Fiction

Memory Heart, Storage Cards

Young Adewus in 2014. Naive, in love, and just not anywhere near ready.

I don’t have a title for this post, maybe I have a theme but I don’t know.
I will like to point out that I am writing and posting this because I am committed to consistency. I also want to take this moment to apologize to everyone reading my current series “Bastards” – you are in for a shocker on Saturday.
Whew! I am so excited.

While trying to set up a computer for my best friend a few months ago, I accidentally wiped my external hard drive. All my files – pictures, documents, music and videos from almost 10years were just gone like that.
My friends call me a picture or memory hoarder.
More on that in a bit.

I bought the EaseUS Recovery software and it did a deep scan of my hard drive. I got back almost everything.
Granted things are not properly tagged and I have been spending hours trying sort through them but the fact is, I got my memories back.
But there is a thing about memories, they elicit contrasting emotions from us in many ways.
Going through the files, I saw pictures and videos of exes, ex friends, acquaintances turned family and everything else.
I laughed some and cried some.
It was truly insane.
And that is the beauty of keeping these memories, they make you feel – good or bad.

They also show growth. A unique journey to the present.
I love having memories of the past because they color our present and inform our future.
Going through the pictures, I was reminded of places where I fucked up, stood up and even places where I ran.
Unintentionally, they reminded me to be a better man today and help inform the type of man I want to be tomorrow.
It is important to feel all of it.

I have never been one to go back and read text messages but I tried that recently and I was washed with regret and sadness. Never let looking back make you feel bad for your past, even if you were lost then, you sure found your way to where you are now.
Be proud of that.
Question: have you ever viewed/read/watched/heard something from your past that made you feel or do stupid things? Let me know in the comments below.

Till Saturday y’all,

Stay Up, Stay Safe & Stay Strong.
I LOVE YOU!

Yours always,

The Wordsmith
Master of Cliffhangers

Please leave a comment Below!

Please comment, retweet and share. Thank you for your continued support.
You are highly appreciated.

WordsOfWednesday

© 2020 #WhatTheHeckMan

Fiction

Bastards 3

Even bastards hate other bastards.

“What the fuck do you mean my brother?”

I snarled as the car had just pulled up on the side of the road.

“I am sorry to say this sir, but from my findings it appears that your brother and your fiancée have been in a sexual relationship for sometime now.”

Lawyer Williams replied.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Findings???
What do you mean by findings?”

I queried.
My mother jumped in and said,

“Since I had known that your father was going to pass, I made sure to look into every individual joining our family.
Since you two were going to get married, I had her looked into. There wasn’t a lot on her; seems like she is an orphan, but she has been supported by a family that we know.”

Still in absolute shock, I said,

“Wow, this is crazy.
So in all the research, they couldn’t find out that we hadn’t been having sex?”

My mom chuckled and said,

“Adetomiwa, do you expect us to not assume that you two were doing all sorts of things? From all the traveling and posting pictures, I frankly assumed that you both were very in love with each other –
…okay maybe not love but at least deeply attracted to each other.”

I sighed and turned my head to the left, looking out the window.
This was just too much.

“How sure are you that it belongs to my brother?”

He responded,

“With 99% certainty, sir.”

My head dropped and my mother put her left hand around my back.

“I am sorry, son.”

I started to cry. Maybe it lasted a few minutes or maybe longer but I was so tired.
Exhausted really.
This was too much in a short span. I just wished I was in bed acting like the last few months had never even happened.
In that moment, I became annoyed with my father. His death, his insistence that I marry Ivie and my love for making him proud had all contributed to this unfortunate situation that I couldn’t figure a way out of.
As I battled the sniffles and gathered myself, I asked,

“Where is Adesuwa’s body?”

Lawyer Williams turned around to look at me and said,

“Taken care of.”

I glanced at my mom and then at him.

“Taken care of?”

I asked.
He nodded slowly and looked at my mom.
I continued,

“What are you guys up to?”

My mother spoke,

“We have notified her parents and made arrangements for a funeral.
My team of investigators and the police will get to the bottom of it. Don’t worry yourself and none of it will blow back on you.”

