5 people you meet at ATM queues

Whether or not you live in a developed country or a third world country, queues are a part of everyday life you just have to experience, regardless of social status. Except you are a high ranking person of authority or you have personal assistants who see to such tasks that require them, queues are inescapable in the Homo sapiens universe.

If the queue is long enough as they seldom are, there’s bound to be some drama. Drama ensues anywhere men/women congregate. ATM queues are particularly special for this singular reason; anyone can get on them these days. It’s this unique denominator which makes ATM queues especially interesting.

When you’re last on the ATM queue at FirstBank

Amongst the Toms, Dicks and Harry ATM queues attract, there’s a likelihood that you’ll get to meet 5 types of individuals. Depending on what kind of person you are yourself, these people may cause you to either endure or enjoy your time at the ATM.

Let’s take a look at them.

1. ITKs

They walk in confidently surrounded by a pervading aura that screams ‘I own the place’. They speak to no one on the queue (maybe a nod to no one in particular if they’re feeling generous) and occupy the vacant ATM slot everyone is ignoring. After fiddling unsuccessfully with a machine obviously (except to them) enjoying temporary leave from diarrhoea, they exit the ATM booth and take a long look at the queue. It is at this moment that either shame or pride will make a pivotal decision for them─ join the queue or leave.

ITK moment of truth

2. Sloths

Odds are you’ll meet a sloth 3 times out of 5 that you visit an ATM. They are extra special beings and if you’ve met one you’ll agree they’re wired differently. Sloths live as though they run on unlimited time. If you still don’t get who/what sloths are, do check out Zootopia or watch the video below.

This is a summary of what they do at ATMs;

a. Get into the ATM cubicle

b. Insert card

c. Bring out a paper from somewhere in a wallet/book

d. Unfold it to view card pin

e. Read instructions on ATM screen

f. Input card pin

Are you still reading??

g. Read new instructions on ATM screen

h. Check account balance

i. Collect receipt and throw away

j. Remove card

k. Insert card again

l. Repeat a-g and select ‘Withdrawal’

m. Collect receipt and throw away

You’re either enjoying this or getting slightly angry.

n. Collect money

o. Remove card

p. Insert card (for the second ‘again’)

q. Repeat a-g and check account balance

r. Collect receipt and throw away

s. Collect card and exit ATM booth

Even if you’re usually a tolerant person, sloths will test your limits. Some sloths aren’t tech savvy at all and are too distrustful of others to ask for help. As such they end up spending far too much time in the booth doing nothing. Sloths often close their performances at ATM queues with a smile or uneasy laughter to the chagrin of fellow ATM users. So, watch out for the smile when next you’re with a sloth at the ATM.

3. Jumpers

If you’ve seen the 2008 Doug Liman flick by the same name, you’ve probably connected the dots as to who jumpers are. They are impatient by nature and constantly seek avenues to outsmart others at ATM queues. They breeze in exhibiting ‘I-can’t-wait’ airs and constantly flit around queues like horny male ─sorry guys─ hummingbirds. Friendly jumpers are the types who always have interesting stories.

“My bus at the park is about leaving…”

“…you won’t believe I was at X bank for an hour yet the ATM eventually didn’t dispense…”

These jumpers often get their way. On the flipside though, some are downright rude and condescending. I once met a rude jumper at an ATM queue. He got down from his car, ignored the long queue of heads and skipped into the nearest usable booth as it was being exited. That guy’s jazz was strong mehn! It took everyone at least 30 seconds to find their voice but by then his card was in the ATM’s buka cavity. His story was that he was an Honourable and couldn’t join queues. Hmm, anyway, he left there a disHonourable but with his money in his wallet.

Although it happened at a buka (buka queues are something else!), a close friend shared his experience at the hands of a jumper. The lady (jumpers come in all sizes and gender, lol) came out of nowhere and because in her mind her story was obvious, she went directly to the front of the queue to tender her food flask. Without greeting a soul! Her story? She was a pregnant woman.

My friend, who was last on queue, simply told the buka attendant she’d have to attend to him before the jumper woman. He said people with him on the queue told him he wasn’t nice. I don’t agree with them but I’ll leave y’all to judge.

