JOHN OGBILE OKPE

Oyinkansolami, as I fondly called her, was my first love. We had known each other since elementary school. But it wasn't until college that we finally started courting. Oh, it was such an epic moment. Whenever we were together, I literally felt like I was floating on cloud nine. I really loved her that much. Every moment spent with her was like a slice of heaven. All was really going well until I received a mail from the woman I loved. As I went through the contents of her message, I became very broken. I struggled hard to believe what I was seeing. Seated silently on the couch and in front of the TV with my mouth agape, tears built a castle in my red eyes. My baby had sent a mail containing her wedding card, but it wasn't my face that was on it. She had found a new love and was getting married to him. She never told me she was dating anyone until that fateful day.

A part of me could still not believe what was happening, so I swiftly picked up my car keys and headed straight to her house, and it was no fake news. There she was, beautifully dressed in a pink gown and a pair of heels, holding the soft palms of her new found love. I stared at her eyes with my heart bleeding, for I couldn't imagine my Oyinkansola was about wedding another.

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"High fever, stomach aches, cold, malaria." Enough excuses to skip her wedding that Easter weekend. Reality had finally dawned on me.

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Two decade later, I saw Oyinkansolami on the smelling sheets of a hospital bed while on community service with a group of volunteer doctor. She was looking like smoked fish from Abule Iroko heated under a burning fire. The poor woman was having a shrunken form and her fingers were weak. I learnt her husband was a vampire, but what I couldn't believe was why she insisted on staying married to him.

"My Oyinkansola, who did this to you? Please divorce the beast", I pleaded as I sat beside her on her dying bed.

In split seconds, I heard the nurse on duty say, "It's too late sir. Her husband has killed her already." Oh, I was broken. I wept my eyes sore. I lamented like David did when he learnt about the fall of Saul and Jonathan.

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Oyinkansolami, a smart and promising young woman was married to alcohol for more than two decades, and he ate up the livers of this 40 year old woman.

When I saw her wedding card on my mail that year, it was a picture of her drinking.
When I drove to her house that day, I saw the bottles of alcohol in her hands. When I made excuses to skip her wedding that Easter weekend, I was tired of advising her to get a divorce.

Now, she ruined her destiny because she stayed married.

Now you tell me, WHO SAYS DIVORCE IS BAD?

It may be bad if the marriage is between a man and a woman, but you can't tell me it is bad when it is between a man or a woman and an addiction.

What addiction are you married to? It's time to get a divorce.

Are you addicted to alcohol? Get a divorce!
Are you addicted to smoking? Get a divorce!
Are you married to laziness? Get a divorce!
Are you addicted to procrastination? Get a divorce!
Are you married to pornography? Get a divorce.
Are you addicted to masturbation? Get a divorce today!

By all means, DON'T STAY MARRIED TO SOMETHING THAT WILL RUIN YOUR DESTINY. Don't wait till that addiction destroys you before you call it quit.

#FlashFiction

Before you go, please check out: THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR

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In a bid to do the undoable, reach the unreachable, explore the unexplorable and experience the inexperienced, I decided to set an audacious goal. It became one of my new year resolution to slap a soldier this year.

Ok, let me tell you how it all happened. I needed to do something that'll make me have an encounter with a soldier and it has to be something daring, so I decided it's best I wear an army camouflage shirt and move on to the road. So that was how I started wearing the camo and it seemed I was not going to meet military men but alas! My luck came a week later, precisely on a Friday. It was a day where worshippers flocked in their numbers to the RCCG Holy Ghost Night, and as expected there was traffic jam along the Lagos/Ibadan expressway. Ahead were the soldiers on patrol controlling the traffic. And there I sat patiently in the cab I boarded with my camo, ready to face the devil.

I poked my head out the cab and leaned out without fear. In fact, I almost stuck my whole body out of the cab window. Luckily, one of then spotted me.

'Hey you!', he said pointing to me.
'Shut up!', I answered bluntly.
'Ehn, me shut up? You get liver o. Oya come down', he said furiously.