I was dumbfounded.
My mom told the driver to start driving and then I spoke.

“What is there to investigate? Ivie pulled the trigger.
She should be arrested and find out what the hell is going on here.”

My mom smiled and then got serious,

“Her father just motioned for a board vote. Along with all of this happening, it is safe to say that we are playing a bigger game here. And I won’t lose. Nor will I let us lose.
Let us handle it and watch me work… driver take us home. Let me call the house, so they can prepare you some food.”

It was the first time I tasted my spit. It was thick and bitter.
My appetite for food was gone; for revenge though, palpable.

________

All of my siblings had made it to Lagos by the next morning. Except my brother, obviously.
I had just come from a run down the street. My mom had the gateman run behind me just to make sure another set of eyes were present.
The run cleared my head and I felt a little bit lighter.

“Dejo, when dem build the house across the street there?”

I asked him as we stretched in front of the gate.

“Ah, oga maybe like 4 months now. I hear say them even import all the furniture from abroad.”

He said.
He laughed as he saw me laugh.

“Dejo, how you know say na from abroad?”

I teased him.
He flashed his big smile and replied,

“Me and their gateman dey watch ball together. Both of us be Chelsea fans, so we dey watch game together.”

I remember teasing him that Chelsea was not that good, as we entered the compound.
Cars were lined up.
My sisters were around.

As I entered the living room, I gave hugs and greeted everyone.
It was clear that what was troubling us was very different.
They were there for answers.
I was too, but to very different questions.

I went upstairs to take a shower while everyone got ready for breakfast.
I could smell the eggs as I returned some minutes later.
The table was set with yam and eggs with tea, juice and wine. There was also bread because Kehinde somehow didn’t like yam; weird because she ate so much of it as a child.

We all sat down and started eating.
The elephant in the room was waiting to be addressed, especially with our father’s pictures hanging from every corner of the house.
But unlike when we were kids, and couldn’t talk while eating at the table, everyone seemed to yap away including my mom.
As the table was cleared after the meal, my mom began to speak.

“So I know there was a lot that was said during the will reading. I know you all probably have questions, but let me assure you that I will do my best to answer truthfully and to the best of my knowledge.”

As she paused, my older sister Yewande asked,

“I think I speak for all of us here when I ask, was all the information from the will reading true?
Was Daddy not our father?”

My mother sipped from her coffee, placed the mug down, locked both sets of her fingers into each other and placed them on her lap. She looked up and said,

“Biologically, no.”

It was as if the whole room let out a sigh of relief.
Not at the news exactly but at the truth being spoken.

“Years ago, your father found out he was unable to have his own kids after a checkup. He had gotten very ill and we thought we were going to lose him.
We had just gotten married and everything seemed bleak. We went to a doctor in Amsterdam and it was there we found out his count was too low and he may never be able to have children.
Your father took it hard but it was no real fault of his. It was genetic.
Talking to his mother, he found out that your grandfather had the same issues, but turned to traditional medicine and some dark magic stuff.
Your father was never that type of man. He was…”

Taiwo’s phone began ringing out and my mother temporarily paused as we all gave her the stink eye.
My mother smiled and gracefully continued,

“He was never going to go that route. He believed that everything he did came from God and he had worked hard to become who he was. He was confident that he deserved whatever he got from God.
Even I in my naive mind, I tried to convince him to let us try “alternatives”
He refused.

He knew that I wanted children and I knew he did too, despite the fact that he could not have his own.
One day, after almost 5 years of being married, he came to me with a proposition.
Your father had spoken to him on one of their boys trips and he offered to father the children.
I remember cursing out your father and even leaving the house for weeks.
I was so disappointed.
I never even allowed him to explain that the eggs would be artificially inseminated. When he finally told me, I battled with it for months before I finally agreed.
We went to see a consultant in Germany and then the team that did the job was in Italy.
Seamless process.
No real questions asked.
Once I had you Inumidun, your father was the happiest man in the world. The way he loved on you was amazing.
I had never seen a man show that much love before, even though I was confident that he loved me.
When I had you Tomiwa…”

She paused and smiled hard.
Then continued,

“Anuoluwatomiwa, that was the name we chose. Your father’s family would ultimately pressure him into Adetomiwa but we knew what we chose and what it stood for.
But once we had you, the man was even more in love. He was crazy about you and your sister. No one could touch you anyhow. People had to wash their hands and if he felt their energy was off, he wouldn’t even let them near you.
It was so beautiful.

