong to offend the gods for them to send her such pain. She told me that it was late at night, and that she had screamed so badly and endlessly that she assumed the entire village knew she was in labour. My father got the elderly women to assist mama. Some time later, I was born and mama said she laughed when I was placed in her hands for she couldn’t believe how a human so small had made her stomach swell so big. She was excited, but my father wasn’t. He came into the room after mama had been cleaned up, he checked the baby in her arms and after discovering the thing in between its both legs sighed and left the room. Mama said days and weeks and months passed and he never touched me and when she asked why, he in turn asked “what am I to do with a girl?” It was then mama gave me my name Yagazie meaning ‘may it be well with you’ or ‘it is well’, she said it was her constant prayer for me; that things be well with me. And just after the Queen of England visited Nigeria in 1956 mama said Elizabeth would be a great name for me, so that when I was to go to the White man’s land I would be treated nicely and with honour because I was the queen’s namesake. My mama called me Yagazie Elizabeth.

I was raised in a little compound in Aba, a commercial town in Abia state, Nigeria.

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Olúwáfunmílayọ̀

theolivebranchadmin — Wed, 31 Jul 2019 06:00:05 +0000

August 4 1983………….

Hey, Bride!!! One of the groomsmen called through the door. I got you a message from your husband . Excitement was all over me. What could he have sent to me that couldn’t wait, ( I’ve seen a lot of wedding videos where the groom always sent gifts with love letters to the bride while she was dressing up and here I am experiencing the same thing.) Gosh! my heartthrob knows how well to surprise me and make me feel so loved.

My makeup artist had to pause for a while as I opened what he got me.
Such a wonderful necklace with my name on it and his initials engraved behind it. It was the most beautiful necklace I had ever seen. No doubt that’s what I will wear on my wedding dress today, I’m not wearing the one I got anymore. My videographer was all there to capture my emotions, and it was real straight out from my heart. I couldn’t wait to read the note he put in it.

Adeola! My charming princess, you taught me what love is and I’m forever lost in it. At times I wonder what could have become of me if I didn’t meet you. Every day I look at you and I see how blessed and how lucky I am that God decided to give you to me. I love you to the moon and back and forever.
I thought so hard some days ago and Im sorry to tell you this, but I don’t think I’ll be able to come anymore and do this with you. I thought this was it but then somehow I knew I was on the wrong path. You don’t deserve this from me.
I’m really sorry it had to be like this (P. S you are the first person I’m telling this)
You can do whatever you want with the information but make sure you tell Temi.
Love you so much.

Fola

**********************************************************
What on earth just happened, I was so confused! I ran as fast as I could with my undone face beat, half dressed, just my robe with Mrs. Bennett crested on it.
Damn it, the hotel room had such a long hall way. How would I get to the groom’s side on time? People kept looking at a crazy bride running around, and I just didn’t care at all. Elevator seemed not to do justice, so I took the stairs instead.

I thought to myself, it just had to be a bad dream I would wake up soon. I was standing in the grooms room and all I could see was nothing not even the grooms men. I needed to wake up ‘Aye mi, temi bami’. All I could take with me was the scent of Fola. I knew his scent so well and that was what filled the room. I was weak already and by this time my bridesmaids had been running after me so they found me. Addie, what’s wrong? ‘Today is my wedding day, right?’ I asked. I needed that assurance.

**********************************************************
I woke up to seeing so many people around me. Couldn’t even pick out what they were saying. My parents were sad obviously just trying to be normal to make me feel better, I guess. Comforting words on all sides but I was in no mood for that.

Aunty Dola my no nonsense aunty was fuming, a proper yoruba woman, Fola, ‘o se eyi tan, o doju ti wa, Olorun ma doju ti e’. People were calming her down and restraining her from cursing Fola. She would look at me at intervals and say you! Dont worry. You’re 25 and you’re still young. This is not the end. ‘Olorun a pese Oko rere fun e, iwo maa worry’.

My dream wedding was shattered. What on earth did I do to deserve this? I’m ashamed. God! Can you see me?

Fola, the love of my life did this to me and who the hell is Temi, who could she be? I couldn’t get answers to my questions; I was left in my misery. Where do I start from? What do I do? How do I gather the shattered pieces of my life again?

**********************************************************
Along the years, I found out Tèmi (my own) was the pet name he gave to my chief bridesmaid. Sade is my best friend, and I could not imagine in my wildest dream that this happened. So Sade and Fola had something to do together and all this while I didn’t notice, not an iota of me just knowing. Life is wicked and it’s really wicked to me as they say.

From that day I didn’t hear from my husband to be and Sade. What else can I say? My fiancé, my Fola eloped with my best friend also my chief bridesmaid on my wedding day. This probably will make headlines.

1985 November, 25
27 years old today and still no man to get married to, I’m so dead emotionally.
But I channeled my hurt into my career and my relationship with God that grew stronger day after day. I’m already at the peak of my career, now a consultant in Psychiatry. I live in a wonderful apartment with my dog cookie(lol).

I know you want me to talk about men, potential men in my life, or my love life generally. I’m single again after all those drama that happened two years ago. I do have some suitors but I have to be sincere with you. I’m too scared to even let my walls down. I’ve been too broken and I don’t think I can bear any more hurt. You won’t believe it, I still meet people that refer to it and in an attempt to comfort or sympathize with me, I feel they mock me and it’s annoying and sad. Oga gan.

*Knock on the door*

Jeez, I will be right back. I don’t like being disturbed when telling you my stories, my wonderful gist. You won’t believe it, it’s Ken; (well you all caused it when you made me talk about the potential men in my life.)

