Showing posts with label Novel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Novel. Show all posts

Friday 26 August 2022

Ulioma (The reincarnated princess)

 Is she cursed or what? If not, why will unhappiness and rejection trail her life from her father to the man her heart falls in love with?

Ulioma discovers the man who bestrides her dreams and waking hours is a prince destined to marry a princess. She is just a palace maid, yet fate brings them together and entangles their hearts.

Ikeobi knows fate has plans for Ulioma in his life, but he is not yet certain if he will play along or not.

Friday 29 April 2022

Beyond Dreams(Romance)

Tonia is a strong and independent woman who is insecure about love and commitment. She meets Duke, a young, handsome billionaire, and the siren whisper of love blows through her heart like a warm breeze. But all she wants from him is pleasure without promises, no strings, no emotional commitments.

Duke never commits to a woman. His Modus operandi is; Meet. Get in. Have fun. Get out. One night of fiery passion with Tonia and Duke is breaking some of his rules for her and will break more with gusto to get to her icy heart.

Tonia is on the run, to protect her heart, afraid if she opens her heart to Duke, she would wake up to an empty dream.



Wednesday 18 November 2020

Fool's Paradise

 Synopsis

Joy, desperately in search of a man meets David; single, rich and available and sees him as the fulfilment of a dream – and so falls in love.

A blissful “fall”, she assumes when she walks down the aisle with him. However, instead of a “happily ever after”, she realises to her chagrin that beneath David’s charming veneer lies a conscienceless pervert.



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Chapter 1




I watched as Latasha, looking chic and poised went round welcoming her guests and customers with hugs and handshakes. It was the opening day of her boutique Shanabella.

I came to assist her usher in customers, as well as take them round the different sections of the huge boutique, the least I could do in the spirit of friendship.

Nevertheless, in as much as I was happy for her success, envy tinted my happiness. I mean, I’m only human, it’s natural I would be envious of her million Naira state-of-the-art boutique.

I watched some group of women milling around inspecting and ogling at the collection of different designer’s clothes and jewelries on display at the racks and show glasses, while they tried to make up their minds on what to purchase.  By their elegant appearances, you would know these women were top notches in their various fields, the types that wear designers’ labels only.

Of course, a few among them came on the strength of the wallets of their rich male lovers or husbands. Like Stacy; a close friend of Latasha’s; she came with her lover, Boy George, who would most certainly pick up the bills for whatever purchases she made.

Another close friend of Latasha’s among the crowd was Annette Elle-Williams, who came with one important looking Alhaji, her man of the moment. She had them by the dozen, according to her; a woman ought to have several men in her life to fulfill her different desires and needs.

Then, there was Folashade Adekunle, another friend; she came with a man, but definitely not her husband; I reliably heard; her husband, who works with a multi-national company, was presently out of the country.

Then I looked at myself; who was I? An ordinary company accountant, I handled money; huge sums on daily basis, however, it only passed through my hands, never mine, my salary was just a paltry sum, barely enough to cover my basic needs, not to talk of buying the type of clothes on display here. The price tags on most of them made me shudder.

Amid all Latasha’s friends present, I considered myself an oddity because I did not measure up to their standards. They all had cars, jet in and out of the country as if it was just an ordinary trip from Abuja to the next State, when the farthest I ever ventured to was Lagos, for my brother’s wedding two years ago.

Yes, I envy them, especially Latasha – who we fondly call Sha-Sha. We were formerly neighbours and best friends struggling to survive in Abuja, until Annette introduced her to Senator Goke Garuba, who transformed her life overnight, and she metamorphosed, from the girl next door to a sophisticated and a successful businesswoman.

At the inception of that relationship, she received a brand new car and a Blackberry smart phone as birthday gifts from the Senator. Then within a space of four months, she moved out of our locality into a bigger and better apartment in another side of the neighbourhood. Today’s opening of her boutique was the icing on her fortune’s cake.

For me, life was still the same; dull and drab, nothing exciting, no landmark achievements, and no prince charming to sweep me off my feet, and take care of my emotional and financial well being. I still hop around in buses to work and back every day. I just managed to buy a Nokia torch phone in replacement of the one I lost two months ago.

But for Latasha, life was rosy; the shop for the boutique belongs to her; she bought it, with financial aid from the Senator. She had moved up the ladder of success, and with her clique of highly connected friends she had become a socialite and an influential woman within the Abuja business community.