This was my opportunity. I came down and for a second felt blood rushing in my head. He tried to drag me, but I resisted and then with all boldness, vigour and alacrity, my arm swung and my palm collided with his bony face at a high velocity. Heads turned. Eyes rolled. Tongues wagged. Goosebumps covered my body. I was unsure if I was elated or I was scared. "Is this me?"

The man's face transformed in a flash. He looked at me as an Israeli soldier would look at an Iranian soldier stranded in an Israeli camp. He quickly swung his gun to the back and with his two metallic hands, he clapped on my ears twice."Kpoka Kpoka" was what I heard. 'What is your name?', he asked.

'My name is ...'

Before I could answer, I heard "Kpoka Kpoka" again. It was another round of his double slaps (it's actually clapping).

I shouted and I saw his mouth move. He said something but his voice was drowned in the thousands of bells ringing in my head. If that's the way they slap in the barracks, I don't think any soldier should be hearing by now.

'Errr?....', I managed to voice out.

He quickly signalled other men who stumped down there and dragged me into their van.

I was driven to the barracks and dragged like an exceptionally stubborn goat to the guardroom. It is better to step on your father's iPhone X and receive beating than to be dragged under such conditions. After what seemed like hours of dragging, kicking with iron clad boots and flogging with wires, we finally reached the guardroom. On reaching there, I saw a large warehouse with heavy gates like the size of gates that should prevent a nuclear attack from one of the inmates.

They opened the door and I saw what could be described as hungry lions very happy to find prey. I had heard a lot of stories about how stronger prison inmates treat the weaker ones. Oh, my heart sank. Flashes of scenes from Prison Break clouded my mind. I could literally see T-Bag cheering for these hungry lions to pounce on me. More so, I began remembering all the times I said unkind words and how my pastor used to preach seriously against them. I remembered how the pastor used to sweat when preaching about hell fire.

'My friend move!', a soldier said as he generously gave me a resetting slap.

'Blood of Nebuchadnezzar...", I yelled out out in pain. 'Shut up!', he replied. 'Nebuchadnezzar dey fight army man? Abi the guy die for your sins?' he continued. 'Oya move!', he shouted.


I started confessing my sins because the way I saw it, the probability of returning alive is fluctuating from around zero to minus ten percent. Oh, and I forgot to tell you that I was stripped to my boxers. Well, I can tell you that is not the nicest thing especially when you're going to receive some flogging.

Inside the guardroom, I started to pray with more fervency. The odour oozing out is enough to destroy your nasal cavity. As a matter of fact, anybody who stays there for some time gets accustomed to the smell in such a way that you start to obtain nutrients from it. In there was an epic collection of dead rats and lizards most of which were half-rotten. It seems that's what the inmates hunt for leisure. The floor was concrete floored, dirty and muddy. One side of the room was lined with buckets for urinating and defaecating. Here, insects and human beings took turns to torture us.

Suddenly I heard a soldier shouted: 'Number one! Do your work!'. I wondered what work the guy was going to do. Was he going to add to the rat collection?
'Number two!', shouted one of the inmates
'Number three!', said another and another, 'Number four!'

Seriously, is this really happening? Looks like they also crack jokes in the guardroom? If this is how guardrooms are, I wouldn't mind slapping a few more officers, I thought to myself.

The calling of numbers continued till the ninth person. Being the eleventh inmate, I was expecting the tenth inmate to say 'Number eleven' so I can join in the weird joke by saying "number twelve". To my surprise, I received a slap instead. A bloody one. I was still filled with confusion when he ordered me to hang my feet on the wall and stand on my hands. I looked at a soldier and he gave me that kind of look that says, 'Are you not listening?'

I quickly obeyed and the next thing that followed was a spank on my back. It felt like it was done with logs of wood. I screamed as my hands quivered bashing my forehead on the concrete floor. My vision became blurry. I began to hear strange sounds. I saw death smiling and beckoning me. 'Welcome man', he said when I finally recovered. His tone was so friendly that one would never think he was the one torturing me. Another inmate immediately ordered me to hang again. This time, he had a pressing iron on his hands. As he moved closer to me with the hot iron, I ran for my life, but it was useless: the cable of the iron was so long that no matter how far you ran, it would always reach the other end of the cell. I couldn't imagine the iron touching my body, so I fought back, but I was restrained by the other inmates. I cried for the soldiers to help me, but they just stood aside laughing and enjoying the whole show.