That summer, he went on his boys’ trip and came back with your brother. Knowing his situation, I was sure he didn’t get some woman pregnant but I couldn’t explain where the child was from.
He claimed to have seen him at an orphanage on a business trip and then brought him home. We named him Ayokunle because in all honesty, he brought more joy to the house.
The way Inumidun and Tomiwa took to him, it was perfect. We had the money, too much of it; who was I to stop us from taking in more children and blessing them.
We thought about having one more kid. I wanted a girl to balance the equation. Miraculously, after the eggs were inserted, we found out we were having twins.
I was overjoyed and so grateful we had kept Kunle. 3 girls, 2 boys – all from this womb.
I was grateful to God. “

She sipped her coffee before continuing,

“About 10 years after the twins were born, your ‘biological father’ passed away. He never wanted the limelight or money; despite that, your father ensured that he was an honorary member of the company and his family still gets payouts yearly. They are disguised as dividends from the company.
Telling you who he was was now moot.
However, your father planned to tell you this year. Late last year, he was diagnosed with stage 4 prostate cancer.
It deteriorated fast, even though outwardly he was our warrior.
He never got the chance to explain, but that is the story. You all know how much he loved you.
If you will be upset with him, take it up with me as well. We are one team and we made every decision together.
You are OUR children.”

The twins started crying once my mom finished.
As you can imagine, it was a lot.
But I felt such great relief.
He never lied to us, he just never got to telling us the truth as we would understand it.
I respected him for it.

We all got up and hugged my mom.
We didn’t need the follow up questions. We knew who our father was and that was enough for us.
As we broke away, my older sister said,

“Where is Kunle?”

Teary eyed, my mother went into strategist mode.

“He’ll be with us soon. He was handling some important family business for me.”

I left and went up to the room I was staying in.
Laying on the bed and facing the ceiling with my arms spread wide on the bed, I kept thinking.
What exactly I was thinking about, I am still not sure.
Suddenly, it clicked.
I needed to get to the bottom of the Ivie and Kunle thing. Plus, why did Adesuwa pull a weapon on me?

I got up and headed to the reading table.
Adesuwa’s phone was dead. I plugged it in and waited for a few minutes. Soon enough, it lit up.

Password.
Fuck!
I played with a few variations and then I tried her card PIN number which she had shared with me many years ago.
It worked.
Oh my luck.
What I was about to see would show me that luck was nothing compared to the grace that saved my life.

_____________

IVIE: “The man will bring it to you.”

ADESUWA: I have never used one before, outside of a shooting range.

IVIE: It’s totally fine. Cook. Have sex with him. Once he is sleeping, you do it. We will come and pick up the body.

ADESUWA: Ok. But when will the money be transferred?

IVIE: A quarter has been moved. Half within 24 hours of completion and the remaining quarter after 30 days to avoid any suspicions.

ADESUWA: And you are sure this won’t come back to either of us?

IVIE: Yes.

My mouth was completely ajar as I read this full exchange between Adesuwa and Ivie.
I couldn’t even believe it.
My heart was shattered.
I couldn’t imagine what Ivie could possibly have said or offered Adesuwa that would make her willing to kill me.
My head was hurting and the betrayal was unlike anything I had ever experienced.
I was in so much pain, I never came out of my room for the rest of the day. I spent most of my time crying and sleeping.

The next morning, I got woken up by a call from a long time friend.
I didn’t know the number and I must have answered while half asleep. He just called to check in, but it was good to connect with someone from my regular life and remind me of some normalcy that I once had.
As I lay there, there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

I grumbled.
It was my older sister.

“Mom wants you downstairs now.”

It felt like a school morning. I tossed for a few minutes before coming down.
As I walked down the stairs, the living room went quiet.
Emerging from the stairway, I noticed Kunle and Ivie sitting next to each other.