Her exploits made me feel jealous and envious, not that she was more beautiful or more intelligent; though, there was no denying the fact she was smarter and more worldly-wise. Nevertheless, knowing these did not stop me from being envious, though a healthy one I tried to convince myself.

After the day’s event, Annette, Folashade, Stacy and her boyfriend Boy George, all drove to Latasha’s house for another round of celebratory drink.

Hmmm ... her house? Let’s not go there, because I was still trying so hard to slay that green-eyed monster called envy towards her acquisition of the property; a three-bedroom bungalow, fenced, with a spacious back yard she converted into a garden. A huge step-up from her former one room abode in my neighbourhood.

Since she moved into the house I have done nothing more than gawk at it with a tweak in my heart each time I visited her. She furnished it so exquisitely it spelt comfort and luxury with a capital letter. It wasn’t a day’s job though; there were signs and evidences of her numerous foreign trips, every time she traveled outside the country, she brought back beautiful tidbits, artifacts, ornaments and household items, which she had used to create enviable rooms in her house.

It was almost unbelievable she achieved all these within the space of four years; it felt like only yesterday that we slouched on a mattress in her small room to rub minds on how to get better jobs and improve our statuses in life. Today, she had certainly improved hers.

When all her other friends left two hours later, Latasha and I settled down to gist. It was a Saturday and most weekends I stay over in her house, though my house was not far from hers.

We were both resident in Lugbe area of Abuja, but she lives in Lugbe Housing Estate, a beautiful and well-planned suburb, with good road networks. While I live on the other side of it across the road, the side considered more or less a shantytown, where people build their houses haphazardly, without plan or approval, and where the roads are narrow and rough, and without even a splash of asphalt.

Moreover, for years now, we lived in constant fear of Government bulldozer, which the Federal Capital Territory Minister, has threatened to send to pull down every structure there. But, despite the threat, people buy land and build houses daily, while praying that dooms day would never come.

Since I would sleep over, when others left, I relaxed back with Sha-Sha; to share another bottle of wine and engaged in friendly gossip, I poured more wine into my glass, took a sip and exclaimed, “What a day!”

“Yes, what a good day,” Latasha concurred. “I thank God for the successful opening event. After months of planning, it’s over and now I can rest,” she lifted her wine glass, took a sip and sighed happily. “It wasn’t really easy.”

“I envy you oh,” I said, voicing out my feeling of the day. “You have finally arrived; you’re now one of Abuja big babes, with a classy boutique, a well-furnished house and a car to cruise around town. What else can a woman ask for?” I said with a smile that successfully edited out the envy from my voice. I did not want her to know how deeply envious I was.

Latasha laughed contentedly, “My dear this is just the beginning o, hmm; by the time my relationship with the Senator ends, I want to be a highly successful woman with a fat bank account and my own private property. In fact, buying a land in a choice location is my next target,” she finished in a conspiratorially low tone, as if suspecting somebody might be listening.

“Well, I wouldn’t say the Senator is not trying, when I look at what he has done for you over four years.”

“Yes he is; there is no contesting that. Within four years, my status has risen, even beyond my own imagination. However, that’s enough about me, how about you? If you’re ready to drop this ‘holier-than -thou’ attitude of yours, we can hook you up with one of those that matters in Abuja here.”

“No thanks.” I quickly answered.

“Come on Joy, get wise, with your Beyoncé figure and smashing looks, you can get any man you want; what you need is to move in the right circles, and with the right attitude. Be part of our clique and reap the benefits we’re all enjoying.”

“Thanks Sha-Sha, but let’s not argue over this again. I have told you severally, I don’t want to be the other woman in any man’s life.”

“Play Miss good manner and be frustrated in life. Look at you,” she paused, looked me up and down slowly. “For how long will you continue to struggle to live a decent life and buy yourself quality clothes?”

“Look, life isn’t all about wearing designer labels and moving in affluent circles,” I retorted.

“Oh, tell me what life is all about then?” She chuckled, fold her hands across her breast and looked at me expectantly.

I sighed and shook my head. When will she give up? I thought to myself.

It was an argument we always have each time we are together. But today, I was not in the mood to pursue it, so I simply told her, “If you really want to help me as a friend; tell the Senator to at least fix me up with a good paying Federal job, like in the DPR or NNPC. All it will cost him is a phone call. That’s how people get things done here in Abuja.”