Ken, is a wonderful guy I’ll have to admit that, also very good looking, a good Christian let me just call him a pastor, a perfect gentleman. I really think I have a type, he does look like Fola. Sorry, I keep mentioning that name (I’ve known that man for most of my years). He was my first love.
I’ve been the one pushing him away but the more I do that the more persistent he is. You guys. Maybe this is it. I’m just afraid to fall. I will give you details about how we met later.

Guess what!!!!
He just got me an engraved necklace for my birthday with
‘I will always wait for you cause you’re worth it’. Ken
(Me and necklaces🤦🏽‍♀️)

Awwwwn, this man though, I wasn’t planning on celebrating anything at all. Guess that plan has changed, because your girl is going for a dinner right now with a wonderful man right beside her.

9pm same day
I’m so exhausted, don’t worry I will give you every detail of my dinner date with Ken. Let’s give it that tag.

My dinner date with Ken
Hmmm, we left my house together and my normal self I just wore a simple gown as I would always do. Styled my natural hair and tried putting up some minimal make up just to look different and still maintain my simplicity as the birthday girl that’s getting old.

We got to a nice eatery with a nice view, it was so serene. I ate my favorite dishes, and he just kept smiling and smiling and we talked about so many things, Nigeria, politics and life generally. It was fun I must confess and I felt great in a long time. Its a good way to cool off.

We left and we took a walk around the eatery because they also had gardens and parks for people. Wonderful place to behold, I didn’t even know there was a place like that in the state I live in. You won’t blame me. I have a triangular life, work church, home and market when needed. I felt at peace with all that.

We found a seat and just enjoyed the silence. Ken broke it anyway, and all I heard was I want to know you, know more about you, enough of all the surface discussions and all. Tell me about yourself, Adeola please. My heart skipped I was not ready to go through that. I had just managed to lock some parts of my life and thrown the damn keys in the deepest oceans where no one could find them.

Sigh, here’s a man who has been my friend for a while, I know him and he’s been there for me even if he doesn’t know me fully well. There’s something different about him and I’m not willing to know.

We actually met at a conference about Wellness. I don’t even know why I attended but I did and he was helpful in helping me around, we exchanged numbers, started talking. Found out he’s a pastor and a counselor too. He also works at an Engineering company and holds a big position but you wouldn’t have known if he didn’t tell you. So calm, humble and one kind of peace just surrounds him.
We just kept on being friends but then I knew we were growing to be more than that after he brought it up one day when he visited me, he told me plainly that he likes me and he knows he has found the one. Trust me I brushed it off, I won’t say I hate men but I’ve suffered in their hands and I don’t know who the next Fola is or not.
I didn’t really talk about it, I escaped it, and he didn’t push but deep down I knew I couldnt run from it tonight.

What should I do, the necklace he gave me today even explains it better and I actually wore it. He already passed his message the second time, and hes just asking me a honest question which I have to answer. I’ve been pushing him away for a year and a half now. He deserves an answer if I must be truthful to myself.

Here you go. I told him everything, I mean everything that has happened to me, my life, my family, my relationship, my hurt , every damn thing. I broke down I knew right there I was not healed; I had just learned to live with it.

He just allowed me to say everything, bare out my heart, mind and soul out and with my head on his shoulders he told me, you’ll be okay and I’m here with you. When I was calm, he said he knew I was broken all along and he just wanted to let me allow him in. Also, he’s not going nowhere because he’s in this with me.

For the first time in a while I actually felt at peace. I felt like I wasn’t talking to Ken anymore. It Felt like God was here to. Is this God in human form? Is God using him for my healing?

He just had the qualities. He knew what to say exactly, and every bit of it sank deeply in me. He said I needed to forgive myself my friend and Fola. I need healing and he’s with me in this. Guys, I’m a consultant psychiatrist, and I know a lot about mental health. And here I am not even doing well in that aspect of my life, my emotions are messed up. I fix others but I can fix myself, I just wanted to run away and live life.
For the first time in a long time I felt safe, I felt loved just as God loves me, I felt at peace as one will with God, I felt genuinely happy and a heavy burdened lifted off my chest. A healing balm flowed through me.
Gosh, I can’t explain this enough to you all, maybe God sent him to me to help me out, to show that he still loves me and wants me to be happy.

Adeola, Ken said to me. God loves you and wants you to be happy genuinely, I love you so much and I don’t know why, but I know God ordained this, I know it’s not easy for you but just allow me in, let’s do this together.

Of course, I couldn’t even refuse because I knew this was different. I see God in this man you guys. He loves genuinely like Christ, a love that healed my wounds. And he’s so patient with me. I know I have mentioned God a lot but that’s how best I can explain this.
I’m exhausted. I have to go to bed.

April 2nd 1986,
Oh happy day, oh happy day (🎶 )
An oldie but a goldie. That’s a classic. I’m preparing for work actually but your girl Addie is happy, I’m good, I’m great, I have great joy and true happiness.
I know you’re anxious and your ears are itching. I will say it. Don’t worry.

First of all, I’m good mentally and emotionally but I couldn’t believe I was actually in so much hurt. I went for counselling and became closer to God, put all my degrees and sentiments aside and it did help me (I laid all my cares and worries at His feet as God always wants us to do). And Ken is the sweetest guy ever. He went with me time after time, prayed with me. He gave me the healing that I needed and the shoulder I could lean on literally. He didn’t leave me. I had low times, sad times, moments where I didn’t even want to talk to anyone. He still stayed, such enduring and persevering love.

