I’m quite excited to write this post today. For anyone who may have had a look around the “Memoirs Of A Yoruba Girl” blog, you will know I dabble in fictional writing from time to time.
My writing journey started with a story on this blog with a post titled the “The Colour Red” in around 2011/2012. (Here’s the link in case you wanted to read it https://memoirsofayorubagirl.wordpress.com/2012/01/29/my-first-attempt-at-writing/?preview=true )
At the start of 2015, I set myself a number of goals, one of which was to write a book. As the title indicates, the book now exists and is ready for download via Amazon Kindle. I hope and pray that by God’s grace, this will be the first of many.
Please kindly pop along to the Amazon Website via the link below.
Download, read, enjoy and give me your honest feedback. Most importantly, please share!
Hoping to hear from you
Memoirs Of A Yoruba Girl
happy Wednesday everyone, Just a short post here. Hope the week has been good so far? I’ve got another part of the story of Ruth, (just in case anyone wondered). So say hello to some more from Ngozi and Emeka. Enjoy and let me know what you think!
ps please excuse the extra dots, spelling errors and etc. Its still in work in progress! and if the story doesn’t make sense, feel free to backtrack to the first few chapters I posted at an earlier date!
The Story Of Ruth
Emeka smiled to himself as the beautiful stranger named Ngozi carried on walking to the stream. This wasn’t the first time he had seen her walking this path to the stream. He had always wondered what her name was. Ngozi was a beautiful name for such a beautiful woman. Ngozi was a name from the Ibo people of Nigeria. It simply meant being a blessing. Emeka allowed himself to dream as he walked back to his family compound. He chuckled to himself as he remembered her screaming after seeing the snake. As he walked back, he wondered why he had never seen her around with the other village girls who were of marriageable age. He found he thought a lot about Ngozi, even before he knew what her name was. He thought about her face, her voice, and the beautiful songs she sung on the way to the stream. The one she sang today sounded a lot like one of the hymns from the local village church where he attended for Sunday morning services. He loved their little village church. It wasn’t anything to be compared to some of the mega high steeple churches he had seen on his few trips to Lagos, but God was there, that was definite. Church was like nothing else he could describe. Sundays were a festive day in their village and even in their neighbouring ones. All the ladies in the village put on their best clothes, with head ties almost touching the sky. The men wore traditional attire so starched and ironed, it was impossible to see a crease. On a Sunday, children knew better than to play and run around to mess up their Sunday clothes although by the afternoon, most of them would have forgotten………………….. Their church resident Pastor, Pastor Amechi, was quite a character. He was quite a dark stout man, with a round pot belly. Pastor Amechi always insisted on wearing a white shirt, dog collar and a black blazer, all of which would be drenched in sweat by the end of the service. Emeka found him to be quite a humorous man, but he could never argue that Pastor Amechi didn’t know what he was talking about. He had arrived from Lagos some years back, originally from a village similar to theirs. Emeka wondered why Ibo people ever went to Lagos. Lagos was filled with the Yoruba people of Nigeria, most of whom still worshiped gods like sango, the god of thunder, osun and several others. Ibo people too had been idol worshippers, worshipping the sprits of ancestors, dead and buried kings and feared jungle animals,most especially in this village, but once the Gospel of Jesus Christ, or better known as Jesu Kristi arrived through pastor Amechi, it swept the village like a flood and soon, their indigenous idols were forgotten. Emeka strolled in to his family compound with his catch from the bush. “Ada? Amarachi? , come and take this meat”. His sisters, both younger than him slinked in, annoyed about the work that they could not escape. “Welcome brother” they both chorused. “Thank you. Take this meat and clean it, so mama can cook with it later”. “But brother, this meat is so big, it will take us a long time to finish”. “That is your own problem”. Emeka had to supress his laughter as they picked up the meat, silently fighting themselves and each other. Emeka sunk into one of the chairs on the veranda, and allowed his thoughts to again wonder, back to Ngozi.
“I’m coming o, hold on”. Ngozi stood in front of Mr Peters door, face set as stone. The door clicked open and Mr Peters peered out through a crack in the door. “Ah Ngozi, it is you, welcome dear”. “Good morning sir”, Ngozi curtsied in a way respectful to elders in the community. Mr Peters smiled, “Ngozi baby, this is why I have always liked you, you are a very respectful girl”. Ngozi rolled her eyes inwardly. “Please sir, I don’t have time, I came to return this bag you left at our compound”. Mr Peters looked down and noticed the bag in her hand. “Why? You don’t you like the gifts? I can get you some different materials if you would prefer? Lace? Or maybe some more European kinds?”.”Please sir, I don’t want, good day”. Ngozi dropped the bag and started to leave. “Ngozi, wait now, why are you rushing, can I offer you something?”. By this point Mr Peters had sat down on a wooden chair in his compound and was fanning himself from the ever increasing heat. “Ngozi, please sit, there is something important I would like to discuss with you”,” Mr Peters, I don’t have the time”. “Ngozi, we are not fighting? Come and sit”. Ngozi begrudgingly sat , though as far away from Mr Peters as the bench would allow. “I’ve known you a long while now. I’ve seen you grow from that naughty little baby that never wanted to bath into a beautiful young lady that any man would be proud to have”. Ngozi nodded, thoughts a thousand miles away. “Before your father died, I promised I would take care of you and your siblings, and I’ve been thinking of how to make good on that promise. I’ve spoken to your mother about finalising our wedding plans, but she felt it would be better if I asked you”. Ngozi’s thoughts made an emergency stop “What?” was all Ngozi could muster. “The wedding plans now, between you and my son, Chinedu”. Ngozi mentally breathed a deep sigh of relief, she thought it was about to be a case of men that didn’t realise how old they really were. In their village, it was common place for the older men in the village to have some perverted tendencies and several of them had 2nd wives, old enough to be their daughters. Some of the more brave hearted ones went as far as three. “Please Sir, I have not heard anything about these wedding plans before, I don’t really believe in arranged marriages anyway. I think people should marry for love”. “Hmm, is that so? Very interesting”, Mr Peters gave Ngozi a look that made her feel more stupid. “Anyway, madam love, go and discuss with your mother and get back to me so we can agree on a date for your engagement”. By this point, Ngozi’s heart was racing, “Mr Peters, I don’t want to marry your son, please, I came to return the gifts, I don’t want any trouble”. “Look Ngozi , you know me as a respected man in this our village, and I always get what I want , if you don’t want the gifts , I will take them back , but you will marry my son , that is not an option”. Ngozi’s mouth was dry and her head racing a mile a minute. What was she to reply to this man? She knew what a shrewd man Mr Peters was, and she knew what he was capable of. “Mr Peters, I’m leaving now, my mother will be expecting me back by now”. “Go my daughter, it is well with you, don’t forget our discussion”, Ngozi dropped the bag, and started to leave the compound, she rolled her eyes and whispered under her breath, “discussion indeed”.
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?
“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.
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?????
ps Im not Ibo, so I tried my best with the Ibo theme I was going with!