PONMO ALATA

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9jafoodie.com

Hello guys! How’s our weekend going? Today’s story was inspired by childhood memories, all characters are fictional by the way, before some of you start jumping to conclusions. Lemme even take a quick poll, if you’ve ever stolen a piece of meat from your mother’s pot, do like this O/    (i.e. raise your hand). My Oh My…look at you all. Well, no time for long intros. See you on the flip side.
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He dreaded being awake in the middle of the night. Night-time was when the witches, ojujus and all things that go bump at night came out to play. ‘He should be sleeping’, he told himself, not lying down in the pitch-black darkness, hyper-alert, thinking of the mission that had preoccupied his mind all evening. Maybe that was what kept him awake. That, coupled with the sweltering heat that had made his body sticky with sweat.

Seyi, oya close your eyes and sleep
, he whispered to himself. He squeezed his eyes shut. Something scurried across the room. He sprang to a sitting position. Eyes wide as saucers, he scanned the room; it was useless he couldn’t see anything even with the moonlight filtering in through the lone window in the room. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His younger brother, Shogo, with whom he shared a bed rolled towards him and threw a leg over Semilore’s legs. He kicked it away and hissed. Shogo grunted and continued sleeping unperturbed. His two elder brothers were on the other bed in the room competing for who could snore the loudest. Sleep, obviously, was playing hide and seek only with him tonight.  He lay back down, willing sleep to come.

Why don’t you do it now? The voice inside his head came alive. His eyes opened. No oh. It’s not good.  It’s too dark sef, are you not afraid?  Another voice said. He remembered the kerosene lantern his mother usually kept lit overnight on the corridor. Ten years old and you are still afraid. My fren, chop liver and do this thing. Nobody would see you. He stood up very slowly and headed towards the door of the room. The lantern was at the other end of the corridor; just at the entrance of the kitchen. The illumination from it was just sufficient for him.

He first crossed over to his parent’s room and pressed his ear to the door. No discernable sounds. He tiptoed towards the light. He picked up the lantern and entered the kitchen. He was really doing this. Anticipation chased most of his fear away.  He turned up the knob on the lantern so he could see well. He didn’t want to risk hitting any pots or plates. One gbaga-ragaun and his mother would be in that kitchen faster than The Flash.

He took an empty pot, carefully placed the cover on the ground and set it aside. In case he heard anyone coming, he would quickly pull down his pyjamas and start urinating in the pot in an attempt to act like he had sleepwalked into the kitchen and mistaken it for the toilet. He couldn’t help but smile at his ingenuity. He sighted the pot he came for. With trembling fingers, he carefully lifted the lid. Behold his weakness; his pot of “red pottage”. A pot of thick spicy Ponmo, well-seasoned, boiled in its juices to a chewable consistency and marinated in fried peppery sauce.

He dipped his hand into the pot and picked up a soft, succulent piece of ponmo that had also had a little piece of beef. He licked off the oil that dripped down his fingers. He bit into the ponmo and tore off the beef, sucking out the juices before chewing, all the while his ears scanning for sounds to suggest if anyone was coming. He bit off a piece of ponmo and chewed it to a gummy consistency before swallowing. He licked his fingers quickly, taking in small sips of air to quench the fire on his tongue.

He briefly contemplated taking another piece but decided against it. His mother might notice. In fact, this was the first time he would take a whole piece. He usually cut off small bits from several pieces of meat.  He had taken a huge risk. His mother was renowned for noticing when things went missing especially from her pot or purse. However, he had visited her pot three times this week and he hadn’t been caught. He wasn’t careless like his brothers.  He left everything exactly as he met it and rinsed his hands in the sink. As he picked up the lantern, he noticed a small red stain on the cover of the pot. Had it been there before? He wasn’t taking chances. He wiped it off with a rag, placed the lantern back at the entrance of the kitchen and tiptoed back to bed.