I forgave myself, Fola and Sade and I remembered my family. I called and spoke to them, my Dad was the happiest, his favorite girl and only child was back.

My mum couldn’t hide her joy. She knew I would bounce back. I just went through a dark side of my life. Hope and love brought me back and God’s unfailing love. She said they had been praying for me.

I couldn’t hide my feelings anymore for Ken, everything I asked God for I saw it in him even to the tiniest detail, he was the happiest man, and I could see it in his face from the day I told him I loved him and that was just a month ago.

I know I’ve been hard on him, I just wanted to be sure I was okay and he wasn’t a bounce back for me. I tell you from my heart, I know this is it finally, Kenneth Williams is my Husband.
*********************************************************

Together we are a force to reckon with. We have 3 wonderful kids we have built a big rehabilitation centre together, me a consultant psychiatrist with a wonderful story, with a Pastor also an engineer and great counsellor by my side. What better help can I get? Through us with the help of God, people with problems have been healed and they have so many testimonies to share.
Here I am sitting in a very large auditorium lost in my thoughts. At my
60th birthday that was all planned by my husband, my jewel of inestimable value, my God sent man. One who pursued the heart of God in order to find me, I can’t trade him for anyone.

Crowds filled with friends I made over the years , people who have been healed , cheering with loud applause as it was time for me to give a speech, all I cared to see was the wonderful smile on my one and only Ken who gave me and made me live this wonderful life I didnt dream of.

God loves me deeply and has my best interest in heart.

God healed me and gave me joy. Truly Olúwáfunmílayọ̀ (God gave me joy) I’m Adeola but I earned Olúwáfunmílayọ̀ .

Rom 8:28

He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good. (Msg)

November 25 2018.

Estée ✨

The post Olúwáfunmílayọ̀ appeared first on The Olive Branch.

Twin sister

theolivebranchadmin — Wed, 01 Aug 2018 23:18:56 +0000

Enjoy this wonderful story and don’t forget to comment!

I remember clearly the evening she died, leaving a void in my heart.

Two days after our twelfth birthday, she began coughing, her eyes bloodshot. She rolled on the floor holding her chest, crying to Mom that her chest burns.

A foamy liquid poured out of her mouth, she could only breath with her mouth open and two weeks later despite medication and visits to hospitals she died.

She was everyone’s favourite; the good one. I get little or no attention but with our big differences we were best friends.

We walk our street together and people stare in awe, smiling.

Mothers would meet us and beg to be prayed for, so they can have their twin babies too.

Pregnant women would have us touch their bellies.

And we, smiling shyly, will say our prayers.

Now, I walk the street alone and they only wave at me as they shake their heads in pity but I hear your footstep beside me, I feel your breath near me and your lively spirit that lights up my mood. I still see you sleep beside me at night and I see you in my dreams too. Somehow, I feel not alone.

But there is a sad part of me that wakes up: a part no one can console, when I see twin sisters walking together.

I know I will live forever with the void you used to fill.

I wish everyday that I am the dead one: you were the best, too good to die. And I hate telling myself that it is the creator’s will for you to die, to leave me here.

Now, leaving my teenage years, we would have tasted the sweetness and freedom of our twenties together. Picking clothes and shoes at boutiques, attending birthday parties and more.

It breaks my heart that this will never happen.

I dream of becoming a medical doctor, I remember the helpless look you wore on your sick bed. Wanted to save your life, to snatch you from the ugly claws of death but I was as helpless as you were.

Maybe this will fill the void and make me happy; helping those who feel the way you felt.

Your death gave meaning to my life and I understand that ugly happenings might as well be pointers to our purpose.

When everywhere turns dark, your death taught me to open my eyes in search of those bright things in the dark because there will always be.

The post Twin sister appeared first on The Olive Branch.

Does he read minds?

theolivebranchadmin — Mon, 18 Jun 2018 22:45:21 +0000

There is an old man with a frail figure who lives on my street. I long to know how much he knows about life but with his piercing eyes, I feel he can read even my thoughts. I am scared and will dare not go near him or I will feel more naked.

I see him sit on the same old chair when going to school, when coming back, when going to buy lunch in the stall close to the market-he has his gaze fixed on the dusty road and wears an unflinching long gaze. He seem not to leave the spot.

I was told he knows lots about the slave trade, the second world war, Lord Lugard and the colonial rule. He was a soldier, who fought several wars, this attracted me to him and at the same time made him far from my reach.

I saw him walk to the back of his house, one day. The first time I would see him leave his porch. He was swinging his walking stick, with his other hand spread as if wanting to touch a thing only him can see-how mysterious.

And it happened one afternoon, I was bored sitting at home. The image of the old man crawled into my thought. I picture him sitting on his chair in his porch, wearing the usual unflinching gaze at the dusty road and almost deaf to the noise of vehicles and blare of car horns. I thought about what it would feel like listening to his words.

Then, I stood up, took with me a jotter and pen and walked out of the house towards the old man’s home. Though scared of getting there and wanting to say the right things the right way and not knowing what the right things are.

Scared of his ability to read minds, which I guessed. I warned myself to think only about the right things or nothing. Even though I know not what the right things are.

There he is, staring down the dusty road, his walking stick beside him. I took few more strides and stood few inches away from him but he still has his gaze fixed on the road, on an object not visible to me.

I greeted him and he shifted his head and turned his eyes at me. Then, I saw two eyes with no black spot sitting at the center.

“He is blind.”

He smiled at me and I saw his tiny even teeth. I question if he is really blind because the smile does not look like the blind’s.

Who knows how the blind smile?