“What the fuck are they doing here?”

I asked broadly while almost charging at them.
Kunle stood up. Ready for whatever, he was the type.
My mother and lawyer Williams tried to calm me down.
They led me to sit down.
I stared at them for a minute and then I said,

“Ivie, I just want to know why.
Why?”

She looked down at her hands and then said,

“I am sorry. I really am.
I didn’t mean any harm.”

I was boiling

“No harm?
You didn’t mean any harm by sleeping with my brother and getting pregnant for him?
No harm????”

My sisters gasped.
Shocked.
I continued,

“Oh you guys didn’t know?
Well I just found out too and not even from you! So please tell us how you meant no harm?”

Kunle jumped in and said,

“Let me explain.”

I stood up and snapped,

“Shut up.
Don’t you say a fucking word ‘cos I swear, I will rip you apart with my bare hands.
Let her explain to us. You were supposed to be family, but I guess you are just useless and stupid.”

He postured but he knew I could probably take him.
I pressured,

“Come on Ivie, tell us why you decided to fuck my brother for YEARSSSS and then try to have me killed?”

Kunle was shocked.
He turned to her in shock and said,

“Ivie tell me he’s making this up.”

My mother was standing and reading to charge.
The whole house felt like it was about to collapse.

“Fucking tell us!!!!”

I yelled at her.

She was beginning to sob. Kunle was shocked to his core.
My guess is that he never knew the extent of her plans.
Before she could talk, Dejo ran into the house and said in the direction of my mother,

“Madam, madam!
Come see something for gate.”

“Dejo, what is it?”

She asked like he was being a nuisance.
He, panting, said,

“Madam, na wetin I never see in my life.
Please come.”

We saw the concern in his eyes and reluctantly we all followed.
We got to the gate and he pressed the controls to get it opened.

As it peeled open, what stood on the other side was unlike anything I had ever seen in my life.
I looked around as mouths and jaws were on the floor.
The WhatTheHeckMan couldn’t even be said.
All that stood on the paved concrete of Lagos was my father’s coffin.
Yes, you read that right.
The coffin my old man was buried with in Ibadan was right in front of our home in Ikoyi.

My mother was right. This was war.
But this was never the type of blow we expected.
What the actual fuck, man?

End of Part 3.
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Thank you for reading and commenting. You are highly appreciated.

#SanmiSaturdays

© 2020 #WhatTheHeckMan

Fiction

The Dumb Writer

#JusticeForToyin

I often get criticized by some of my friends that I don’t “talk enough” or readily/easily “open up”.
It bothers me and frankly, I don’t even know when it started.
On one hand, I think I picked it up late in high school when I noticed that I was talking too much and sometimes finding myself in a lie.
Not the blatant ones, but an embellishment here or extra jara there; it was starting to trouble my spirit.
So I turned it down.
On the other hand, it could’ve been growing up with a mom that believes that your best friends are your parents and siblings. I just always kept things within.
Frankly, it doesn’t matter.
One reason it actually bothers me is, the uncertainty of what would happen if I start falling in love with someone and I am unable to truly express myself – like my deepest, darkest, scariest, and most awkward feelings.
I don’t know to be honest, I don’t know.
I pray I can work through it.

This post today may seem scattered, or not.
You may see yourself in my words, or not. Hell, you may even be here just to be an alabosi, but it’s all good.
Today, I started a walking challenge. I had planned to walk about 2.5 miles or so but I ended up walking 4 miles.
It felt great to start the morning outside and just walk.
One thing I realized that COVID19 took away from me is my morning routine.
I used to wake up around 6:45am-7:00am, hit the gym, shower there and then take the ferry to work in San Francisco.
While working out, I would listen to tons of gospel music, pray and commit the day and my loved ones to God.

Now, I am awake at odd times. Consumed by weird things like joblessness, trying to not be depressed, sex, masturbation, staying creative, trying not to be fat and so much more.
That morning routine is gone.
And who knows if I’ll ever get it back. I hope so (Alameda county, please open the gyms back up).

