Toto Series: MY LANDLADY
Do you have a girlfriend?
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. If you are going to be living under my roof, you must abide by my rules and that includes no girlfriends.”
“In 2021? I can’t have a girlfriend come to visit me in the house that I am paying for.?”
“Those are my rules, you can either take it or leave it.”
This is 2021. I always thought it was women who had a hard time finding an apartment if they were not attached to a man. Here I was, after roaming through several locations closer to campus and finally finding the one apartment that fits my needs and my landlady abi would be landlady is telling me that part of her rules is not having girls visiting me and lights out is by 10:00pm.
“I leave it ma. I have a girlfriend. Maybe I should move in with her and save this money for better things.
“Ehen? Until she reminds you who’s house it is, then you would understand the value of having your own house.’
"I know that. But what value is the house if she can't come and cook a pot of soup for me or keep me warm now that this weather don gets as e be? Mama, you sef check am out. You be family woman. You suppose know-how e dey be.
“Hmmmmmm. Okay. If you promise say na one girl only. I be family woman and I get small children na why I dey put all these rules. I no want make una come spoil my children for me biko.”
“Mama, I be your boy. Take me as one of your children too. As you see me so, na one babe I get. One babe pere.”
And that was how I began living in Madam Gladys’ house. She was a tall well-built woman with bleached out features. I believe she used to be a fine young woman. I guess running a beer parlour and having a retired soldier who serves as the area drunk as a husband does wonders to the beauty of old. What she lacked in physical beauty she more than made up in attitude. Madam Gladys’ was kind and welcoming and never missed an opportunity to gift. It did not matter if she had 10,0000 naira or a stick of carrots. If you met her on the highway or in her tavern, she always had something to give away.
The first time Halima- my girlfriend came to visit, Madam Gladys brought a pot of Banga soup she had just finished preparing. We had exchanged pleasantries and I introduced Halima to her as my girlfriend.
“Ah! Awwal, you have brought a woman to this house?”
“Mama, She is the one I told you about. This is my Halima.”
"Wow. And she is so beautiful. Halima, welcome fa. Awwal has told me so much about you that I feel like we are sisters. If you don't mind, I brought this soup for him. I made enough so that the single people here can have some homemade meals." Of course, Halima did not object even though I knew there was hell to pay when Gladys left. I had told her of my first encounter with my landlady but did not furnish her with the details of how we had gotten close. I did not mention that I now tutored her children in Chemistry and Math. I did not also mention that she allowed me a free beer and a plate of pepper soup every Friday evening. Halima can read meaning into everything and I did not want a situation where if I told her she would tell me to stop.
“Awwal, I know when a woman wants something and she clearly does. How come men are so blind to the obvious.”
Halima had waited until late in the evening. When I had carefully undressed her. She was in my bed with my mouth over her breasts when she decided now was the time to talk about my landlady. I ignored her and tried to salvage the mood but she was hell-bent on ruining it.
“Awwal, ina maka magana ama don nema’n gindi baka ansa ni bako?
“Hmmmmmmmm. Kin san kowai in na kale ki pharpadia na ka ma ni. Tabas ke maiya chi.”
“I am serious. What does she want from you?”
“I am serious about the way your skin feels tonight. Please Halima, I have missed you, did you not miss me too?”
I recaptured her knob sized nipples with my lips. Halima was like those girls who did not want foreplay too much less they showed pleasure. She also did not show pleasure even when she orgasmed. She would then wake up in the morning and act like I had condemned her soul to hell. It was a routine I was used to, but I still went out of my way to see her squirm. To have her hold on to the bedsheets or in some cases, latch on to my back so tight, it left welts. I remember the first day I convinced her to give her head. We had spoken about it for close to a month. I had given her enough time to talk about it with her friends and to read about it. I came over after classes and we hung out with her friends until six PM. I excused myself and bid her friends' goodnight. By 9pm she called me to come back. Even though it was 202certain things remained the same. Even though we had sex, and spent the night in each others' rooms, we needed to be undercover.