4. Professionals

If you are ever on a queue you’ll pray (let’s assume you do) to be behind them because they’re super-efficient at conducting their bi’ness*. The best news is that they’re the most common types you’ll meet at ATM queues. In and out, they’ll spend a minute tops. But before you go get your dancing shoes to celebrate, hol’ up and read on. The flipside to the ingenuity of professionals is that once in a blue moon they bungle things; like forgetting their cards in the machine or typing the wrong pin several times.

The ATM swallowed my card…

More haste, less speed I guess. If I were to ask right now to which group you belong, I’m sure you’d say ‘professionals’. Calm down and read on though. There’s one more group to go.

5. Escorts

Pretty certain these people have an association where they meet weekly or bi-weekly to plan strategy and stuff. I say this because their mannerisms are the most symmetrical.

You may find one on queue only to discover later he’s been ghosting for the real ATM user. It’s annoying on a very personal level much like how hard-core Ronaldo fans detest Nani. Then, there are also escorts who think they’re comedians and people on the ATM queue are actually fans who came to see their show. So, out of generosity they dole out free samplings of recycled jokes. You’ll hear;

“No money, no money, atm queue no dey finish!”

or,

“Bankers be winch o! With this sweet, sweet krrr krrr wey dey their atm, pesin go don withdraw money finish for account before he know o!”

If you’re fortunate though, you’ll meet a very talented escort comedian that’ll make your trip to the ATM unforgettable.

Now that you know all this, do you still think you’re a ‘professional’?

Thanks for reading.

Fear

We dance mindlessly in adversity’s face

sweat bodies; gyrating contortions of enraptured frenzy

Raucous voices raised in “Olodumare” cries

We sing mockery, fearlessly

Notes daubed in fear-killing satires‎

This revelry amidst‎ mystic oppression

The sheer dare-devilry!

Our vocal behinds in the faces of dissenting gods;

Cosmic elements tickled to see us suffer

With our dusty feet trample

Paint-caked palms crash

Like warriors of old, chanting

War!

There will be no peace

For god, man: oppressor

Long as we breathe, this song will we sing

This dance we will dance

For now we understand

As our Ancestors did

This heart is a fragile thing

And a little deceit is good for it

Marvel as The Avengers’ real origins are explained

If you’re an avid marvel fan you’re probably wondering if there’s anything valuable or new to be learnt here today, if this is a troll post or maybe I need help. There’s only one thing I'm going to tell you; for the sake knowledge, shed everything you think you know. At this point, you are a tabular rasa in Marvel lore. Everything here is based on an alternate universe’ Yoruba creationist mythology and history.

Try to relax okay?

Let’s dig in.

1. Thor

You know him as a god or demigod from Asgard bla, bla, bullshit. Lies.

His real moniker is Sango*. Demigod turned god. And he breathes fire like a dragon too.

Mjolnir? — is really called Ake.

2. Ironman

Witty billionaire guy full of sarcastic one-liners and endless repartees? Spark any ideas?

Ironman? No.

Metal man? No. 

Yoruba god of iron — Ogun, ring a bell?. Yes. Go figure. 

How does a god go from god-hood to just a man in an iron suit though? Sheer disrespect Marvel. Sheer disrespect. 

3. VISION

If you know your Yoruba mythology very well then you already know who this dude is portraying. For those who don’t know, a little hint: notice in most Yoruba flicks, when people are confused they go to seek a particular ‘Oracle’?

Still don’t know?! *rme* IFA ffs!

Now you've made me swear…

4. THE HULK

I had to do a little bit of extended research to find this one. This dude has a bad habit of vanishing; (they’re still looking for him at MCU) his background history inclusive. Anyway, he first came to popularity (or is it notoriety?) when he was promoted by famed literati D.O. Fagunwa in his thrilling Yoruba novel “Ogboju ode ninu igbo irunmale”. His real name is ‘Kako onikumo ekun’ and no, his skin wasn't green though it had a funny colour. Sorry no pictures. Told you about his penchant for vanishing.

5. CAPTAIN AMERICA?

LOL. Really?