Suddenly, the hot iron landed on my back. I screamed so loud and woke up sweating profusely. So it was only a dream? I searched the whole room for the soldiers and the inmates, but couldn't find any one of them. It wasn't until my roommate ran to the room that reality finally dawned on me. Oh, it was only a dream. A bad dream. Thank goodness it was a nightmare.

Guys, don't pull stunts with military men, especially the ones in Nigeria. Trust me when I say those guys are brutal. Lol

#FlashFiction

I managed to drop a slice of fish into the boiling oil. The gas was quite high. I could not see clearly, my right eye was swollen and so the left eye had to do the job; but the poor thing had been working all day. Now it feels sore and itchy as i wiped the small tear that strolled from it. I shook my head many times, but it did not help the matter. I just had to manage. All I had to do with my self was manage, so managing my life was no exception. I am the envy of all. Many ladies pray to have what I have. But they never knew what I was going through. Though he had money and luxury, and so I felt that would comfort me, but I spent the whole money and little time that I had on cosmetics. I used the most expensive ones, but they were never enough. I tried hard to cover the bruises and shame. But, it never covered the pain. I never wanted to live like this. I felt confused. I continued in the hot and quiet kitchen pondering about life, but forgot I had something on fire.

I was already lost in thought but just then, was revived by the smoke coming out of the fish. I tried putting off the gas. But the control was too hot. It burnt my palm: I took it back immediately. The boiling oil was splashing here and there. There was nothing I could do to stop that. As I tried again to put off the gas, power supply went out, as is the custom in this part of the world. Oh, I cried: not now PHCN, wrong timing. The kitchen became dark, but the smoke continued fiercely. It made me confused. I didn’t know what to do. My phone had a flat battery. I couldn’t even see my way out. Whenever i managed to get close to the boiling oil, the splashes will take me back. The smoke was already suffocating me. I could hardly breathe. I started coughing continuously. But I had to put the fire out.

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I stretched my hand towards the gas control, and managed to put my face aside. But the hot oil splashed on my hand. As I was about taking my hand away, I acccidentally hit the handle of the frying pan and all hell broke loose: the whole hot steamed oil poured all over my legs. I screamed out loud.. It hurt me so much. I cried and shouted, but there was none to console me. I kept rolling on the floor as part of the spilled oil on the floor continued burning me. It was like hell.

If anybody had never been to hell before, I could tell it isn't an amazing place. My home was hell. It was the most excruciating pain I ever felt. The whole of me felt dead. I couldn't tell which part hurts most: my tampered eye, the burns I just received on my legs or the pains Ken had caused me for the past years. Oh! I cried more!

Just when the struggle to get up was not enough, I heard the car horn. Ken was back. It should have felt comforting, right? But no, i knew today was the last day, so I should just say my prayers. He rushed into the kitchen with his flashlight, managed to put off the gas and then opened the blinds and windows. He's going to have a bit of compassion, I hought, but no, i was wrong. He looked at me sternly and just when I was about telling him how it all happened, Ken landed me a blow on my fore- head. I screamed! He gave me another one and told me to keep quiet, but I could not. I couldn’t bare the pains any longer. It was just too much. He got angrier and  kicked me on my stomach. Oh, it hurts so bad. For a minute I prayed for death. I told God I was ready. I told him to just take my life. But God wouldn’t just answer, as Ken continued with blows and slaps. I got up to try to escape. But he caught me: the mean man was clearly stronger than I am. He dragged me by my hair out of the kitchen through the stairs to the veranda. There he gave me another round of beating. Ken was no man, He was a monster. That day I saw a higher dimension of the beast in him. I cried but none could help.