“Go in there and take a stool beside the standing fan. Let us see how the afternoon goes.” I walked towards the door left ajar, first peep, then open.

Beside his standing fan is a stool. The room does not look like the blind’s. Furniture arranged neatly, all window curtains drawn half way as if measured, sitting on the shelf are books in orderly slant position, and some on the reading table.

There is something mysterious about this place and I fear if there are no spirits living with him.

Again, he smile broadly revealing his tiny even teeth as I drop the stool to sit.

“You remind me of my youthful years, when life seem untainted.”

Because I don’t understand his words, I smiled, believing even though blind, he will feel my smile and think I am following.

“Yesterday, I marked the day my mother died.” holding tight his walking stick as if to tap from It a mysterious strength. “I was at war fighting, when told. What is expected of soldiers is not to show even the strongest of human feelings. I fought on, with courage.”

He spoke on and on about his family, the colonial rule, his love life, war and his old friends. As if he had been waiting for me to come listen or he knew I came to listen to all these. In between he took gulps of water from his drinking bottle.

“I don’t believe in the word, old friends. Bringing them back feels like welcoming a total stranger. Because people change over the years. Old age makes you a loner, if you don’t make friends as you grow.”

I asked him many questions, though, fearing I might have asked them the wrong way but he answered them all and I pen them down.

His demeanour changed when he started talking about Nigeria and colonization.

“When I think about the country Nigeria and how things would have looked if it does not exist. If these people who make up the country are left in their different worlds to thrive, I believe things would be different.” He paused, wears a brief ugly smile and then continue talking

“It is so unpleasant that we are a product of colonization and are held together by strings of political benefits.” He used words I have never heard: _imperialism, beleaguer, decolonize_ etc and I knew it would be another night of checking and checking the dictionary.

He spoke on and on and nods his head frequently, kill invisible insects between his palms. Sometimes, he speak staring down the road, other times he turns to my direction and smiles.

I wish I could hold the sun from setting, so I can sit and listen to the old man and ask my many questions.

His life story will make a good novel but I need to go home. I will visit again tomorrow.

“It is late, it will be a good time again tomorrow. I know you will come.” smiling and bends to pick his drinking bottle for another gulp of water. I took the stool and returned it.

Does this not confirm his ability to read minds, a thought I had battled with for long that turned me a distant admirer of him

And this desire shot up within me, the desire to know more about him.

To know more about this blind old man and his mysterious world.

To see the world through his blind eyes.

The post Does he read minds? appeared first on The Olive Branch.

ONE CHANCE

theolivebranchadmin — Fri, 23 Feb 2018 21:30:03 +0000

Hey everyone! Hope you have been enjoying the latest posts and stories on the blog? If you can remember “Yagazie” by Ebosetale Oriarewo, we hope you can enjoy the lovely story too. Don’t forget to share and comment. Enjoy this very beautiful and comical story

This woman must think I’m mad, why else will she suggest I pay 500 Naira for just this gown? All these bad belle women everywhere, God forbid! I’ll pay her the money just because this dress is very important to me. I collect the dress from the woman and leave her small and smelly store raining curses on her and her generation. Thief, thief woman.

Tomorrow is going to be my day, the day that I will be discovered and this talent in me brought to light. All these people in this community will see me and they will tell my story to every one who cares to listen. I’ve bought my dress now, I’ve bought make up too and I still remember how Funke my neighbour attending the university of Lagos had taught me to apply it, I have mastered my walk and I have gotten all my goods for sale. Everything is ready, I’ll have something light for dinner and sleep soon, so I can look fresh for my day.

The cock crow woke me up. I’ve never been this excited. I hurry to have my bath before the bathroom becomes full and I have to struggle for space. I take my time washing and scrubbing, it’s important. When I am done bathing, I apply my cream slowly and delicately like all those pretentious models I saw on Funke’stelevision. My brassiere and pant today are new, mama Tobi sold them to me at a good price- 750 Naira only. I will put on my dress before my make up so I don’t stain it, yes. This dress is the one that girls are calling ‘bandage dress’. It will bring out everything- all of my assets. I will have to suck bele sha, after all the fruit and water diet Funke said I should do for one week still no change. Useless girl.

Funke said you apply foundation before concealer, or is it concealer before foundation that she said? Which one is even the foundation or the concealer here? All these Marykay. Everything is for beauty. I’m not sure I remember where to contour and where to highlight. I’m already tired oh, but I will not give up. Pastor said the violent taketh it by force.

People are out and about now, I’m done and ready to go. If only Iya Pelumi did not make this Ghana weaving so tight, just see my forehead on display. Enemy of progress.

“Baba God today’s business will not be like the rest for me oh, you told Pastor Kunle that this month will be different for me and so shall it be, and I know you will reward the offering I gave in church on Sunday, 200 Naira is bigger than my usual 10 Naira, and I promise that when I make it I will not forget to pay my tithe, I swear. In Jesus name, Amen.”

My bowl of bread well balanced on my head I step out of my house. Everybody is looking at me, I’m so beautiful. I call out to passers-by to buy my bread with my recently learnt American accent, I walk like the model I’m about to become and stop for a pose every now and then with my hands on my hips. People pass me and take pictures. Jumoke had better be afraid, strong competition has arrived.

Nobody is buying my bread, no problem TY Bello can pay me more than bread money. Those area boys told me she would be coming to this area for a photo shoot today, I paid the bastards 1000 Naira each, they were four in number. Four thousand Naira. Why are all these ones laughing? My Pastor warned me of mockers of prophesy and how they’ll suffer in poverty forever. They didn’t bother me, I carried on with my sales advertising my ‘sweet, fresh agege bread’ as I went. One man threw a fifty Naira note at me and walked past, he didn’t buy bread or speak to me, I called out to him and cursed him for thinking I was a beggar, but I kept the money. God was starting out small.

