Natural Selection

I am not the master of my life, yet I am I responsible for the results of my actions or inaction’s. Sadly, in this body that I occupy, on this earth that I walk, I am a minor act in a play that promises the death of me. I have been designed as weakling, proving Darwin’s theory. I ask myself, why would I be born only to become a meal to a more fortunate specie, but the rains pouring down my window leave me no answer as they find a place to settle in the mud below. My reflection in the glass almost leaves me in shame or in shyness of what I look like, like it wished it didn’t belong to me. Who am I? Why am I here? A 24 year old question that plagues my feeble mind to this day.
I need a sign, something that gives me reason to believe in my existence, an explanation that proves why winning the love of my mother’s egg against millions of competing sperm cells was indeed a good idea. Could I have been better off as a spirit born out of the moans of my mother and the sweat of my father? No, I had to be born, to taste hunger in the depths of my belly, to feel pain so strong like the spasms of an epileptic. Oh dear, I feel my heart slow down when I am hurt. To whom do I owe thanks for my creation, to whom do I owe the gesture, dear God, are you listening?
Seven billion people, and yet I feel so alone except for Modupe’s consoling words and promises of undying love. I have placed my trust in love before, my father tore it. I have firmly set my feet on the solid rock of trust, my friends sold me. I sold my birth right to find true love a couple of times, each time beauty murdered the beast. But I am a sucker for love, so I learn little from my past mistakes and I place the apple on my head and watch Modupe take aim with her arrow, I pray she does not hit any vital organ.
A depression lives with me together with its son, a pessimist. They hardly eat my food and they pretend they are not here with me, yet they gradually take up space, edging me into insanity. I worry about them a lot; I spend lots of hours thinking of how my life would be better without my guest. I especially hate the odour of hopelessness they carry around with them, I lie to myself that when the sun rises, I shall forcefully vacate them from my residence, but the sun falls into the hills and there is an extra dinner plate on the dining table. The sadness they bring into my house buries me grain after grain of brown sand. In the end, if I am not careful, I may fail as predicted.
The rain stops its alien attack on the earth crust. I pull open the window and I am hugged by the cool night breeze of April and the smell of new beginnings that come with a heavy downpour. I see my shadow; it looks bigger, amplified by the disability of the wick lantern to light up the room. I see depression, the pessimist, sadness and failure. I hear their loud chatter over the silence in my room. They dare me. PHCN wouldn’t give me light to extinguish the shadow they hide behind. Everything may be broken in this country, but our spirits thrive in the wake of so much despair. In fact our number one natural resource should be the bountiful hope we carry around everyday of our lives.
Like many, the hope that tomorrow would be better keeps me going. The odds are stacked against me, yet I yearn for a bright future. Rather than expect an epileptic light to extinguish my pain, I surprise them, I lay on my bed and sleep, they may join me in my dream and hunt me, but they cant withstand the blinding brightness of a new day and if they persist yet again, I would blindingly hope, endlessly seek, continuously toil till I overpower the forces of nature that predict my extinction, else, natural selection be the death of me.
It is destined that the flesh will die, but the tale of a great warrior would be retold a thousand times. So fight, I will.