I smelt the incense, thick and potent in the air when I arrived. She offered me kunun aya and bananas and she smelt of Umra. I drank the kunun aya and ate the bananas she offered. She was wearing her silk robe- the one she wore when she was crazy horny or we were fighting and she wanted to make amends.
I stood up and went to the loo, there, I drank a potion of the honey mixture Tijanni swore would make my tongue turn to Zuma. I had never given a woman head before. I don't know why I had asked Halima sef. Before now, It was almost taboo for a man to give a woman head. But my guys always talk about how their women are dicmatized and can't leave them because of how well them sabi eat their girls out. I decided to also eat Halima out so that she will never leave me.
I came out of the bathroom and she was in the kitchen clearing the dishes. The lights in the room were switched off. I took off all my clothes except for my boxers and went to her. I held her from the back and kissed her neck. She giggled and protested but did not push me away. My hands roamed her body and it registered she was not wearing anything underneath the robe. Shege Halima, she was looking forward to tonight as much as I was. I guided her to the bed but she insisted that whatever it was we would do needed a soundtrack. She was a romantic so she played some Hausa guy who sang about the loneliness of having to live without his second wife.
I lead her back to the bed and guided her to lie while I knelt down on the edge. She was so nervous, I felt her shakes even before I touched her.
“Halima, I am not going to hurt you. Please don’t fight me.”
"I trust you Awwal. This is new for me, that is all. But I trust you."
I knelt between her legs and hoped that Tijanni was right. I looked at her spread before me and wondered if I made the right choice. What if I was no good? What if Tijanni was wrong and she did not like it and she never spoke to me ever again? I darted my tongue and tasted of her woman. I had watched enough you-tube tutorials so I let that guide me. In no time, I was holding her thighs and following her prompting. That night I learnt two things. Halima loved head, and she was loud.
After that night, she would insist I give her head before we sexed. I watched too many videos and drank so much honey I was more than confident that she would never leave me.
One Friday evening, I was gisting with my landlady and I mentioned how Halima couldn't have enough of my tongue. It was not my fault really, I had drunk two bottles of smooth that night and it had given me a certain level of invincibility. my landlady listened with such attentiveness I think it was not much my story but how it made her feel.
After that day, I noticed she became even more friendly. Sometimes she will come to my door as early as 5 am. She would look me over then leave. No word said.
“You sure say you sabi do all these things you dey talk so?”
"Mama, na your boy ooo. I go tell you wetin no pure?"
She had resorted to giving me two bottles of beer and a plate of whatever pepper soup I wanted. Isi ewu, Fish, intestine or cow tail. She would ask me about my week but was only interested in the parts with Halima and more importantly, the parts that included me and Halima getting down. I knew that and I made sure she was happy every Friday. It did not matter that I and Halima had been fighting for weeks over the pot of banger soup she had brought over. Or how she had come the morning after by 5am to invite us for devotion. It did not matter that we were of different faiths and did not attend devotions. Halima kept eyeing her the whole time how she spent preaching about the sin of fornication. No, I always told her how we fucked in empty classes and dark staircases in school. I painted beautiful pictures of how we would then go to her house and I would watch her remove her clothes one after the other. On the occasions I was feeling really in the mood, I would tell her how Halima would take me in her mouth real slow. Tasting the textures and feeling the corners of my dick as she gave me head. Halima had also learnt how to swallow and on the days we had quickies in dark staircases, she would just at the right time, turn and envelope me inside her wet warm mouth and draw out my fluids.
On one of such Fridays, she asked me to wait for her till closing time. She offered me my usual but I declined. I did not want to be intoxicated while I prepared Halima's Surprise party the next day. Everything was set but I still did not want to miss any details. Halima had always wanted her 22nd birthday to be grand and I wanted to deliver.
“Wetin you just dey do for your phone since eh”
"Na school work o" I lied. I knew she did not like Halima and she looked stressed already."Come help me small na, abi you no see say na only me dey shop today?" I agreed and plugged my phone to charge. By the time she closed by 10pm instead of midnight, I was exhausted and grateful.