It is afternoon already, no TY Bello or Tinie whatever his name is. Could those boys have lied to me? But pastor can’t lie to me, he’s God’s mouthpiece and God doesn’t lie, is that not what they said? I just need to be patient. My makeup is running down my face, this Lagos sun wants to spoil my show, God will not allow it. I can’t walk like a model again, my legs need rest and my stomach too. I’ll eat one loaf of bread, when I become a big model I can pay for the entire bowl of bread. I’ll sit here and eat and rest and then I’ll get back to work.

I’m eating and then this man walks up to me. He is really big, he greets me and I great him back. Finally Jesus has done it, maybe he is TY Bello’s bodyguard. He asks me to follow him and I do, all the while asking him if I look okay to meet his madam and sticking out my tongue to passers by. I’m telling them of how I’ll come back for them as I’ll be needing servants in my mansion. My accent is back, and my catwalk, sometimes a bounce is also back. Fame is sweet.

He puts me in the car and there are armed men in the car. I think to myself TY must be very rich to have such protection. I talk to them a lot, ask them questions but they don’t answer me, instead they speak to themselves in a language I’m not familiar with, and laugh about something. I wonder what’s funny. They shouldn’t answer me, they should just wait till I become their madam and then they will know who is who. Worthless men that they are.

We arrived at a place, I know this place. Ah! But this can’t be TY’s house or does she live around here? The men lead me out of the car and when I realise where I really am and who these men are I try to run for my life, but they’re faster and they bundle me up into this building I don’t belong in. I’m not mad, I’ve tried to tell them but they don’t care to listen. I’m not mad I promise them over and over again, I try to explain how I was just waiting for TY Bello and Tinie whatever to come for me. They don’t listen, instead they throw me into a cell with mad people. One of the men says that at least today the boss will pay them something for capturing one ‘mad one’.

Please incase you hear anybody looking for me tell them I’m at Yaba Left and I need proof of my sanity. My name is Victory Adebola, Help!

By Ebosetale Oriarewo.

The post ONE CHANCE appeared first on The Olive Branch.

EYES THAT TELL

theolivebranchadmin — Wed, 14 Feb 2018 21:10:01 +0000

Hello everyone! Happy Valentine’s day. We hope you are spreading love wherever you are. No matter how little, no matter how small. Spread love. This love doesn’t have to be a romantic relationship. Cherish the people around you and do good. You might be a blessing to someone somewhere. Enjoy this beautiful story by Enyo Akor and don’t forget to comment and share.

Ayo and Esther

The early rays of sunlight streaming in from the window tease his eyelids and he awakes, albeit sluggishly. He rubs his eyes squinting at the clock to ascertain what time it is. 7:30. He nods to himself and lets his eyes drift to the figure on the bed. A limp limb hangs from the side of the bed, twitching and he rises from the mattress to address the patient on the bed. Setting himself on the mattress, he grasps the frail hand in both of his. Large, bright eyes gaze back at him from the pale, drawn face and he leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead.

“You’re up early”, he muses quietly.

She squints. You have morning breath.

He laughs quietly and he can see in the twinkling of her eyes that she’s laughing too.

He says nothing after that, content with the silence and with staring outside the window, thinking. It is the third month now- the third month since she has been here, in this bed like this; the third month since the makeshift bedroom, made up of a mattress and clothes and books had become his home; the third month since she had her stroke. The doctors say that it is uncertain if she will recover or if she will not and he stays here, day in day out, holding her hand, willing her to get through this, willing her to survive. He can see in her eyes that she is willing herself to survive too, not for herself, but for him. Because he needs her, and she knows he does.

Her hands twitch slightly in his, to catch his attention, and he turns to face her, his brow arching slightly in question. Her eyes narrow as her lips struggle to form a syllable.

“S…” she manages to emit and her fingers twitch sporadically.

He sighs. She insists on revisiting the school issue, despite the numerous times that he has told her that he will not leave her side until she’s better. He has already missed a whole term anyway; there would be no point now. They had tried, in the beginning- his brothers and sisters- to coerce him from her side. One by one, they had come- all five of them- to try make him see reason and convince him to not waste months at her bedside, but his resolve had only become stronger and he fixed them with that cold glare, one by one, until they gave up and let him be. His father had come too, with threats and warnings, but he had kept his back to the offending man and his offending presence, ignoring him until he left as well.

Her fingers twitch in his hands again, to bring him back to the present and her narrowed eyes glare at him, demanding an answer to her question.

He lifts his free hand to trace a scar on her forehead, left there by his father.

“We’ve talked about this. No school for me until you are better.”

He wants to monitor every minute of her progress. He wants to be the first to know, apart from the nurses and doctors of course, the new things she can do, the new things her body can take.

Her fingers twitch again and her eyes narrow and widen in various degrees. He laughs. She is, in her voiceless, unique way, warning him and he wonders just how much trouble he will be in when she gets better and will be actually able to speak. The fire in her eyes dulls and she gazes at him for a long moment. He forces his head to turn to the window- he does not want to answer the question her eyes ask.

What if I don’t get better?

He has asked himself the same question hundreds of times. But there is never any answer- only a fear that grips his heart and squeezes and squeezes until he starts to hyperventilate and has to find his inhaler.

When he comes back from dinner – a tasteless meal of rice and stew in the hospital cafeteria – a banana in hand, her bed is up and her eyes are gazing straight into his. He smiles.