The rain washed the lonely streets of isale oja in akure, the rains fell so heavy that the sleeping wife wouldn’t hear the loud moans of the maid getting action from her husband even if the three of them were lying on the same bed. The locals claimed these were the heaviest rains in 50years. Pitan made his way to his to friend Adefemi’s house. Heavily drenched, he managed to shrug of the cold aided by his little swigs of a locally brewed whiskey. He found Adefemi huddled in front of his little shrine carrying a worried look on his face like a horrible make up, Pitan couldn’t hold his concern as he blurted out
‘ore what is it that makes a great man like you bow so low in front of the gods so close that you can smell their fart’
Adefemi who hadn’t noticed his friend walk in quickly turned and offered his salutation. Quickly without wasting time he delivered a response to douse the tension in his friends mind, unfortunately, the response did little to put Pitan’s mind at rest.
‘ore, the wind has blown and the fowl’s yansh has opened, but an incredible twist to it is that the fowl in question now wears a pant’
Pitan nodded like someone who gradually understood the situation, he knew his friend would elaborate
‘ore, adefemi continued, this time getting up to demonstrate ‘ the secret of the sexy walk of the cat has been leaked and even the elephant is trying it out
Obviously lost, Pitan tried to get his friend to drive close to home, he got up, it was his turn to speak, as he spoke he also demonstrated
‘ore mi, you mean to say the baboon that dips his hand into its anus and smells it has now died’
The look of surprise was plastered on Pitan’s face as Adefemi nodded in approval and said ‘o seun, Thank you, I’ve often said to people that you are a wise man.
Now horridly lost Pitan decided to play one last card to get his parable speaking divination loving friend to speak in clear terms, he held his mouth with both hands like someone in shock and asked
‘How did it happen?’
By now, Adefemi was definitely going to tell the tale and Pitan was so glad the mental torture was over.
‘ore, two days ago, while talking to the gods and inquiring about the heavy downpours that have been frequenting us, I heard two voices discuss something terrible, funny enough the voices were oyinbo people and I clearly had one say *talking in hushed tones* the end of the world is coming.
Ha! Pitan screamed and jumped in fear, as he tried to hide behind his own shadow. How can this be, he asked
‘I don’t know ore mi, Adefemi replied, but when I woke up this morning I didn’t see the aso oke I used to hang around the neck of the deities, so I am thinking they have left and forsaken us.
‘Oloshi ni awon kini yen o’ (those deities are foolish), Pitan said. ‘What are we going to do know ore’
I also overheard them talking about building a big boat to stay in, while they await the end of the rains’ Adefemi said.
‘ore, fantastic idea, those oyinbo just keep amazing me, there is this thing my son bought for me, if I wear it on my baba isale, no matter how many times me and funke, chief arowolo’s wayward daughter, jollificate, she will never get pregnant, ore it is beyond amazing. The best part is, after usage, I can rinse it with water and it is ready for use again’ pitan said.
‘Ore, you have to borrow me one of these days o’ Adefemi said.
‘Back to the problem at hand, how are we going to build a boat Adefemi’
‘you see that is not a problem, pastor, my neighbor once mentioned the story of one man in the bible that built a big ark, I am sure when we ask him to show us the page in the bible, we will see how he did it. The real problem is, who and who will enter this ship’
Ore mi, that’s an important question o! Because if the world is coming to an end, it could be an opportunity o’ Pitan said.
Eh ehn, how do you mean? Adefemi said.
Adefemi, we have to be sharp about these things, for example, you know you still owe Lamidi 20,000naira from last year, it means that if Lamidi wants to enter our ship, he will forfeit the money. Me I have three wives and I am tired of all of them and their troubles so none of them would enter, I’d look for fresh meat to take into our ship. We will both go to Oba Asipa and tell him about this problem and our solution, then we will ask him to bring all his gold and money and whatever possession he has, but we would give him the wrong date so we would end up sharing the booty.
Ore mi, you are a genius, but it doesn’t end their o, we would make sure there are at least nine women to every man, you know it has been cold of late and we would need warmth, no amount of wrapper would protect like a woman’s skin’ Adefemi said.
The two men laughed as they perfected their plan, making a selfish list of the members of their big ship. Morning came and the rains never stopped. The two men went to look for pastor to check for the plan of their ship but pastor had run away in search of safety and he didn’t leave his bible. Days went by and the smell of hopelessness hung in the air like rotten armpit.
Pitan drank so much that he became courageous enough to use one of his wives big iron pot as a boat, as he rowed down the street he called out to people to join him. His friend on the other hand decided to consult the oracle in search of an answer, he told the king that for the gods to answer him he needed to be with a woman who had seen royal genitals. Aided by pitans rubber gloves, he proceeded to communicate with the gods. The magun (thunderbolt) that the kings had cursed his wives with killed him.

Out Of My Head

Today’s post is by @Qghaz. He writes here

She took each step delicately at first, careful not to fall till she mastered how to balance her weight on each leg as she jumped and landed on the steel bars. The rail track was empty. A cool breeze blew, and she loved the rush of the wind harassing her face. Her lips were molded into an upward curve that spoke the feelings of her being.