This dude was taken from West Africa during the slave trade era. Kept underground with other slaves throughout the long treacherous sojourn over the transatlantic, underfed; managed to survive where thousands died like flies (there’s something about ‘died like flies’ that I like. It rhymes). He emerged from it all still resolute and fighting his captors although weakened and emaciated.

Steve Rogers? Hell no! He was black with an African name. Real name was Kunta Kunte. Sorry, real name is. He’s still out there somewhere. Notice the White Steve Rogers was emaciated as well? To be fair, have you ever seen an emaciated White man??? Even in pictures? There you have it.

So KK with his characteristic resilience, bodily emaciation, and revolutionary outlook was the perfect specimen for the super soldier programme. Whether he later had a case of vitiligo after he was christened Steve Rogers I cannot say.

6. SCARLET WITCH

Have you seen ‘Aje ni iya m… *sorry* Aje ni iya e?’

No? Go and see it. She wuz dere.

I don’t know her original name yet but I discovered she hails from Akoko-edo, the Yoruba speaking part of present day Edo state (Aje po nibe yen mehn! Green-witch o! White-witch o! Witches plenty there! Chai!). Doesn't it make sense that there’d be a scarlet one too?

She’s so powerful that she can fake reality such that we now think she’s white and from an European country. Well played Scarlet, well played.

7. T’Challa

At least they got this dude right. Thanks Marvel. You must have wondered where in present day Africa Wakanda is located though. Unfortunately, you will never find it. Because there is no Wakanda: there is only Akanda, Abule Akanda; precisely- The Village of Mystery. You will also never find this village because it keeps moving and changing its location. So, sorry, no jetting off to Akanda for sightseeing. This was the last recorded sighting of Akanda.

That’s that for now.

The End.

Hahaha… waiting for the usual post-credit takeaway eh?

Okay. Let me indulge you. Spiderman is actually a very popular Yoruba wrestler who is famous for never having had his back to the ground. Watch out for Marvel’s Spiderman: Homecoming. Lots of easter eggs there for you as to his real origins. But it’s there only for those who can see. Till then…

The real Spiderman will return!

Underoos!

APC Country, PDP People.

It is irritating to no end to observe the APC-PDP back and forth on any media. Like competing sales marketers under commission, the objective is to sell and outdo the other camp; irrespective of technique, ethics or integrity.

As a people, we’re constantly being reprogrammed anew to think along divisive lines. Before analysing situations it is common for us to input irrelevant data into our thought matrix which almost always necessitates an arrival at illogical conclusions.

Tribe, religion, party and other affiliations are our foremost considerations when deciding if to criticize or defend ideals, actions, or persons. A typical example is the ‘They-are-against-us-because-we-are-from-this-area’ mentality. The puppeteers pulling our strings know the science behind our bias and don’t hesitate to use it to attain their selfish ends. Whether fuel is scarce or not, traffic cold or hot, they hardly feel the pinch.

Remember, there’s no go-slow in the skies, it’s me and you who suffer down here.

It is good to make banter and parodies of our situation because let’s face it we are in a pretty ugly mess and we need the comedy in order to stay sane. However, we need to be wary of some certain ‘experts’ who feed by disseminating apocrypha and passing them off as learned views. These individuals are easy to spot and some of their major attributes are listed below:

Ø Their analyses are designed to score points for one camp or the other

Ø They never follow their criticisms with solutions/suggestions

Ø They hardly have facts to support their claims

Ø Their criticisms are mostly limited to 140 characters

Ø Most of them are paid to mud-sling (throw shade)

Ø Most do not understand what is really going on and do not care to find out

The above should suffice in identifying 140 character pundits and similar entities wherever they might exist.

Now, I'm not of the opinion that criticism is bad. That would negate the very tenets of the democratic system which I staunchly believe in. On the contrary, this is an advocacy for informed criticism which is like a modern day unicorn in these parts. 

Fuel is scarce. Dollar is high. No electricity. Traffic is crazy. And then the next thing you see is:

PDP camp: Here is the change you were promised. At least, during GEJ’s time dollar never got this high.

APC camp: See, this is not our fault. We met this mess here and never expected it to be this bad.

This gets me shaking my head literally every time.