She invited me to her house but we went through the back. She said she did not want to wake her children up and when her husband was not around like today, she usually went through the back. I followed her in the dark as she unpacked what she brought. I listened to her move about as she told me about her family and how she never knew she would ever work in a joint again after she watched her mother do things when she owned her own joint.
I am sure she must have guessed I wasn't listening so she went quiet. After a moment, the lights came on to reveal my landlady in a thong.
”Mama.”
“Please don't call me that. Call me Lizzy. I no be your mama.”
She was always in boubous so I felt she was overweight or had so many folds. But the woman standing in front of me was stunning. Her breasts laid bare before I was still perky even after three children. Her stomach was fleshy but did not look out of place in contrast to her hips and ass. And boy did she have an ass for days. I could not help it. I stared at her as she stood in the doorway to her kitchen.
“You fit handle me?”
“Mama!”
I walked to where she stood and stared.
“You go stand dey look ni abi you go begin work?”
I buried my face in her ample bosom. She held my face to her chest while took deep breaths. She smelt of cheap cologne and firewood. Her skin felt like satin; smooth and slippery as I rolled her hands over her buttocks.
"Biko, leave that one bia rie ọtụ m". She moved to the dining table pushed to the corner of the kitchen and held her large food coolers. She removed the thong and climbed on it. The table creaked and dipped dangerously but did not give way. How was she able to arch this way?
I went to work as she ordered. How do I begin to describe how she tasted? My hands could not go round her to keep her from wiggling but I did not mind because her movements gingered me on. She tasted like spices mixed in honey with a drink of palm wine to top it off. She began to speak incoherently and I intensified what I was doing.
I climbed onto the table and said a silent prayer it will not cave in. It didn't. If her skin felt like rich satin her pussy was even richer! Her juices rushed to invite me into her perfect moulds. I dug in and did not want to pull out. I was overtaken by jinn. It was like she was sucking my spirit through my dick and with each thrust I was nearer to be enslaved. I thrust deeper, faster, wilder till I erupted and fell unto her cushion-like arse.
"Ah! You no lie oooo. See as I just dey cum anyhow ooo. Omo! You sabi fuck die!"
“Mama, I be your boy ooo”
“I no teh you make you stop dey call me mama?”
We heard a crash dowsers.
She jumped down and switched off the lights and commanded me to stay put and stay silent.
I listened as the door in the front opened and her husband walked in. His unsteady steps grew louder as he got nearer. I hoped he could not hear the pounding of my heart from where ever he was.
“You don bring another one?”
His voice was without emotion. Flat and deflated. We both remained silent. He struck a match and raised it to his lips. The yellow glow from the match stick cast an eerie glow revealing parts of his face. Not enough to show the whole face, just fragments that did not look completely human. His eyes were bloodshot and blank. He took a deep drag and the house was back in darkness except for the red glow from his cigarette.
"You tell am say you go suck him glory, make am as useless like me and all the others? Abi this one no know?" He took a few drunken steps forward but did not enter the kitchen. I held my breath and covered my now very shrunken penis. What did he mean by sucking my glory?
He staggered off and the kitchen was now completely dark.
Was that what happened to him? There was gist on the streets that she was involved in some diabolical stuff but there was nothing about her that seemed true. How could her husband know that there was a man in her kitchen who had probably fucked her and not care? His comments were more a warning to me than accusatory towards her. Was Halima right after all and my landlady had seen something in me that she wanted? Was it physical? Or was it more diabolical.?
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Featured Stories
Simi.
by SoniaDash, published 2 years, 8 months ago
Disclaimer
All characters portrayed here are a work of fiction and bear no resemblance to any person living or dead. Any coincidences are just that. Regretful coincidences.
Certain times are described as pivotal moments to one knowing who they are or their purpose in life. Some say they knew they would be preachers because they got a summons from God, others to be doctors because they killed little animals growing up. For Simi, it had nothing to do with any of that.