“Hook a big fish and let him take care of your financial worries,” she told me instead.

I released a wearied sigh “Sha-Sha, we can’t all be as lucky as you; you’ve always had a way around men, which works for you.”

“Make an effort at least. You’re beautiful and intelligent, yet you choose to hide behind balance sheets and account reports. Life is not all about balancing accounts and writing financial statements.”

“O yah, life is about attending highbrow parties, wearing expensive clothes and jewelries.” I said with resignation.

“Yes baby, and about getting men, to grease the road, smooth the rough edges and then pamper you without the shackles of marriage.” She purred, looking at me with smiles.

“Good for you; for me, I want to fall in love and get married to a man of my dream and have a family of my own. I don’t want to share another woman’s husband,” I said firmly

“Love?” she laughed. “Okay, you can fall in love with an honourable or a D.G, or even a minister; governor, name it.”

“Yeah, I will just pluck them off the streets.”

“No, all you have to do is position yourself at the right places, move with the right people and it will happen.”

“That is another woman’s husband you’re talking about.” I pointed out.

“Your relationship with the man doesn’t affect the wife at home, so what’s your qualm?” She asked flippantly.

“I wish I could throw morals to the wind like that. I was brought up to eschew adultery.”

“Forget that moral bullshit and embrace real life. See, me, I can’t live in Abuja here; center of unity, and just be an onlooker; no way. I have to get my own share of the national or is it natural cake, whichever they choose to call it.”

“Which cake? Baked by whom?”

“Leave nomenclature and pun aside, let’s face facts; the fat salaries and humongous allowances our ‘honourables’ take home just for sitting down, making noise and fighting in the house, and then globetrotting, where does it come from?”

I looked blankly at her.

“From the nation’s purse of course, to which they made little or no contribution whatsoever. Then you and I, we work for 9 hours every day; multiply that by thirty days or one year; you’re the one with a head for figures; factor in the stress and the hard conditions. What do we get paid at the end? Peanuts!  No girl! I’m not taking it any more. I have had enough of white-collar slavery called work. Senator Goke Garuba is my ticket to economic emancipation, and I’m holding onto him with both hands tightly; no moralizing on that.” She said with steam.

Her outburst stunned me into silence for a moment. I didn’t blame her though; the manner in which our elite classes spent money was so offensive, they spend it as if it were being minted in their bedrooms.

I remembered being in a supermarket one evening after work, cracking my brain on how to stretch the two thousand naira I had on me to buy what would see me through the weekend, when this little girl of about twenty years got down from a chauffeur-driven car, entered the supermarket and splurged 20k over inconsequential things.

I looked at her and thought to myself, that’s somebody’s take home pay for a month she just spent without batting an eyelid.  She was a big man’s daughter; they said. That’s Naija for you; where monkey works and baboon rolls around in idle enjoyment.

Links

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Friday 26 January 2018

Against Every Odd( A Novel)



Adeyemi’s eyelids fluttered open and from the edge, he glimpsed a female vision in white. Eyes widened, he shifted his head for a better view.

Only her back was visible; he noted her slim and tall physique was unlike his previous nurses. The last one was an obnoxious, bossy woman with an infuriating attitude, who thought she knew what was good for him. He had enough pains and trauma to contend with and wouldn’t have to add the woman’s sour and superior manner to his list of problems and so asked for her to be replaced.

He assumed the vision in white was her replacement and studied her intently and wondered what she would be like; from her stature and posture, she appeared young, too young for the job. For her good, he hoped she would be competent and of good manners. He needed no girl to order him around; he would have to establish his authority with her right away.

Theresa felt eyes boring on her back and knew her patient was awake. For a nanosecond fear clutched her heart; private nursing was a new phase of her career and she had no experience to draw on. She came on the recommendation of Dr Akin Reuben, her mentor.

She started her career at his clinic as a ward maid and trainee nurse. He discovered she had a flair for the job and encouraged her to go to a nursing school and get a professional certificate.

She had obeyed and with his help and support, made it through nursing school and in gratitude went back to work for him. She had worked there two years until yesterday when Dr Reuben called her to his office and informed her of this new assignment.

Astounded, she listened in silence. As the youngest, in age and experience, she never expected to be sent out for such duty. She thought private nursing was for older nurses with lots of experience; she expressed her concern.