I believe majority of Nigerians want good roads devoid of traffic, stable electricity, affordable and available fuel, healthcare as well as other basic amenities of life. I would like to also believe we do not yearn for hospitals catering to PDP/APC members only, schools for Yoruba’s only or malls for Christians only. I believe most of us want the same things. To share and live together in this ideal called Nigeria. This is my fantasy and if you believe in it, it makes both of us patriots.

So should we play our nation away like Baba Ijebu? Should we trade our country for personal satisfaction or monetary gain? Should we repeat the same complaints all the time?

I say ‘NO’.

Several times I've had cause to discuss the polity with certain people (especially ‘educated’ youths) and I keep discovering a pattern: we keep complaining about the same things, we’re too ‘busy’ (reading gossip blogs) to find out why we keep facing the same challenges or to create solutions to them; having a belief that whatever this party does can’t be good because I like the other party. This is a destructive mind-set for the people of any nation to have. There’s virtually no way sustainable progress can be achieved because we are already primed saboteurs to one another.

While I am not an expert on American democracy, I'm near certain theirs has evolved beyond the type of destructive tit for tat politics we’re fond of here. As patriots, we owe it to our conscience, our children, our legacy to become interested and involved in national issues trying as much as we can to be impartial in analysis and criticism.

Like I told people repeatedly after the last elections, ‘forget campaign promises, Nigeria’s problems aren't the kind an easy fix will solve’. Our core concerns need long term solutions and this means more suffering. It means sacrifice and pain. I am not concerned about which party is making the necessary change; my business is in the job getting done.

So if any APC apologist shows you a picture of a completed project and emphatically credits the APC government, tell him/her that public office is a service and not a favour. It is their duty to serve and not a privilege.

Or if any PDP apologist starts a ‘no fuel, no light’ chant, don’t just jump on the band. Find out why first. Having facts at hand will help you provide informed criticism and enlighten so many uninformed Nigerians.

A lot of Nigerians don’t know why the Dollar is high, why fuel is repeatedly scarce, the reason for the epileptic power, and the unbearable heat. If we as ‘educated’ youths can use channels like the internet, radio, TV etc. to follow up on the latest gist, post and download pictures/videos; it shouldn't be too much of a bother to use the same media to obtain and disseminate correct and unbiased information about national issues. It is understandable if we do not have access to these channels but we do. So please let’s use them.

To use the Frank Donga’s famous words, ‘lezz stop the merry-go-rounding please’. It’s high time we laid this us versus them mentality to rest. This is not a football tournament where one side has to lose and go home. This is our home and we can all win.

Valar Dohaeris.

God bless Nigeria.

God. Who?

Would you serve God if Hell didn’t exist?

If you are the type with zero tolerance for this sort of ‘loose’ thinking euphemistically labelled ‘free thinking’, you probably have me tagged already as a troublemaker for posing this question let alone thinking it. You’re probably also convinced I’m bound for the hottest parts of Hades.

Maybe you are right. Anyway, lets allow God be the judge of that, shall we?

World religions generally follow an identical system of rules and principles based on reward for good behaviour and the opposite for misconduct. Whatever the label, the underlying concept remains the same: ‘Heaven’ for the goodly and ‘Hell’ for the erring; Earth automatically acquiring the intermediate status of a ‘Middle Earth’ [pun intended] like processing hub/orb where the chaff gets trashed.

This tit for tat dynamic I would like to tag the ‘bogeyman effect’ is uncannily omnipresent in human structures everywhere on the planet: in schools, the workplace, relationships, society as a whole. It’s the standard to train the world, maintain normalcy and sustain civilisation as we have it and it starts with telling every child a bedtime story about the bogeyman…

Even with this tried and trusted system, we still have delinquents; societal misfits etc. who somehow hack around the bogeyman effect and go against society. However alarming this might be from time to time, it is reassuring that such a structure is existent.

Basically, the ‘Devil’ is the afterlife’s bogeyman and Hell is his place where those who have angered God will go.

         

It is an overarchingly nice proposition and by design structured to cause a reasonable deficit for the Devil.I especially get riled up when I read of or listen to preaching along the lines of hell, brimstone, and damnation. From experience, such preachers and preaching have little to do with a God of love or forgiveness and more to do with fear of an unforgiving megalomaniac being. Such experiences always leave me wondering about God and Hell; love and fear.