Simi was raised to be seen and not heard, to follow the rules with her head to the ground lest her eyes meet that of a man. She was born to follow the rules. And the rules said she learnt to cook clean and cater for the household. The rules said she got an education, enough to increase her brideprice but not too much so that she became a burden to her family, and that is exactly what she did.
Simi was an enigma. She was meek but full of courage, beautiful and regal yet humble and straightforward. She was fiercely intelligent yet pride was far from her heart. After she graduated from standard six her parents decided she was ripe for marriage. She was 15.
In her time it was quite normal to be shipped off to a man trice her age. It was an honour to get suitors to flock a Dara's compound once his daughters crossed the age of 10.
And so the process began for her journey to her second home.
A woman has only two homes. Her father's compound, her husband's compound and if she was a dutiful daughter, wife and mother, she earned a resting place with her ancestors.
That was the way it was.
Out of the many suitors that came for her hand, her parents chose Badung. Badung was the first and only son of the 5th wife of the newly crowned Da Manjei of Vwai. His mother, a beautiful fair woman, a thank you the Da Manjei had brought back as a child after the great Vandebong war from the neighbouring Afizere stronghold.
He was a man to be feared the Da Manjei. He was large and black with arms the sizes of large Quanpaan yams complete with spiky hair. Before he became Da Manjei, he was called Chwei! The man whose roar was frightening and whose bite was deadly. Badung grew up under his tutelage and soon enough began making a name for himself. He wasn't as large or as frightening as his father, but he was nonetheless formidable.
He was a farmer only because of peace. Some say he had more thirst for blood than any other warrior his age, even more than his father but his kind won wars and that was alright.
That was the way it was.
At 33 he was a force to reckon with.
For Simi, she had come to terms with her lot. Nobody asked her of her desires, and she never mentioned them.
That was the way it was.
She was to be married off to Badung even though the innocent stirrings of love had been awakened by Izam the 17-year-old from Jwahr, the neighbouring Afizere stronghold. He was a gentle spoken boy who wanted to become a painter but since that was unheard of he was becoming a doctor. That was the way it was. See, back then, you were what your parents decided. It was non-negotiable. If they said you become a doctor, a farmer or a palm-wine tapper, you became a doctor, a farmer and a palm-wine tapper.
That was the way it was.
Izam who was in standard seven had written the yearly scholarship examination and was going to London at the end of harvest. When he heard the news, he cornered her at the marketplace and poured out his heart to her. He begged and cajoled and promised and yet nothing. She stood unmoved to his pleas. She was going to marry Badung and that was it.
Simi had accepted her lot and so would he, or so she thought. But that was not his fate and he knew it. He knew he couldn't live without her. His nights were plagued with her smile, the heat emanating from her skin whenever they walked together. His waking moments were filled with charting their lives together.
He was going to become a doctor by day and a painter by night while she was going to become a teacher and a mother to his children. He knew nothing else.
It happened so fast. She had lifted the earthen pot filled with water on her head and was headed home when she heard footsteps. Before she turned to search the owner of the feet, she was floating. A hand clamped hard over her mouth preventing her from screaming, and even the pot somehow didn't smash. One moment she was there, and just like in ghost stories, she disappeared.
At dinner time, her mother had gone beyond fretful. Simi was nowhere to be found. She had watched the road leading to the stream as if by sheer will she could conjure her daughter. Knowing she couldn't keep it away from her husband any longer, she placed one foot now replaced with concrete in front of the other.
As she approached where he was resting under the Dinya tree, she heard the voice of Badung. Her heart did a triple somersault. Surely she couldn't tell her husband that their daughter was missing in front of her betrothed. His fiery anger was not one to trifle with. Moreover, she told herself Simi could at this very moment be finding her way back armed with a logical explanation for her whereabouts.
But what if something had indeed befallen her daughter? Her mind poked at her. Wouldn't she want Badung to lead the search for her? But instead, she approached them and inquired if they were ready to be served. It would be well by sunrise she mused. Everything has a way of setting aright by morning.
