Tag Archives: Akukoanyi

Written By: Olaleye Oladipupo
Follow on Facebook: Olaleye Azeem Oladipupo 

Instagram/ twitter: @da_diarist    


                   Episode One

Their breaths clamp, unperturbed. Both tidily swooned, the tempo of their heartbeats speeds and slows from time to time to match up with the ceiling-fan’s whirl that hangs loosely over them. She kneads his belly here and there with her fingers as if the fingers are in search of some invisible object that must be lying somewhere amidst the very tiny shreds of hair that sprung across his belly. Reflections from the glittering multicolour bulb that is strategically fixed on the wall, above an array of framed artworks displayed at one corner of the room bounce off their bare skin, their waists tie up like fingers crossed. 

Prone positioned, one of her cheeks nestles out of sight down into his sparse-haired barrel-chest. Her perfect figure eight basks in the spiritless air that swamps the room. Her rich brown skin dazzle in the half light; a well carved bronze statue resting on the bed beside him or perhaps she was moulded out of melted chocolate bars. She has that kind of figure amateur artists try to paint twenty times before dropping their brushes. Bright with life, drowned in gusto, all lines and turns, squiggles and wriggles.

Toes run over toes and tie up to edges of the bed, black boots and pink heels line up against the bed corners. Ruffled white shirt, lilac shorts and a black and white polka dot gown spread out on the carpet across the room, a dull green G-string brace up the couch’s arm rested against the window closest to the bed. One of his burly forearms curl up her neck, letting the back of his fingers pluck out the glitters of her hair, same line to her back and across to her humpy buttocks. The other arm stretch out above him, his face upward, his beards shroud his entire chin and a pronounced portion of his neck like a fierce fringe of tiny thin grass blades growing on a concrete slab circles the only crack on the slab that supplies water and nutrient from the soil underneath, emphasizing the size of his lips.

The unbroken silence harmonizes with the perfume-and-gin-drenched cold air wavering about the four-corner room fancied up to fit an average monthly wage. No one has spoken a word since the first sunray peered into the room, as if words might dislodge the tranquillity of the early morning that is blossoming right in between their laid up skins.

They had met the night before, at a bar, out in the city. Not drunk at first, and then drunk. Both cannot remember how they got tangled, who picked who. It is one of those things civilization had tagged along, men who meet women at bars, clubs, motor-parks or church vigils and hit it off the same night.

The silence lingers a bit more, now as a whip cutting the air, their curiosity succumbs a little more to the gentle intimacy of the early morning. Eyes delve into the ceiling and walls, alternating and often crossing paths, lips remain stuck down until rays of the rising sun puncturing through the vibrant curtains flared the room into a flamboyant view. The words found him first, then her

And their conversation went something like:

  • Hey, I had an awesome night. 
  • Yeah? Me too. The night was electric. You kept on going and going. I enjoyed every bit of it. 

  • You are amazing, a sweet cherry.

  • Don’t flatter me. You are not bad yourself… So I am Kemi.

  • Mike. Chairman, Fins and Beck limited

  • Fins and B…  Mike? Ogundele Mike?

  • Yeah…

  • Mike… Banji’s brother?

  • Yeah? How did you know Ban…? Wait a minute! Kemi?

A fist clenches up in his heart, his heart tears down into smithereens, so does hers. Their minds dart into mindless races, thoughts flutter by, almost shattering the window panes.

Springing apart like unlike poles repel; after allowing some seconds to fly by and saturate the room with tension and ambivalence, his eyes delve into her unclothed body, as if in search of something in her dark curly hair, or the twin teardrop shaped bullocks that freely graze on her chest or the parentheses that encloses her pubes or her straight legs, something somewhere, that will suddenly give her another identity, any other person in the world that is not Kemi, the Kemi his younger brother has been singing into the ears of every person that comes his way.

  • You are Kemi? Banji’s new babe, the one he just met? The one he came home last week to tell the family about? The one we are to go meet her family in two weeks time?

His lips quiver; two large palm fronds lying on top of one another at the very peak of the tree that just got hit by a ferocious wind.

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He said Peter Pan that’s what they call me, I promise that you’ll never be lonely. And ever since that day….I am a lost boy from Neverland, usually hanging out with Peter Pan, and when were bored we play in the woods, always on the run from Captain Hook…Run run lost boy, they say to me, away from all of reality…’Lost Boy’ – Ruth B

Written By: Olaleye Oladipupo

Follow on Facebook: Olaleye Azeem Oladipupo

Instagram/ twitter: @da_diarist

It wasn’t like every other Wednesday. There were no lectures. The curfew had been announced on Monday. They said it was for the rituals that needed to be performed after the demise of the king. And on Tuesday, circulars had already torn through every corner on campus that all students should stay in their hostels. The curfew was slated from 9am to 4pm, then 11pm till dawn. Desmond and I agreed to spend the whole day together in Quarters. The Staff-Quarters was on campus, and rituals do not enter campus. So it was safe. Besides that was where his family stayed. So Before 8 o’clock that morning, I was already on campus. We sauntered the scenic garden that surrounded the Quarters for hours, amidst the spray of trees that laid behind the buildings, out in the sun and let the scorching breeze steer us. Hand in hand. Smiles locked. We watched the shadows of the trees through our matching sunglasses, how they stood frozen and yet often crossed our paths. Their bent trunks and the grace of their leaves. How tired birds perched on their escaping branches and the edges of our shadows. How their wings fluttered. The melody in their calls. One thing led to another. I wanted to get laid by him, right there, in the hot fast breeze.
‘That’s nasty, he said.’
‘I know. I don’t care.’

‘That’s just somehow, its daylight.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Nobody comes out here in the woods anyways.’