Questions like: ‘would mankind serve God without the threat of hell fire?’

‘Is love greater than fear?’

‘Does hell exist?’

‘Is there a God somewhere just waiting to put his creations in it?’

Questions I still don’t have conclusive answers to.

Maybe like the Jedi saying ‘There are questions to which we can never have answers. We can only be answers’ and we have to die a ‘death’ to unravel these mysteries.

To attempt the first question above, in all fairness I think if I would serve a God at all without the threat of Hell, it would be way different. Less routine and more similar to plain adoration than what is currently de rigueur. All this is hypothetical, don’t take me serious please.

I think the brimstone brand of every religion while effective in enshrining a bogeyman culture and training adherents to conform inadvertently breeds overzealousness, religious intolerance, and fanaticism. My sentiments on this is simple; ‘God’s not dead. If you have to fight for your God, there’s need to rethink who is creator and who is creation’.

In submission, I believe the entity God is many and the same thing: Nature, The Big Bang, The Cosmic energy physicists study; The Life biologists continuously attempt to decipher, God is us.

Yet the God of the Old Testament, The Quran, New Testament; Supreme Deities worshipped by our ancestors etc. may be near impossible or difficult to reconcile with the neo-God we now serve due to obvious and gaping dissimilarities. So, does God change over the times or has God changed?

Forgive my manners but I may need to employ some question dodging here by answering the above question with another which is ‘Do humans change?’

If your answer is the same as mine, perhaps it may be safe to infer that humans over the ages have been serving the same entity and possibly due to alterations in their cognitive, intuitive and intellectual composition evolved varying perceptions of the said being, recorded this in scriptures and unwittingly created the many-faced god [again, pun intended] we currently know.

Thanks for reading.

Valar Morghulis.

He was starving to death

He realised late

Ignored to invisibility

His new best friend, Paranoia

In his ears

Loneliness ever cooing comfort

So, the first time he had a thousand likes

Two thousand hearts

Three hundred retweets

He fainted and passed on

And on his grave they wrote

“Here lies him who was killed by love”

Black

Giloba village

Good evening fellow sufferers

Or bad, should I say?

I see it all

Rumpled undies

Wet armpits

Forced to tears

By heat, exhaustion

And frustration

Auntie’s stretch-marks are stretched to a gory length

Giving out a scare-crow smile

Amused, no doubt they are

Why should one get a TV?

When Lagos streets are full of so much action?

I greet you too

My brothers and sisters

Towering above us in the BRTs

Looking down on the rest of us in all your ‘upright standing’

Thank you

For keeping Great Fela, prophetic since 1970

Su kere, fa kere, this is the song traffic sings

Yoruba seems to be the lingua

Everyone in this village speaks it

And then you hear ‘ko ni ye e!’

As a bumper kisses another

There’s too much to watch

One can hardly focus

Gala hawkers are making hay

Or to be more succinct, making money

There’s no place for hay in this village

A conductor’s still-born sputum finds home near a beggar’s niche

Hurriedly dying a slow death seconds into existence

Which should one pity?

The armless, harmless beggar

Or the sputum freed into death?

Cries of ‘wo le wa, wo le wa’ swims into my reverie

And several drivers re-enact ‘fast and furious’ in beautiful confusion

Alomo is somewhere in the system

And I suspect, doing most of the driving

None amongst us can complain of being hungry

Not with the heavy serving of stench and exhaust smoke

I see it in all eyes

We’re being fed

Till we’re fed up

All these stories I tell with my eyes to my fellow sufferers

But none seem to take hint

I do not blame any

Their eyes spin yarns of the same story

In this village, we all are beggars

Some are the “Jagaban’s” children

With blood-red eyes and a raggedy voice

Croaking “oun da?” at every stop

Other kinds will show you Heaven’s doors

If you’re kind enough to leave offering

You will meet also,

Those whose pills cure all ills

If you would but help yourself.