When he woke covered in sweat from a dream he had no recollection of, he knew the sunrise had come pregnant. He quickly prepared himself and went to his farms to check what was amiss. There was nothing out of place, nothing wrong at his new structures or even at his barn that was easy prey to rodents and the village's riff-raff. The nagging feeling of impending doom had persisted into late morning. Even as he sat to enjoy the food presented to him, he couldn't stop his mind from wondering. As he devoured the tuwo'n dawa and miya'n gyeda his wife set before him, his visitors arrived.
It was not uncommon in Berom land for lovers to run away when faced with adversity. It was also not uncommon for a young man to plan together with his friends to *steal* his beloved and place her under arrest. Once the sun rose to meet a young maiden under the roof of a man, she was considered defiled. It was a common practice people got accustomed to and is still practised today. So much so that it was jokingly referred to as jut tele literally translated to steal her. That was the way it was.
So as Dara Simi worked up an apatite with each mouthful he swallowed, in walked Izam in the company of his father, two elder brothers and best friend. They had come to inform their new in-law that their daughter was safe and that they were ready and willing to proceed with the customary rights to make Simi an official wife.
He went to Badung's place after he dismissed them as quickly as his legs could carry him. Badung was uncharacteristically calm as Dara Simi recounted the events of the day. His jaw was clenched as he listened intently to the events that transpired. When Dara Simi finished his tale, Badung called on Ladi his slave to bring palm wine for his father-in-law. When the wine was brought and libation observed he excused himself and went to the inner chamber.
Simi woke to a shrill voice and as the mist from her induced sleep ebbed, she recognized the voice as hers. Strange, it seemed the scream she had been denied had finally found a way out. Even though she was still heavily sedated she struggled to find a way out of her captivity.
Her mind even though too weak from the poison in her body, the urge to survive propelled her forward. She found an opening through the darkness and in one desperate last move busted into brightness.
The bright sun perched in the middle of the sky, the noise of children playing, goats bleating, metals scraping, all sounded 20 decimals louder than usual., Humanity assaulted her. She pressed on her ears, hoping to block out the torture as her voice, shrill and ragged joined the cacophony.
Izam, his father Atsi, two elder brothers and best friend arrived to find a growing crowd in their compound. Navigating through the maze of sweaty, chattering onlookers and feverish talkers, they saw Simi sprawled on the ground like a discarded rag doll, with her hands clasped to her ears as if to shut the world out. Atsi, a renowned medicine man dispersed the crowd and ordered his sons to bring her to his chamber. Izam's best friend Azi was sent off to the forest to gather much-needed herbs. The potion used during the jut tele was so strong that it had drained the strength from her small frame. The battle for her life was now in the hands of the gods.
Izam could feel his father's anger towards him even as he worked to bring Simi back from the clutch of death. His father was a man of few words and today his words were fewer still. He had never seen his father this apprehensive or angry before.
Even in the face of what would normally send a man to the deepest trenches of madness, his father passed over with little irritation. today was different. As they sat silent under the night in the courtyard, his heart began to grow cold. He should have known better than to steal from his father but fear is as potent a drug as love.
He was afraid his father would advise him against his plan to steal Simi using the medicine. He was scared his father upon hearing she belonged to another would order his steps in a different direction. And so he snuck into his father's inner chamber and stole a sleeping potion.
Administered properly, it was used to calm a being troubled by dark spirits so his father could perform the necessary exorcism. For if the person was to be awake when it happened, the chances of survival become minimal. What he didn't know was administered on a person who wasn't troubled by dark spirits, was an open invitation for possession. And so, in his quest to steal a love he felt had been wrongly taken from him, he had handed her over to spirits yet unnamed, yet unknown.
In the night, the sound of drumming filled Vwai! The horns followed shortly and the night was awake.
War had come!