When she became more confident, the rail bars threw her legs up as soon as she landed on them. Slowly, she perfected her childish play. She didn’t plan to break into a run but she ended up doing so out of excitement, and when the clouds began to shower blessings on the soil, it only made her run faster till cardiac muscle stretched to their elastic limit. She was happy. When she stopped to…

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Things I Left Unsaid

How can you make a move to tell someone how you feel, if you already feel the rejection even without saying the words? Six times, six times I watched them almost kill you, and a hundred times over I died from the pain, but because you’re still alive, I am reborn each time, only to be drowned again by the tears that run down your face.
I am incapable of loving another; they complain I speak your name too often, I refer to you too quickly and I force them into a clone of you. But no matter what they do, they can’t be like you. They can’t have the glow of your eyes that the sun envies, they can’t have your delicious fair skin that remind me of chocolate dipped in milk, they can’t have your beautiful innocence that is made of all things good.
I may have no place in your present life but I wonder if I have a place in your future, if I could make you roll of a chair laughing, if I could be your screensaver. I wonder if I could be the reason you stay up late, and if I could make you daydream of me and make people stare and wonder about what fills you up with so much joy. I’m a dreamer, I don’t promise perfect days, but I promise perfect moments that would last a life time plus more.
Love is sweet, love is bitter; try as you may you can’t abandon love. I’d love you softly, I’d love you tender, till you can’t go a day without me, baby. You might resent it, that I would break your defenses and leave you open like park benches, but if I must have you, I must have you wholly. I want to forge a union with heavenly blessings, which the stars can’t outshine, and the gossips can’t fathom. Ours was built to last, till death do us apart.
For you, to trust is murder and I can’t say I blame you, so don’t give it to me for free, let me earn it. You’ve been damaged, a wounded lioness. I see your pain behind your smile, I see your fears arrest your hope, and I see you’re scared of your own shadow, afraid to let go of the past, terrified of what the future holds. I’ll tell you what; life is all about taking chances. Push me into the deep cold sea, if I emerge as promised, do not hesitate to take the dive.
Hey there, please do not think I am an obsessed lover, everyday but I wake up to the possibility of rejection.
Sometimes people stay in our hearts even if they don’t stay in our lives. I just thought to let you know what has been going on behind your back, inside my heart, in the home I have built for you.

thanks for reading.
ff @Qghaz

Redeeming yesterday

Everyday I pray for you, I whisper a supplication every time I look towards the flesh beneath the breast you once caressed, I see where you once called home. I seek forgiveness for what I did, but forgiveness today doesn’t mean yesterdays sins are forgotten. Often I wonder what you would look like, and even though I have been blessed with three more of you, you stand out in my heart. You seem to have occupied a space in my heart that your siblings don’t even know existed. I once thought to expurgate my thoughts in the hope of finding serenity from the heavy compunction you cursed me with, but to forget you is to rip out my heart, to hack my heart out is to perish. Sadly I am stuck in this abyss as a memorial of my foolhardiness.
Oluwapamilerin, and that’s exactly what you did, made me smile whenever I looked at your little face. How on earth does one kill a child? Or how do you live with the thought that you placed a little defenceless candle in the wind, and when I ask why they did that to me and you, they know nothing better than to murmur or feign obliviousness of the subject matter.
How can I repay you? How can I payback for that which you missed, the clear blue sky on a beautiful summer morning, or the sight of the twinkling stars against the dark blue clouds. My dear, you should have seen a waterfall or the face of your mother when she gives you a smile that only true love could bring forth. That last part truly breaks my heart because I got to see that a lot and you almost never did.
At the hospital where you brother was born, I refused to look at his face for two days because I was afraid he wasn’t going to be you. When the doctor told me I was pregnant I thought you were returning. They transferred me to a psychiatric ward when I refused to breastfeed your brother for a week, but they never got to see your priceless smile. Sweetheart, by now you should know you live in my heart, do I still cross your mind?
Olukanni. My prince, I remember like it was yesterday, how you lost your crown. I keep the records of your short being in a special part of my brain, in a separate folder, on a separate shelf, in a carefully locked safe, so that no one tampers with my memory of you and the memories of you don’t tamper with my existence. It was all in a matter of a few hours, maybe two or three, and you were gone. Gone like a visitor in a market who is afraid of occupying the market woman so much that she looses her customers, Omojola, I refused to accept it but you were gone.
The nurse had the nerve to blame me for not bringing you to the clinic when I noticed you had a fever, but do I say no to my mother who offers me herbs for my child. She called me aside and said she blames my husband for not having enough money to buy good medicine, but your father says it’s the government who cannot provide proper health care. The government blames the doctors for going on strike, yet the doctors blame my husband for voting wrongly, my husband blames his father for practicing partisan politics. His father blames his father for feuding with the clan that had the better candidate. Tired of this blame game, I take all the blame for bringing such a pure soul like you to this filthy earth.
Malaria tainted my baby’s life, poverty left me unable to guard him, and powerless mummy watched her jewel get expunged from the earth. None of my many tears could resuscitate him, the community that had a hand in his death offered apologies, word that couldn’t raise the dust that sat over his head. Your father, in an act of retaliation against the cheat that death is, made me gravid three times after you left the earth. Not that I am not happy with my life, but you added a special colour to my rainbow.
It’s not right that we remember the dead with sad tales, especially when their life brought so much joy to our feeble heart, and their death opened our eyes to the little we know of life, happiness and everything in-between. The scars they leave behind could be an insignia, so that you value the life we have like we are holding an egg, easy and delicate, but never too delicate because it might just fall of our hands.
In the end, death is my friend, and in due time he will take me to you.