 

Appendix

BRTs are big commercial buses  which provide cheap transportation

Su kere, fa kere is the Yoruba way of describing heavy traffic.

ko ni ye e translates to “It won’t be well with you”

wo le wa, wo le wa means “enter here, enter here”

Alomo is a strong rum/gin like alcohol drink

A Jagaban is a very influential politician (LOL)

oun da is the “where is it?” touts ask when they request their daily devotion from commuters

Col' World

The World is a cold

Hard spinning globe

Indifferent to tears

If it would stop, just once

Then, I’d know it cares

Life must go on

Yes, but why it must

Dares no one say?

Or is Time to blame

For this Earth’s non-stop?

Time is harsh

The Watch constant reminds

Tick, tock, tock

When I’m happy, when I’m sad

Tick, tock, non-stop

Oh! If Night would once

But delay pomp

Of rising Sun

Then some comfort

I might have in gloom

Ilu Sioni

Stupid! Stupid!                         

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Dido mused.      

She hadn’t even been able to do this one good deed. Kill herself and save her parents shame. How she’d mixed up the pills and ended up taking more of Vitamin C puzzled her. Well, there really was no mystery to solve. Somewhere in her subconscious, she had been scared. She hadn’t had the courage to do it.

The excruciating cramps had woken her. Her whole system was in chaos. She had visited the loo 8 times and still wasn’t feeling any reprieve. It seemed anything she tried was somehow been used against her.

God! Please! I’ll confess first thing in the morning. Just let this pain stop. I’ll change my ways. I’ll read the bible more. I’ll stop having sex. She rambled on in her mind.

Three hours later after a fitful sleep, morning came. Despair washed over her as she opened her eyes. Today was her day of reckoning. Her sins would be paid for. She would own up and tell her mother. Then her mother would tell her father. He would disown her. She would be sent packing. The neighbours would hear. Her belly would protrude. Everyone would see and her shame would see light.

She got up reluctantly from her messed up bed and proceeded to remake it. Her bed was the first thing her mother would check out once she came by to say her usual morning greetings.

As she pulled and straightened the bed-cloth, her eyes caught a faint spot on it. Doubting her eyes; she touched it, caressing the material. Sudden energy flushed through her and she lifted her night-gown up. There, nestled in between her thighs was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. Ketch-up.

Perhaps, salt-water had worked after all. Maybe it had been postinor. Or was it Vitamin C? God? She would probably never know for sure and she didn’t care if she never did. From today henceforth, she decided she would never hate on ketch-up ever again.

"To a man of faith; coincidence is fate, and to a man of fate, it's his faith."

Thanks for reading.

Runt Rant

Runt Rant

Ilu Sioni

Dido was not her real name but it was the name everyone knew her by. Even her parents often times called her Dido against their better judgment. Though they didn’t like it, she absolutely loved the name. Her parents were Witnesses and so was she; automatically. Both were highly placed in the organization’s hierarchy. Her dad was a zonal overseer while her mum handled the circuits. Both were habitually strict disciplinarians and traditionally busy people but they still found ample time to drill the gospel into her at all times to a point where she felt like choking. For an only child, having no close cousins or friends, it felt like she was being imprisoned for some crime committed in her previous life.
She felt sometimes they must think her a devil. The way they hammered the gospel into her day and night like they did, like they somehow believed they could exorcise her that way. She didn’t really fault them, inside, in her mind; her thoughts were the kind that would have made their faithful BRT-lane hearts stop functioning. She had been told she’d been somewhat mischievous as a child and that had earned her the name “Dido” from a family friend. The name hadn’t made her parents ecstatic and she could still imagine their horror that she’d responded to it than any of her rightful names. The fact that it made them unhappy pleased her a bit. Not that she hated them, it just felt good to be able to rebel against them in a somewhat if little way.
Dido hadn’t always been against them, their beliefs or everything else they stood for. She had at a point been enthusiastic about the gospel too. She’d always excelled at bible quizzes and competitions. Coming first had even become boring. Then, she’d been confident enough to think that she would best the devil himself in a bible quiz.
It was probably the monotony of it all that had gotten to her. Her life had become even more predictable than a madman’s clothing accessories. Kingdom hall, school, home, read school books, read bible, digest publications, eat, sleep, wake, repeat same process. Even the few people she had tried to befriend at church were extremely boring people with no imagination. A few times she’d tried to share some of the repressed thoughts in her mind with them; the bewildered looks on their faces had shut her up.
To her horror, her parents sensing her withdrawal and perceiving it as a spiritual backslide had dedicated additional time to her gospel lessons. Ketch-up hadn’t made things easy either. The pain, nausea and irritation she normally experienced went up more than three notches that year. Then, somewhere she read that sex helped in reducing menstrual cramps and other attendant problems. Coincidentally, she met Koro that period during one of her evangelism rounds. 