“Theresa, it’s because I have confidence in you and trust your sensibility, that’s why I’m sending you out for this job. They needed a trustworthy and efficient nurse. I know you’re young, but I know you’re committed and good at your job, that’s why I chose you.”

“Thank you, sir, for the trust and confidence. What do I need to do?” Her morals bolstered, her face radiated interest as she listened.

“Nothing more than what you do here. Be in the ward to monitor him, give him his drugs at the right time, then help with other personal needs.”

Her eyebrows flared fractionally. “Personal needs?” 

The doctor smiled. “C’mon young lady; don’t get any funny ideas into your head. I only meant to say your duties would include doing little errands for him.”

"Okay, sir." A mischievous smile sneaked across her face. She would accept any duty from Dr Reuben. He had always treated her like the daughter he never had.

And so, today she had reported for duty here, determined to do her best. When she pulled open the door and saw her patient, and his plush surroundings, more of a hotel luxurious suite than a hospital ward, her heart had lurched and her elation sagged. 

She had stared at him, and a shiver went through her body. Even in repose, the hard lines of his otherwise handsome face showed he wouldn’t be an easy person to deal with.

Studying his face; with its petulant full lips and the trappings of wealth surrounding him. She concluded she was here to play nanny to a rich, overgrown baby boy. She hoped changing adult nappies wouldn’t be part of her duties.

“God, give me the strength and the patience to deal with him,” she prayed. She knew his type, over-pampered, bossy, conceited and with an overstuffed ego.

Heaving an inaudible sigh, she turned, a florid smile pasted on her face. She took four strides and stood at his bedside. 

“Hi, I thought you will not wake up so soon.” A forced cheerfulness clanged to her tone.

“Is it not all these damnable drugs they keep injecting inside me that makes me sleep like a baby every minute of the day?” His face darkened sourly.

 “It is to ease your pains and make you heal quickly.” 

“I don’t need my pains to be eased, I need my legs to heal normally, and I want to walk out of this hospital with my two legs and not in a wheelchair.” Suppressed rage clear in his voice.

 His tensed body and the swollen muscles of his forearm were evidence she was on the wrong track.

“I am Theresa Okeke, your new nurse. And as I understood, I’m to be at your beck and call from morning to evening when my duties end. Right, sir?” She looked at him, her smile intact.

"For starter, I don't need to be addressed as sir. I don't want to be bossed around, I don't need pity, I don't want slothfulness, I don't want a chatterbox. I just want you to do your duties diligently." His eyes bored into hers.

“My, my, what a long list of don't ‘wants,’ so what do you want then.” She appeared unruffled with his tantrum, but the smile rolled off her face.

“That name Theresa is too archaic for my liking. Don’t you have any other name?”

A startled look jumped in her eyes. "Is my name also on your list of ‘don't wants’?"

“I think so.”

“Then call me nurse.”

“No, nurse, is not a name but a title and I forgot to add, you have to do away with your starchy white uniform. If you have to attend to me properly, you should be free and not encumbered by your white.”

"What else, sir?" the ‘sir' slipped out of her lips unaware. She was occupied with holding her indignation at bay.

“Cut that sir rubbish.” He snapped.

"Yes, si--" She stopped and with an effort, held her tongue-in-cheek.

“The name is Adeyemi, or you just make it, Yemi,” he said offhandedly.

“Yes Yemi, what else?” The only visible display of her anger was her pursed mouth. 

“Your name.” He repeated impatiently.

Theresa took a deep, silent breath. It would not be to her advantage to start on the wrong foot with her new patient. "You can call me Tessy since you find Theresa archaic."

“Tessy.” He tested the name.” That’s good enough, but how come such a young girl like you is bearing such an outdated name?”

Theresa shrugged. “You have to ask my parents, I didn’t name myself.” 

She had spent about ten minutes with him, and all her reservations had played out. The job wouldn’t be as simple as the doctor made her believe, but then she remembered the salary and was consoled.

She would take him as a challenge. Over the years, she has learned to face challenges and not run away from them. She grew up in a police barracks amidst a rough environment that had taught her to be battle-ready for any situation and circumstances, no matter how tough.

She smiled through gritted teeth. “Are you always this hostile?” 

Adeyemi’s eyes narrowed. His intimidation tactics weren't effective if she could muster the guts to ask such a question.