Atsi had seen the beckoning of war. For Bubrukah the eye; had warned him of impending doom but because he was still clouded by grief, didn't sense the whole picture. His vision had never been what it used to be since the death of his wife 5 years ago. But when Izam told him on the morning of Simi's capture what he had done, he grew anxious. The people of Vwai and Jwahr had brokered a peace deal after years and years of intense turmoil. The deal signed a long time ago however had deteriorated over the years. Border disputes were commonplace now and even though they shared many similarities there was also a deep enmity buried just underneath the surface.
Atsi had quickly rushed to the house of Dara Simi to perform the rites as expected to prevent an escalation of events but discovered a new dimension to the tale, one his son had forgotten to mention. Badung. He knew Chwei's lust for bloodshed first hand during the great Vendabong war. He also knew he had had his eyes on Jwahr for a long time but because of the peace accord, was held in check.
Now his son had provided the best opportunity for invasion. He set foot with his sons and Azi in tow for the Da Manjai's house, hoping that age and domestication would make him more approachable to reason. He was wrong. Very very wrong. Even his sister's cries, who merely a child was given as a thank you after the Vendabong war fell on deaf ears.
Back in Jwahr, he went straight to the Agwom with the news. To prevent the coming doom he had been warned about, Simi had to be returned untouched by the Agwom himself to the Da Manjei. He pleaded with the Agwom to send emissaries to Vwai immediately with the news of her coming, together with a King's apology. However, even before the emissaries set foot, that night, a neighbouring settlement was burnt down. No survivors.
Young love is bold yet impatient, adventurous yet unwise. Young love has led many a man to his doom, but most often though, it has led many a man to his purpose. Young love needs guidance to grow, to escape the many loopholes that have bedevilled it.
And so the drums of war were struck in the middle of the night. Young men and boys alike quickly said their goodbyes to their wives and mothers. The old and grey rounded up the children and marched to the ancestral cave of covering. The warriors came to Atsi for fortification and to each, he gave a mark in accordance to his spirit, all the warriors including his three sons.
Simi saw the arrow aglow and black as it coursed through the night and found its resting place, deep in Azi's heart. She heard the dying wail of Arum, the first son of Atsi. She searched through the scene of the massacre but couldn't find Izam. He wasn't standing on the field of battle. Her body began to tremble with foam forming in her mouth. Then she saw him. Frail and afraid beneath the heel of Badung, the man she was to call husband.
She screamed and ran as quickly as her two legs could carry her but she knew she would never reach him in time. She could not save the one who had stirred up feelings in her tender heart. Her body began to convulse and Atsi knew the time of possession was inevitable. During a battle, too many evil spirits run amok. And so he stood at ready, sword in hand, divine words heavy on his tongue. For if she became possessed, he would have no choice but to kill her.
Certain times are described as pivotal moments to one knowing who they are or what their purpose in life is but for Simi, duty, love and war brought her to her purpose. She died that night, a thousand deaths she had and each one, a warrior faced death with calm. Nobody knows her because only the dying truly sees her, but she is there. To those who know her, she is known as She traverses the worlds of the living and the dead with a single purpose as true as her name. Love. So with love, she follows an aged mother home, with love she renews and replenishes the land. And with love, she brought a people who for long even though one, had sought to exploit their differences instead of celebrating them. Nothing indeed is greater than love.
WHILE I WAIT.
by Joy Okwori, published 2 years, 11 months ago
I was once imprisoned by words whose aura is darkness. I was held down in this prison by unfriendly forces, so I sat on a stool of uncertainty as I held the moon.
I crawled through the night with gritted teeth, like one with no hope. And I couldn't dance because shackles held my feet.
Yesterday was once, today doesn't make it twice. I breakout, I don't belong to prison; the Judge said so. I smelt like rotten tomatoes, frail from tireless torture.
The Judge beckoned with open arms, and I ran with the speed of light. My accusers didn't know what crime to nail me with. The Judge knew what currency to bail me with; the blood.
Broad smiles.
Heartfelt laughter.
I dance.
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