“I brought you a banana”, he mutters and her eyes dance. They both know she cannot eat it, but it is their daily routine, to preserve the normalcy that has slowly leaked out of their lives. He will eat it the next morning, while the fluids that keep her nourished seep into her veins from the drip-attached needle.

Striding over to the bed, he picks up the progress sheet – the doctors’ subtle way of telling him how she’s doing – and flips through it, his eyes not comprehending, and mind unwilling to comprehend the words on them. He has studiously avoided the doctors’ rounds after their first week of being there. It irked him, as he quickly discovered, to stand quietly in a corner, while the poked and prodded and spoke of her as if she were not a living, breathing human being- one who could hear them at that! He sits on the side of the bed and grasps her hand in both of his, staring into her eyes. Her eyes are dim, he notices, despite the fact that she is making the conscious effort to avoid his gaze and he wonders what the doctors said. The fear grips his heart again and he looks to the pile of books on the floor, letting the thoughts of what he is going to read to her tonight overshadow the more serious and more foreboding ones.

He has just picked up a book, and her eyes have lit up just a fraction when the door creaks open and a doctor pokes her head in. She smiles- a fake stretching of lips over her teeth that doesn’t quite reach her eyes- and asks if she can speak to him outside. When he steps out, he woman’s smile has disappeared and she speaks to him briskly- in the tone of an adult addressing a child who does not seem to know his place.

“Call your father”, she is saying and he can only stare.

He wants to tell her he doesn’t have a father. That one does not call a man who has beaten his mother before his very own eyes, time and again, a father. That one does not call a man whose only acknowledgement of one’s existence is grunts and looks of disdain, a father. That one cannot possibly hate one who he is supposed to call father. But he says nothing. He has never been good with words, and he doubts this woman, whose eyes are hidden behind glasses as thick as window louvers, would understand the method of communication he prefers. And when she sighs at his obvious distraction and asks for his father’s number, he gives her his sister’s number instead and turns and walks into the room, wondering why she is still talking to him.

She gazes at him enquiringly when he steps back in, and he mutters quietly that it was nothing serious.

Her eyes narrow. You’re lying.

He ignores her, picks up Jane Eyre and begins to read aloud from where they left off the night before. He doesn’t like classics- he prefers the drama and action of Sidney Sheldon and John Grisham to old English romance- but it’s her favourite, and he intends to keep her occupied. He has just gotten to the part when Jane’s wedding to Mr. Rochester is interrupted when he notices that her eyes are closed and her breathing has slowed. He stares at her for a long moment, reveling in the peaceful slope of her brow, the tiny lift of both sides of her lips and tells himself valiantly that the woman with the glasses was wrong.

When he lies on his make shift bed, tossing and turning, the woman’s voice echoes in his head.

She doesn’t have much longer. Call your father.

He awakens to the feeling of someone stroking his arm. He knows, without opening his eyes, that it is her. The methodic pattern bespeaks her precise manner, her perfectionist personality. When he opens his eyes, the moonlight is streaming through the window, making her glow in an ethereal manner, and she is smiling at him, not with her eyes, but with her mouth and he thinks immediately that something is wrong. He starts to ask why she is out of bed when she silences him with a finger to his lips and stares deep into his eyes.

I’m leaving.

Don’t be silly. You can’t go anywhere.

I love you.

It’s not funny.

Take care of yourself.

His eyes droop as she leans forward to place a kiss on his forehead, and his last thought before the realm of unconsciousness claims him, is that she hasn’t smelt like flowers he cannot name in a long, long time.

The early rays of sunlight streaming in from the window tease his eyelids and he awakes, albeit sluggishly. He rubs his eyes squinting at the clock to ascertain what time it is. 10:30. He nods. There is a loud, rasping sound in the room, and it takes a moment for him to process that someone is crying. He lifts his head and notices that he is not alone. There are five other people in the room; four staring at the bed with blank expressions and one sprawled across the figure on it, sobbing profusely. He stares at his siblings in consternation, wondering why they are here. It is a weekday, if his memory of the time he has not been keeping track of serves him correctly. They never visit on weekdays. He starts to ask what the matter is when his eldest brother notices him and beckons him outside.

The words tumble out of his brother’s mouth- her vitals had dropped suddenly; she was gone before the doctors could do anything about it; how it was okay if he wanted to cry. He only stares, waiting for his brother’s rambling to cease, waiting for him to say it in plain words.

“She’s gone. Mummy is gone’, his brother says quietly, at last.

He nods and turns around and goes back into the room, leaving a confused man in his wake.

He does not cry.

He simply walks into the room, picks up a banana that had been on the table beside the bed and begins to eat it slowly, methodically.

They misunderstand and explain to him slowly, that his mother is dead; he will never see her again; feel her warmth again; hear her voice again.

But he does not cry. He only turns to them and explains, in a voice that is almost amused, that he understands what it means for someone to be dead.

They misunderstand. His sister draws him to her chest, squishing his head between her breasts, ordering him to “let his emotions out”.

But he does not cry. He only points out, his voice muffled, that he would do a better job of letting his emotions out if he is alive and not suffocated to death.

They misunderstand and mutter to each other that he must be in shock, that he will come around eventually, and resort to telling him stories of his mother that they are sure will let out his “pent-up emotions”.

But he does not cry.

