Story Time!

Stories! Well The Love Story is very much alive and well and will grace these blog pages again sometime in the near future. Wanted to introduce you to another story I started writing , called The Story Of Ruth. The title is simple (for a reason), I can’t give away too much at this point or that will just spoil the story. So Im just going to put a chapter or two (some people have been repelled when I just post a whole heap of writing :-/) just to see how you feel about it. Should I carry on, or let the Ruth story rest?

Chapter One
“Ngozi! Where is the water? I asked you to fill this keg yesterday, Ngozi!!”. “Ngozi blinked and covered her eyes as the morning sun poured in from the window. Ngozi rubbed the remnants of sleep away from her eyes and pulled herself out of bed and onto her knees. “Thank you Lord for this day, thank you for waking me up today, thank you for…” “NGOZI!” “Yes ma, coming ma”. Ngozi rushed outside, with the colourful wrapper tied around her. “I’ve been calling you since, what were you doing inside of there?” “Sorry Ma, I was sleeping, I only just woke up”. “Mm, Is that so? What of the water I asked you to fetch yesterday?”. “ I’m sorry ma, I forgot”. Mama sighed outwardly. “Ngozi, what are you doing with your brain these days? Come on, go and get the water my friend!” “Yes ma”.

After brushing her teeth and splashing a little water on her face, Ngozi left for the stream, bucket in arm and slippers slapping the ground noisily. Ngozi enjoyed the walk to the stream. It gave her a few cherished moments alone and time to clear her head. The morning was still crisp, but the sun had started to rise, warming up the air.
Ngozi sang as she walked along to the stream. So lost in her thoughts and song she was that she didn’t notice the small and menacing looking viper on her path. Ngozi walked on when someone suddenly darted out from the bushes. Ngozi looked up at the man, startled. When she noticed the viper on the path, Ngozi screamed and started to run. Before she could run far, the man had caught the snake, killed it quickly and disposed of it. Ngozi doubled over, breathing heavily, the bucket discarded. “Thank you, I didn’t even see it”. “That’s ok”. Once Ngozi had caught her breath she picked up her bucket and started to leave. “Thanks again erm?” “Emeka” the male replied. “Ah, thank you Emeka, God bless you”. Ngozi started to leave when Emeka called after her, “wait, what’s you name?”. “Ngozi”, she replied as she carried on walking, not giving Emeka the chance to say much else. Emeka smiled to himself as Ngozi walked in carrying on her song from where she had left off. He was sure their paths would cross again, sometime soon.

Chapter two
After Ngozi had made two or three trips to the stream, the keg was full and her mothers temper was appeased. “My daughter, don’t be angry with me about this morning, I just want you to make a good wife one day. This is why I’m talking now”. “Yes ma, I know I know”. Ngozi was the first of the three children of Mrs Chukuemeka. Their father was long deceased, so Ngozi’s mother was the main breadwinner. Ngozi was a tall and fair skinned teenager. Ngozi didn’t think much of her looks, but the villager called her a “rare jewel”. Ngozis face was flawless, as if kissed by the sun, her lips full, showing her African heritage and sealed off with light brown eyes and long eyelashes. “Ngozi, Mr. Peters came here looking for you while you were at the stream”. Ngozi rolled her eyes, “What did he want?” “Hmm, well he said he just wanted to come and greet you, he was quite disappointed you were not home”. “I’m sure”, was her reply”. “He left this for you”. Ngozi’s mum pointed to the other side of the veranda. There lay a black plastic bag. Ngozi opened the bag, and inside lay all manner of gifts. An assortment of Ankara materials, all in the latest designs, some fancy foreign sounding creams and perfumes, and a beautiful pair of earrings. “Ha, Ngozi! What is all of this?” “Ma I don’t know”. “This is all rather expensive to just give to somebody?. As Ngozi’s mother looked over the material, a bundle of notes fell to the floor. “Ha! Mr Peters, thank you o!”. Before Ngozi could even blink, her mother had swopped down and picked the money. “Mama, what are you doing?”, “my friend, heaven helps those who help themselves”. “Mama, I can’t accept all these gifts from this man, I’m taking them back right now”. “Ngozi, but you don’t even know why he brought these gifts “. In Ngozis mind, there could only be one reason Mr Peters had brought this bag of gifts. ”Mama, I don’t like this, at all, just give me the money, I’m going to return these things now”. “Haba, at least wait a little my daughter”. When Ngozi’s mother noticed that Ngozis face showed the subject was no longer up for discussion, she begrudgingly handing back the money”. Ngozi stuffed the gifts back in the bag and stormed off, headed for Mr Peters house.

What did you think?????

x

ps Im not Ibo, so I tried my best with the Ibo theme I was going with!

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About Memoirs Of A Yoruba Girl

A Londoner rooted in Yoruba culture exploring life behind her personal lenses

Posted on May 25, 2012, in My Writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. very very very good!!! miles ahead of ur 1st story. keep ’em coming 🙂

  2. I like. Please continue.

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