He was a rich boy, not that he bought her things or she requested them. That would have alerted her parents’ suspicions for they procured all her needs. Her university wasn’t far away also and she returned home every day. So, there was no place to hide the gifts Koro didn’t give her. She didn’t mind and he also didn’t complain and so they lived happily never after. Koro also had the TDH factor which also didn’t really matter to her because she couldn’t be seen with him as his girlfriend publicly. He was Catholic, she was a Witness. They shouldn’t/couldn’t date talk-less marry each other. So, they kept it under-G lower than G-strings. She knew he didn’t love her, liked her maybe but no love. Not that she cared, she didn’t love him too. They did the ‘ahem ahem’ more than they talked even, so there was absolutely no room for love to stay. For love, rent was expensive and she liked it that way because it only complicated things.
Tuesday and Thursday evenings were her best days of the week. A sweaty work-out session with Koro always refreshed her. Sex; she felt was the sole reason gods envied mortals. Good oral sex; was the reason Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden Of Life. Even as a kid, she’d never bought the Apple story wholly. It sounded too manufactured.
She remembered the first time she'd asked her mum questions regarding it.
"Mom, how many apples did Adam and Eve eat?"
"One. They shared one I believe" her mother had replied.
"Was there only one apple on the tree?"
"Err.. I don't think so. There were many apples"
"So, God chased Adam and Eve from the Garden for eating one apple?"
"No, you don't understand. God chased them away because they were disobedient to him" her mother had responded.
"Mom, wasn't it the Snake that made them eat the apple?" Dido remembered asking.
"Yes, but Adam and Eve chose to disobey God"
"Mom" Dido had said with a purposeful look.
"If you tell me not to eat something and I disobey you, would you chase me away from our house?"
Her mother had hastily pulled her close and said with all the sincerity she could muster.
"Of course no, dear, I would never do such to you. I love you dearly"
"But didn't God love Adam and Eve too?"
Her mother had sighed.
"Dido, when you grow up, you'll understand better"
"Why was the Snake in the Garden in the first place?" "Shouldn't the Snake have been chased from the Garden instead?" She'd pressed on undeterred.
Her mother obviously at wits end had subtly changed the discussion. Dido had been five years old then. She'd grown up to understand the story better just as her mother had promised.
She believed the snake/devil had taught Eve the 69 which would explain her eating first before Adam. Adam; she believed would undoubtedly have been a dumb bloke like most of his male descendants. Explaining a complex system like 69 to someone whose hobby was eating and naming animals would have been no doubt frustrating. No wonder the snake/devil chose Eve.
The months when Koro went to school were the hardest on her. She climbed the lowest heights of despair. His parents were the very rich kind who could afford a school for him in the UK. Although they chatted via internet occasionally, there was really nothing to say. Their mode of communication was of a physical nature which even skyping couldn’t satisfy.
Today, she was happy. It was a Tuesday and Koro was around. It had been a while and she’d missed their work-out sessions tremendously. She was sure he would have missed it too. Down low, just thinking about their first session together in what seemed like ages to her, rivers of cum had overflowed their banks. She could feel it.
She arrived at his place exactly the same time she did every time. Opened the side gate because she knew it was unlocked. Went to the back of the house where the boys’ quarters were, opened the unlocked door and met Koro already dressed. He was naked. 