Thanks for reading.
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God over everything.

The Art of Foolery

Giving your heart to a woman sometimes is like giving your heart to the devil, the worst part, I gave mine to Morenike on a silver tray on bended knees. She didn’t even look at it, she destroyed me. I have faced all sorts of rejections in my life but when it comes from the one you’ve invested so much in, the strongest ale cant burry your sorrow. I never forgave her just like I never forgave my people, they were doomed to the same faith.
Morning came unannounced, the cocks crowed, and the devils that trod the earth were chased away by the golden rays of the sun, finding abode in the shadows and the hearts of men. I got up, blamed the gods for keeping me alive for another day and found my way into daylight were I would toil till night came to diminish my strength and force me home guided by the lanterns in the sky.
All my life I have lived a lie that promised to lead me to the truth. Maa’mi started it, she said I was special but the entire village knew better, I was an abomination. Mother fueled me with lies of why I had a near white skin and golden hair and why the sun never liked me much. When I was no taller than her hips, she told me I was an emissary of the gods, but when I began my adolescent years and my decline in faith, she changed her tale to suit my mindset. Next I was a warrior in my previous life that died saving my village from a disastrous fire which burnt my skin. That didn’t hold for long, I got beat up by Morenike’s lover in the market square, if I was once a warrior, I should know how to fight.
As difficult as it was, I was forced to reject my mother’s explanation and embrace the unkind postulation that was attributed to my birth, at least they had justification for their theory. The people of my village were strong arrogant men who achieved everything because of their physical prowess, a man’s wealth was dictated by what he could achieve with his might, this quality stood us apart from all other surrounding villages. In war and economy we nested at the peak, in beauty and in character we shine like a light. Hence it was an unwritten law for any man or woman to marry from outside our clan, we had to keep the purity of our being. Mother let love soften her into inviting a stranger under her wrapper, and she bore the clans first weakling, me.
I didn’t fit into anything, I wasn’t wanted and the people never failed to hide their disdain for me, the abomination child. In some quarters, it was suggested that I shouldn’t be allowed to watch the dance of the maidens that was to hold after the coming of the new yam. Disallowing me the privilege to marry from my village meant I was silently banished. I had spent all of my young life trying to be accepted and yet they blame me for a sin I had no hand in. I wasn’t going to leave without payback, in fact I wasn’t the only one that was going to leave.
One day, curious me had sought to find out where the sun lived so I followed it. I walked with zeal to discover something no one in my village had ever discovered, maybe I would finally get accepted upon finding my discovery. It took countless blisters on my foot, hunger and a painful thirst. I didn’t find the residence from which the sun set forth, but I found the village where my mother met the transgressor that crippled my existence. Some had golden hair like me, some had brown hair and others had black but they looked almost like me, similar skin color and they had an aversion to the African sun and mosquitoes. I spent a few moons with them and for the first time in my short life I felt accepted, I felt loved and most of all I felt a sense of belonging. Suddenly, I was whole.