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Just when I was waiting for death to come by. Something else awoke me. In the midst of his blows and curses. I felt something warm and moist streaming down from between my legs. As I took a glance at it. I Saw blood! Oh my God! This can't be happening: I had just lost my three weeks pregnancy. Reality had finally dawned on me. I stopped for a second to think. “Where have I lost it?” I thought, “ what happened to my self esteem and sense of belonging?” I said quietly. I refuse to die like this! Something strong grew out of me. I no longer wanted this life. For the past five years I  have been a shadow of myself. I had lost my dignity. But this night, I had to take it back!



Just when Ken raised his hand to throw another blow, I pushed him down with all the strength I had left and snatched the keys to the gate. I ran faster than my legs could take me. I saw him struggle to get up. But before he could, I was out of the gate. I was leaving all of the pains and rejection he had cause me. I was no longer interested in using cosmetics to cover my bruises. I had to start my life afresh.

I will not stop running until I get to my destination. I am a woman not a punching bag. I am strong not a weakling. I am beauty personified. I am going to start my life afreash.

No man can prove love with abuse. Don't remain in an abusive relationship because of what you fear people might say or think. Don't remain in an abusive relationship because you still feel something for your partner. Love and abuse don't go together. Don't remain quiet in an abusive relationship with the hope that they will change later. Speak out!

No to physical abuse
No to molestation
No to sexism


DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Events and incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.


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"I wish I don't feel left out, but the truth is I do. I really want to test the waters and see how it goes. This life of following the rules is becoming increasingly boring. I don't think I can continue to miss out on the fun of life any longer. That seems a cross too heavy to bear" - Jemila

"But it's just sexting. I'm not doing it in real practice. I will do it just once and repent later. God is forgiving after all. If Jesus instructed us to forgive our brother 490 times if he seeks forgiveness after each transgression, then surely God Himself is willing to do at least as much" - Nkiruka

"Although this is wrong, I still can't imagine letting this free cash pass me by. It's not like it's an everyday thing, it's just this one night and we are all gone our separate ways. I have read time and time again that God Almighty is slow to anger and quick to forgive. Only yesterday at Church, my pastor reiterated this character about Him" - Tayo

"It's so frustrating to note that as we all long to follow the principles of God, we daily handcuff ourselves unknowingly from the pleasures of life. So, it's okay for Jide to do it, while it's unthinkable for me. I am so tired of this prison" - Chinedu

"If Sister Omosalewa, a former porn star, could receive forgiveness on accepting and confessing Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior, and even become the Music Director of our local church, I guess it shouldn't be difficult for me to receive forgiveness too. After all, I only intend to test the waters just once. Body nor be firewood. I am also human with blood running through my veins. I feel emotions too. Surely, God will understand and get over it" - Liberty

Hmm, does any of the scenarios presented above sound familiar?

(If you have never thought about doing something you know is wrong and then repenting later, it's okay if you close this blog at this point. Goodbye and enjoy the rest of what you will miss in the lines ahead. If not, let's ride on)

How many times have we all thought about willfully doing something even though we know beyond a shadow of doubt that it's wrong? How many times have we had the assurance that God will forgive us when we repent from a sin we planned in advance? How many times have we nursed the idea of abusing the grace and love of God?

You will agree with me that the innermost thoughts of many as they journey through the valley and mountain called life has been perfectly captured in the fiction above. We all have been at this juncture at some point in our lives. But then, it's important we take note of a few things as regards this issue.




First of all, we cannot scam, mock or play a fast one on God on the basis of His divine nature of love and forgiveness.

The sooner you take that thought out of your mind, the better. The whole impossible idea of playing a fast one on God is like trying to fill a tank with a basket. When you are aware that something is wrong and you still go ahead to indulge in it, you are not messing with God, you are actually messing with yourself.



"Don't be misled, you cannot mock the justice of God. You will always harvest what you plant. Those who live only to satisfy their own sinful nature will harvest decay and death from that sinful nature. But those who live to please the Spirit will harvest everlasting life from the Spirit."  (Galatians 6:7-9)