“What’s up?” He said, his eyes saying something else.
“I’m good” She said, her eyes betraying the lie.
As if on cue, they went down and became one at once, kissing and licking, feeling and touching as they communicated physically in rapid staccato. And then just when she could bear it no more, he reached under the mattress and retrieved a goal-stopper, put it on and eased his staff into her watering-hole. She visited three different planets and made a U-turn at Saturn before he was finally done.
Rolling off him, she realized some of his water-gun squirts had entered her; the goal-stopper had failed. She remembered feeling the sweet trickling sensation while on Venus. She’d been too far gone to give voice to the caution then. Somehow the goal-stopper must have tired out under Koro’s relentless assault.
Koro got up and started looking for something near the foot of the mattress where a trolley stood.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any more supplies of postinor” Koro said.
“So, what do we do now?” Dido asked, fear creeping into her voice.
“Err… I’ll give you money to get it. In the meantime, I’ll get you salt and water to drink”
“Salt and water?!” she asked, incredulous.
“Babe, you might not believe it, but it works. It’ll flush all that ish out in no time” Koro said, conviction glinting in his brown eyes.
“How many girls have you used it for?” Dido asked, tauntingly now, mischief gradually replacing her initial fear.
Koro looked at her in a funny way, smiled then went out to get the salt solution. He made her down three big cups of the distasteful concoction before releasing her. She refused the money he offered for the postinor and quickly dressed. She would get the drug on the way home.
So far, she’d been to three pharmacy stores and all she had to show for it were Vitamin C packs and lozenges. All the stores were packed with people and she couldn’t bring herself to buy the drug in their presence. She was afraid someone might know someone who knew her. She’d been counting on the stores to be sparsely populated but it was evening; everyone flooded pharmacies at that period. Koro had been the one who usually got these things. As she was thinking of looking for another pharmacy to try; she heard her father’s familiar car-horn behind her. That was the end of her ultimate search that evening.
It wasn’t until Thursday evening after another steamy session with Koro that she finally got the drug. She sent it down with cold water to minimize the taste of it in her mouth. She hated pills of any kind. She couldn’t even take Vitamin C without a liquid to push it down. Because Koro was leaving for school that weekend, they had an additional session. In the end, she had to forcefully break away. Her Cinderella clock was dinging inside her head. She was due home that moment. Discovery was too dangerous to be risked just yet.
That night, her mother gave her some terribly unsettling news. A young girl in their church had lost her life having an abortion. Though flustered, Dido managed to veil her emotions, saying all the right words, giving the appropriate exclamations and taking care not to overdo the acting. Alone on her bed later that night, Dido kept re-enacting the warm trickle moment with Koro on Tuesday evening. She debated calling him and decided against it. What was there to tell him? Her sleep was a medley of confusing dreams that night.
That weekend; ketch-up came calling and for once in her existence, she was glad to have the pains.
***********************************
Everything was just wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Dido thought as she wrung her hands in anguish. Everything and everyone had failed her. Salt-water, goal-stopper, postinor, God and even Koro. Well, she didn’t feel hurt that God hadn’t come to her rescue. He didn’t owe her any favours. It was Koro’s betrayal that hurt her most. The way he’d changed from sweet Koro to monster Koro before her own very koro-koro eyes once she mentioned she was two months late. She hadn’t even mentioned that word boys feared to hear before he went stiff. Even though, it had been via Skype, she’d read his reaction clearly. He had told her exactly what she’d known she would hear but had hoped not to.
“I’ll send you some money to clean up”.
If he hadn’t repeated it twice, she could have sworn he was just telling her he would send her money to buy toilet soap.
She’d protested teary-eyed. He’d remained unmoved. She’d threatened to tell his parents; he’d dared her to. They’d traded a few fuck you’s until he’d ended the chat. She hadn’t heard from him since then.
She was too scared to think of attempting an abortion. What if it went wrong? The shame and disgrace for her family. Or if it went well but her womb was affected? Or she lost too much blood or something? She would still die because she wouldn’t be getting blood from anyone. Her parents would see to that. If only she had someone to confide in.
Every plan she’d thought out so far ended in suicide. Abortion; suicide. Pregnancy; suicide. Suicide! Suicide! Suicide! Suicide? Maybe that could just be the only way out for her, Dido thought. The dead know no shame. Her only concern was for the pain she would cause her parents. But, she felt sure there would be no autopsy and if there was no autopsy, perhaps her parents would suffer less humiliation. Suicide was a way out; her way out.