Neither of us said a word further. Until we found ourselves the perfect spot to lie and got tangled. The touch of his silky smooth fingers was heavenly. My heart was thumping in my chest as he unbuckled my belt and pushed my trousers down my legs to the earth. I felt as though it was the first time ever I was being touched. I reached out and touched his face, and he kissed me softly on the wrist as my hand caressed his face from his hairline, down his nose, and across his angular cheekbones. And then I slipped my fingers down, over to his trousers and undid his zipper. He gently turned me over and made me lie down prone, there on the grass, with my naked butt floating a little bit into the spiritless breeze. The feeling was nothing short of electric when he gently penetrated into me. I moaned weightily and I thought I heard him moan too as he slowly hit it off, over and over again until finally, we had ourselves riding on unicorns into a never-never-land.

There were no better times to do it. The hot hours of roaming butterflies and chirping grasshoppers. How they fluttered and swooped over our semi-nude frames flipped inside-out, into each other.

‘Let’s run away. Far from here.’ He rolled away from on top of me to one side, adjusted his trousers and zipped it up. I didn’t quite catch the expression on his face when he said that.

‘Run away?’

‘Yes! Now!’

‘That’s insane.’

‘This community doesn’t love us and you know it.’

‘I know. But what of our degrees? What of my parents?’

He didn’t say a word and his face was blank as well.

‘And you know how supportive they are. After all, they paid for all the surgical procedures in the states before I had to come down here.’

‘Of course I know how supportive they are. And how can they not be? Are you not their only child?’ He chuckled.

‘It’s not just that. They wouldn’t support any of these if I had not threatened them that I’ll kill myself if they don’t stop being against it.’

‘Yeah, that’s true. Anyway, I was just kidding.’ His face lit with a shrunken smile

‘You are?’

‘A little bit.’

‘It’s not funny. Besides, there’s still a final surgery to go and you know it can’t be done here in Nigeria. We can consider running away after I go for it and I’m back here.’ I pulled up my boxers. Continue Reading…

FBRP:                EPISODE THREE(III)

Written by: Ogu chinedu


life they say, is often filled with bright colors. it is even believed that at its lowest ebb, it is never darker than grey. yet, as johnson walked away from the eguru police station that morning, he wondered why all he could see was black. Dark, pitch and silent black. the kind that held no hope of light.

It was fifteen minutes past the ten o’clock hour when johnson weakly flagged down a taxi some blocks away from the eguru police station. It was the sixth taxi he had flagged since he stepped foot on free soil, but the first that had actually stopped. After a few hassles about the price, the taxi driver had grudgingly agreed to a few hundred naira. By the time the rickety yellow vehicle dropped him at the dusty entrance to the street, it was just five minutes to eleven o’clock. The street was deserted and a fierce harmattan breeze was at its full force. Johnson sighed and spat at the sight of a wet rag obviously fresh from being used on a fish tray, flies were already having a feast on it. This cursed street again! he thought to himself. As he approached the black gate that stood in front of number 7, he noticed a freshly printed paper pasted on the gate with what appeared to be leftover eba. If you have not paid your rent for next year, better prepare my money or prepare to pack out of my house. signed Landlord. Johnson let out a wry smile and banged the gate behind him. joker! big time joker!

Later that evening,  just at the time the sun started its painless journey to find its bed, a loud knock woke johnson from his own slumber.

“person no dey this house?”

The voice behind the words sounded familiar, but it did not sound like a voice he wanted to hear. Johnson quietly crept up from his bed and peeped through the hole-infested curtain. Njide! the debt collector. A million thoughts flew through his head. What could Njide possibly want? surely he must have heard that ‘fine buoy’ had been incarcerated in the poor man’s hotel and had therefore come to collect his money before someone killed him for good. In these streets, it was money before neighbors, or brothers, or whatever. Money first!

“my friend open this door jhor!”

Continue reading Fine Buoy Rich Pimples(FBRP): Episode III

Fine Buoy Rich pimples (Episode two).

Fine Bouy Rich Pimples:     Episode two.

Written by: Ogu chinedu

By the time njide came out, it was already a few minutes to eight. The wind was blowing wildly and there was nothing left of the once vibrant fire that had kept tolu warm some few minutes earlier.
“wetin keep you na?” Tolu asked.
“nothing o, just decided to have a little shower”.
“for this weather?”.
“yes na, i used warm water”.
Njide sat down on the bench beside tolu once again and watched as she rocked herself side by side with her hands between her thighs.
“cold dey catch you?”.
She nodded.
“come rest on my body”.
Tolu shifted towards him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“how was the day?”. He asked.
“today was ok. Market no good sha”.
Njide chuckled.
“why you dey laugh?”.
“nothing”. He answered. “i just dey wonder when you go ever ‘gree say market good.” Continue reading Fine Buoy Rich pimples (Episode two).

Fine Buoy Rich Pimples.(Episode one)


Written by: Ogu Chinedu


‘Cell B’ was no pleasant place, not for a criminal and definitely not for an innocent like johnson. It was filthy. It was dark. It was dusty, with cobwebs at every curve and an overpowering stench of poo just by a never opened iron window. As if the sore state of the room was not enough, the inmates were nothing to write home about. Definitely not recommended as roommates.
They were not many, as one would have imagined. From the voices johnson could decipher, he could make out six individuals, from the slaps he had received from sunset up till the first light, he could make out four hardened fellows, and from the wailing and pleas, he could make out two weaklings. Johnson himself was of-course one of the two weaklings, and the sixth individual. What pained him most was not the slaps or lack of sleep, it was how he ended up in that place. The events leading up to his rough-handling by the police was laughable at-least to anyone that heard the story, even though the wounds on his body wouldn’t permit him that leisure.

Continue reading Fine Buoy Rich Pimples.(Episode one)