Jack was my master, my devil, the first man to welcome me with a smile, his teeth were brown with the tobacco that made him cough a lot, his ugly smile managed to force the hair at the back of my neck up in joy. One day he told me a lie, but I chose to believe, he knew I wanted a home badly, he knew it was my ultimate weakness, yet he used it. The only thing worse than a man who cripples another man with the thing they hold dear is the fool that creates the opening for such a devil to walk in.
Jack called me one cold night to share a false secret, he sat me down and told me of his past and how he fell in love with an African woman, but the duties of the king of England and the fear of getting reprimanded by the throne made him run away. He made his story coincide with the time in which I was born insinuating that I may be his son, all this because he wanted a favor from me.
I walked into my village wearing uncustomary clothing, gone were my traditional Yoruba attire, my cream shirt and brown knickers were hugging my skin tight, I hadn’t earned the right to wear a shoe yet but I looked just like them. Mother wept from afar as I announced to the village what I had seen over the hills. Naturally fear placed a knife to their throat and forced them to buy my plan. The fact that they listened to me for the first time made me feel very powerful.
We marched at night to the direction that was supposed to be away from the slave merchants and their hoodlums. After we passed the point where a brave hunter had once sacrificed his life, we were greeted by Jack and his army of thugs with sophisticated weapons. Two dead men was all it took to warn the other men not to fight for freedom, my people were no weaklings, but this time they surrendered and a heavenly glow left their faces. I had conveniently led my people into the hands of the slave traders and my price was love, the same love that led my mother to bear me. Should I be happy?
As a freeman I strolled around the cages were they kept my mother, relatives and friends. My first tour made me grin as I watched them cry in sorrow, some cursed me while others begged me. Power sure felt good. The second time I approached the animals in the cage, I noticed my mother wasn’t crying, she told me a tale that threatened to stop my heart.
A young hunter from my village had lured a village belle into journeying with him to find the abode of the sun, he also wanted to show the sun a woman whom shown brighter than it when she smiled. While on the journey, they both played like young lovers would, it was inevitable, she feared the gods would be angry if she got pregnant outside wedlock but he feared nothing, she greatly admired this quality in him. They hadn’t gotten too far when they got to a village were the people were rounded up to be thrown into the harsh embrace of slavery. They ran back in fear to warn their people. To safe guard his people, the courageous man made a deal with the gods to make secret the location of his village, he sent his pregnant lover back home in tears and a strict caution never to tell anyone about his deal as it would break his spell. The gods took his life in exchange for protection.
Mother hadn’t told me about my father for the safety of my life and that of the people of my village. I had been a weakling all my life not because I had a different skin color but because I had not sought to do better than what I thought I was and my people had judged me as different only because I acted as a weakling unlike the typical man whom showed courage. I limited the possibility of what I could achieve and the entire village only accepted me for whom I presented myself to be.
‘but I am the son of an oyinbo man now maa’mi’ I asked my mother.
‘no idiot, you are just like every other yoruba man except your skin colour, and that’s because you are an albino’ she replied in the most unkind manner her soft and gentle voice could communicate.
As I watch the slave ship sail away, my heart is engulfed in deep grief, my soul is haunted by regret and my existence is cursed to live a long life swallowed in depression and shame for my stupidity and inhumanity. In the end, we are a product of how wise or foolish we choose to be.