*****
“Seeeeuuun! Segggguuunn! Seeeeyiii! Shoooogo! ”. The four boys were rudely yanked from dreamland by the sound of their mother’s loud voice as it reverberated throughout the whole of No. 33 Adefila Street. Seun’s eyes lazily drifted to the wall clock. 6:24Am. Haba! Today was Saturday, the only day of the week they were allowed to be in bed till 8:00am. He looked at his brothers they wer  no longer asleep, neither were they fully awake. They were waiting for somebody to get up first.

“Ooooh God! This woman should allow somebody to sleep now,” Seun grumbled under his breath.

“Ahn ahn! Are you counting my voice? Before I count to three all of you appear inside this kitchen now! OOOOONE!…..”

All four boys scampered to the kitchen. There they found their mother scowling; her hair bound in a black hairnet; a green “Mama-is-60” wrapper around her chest.

“Which one of you entered this kitchen last night?”
THE END.

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Just kidding. Click here for the rest of the story.

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HIATUS (2-in-1 Post)

Hi there! I think its still appropriate to wish  you Happy New Year! (seeing as this is my first post this year). Safe to say I’ve been on a vacation of some sort. I’ve found new interest i’m seriously in love with – BEATBOXING, just in case a spot opens up in pentatonix or some other cool acapella group ( like the ones in the movie Pitch Perfect ). Oh…I see you tempting me to show my skills. Should ah? Should ah? Naah.. I’ll drop a beat some other time.

Ok, really, school has been taking up a lot of my time and I haven’t been able to do as much writing as I would love to.  Nonetheless, i’ve been reading & researching on how to write better and i’ve been developing the series “The XX files”.  I’ve also written two short stories on xtremgospel.com.
Mr somebody‘- inspired by a blind man I came in contact with last year and ‘A different Valentine‘- A story about how the popularly celebrated day of love took a different turn for a secondary school (high school) student.

You know, you really should check out the rest of the site for high quality  gospel music/ music video downloads, uplifting articles, news on the international & local entertainment scenes, interviews with various gospel artistes and a load of other great stuff. You can thank me later. (Peter, You must pay me for this endorsement o! 😉 )

By the way  have you read all THIRTY POSTS that were put up in December 2013? (No? Ah ahn :(.  Oya, shekdemhat )

Before I return to my cocoon, (I shall re-emerge in march with the xx-files *Yaay!*) I want you to know that I appreciate your contributions, comments and critism. They mean a lot o! You have no idea. Use the comments section to fully express yourselves.
Peace!

P.s – I am kidding about the beat boxing 🙂

DAY 28: HANGING WITH THE RIGHT GANG?

This is an excerpt from a wonderful book I just finished reading for like the umpteenth time. It’s thought-provoking. It’s called The Rules of Life, authored by Richard Templar.
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Rule 85- Hang out with positive people.
If you want to be successful in your life, at work, socializing, you need to be aware that there are two groups of people to hang out with. First, there are those who lift you up, are positive about life, have energy and enthusiasm, walk their walk, talk their walk and generally make you feel great to be alive. And then, there are the moaners who bring you down to their level of inactivity. The second group is not the group to hang out with If you want to make things happen and be happy.
So hang out with positive, smart people, (God-believing, like-minded people). I mean people who feel life is a challenge worth wrestling to the ground and having fun with. The sort of people who have interesting points of view, who make you feel like talking to , who have positive things to say or suggest rather than moaning. (The sort of people who you can be yourself with and who inspire you to be better), those who tell you look fantastic (when you do), rather than criticize you.
Let’s have a look at the people you hang with.
Which ones can you honestly say :
Make you feel enthusiastic?
Make you rise to every challenge?
Make you laugh and feel great about yourself?
Support, nurture and encourage you?
Stimulate you with new ideas, concepts and direction?
(Strengthen your faith?)
And which ones make you:
Feel depressed, angry, dejected or criticized?
Squash your ideas and pour cold water on your plans?
Don’t take you seriously?
Don’t make you feel like you can achieve anything?
Hang out with the first group. Cull the second-except they are just having a bad day, and we all have those. Move on, get it done. Ah, but you’ll say it’s cruel to prune my friends ruthlessly. But I say no point in hanging in out with people who don’t make you feel good-not unless you like being down.”
Remain in charge!
*Words enclosed parenthesis are not part of the original text.