He only listens quietly, waiting to explain to them, that one cries when they feel pain. And he does not feel pain. But a fear has gripped his heart and it squeezes and squeezes until he starts to hyperventilate and he reaches for his inhaler.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He meets her years later, at the party of a friend. She is leaning against the counter in the kitchen, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. He gazes at her until she looks up and, while her face remains perfectly blank, her eyes question his perusal. It is those eyes- large, brown and captivating- that draw him to her side and cajole him to do something he is not fond of doing.

‘I’m Muyi”, he mutters, holding out his hand.

Her eyes- he cannot bring himself to gaze away- smile and she says “I’m Toro.”

She takes his hand and the world around him fades, save her eyes- her eyes that speak a language he has almost forgotten.

That night, for the first time in years, he does not have the nightmare where his mother’s ghost strokes his hand methodically and smells like flowers he cannot name.

The post EYES THAT TELL appeared first on The Olive Branch.

BOTTLES UP..THE END

theolivebranchadmin — Sun, 11 Feb 2018 20:16:35 +0000

Happy Sunday everyone! We are happy to share the last past of the “Bottles up” story by Ayomickey Paseda. We hope you have enjoyed the ride, we have also enjoyed it too. She will be back with more intriguing stories but for now, please comment and don’t forget to share.

How could she? On my wedding day! This is not my sister I don’t know who this is!”. I awake to find myself in my bed with a sharp pain in my head forcing me to lie back into position. I can hear semilore screaming at the top of her voice. She is talking to my parents and they are trying to calm her down. I feel really horribly to have caused a scene and if I could take it back, I would. I scramble to stand on my feet but they don’t feel like mine, so I fall heavily to the ground like humpty dumpty, letting out a loud yelp and causing attention. I hate this. My little family runs up to my room to help me and even though they are in fact helping, I can see the impatience written across their faces in bold and underlined font. Semilore, being the most impatient scolds me almost immediately, somewhat sounding like a bark, “Okiki, you need serious help”. “But I’m getting help” I reply in my head, knowing that they have run out of patience and sarcasm was only going to cause more harm. “You need to see a therapist sweetheart” my dad said almost immediately, agreeing with her. “We can’t deal with your drinking anymore…what happened to you in the states?” My mum cut in almost immediately, rolling her eyes. “What is therapy? When all the ministers in Nigeria have not finished… you will see Deacon Edwin for counseling”

…………………………………………..

Therapy didn’t happen to have been a bad idea, only that it was with a man of God instead and I couldn’t drink anything other than virgin 5alive that has had someone’s nose in it and water straight from the dispenser sometimes when the certain supervisor felt I looked pale and hadn’t drank enough water. I went in to see the minister who happened to have been a close family friend at this charity organization he had founded for troubled kids at least three times a week, even though my parents wanted me to go more often and for longer sessions just so God could personally minister to my spirit and wash me white as snow, purging me from dead works. He later on handed me over to a much younger volunteer whom he felt I’d be able to relate more with, since I’m so stiff. The office has this therapeutic brown and white color code that kind of calms me and the office is always cold regardless of how hot the sun might have been on that day. Counseling is really nice until he starts asking questions like “You seem happier today. Great. What’s up?” “How do you feel today?” “Anything on your mind you’d like to talk about?” we then pray after every session, not asking for anything other than courage from God. The most recent question was “what would you rather drink, coffee or tea?” as he made his way for the kitchenette, realizing the irony in this, we both roared in laughter. For me, that was the big icebreaker because I’d rather talk about a thousand other things than what’s up or however I was feeling at that moment. He brought me a cup of chocolate tea which was even funnier because we were both wondering why one would buy a tea bag labeled ‘chocolate tea’ when in fact; one could have actual chocolate tea. Our little counseling session turned into a meeting amongst old friends and we happened to have talked about every other thing apart from how I was feeling. Jedidiah, the younger volunteer happened to be in his late twenties, just a few years older than I was and just finished with his masters in psychotherapy and was helping his dad, the minister with running the organization. Things started to go downhill when I stopped seeing him as a mere therapist that wanted to ‘cure’ me of my depression by asking me to talk about my depression which in fact is the most painful side effect of not being heavily drunk all the time and praying for me. I started noticing little things about him like the scar at the left side of his head which he happened to have acquired when he was a much younger trouble maker. I started noticing beautiful things like the way his eyes glistened when he talked about cars and other things he was passionate about. Slowly at first, strong affiliations began to grow amid us, igniting an uncomfortable fire until it transpired to certain chemistry and we were doomed. The counseling sessions left the cold brown and white office and conveyed into beach trips and dinners at the country club, long phone calls and more personal visits to one another’s homes. Something else ticked off in me, I began to feel less and more at the same time. The feeling was overwhelming, somewhat like alcohol, but different in a very good way. At the same time, the feeling was scary, asserting to ecstasy. It left a new habit in me and I began to pray whenever I was scared. I didn’t feel like drinking anymore, at least not to drown my feelings. I liked the new feelings, the maelstrom in my head whenever my phone rang and the peace I felt whenever I read the bible.

Everything was going well until I decided to open up to him.

It was a Saturday and we were lying together on his couch, side by side with his arms wrapped around me, imitating two sardines stuck in a can while watching the Saturday morning show on galaxy channel. I turned around without thinking, looking him straight in the eye because I needed him to know something, fully aware that if I didn’t say it then, I may never say it again. I knew that letting someone else know about what I was thinking, was going to be the final healing I needed and I needed him to know about the monsters in my head always eating at me. “I was raped”. I caught him totally off-guard and I could sense the immediate goose bumps on him and the hair on his hands were standing. He took a minute to absorb this new information, his eyes perplexed and then he hugged me, “oh, Okiki”. That’s all he said but it felt like he had just ordered the soldiers in my tear ducts to make it rain and I shuddered in pain, letting feelings pour out of me and on to his shirt. The feelings that I had managed to conceal for close to four years- the feelings that I had so desperately tried to drown. The therapy session I had dreaded and managed to escape from started but not in that shallow and cold way between people who are not inclined to one another in any way, having no form of relationship. This was between two codependent friends and lovers if what may and so I felt at ease.