To the ones that left and never came back.
Thanks for reading. See y’all next week Friday.
God over everything.


TIME When I was young, mother thought me that time waits for no one. As I grew older, I also learnt time was the most uncaring entity in the world, she just kept going without even considering whom she hurts, bottom line, time could be cruel. I don’t want to believe it was love at first sight, but her being arrested my thought process from our very first meeting. I was and still am hooked. Jesse wasn’t special in anyway. Physically she was plain looking, skinny and lanky, she wasn’t the most brilliant girl you’ve ever met and she didn’t look fabulous, not even to her mirror. What made her special to me? She made herself special to me, I don’t know and I don’t care how, but she sure was my shining star. Today she’s on her death bed, countdown to her extinction, as time runs out on her.
Tunde has always been the ‘one’, I still remember his cute childish laughter when we were at all saints primary school, and his naughty pranks at Jelly-las College. My tear duct emptied when he left for London. Somehow, even though I have known him all my life, he only saw me through a thick brick wall, to him I didn’t exist. The day he finally did, the sun wasn’t shining, the clouds were holding back a thunder storm and I looked as plain as grey. At first I was baffled at the sudden turn of events, but I quickly discarded every form of doubt. Finally, Tunde was mine, but before I could bask in the euphoria of finally finding true love, death slays my happiness slowly with a blunt knife. For days now, I have been begging Tunde not to kill himself when I die but he wouldn’t listen. My sorrow is deep and his grief makes it worse.
Jesse suddenly became our source of daily bread, she had won over Tunde, her childhood heartthrob who was from a wealthy family. I wasn’t doing too badly until a few years ago. With five girls in the university, your bank account can really drown in a sea of debt. Once, she was my least favorite child, all other children had great looks or intelligent brains or lovable character. Jesse was just ordinary, no real talent or good looks or anything for that matter. She was like a fresh page in a book without any ink marks, until the faithful November when she brought home Tunde, selfish and greedy as it may sound, she became my daughter that day because from that day onwards, I was financially free. Naturally, her death would bring tears to her father’s eyes, but the guilt of only loving her because of her money made me feel like the ugliest beast in the world.
I laugh in Chinese, these fools think a wedding would hold, this filthy good for nothing church rats. Do people still work hard anymore? Mtcheeew, trying to sow where they didn’t reap. An entire family turning my sons’s hard earned money into their personal lottery ticket to success. Men are evil sha, stupid imbeciles seeking their pot of gold. Look at how they wallow in sorrow because of their meal ticket, a girl they had barely showed a teaspoon of love all her life. I have known jesse since she was a young girl, I watched her every time she hopelessly stared at my son, my only son and when she finally braced up to talk to him for the first time on their graduation from secondary school, I concluded I had to send him away before the stupid girl jazzed my son into falling for a road trash. She wasn’t there when my husband beat me up every time I gave birth to a girl. He was my only meal ticket too, he was the reason his father loved me. After marrying two wives after me whom still couldn’t give him a male child, I was the queen of his heart all over again when Tunde came along. I am a jealous and protective mother, deal with it.
My daughter, my princess, you can’t die on me o! You know I have always loved you, you know now. Jessica, you know you are my favorite child. Remember when you were eight years old and you went to that party and brought home those sweets, remember I collected them from you and gave it to your younger ones because I thought it was bad for your teeth, see what it did to funke’s teeth. Jessica, don’t go o, I can’t live without you, if you die, I would pack my mat and join you wherever you are o. Remember when your wicked father always paid your school fees last and you had to stay at home a lot because they sent you out of school, remember I used to send you to fetch water down the street instead of our neighbors tank so you wouldn’t have time to worry your mind and wet your soft cheeks with tears. (chai, if this girl die, na wahala be that o, mama Tolu aso ebi wey I never pay the money they there, plus many other debt. God, why you wan comot peak milk for my ogi)
I and my sisters couldn’t take it anymore, father was going to will half his empire to Tunde, while the 12 of us would share the rest. Is it a crime that we were girls? What makes us different from him? All my life I have worked to earn fathers love and respect, many of my friends call me tomboy just because I try to do everything to please him, yet he turns his back against us. I poisoned my brother, not to kill him, but to piss of my father. My father would never agree to his choice of wife, in time the love poison would drive him and father apart, and father in his eruptive and over reactive manner would disown him. I foresee father begging me to be his heir. Why his ugly warthog was dying, I wasn’t sure. But my brother’s heartache would be enough to finish him.
The plain unattractive girl walked out of the bank, a Gucci leather bag in hand. She got into a hired cab and checked for the umpteenth time if her plane ticket was there, Jessica was on her way to her dreams, her freedom. When she was in secondary school, she made friends with an old man who practiced as a fake diviner. The desperate hustler had tricked Jesse out of her money one too many times. One time she had asked for a love potion to poison a certain boy named Tunde who schooled with her. Another time she asked for a potion to help her gain her families love. The fake diviner concluded she had a serious problem with public acceptance when she came to him again to seek help in getting her class mates to like her. Each time the girl came, she never came to seek for a wicked wish like his other clients. With all the disappointment, the man noticed Jesse kept coming back, he figured it out after she had left for the university, he was the only person she was free to discuss with, other people judged her as uninteligent and boring.
When Tunde’s mother and sisters came to him separately, one to poison him and the former to enchant Jesse, he thought it was faith giving him an opportunity to help Jesse and pay back all the money she paid him just to have a conversation with someone. He had a plan. After getting a nurse friend to drug her with a coma inducing drug, the nurse helped her out of the hospital and led the surprised girl to the diviner’s house where she was briefed. She knew what she had to do, for the first time in her life, she was smart.
On the day that the love poison was to wash off tunde’s system, a dead body had gone missing at the St Jo’s hospital, but the family cared little about that, the dead body had gone to the bank to withdraw all the money her lover had showered on her in the last few months, she boarded a plane to new York after which she would make a trip to los Angeles, the worlds capital of plastic surgery. It was the last time anyone would call her plain again.