"Try lying on your back all day and night long, with nothing to do but sleep, wake and stare at the ceiling board, and the fact I will spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. How about that for conviviality?” Bitterness laced his words.

The forlornness in his voice made her demeanour relax a little. “Being bitter will not help the situation. When you’re in such a helpless condition, you take it in your stride and depend on your inner strength and God to pull through and not on what the doctors said. They are not God. It is only God that has the final say.”

 Adeyemi muttered a curse under his breath. He hoped they had not landed a religious zealot on him. If so; she would be out of the door faster than she came in. 

"Are you one of these so-called born again people?" His voice was scornful.

“Theresa smiled. "I’m a Christian, a Catholic in fact.” 

His relief was palpable; at least Catholics are not known for religious fanaticism.

“So, learn to be cheerful, it will boost your morale and speed up your healing process.” She touched the cast on his leg.

Adeyemi watched her. He had used bitterness and anger to conceal his fear of what the accident would cost him in life. He couldn't imagine living the rest of his life in a wheelchair; no clubbing, no fun driving, and no polo game; rather, he would be on the sideline and watch his friends have fun.

When he came out of a coma and saw his condition, he wasn't happy he survived. In anger, he alienated everyone, refused visits or calls from friends and extended family members; only his mother, sisters, and fiancée he allowed to see him.

His mother had screamed, cried and begged him to be grateful he was alive and hoped that his condition would change, but to no avail. He was rancorous and suicidal. Apprehension over his safety had prompted his family to hire a private nurse to monitor him since the private hospital they transferred him to agree to the arrangement.

"I have seen worst," Theresa told him.

“You mean my condition is inconsequential?” He glared at her.

“No, but I have seen people in a worst-case situation, still they make a perfect recovery. Trust me; I have been in this nursing business for years. Most people who made it through a hopeless situation were not because of any wonder drugs, it was their inner strength, faith in God and a determination to survive.”

Adeyemi’s annoyance deepened. Who was she to lecture him? What was she? A pseudo-psychologist who spoke Yiddish and expected him to swallow it. He was self-confident enough to know there was a conspiracy theory about his condition. That he wouldn’t walk again was a certainty. The rest was just tales to make him feel good.

“So they have sold the story to you already?” 

Squinting her eyes, she asked, “What story?”

“The fiction story about me being able to walk with my legs someday.” His eyes bored into hers.

She hesitated. “Come on, Mr Yemi…”

“The name is Yemi; I don’t need that Mister stuff from you.”

“Okay, sir.”

“Don’t sir me again, or are you daft?” His voice was sharp and gruff.

"Sorry." Theresa flashed her brightest smile. "Okay Yemi, don't you want to walk again or do you want to be pushed around in a wheelchair like an old man for the rest of your life?" She stared down at him, hands akimbo.

Her smile and pose caught Adeyemi’s attention. He stared at her and noted that though not a raving beauty; she had breed and youth, a sharp wit, and most probably a sharp tongue, too. 

She had a born-nurse figure, neat and trim; with a smooth ebony skin that actuated her white teeth when she smiles. 

His eyes moved down to her chest, full but not busty, and she had good legs; he recalled, her legs were long, slender and smooth. In a mini skirt, they could stir commotion.

It surprised him how his mind could go in that direction. He tried to quell his thoughts about her body; she was his nurse and was here to care for him medically and not whet his carnal appetites.

He scowled at her. “Don’t make jest of my situation, or you will be out of this door on grounds of incompetence.”

If he had to admit it, he was afraid of being crippled and this fear had kept him on pins and needles that he nettled whosoever comes around him.

“Sorry, it seems I have overstepped my bounds.”

She went to the side table at the foot of the bed, picked up his chart, went to the only chair in the room, and sat down. 

 Adeyemi watched her silent form for a while and wondered if he had gone too far with his antagonism campaign. He knew it wasn’t fair to take out his frustration on her. She had only come to carry out her duties and was going about it the best way she could.

He shrugged his actions off. What could he do, it wasn’t fair either? Feeling like a man in fetters, he thought of his mates out there having fun, while he was here on his back and had been for two months now with only the ceiling board to stare at. His eyes moved away, but he added her to his list of things to stare at.


Links:  https://okadabooks.com/user/Ladyzizi
           http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/ngozi2000
          https://www.amazon.com/…/B077PC2GXH/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_dp_t2_N-…
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