I told Jedi everything about the rape and about my daughter. It happened to be in the first year of my master’s program in America. I was off campus and living with a friend of mine and her boyfriend. Her boyfriend loved to throw parties every weekend and he always asked to throw it at our place. At first, I was only offended because he never paid rent or bought any groceries and instead spent all his money on buying party junk food and drugs. I spoke to my friend about it and she kind of eased me in, convincing me that she was going to break up with him sooner or later and that I should just tolerate him. He was the perfect example of a bum and I always wondered why she was with him. I really thought that was the worst possible case scenario; having a roommate with a lousy asshole boyfriend, but fate told me I was wrong. He raped me on a rainy day in the middle of April. My roommate, Sheryl, a biracial south African had gone out for a class and she didn’t come back until it was too late. It started to rain that evening and I ran out from my room in my floral nightdress to the balcony to remove our shoes that had been ruined from the rain some days before. “Sheryl, I can’t believe you haven’t brought in our shoes since all these days” I scream at her. No responses, then I remember she had left the apartment a few hours ago. I want to believe that that was the moment he realized that we were the only ones in the apartment and his mind started to roam. I got back to my room, forgetting to lock the door behind me as usual and he followed me in. “would you care for a sandwich?” he had asked with a smile on his face almost mimicking good intentions. I sat at my chair and pressed the space bar on my laptop to continue with the movie I was watching, “no thank you Idris, I just had the spaghetti from last night”, I said barely looking up from my laptop. He came into the room and sat on my bed boldly, I turned to look at him almost immediately, shocked at his audacity but bidding myself to calm down and at least be friendly. In a cockish smile, he said, “what are you really up to?” In a twinkle of an eye, before I could give a response, he grabbed my hand and pulled me from my chair, yanking me to the floor. I make to say “what the fuck Idris?” but my brain immediately tells me what the fuck is going on when he pins my hands to the ground and hovers over me. At this point, I switch to survival mode and try hardest to fight him off, screaming and crying but he is too strong and my best is too weak. He had his way with me for a minute that felt like a thousand years, I could see my whole life flashing before my eyes and then exploding in a ball of flames, just like Hiroshima and Nagasaki at the end of the Second World War. It was over for me and I didn’t want to breathe anymore. He got up immediately he was done and said “I’m sorry, please don’t tell Sheryl” and walked out of my room like he hadn’t just killed me. What can a corpse say when she has no words. Sheryl came back to the apartment a few hours later with all the excitement and energy absorbed from the world. She had bumped into her role model who happened to be a professor at the university and in fact the reason why she had chosen to come to this university in the first place and managed to secure a dinner date with him. She had just had the best, most marvelous day of her life. “Oh shoes! I’m so sorry okiki, did you manage to bring in our shoes before the rain hit them again?” remembering one of her numerous big mistakes just as she had finished telling her wonderful story. I looked at her, without trying to hide my disgust and went over to the freezer, filled my ‘oh happy day’ mug with vodka and walked back to my room.

I moved out of that apartment two days later and started living on campus. I tried hard to forget everything and just move on. For the first three weeks, my biggest problem was bumping into Sheryl at school because seeing her made me remember everything from that night. Then I started taking a flask around with me, to shut out the voices in my head. I got into trouble with the authorities at school a couple of times for illicit behavior, never minding, just because I didn’t care anymore. I got sick later on, went to the hospital and found out I was pregnant. In as much as that was the hardest news that had hit me in months, I felt absolutely nothing. I was already 7 weeks into the pregnancy. In stoical, I deferred my admission for a year at the university and told my family back at Nigeria that I was signing up for an exchange program in Tokyo and would be back a year after my supposed return to Nigeria. Being pregnant with a product of rape, I changed locations to a cheaper area and got a job at a mini-mart until the latter trimester of the pregnancy when i met with a social worker and spoke to her about giving up my baby. I put to bed sometime in January and gave my baby out to a couple I had only met once and burnt all bridges, trying to forget about the whole incident. Time flew past, but the memories lingered on.

I didn’t realize how long I had been talking for until he yawned, although not in a way that seemed as though he were bored; I checked the time only to see that it was 5 o’clock in the evening. This time I was on the floor with my legs folded in and he was on the sofa facing me and giving me his full attention. “I should go, it’s getting late” I said, taking a sip of water he had brought for me in a cup during the discussion, standing from my seated position and stretching. “You need to see her”, he finally said after long hours of listening. He hesitates almost immediately but without relent, he stands up, meeting my eyes with his,. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to” he continues in a stutter. “But Okiki I know the thought of what she looks like has been driving you crazy and how things would have been if you didn’t…”

“If I didn’t what?” I scream in, interrupting him. “What do you know about how I feel…? I just finally open up to you and you’re making assertions so quickly about what has been driving me crazy” I say with tears in my eyes without realizing that I’m vibrating, angry that he had just hit the nail right on the spot but too proud to admit that he had just read my mind so easily. Too amused to acknowledge that he isn’t just a dragonfly that hovers round this pond, he is a bird that pecks at it. I guess this should be one of the perks of dating your therapist. He rests his hands simultaneously on my shoulders, looking at me with knowing eyes “you should go look for her”.

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