Back to my walk today; as I walked, I started listening to praise and worship.
See my gospel playlist here and the lineup of today, here.
I have a friend that strongly believes that God has a calling for me in the music ministry. Maybe He does, I don’t know or maybe I know and I am trying to ignore it.
IDK.
But every so often, they will say “Sanmi just submit and let God use you o. He will use you well o.”
I have a weird relationship with that type of service with God.
My parents have been pastors for most of my life; noble jobs but they come with tremendous pressure and dedication – things I am not sure I am ready for yet.
However, I know He uses me, no doubt.
If you are ever wondering, just peep me leading praise and worship like in the video below.
I legit turn into someone else.

I have always envied people with beautiful voices. Like those that you know God straight made them to sing.
See Mali Music, Jonathan McReynolds, Dunsin Oyekan, Tope Alabi – once you hear their voices, you feel “connected” to the heavens.
I don’t think I have the best voice. Matter of fact, listening to those people, I think I suck.
Yet somehow, God uses this voice and what he has put in me, to bless people.
And I thank Him for it.

Anyway, as I was walking, a few things consumed my heart and I started crying.
I have a very unique relationship with praise and worship.
Especially when I am “alone” with God. Here I was walking down the barely awakened neighborhood, in my noise cancelling headphones, singing melodies to God while trying not to get run over because I couldn’t hear anything outside the music.

Depression.
The pressure of being with the right person.
Being jobless.
My right knee still not being healed.
Being out of a job that cost me my insurance, that cost me rehab of the knee I wanted to get right by this summer.
Praying for a friend who lost a family member to COVID and an aunty who underwent major surgery.
Praying for my siblings, parents, friends and acquaintances.
Missing praise and worship in the actual church.

O V E R W H E L M E D

Tears as people walked their dogs, ran and walked past me.
But I felt safe there.
Now all the things I just wrote, some would read and say “why didn’t you tell me”.
It’s the reason I titled this “The Dumb Writer”.
Once I sit on the toilet or in the bathtub or in the car or by the water, the words come.
In private, I go dumb.

Today, as I got about halfway through the workout, the song “Man of Your Word” by Chandler Moore & KJ Scriven for Maverick City Music came on.
That song had been speaking to me for a short minute but never like today.
The part that stands out first is the chorus where they say

[Verse 1: Chandler Moore]
All things are possible
When we believe
Old chains are breakable
When we receive
Yahweh
You keep Your promises

[Chorus: Chandler Moore]
If You said it, we believe it
If You said it, hey!
If You said it, we believe it
If You said it, we believe it
‘Cause You’re a man of Your word
If You said it, we believe it
If You said it, we believe it
You’re a man of Your word

Then later it says

[Bridge: Chandler Moore]
We have this confidence
You’ll finish what You started
God, You have never failed
You won’t start with me
You’re present in every step
Patient in every heartache
God, You have never failed
You won’t start with me

The second part is just as powerful as the first.
It is a confirmation that God is great, never fails and fam, He won’t start failing on top my own matter.
N O P E.
You should have seen me jamming to that part of the song. If you follow me on Instagram, you would have noticed me just jamming in my story.

I loved the reassurance gently tucked in the song.
It is a bop that I know you’ll add to your gospel playlist and damn, it sure makes you feel comfort.
In these times, we need so much of that.
There is a lot that is uncertain in many facets of our lives and it is truly refreshing to know that He got us.
There is so much I can say about the confidence, I am not sure where or how to start but man I love being in that lonely room with the One that knows what I want to say before I say it.

So to my best friends, confidants and gbeborunssssss, I am sorry that I don’t always have the words.
I promise it is not because I love you less.
But trust me when I say my heart speaks. Loud and in many tones.
And these words you read here are true to my every bone.
So, thank you for listening here and feel free to “speak” back if you see me.

Oh, one thing I forgot to mention is how scary the world is today.
I really considered not going for that walk today because black men die doing the randomest things.
As I was walking today,
I was so lost in the music that I turned around suddenly and there was a cop on a bike.
I freaked out.
He caught it and put his hand out to show he wasn’t a threat but damn, it took me a minute to regroup.
We are not S A F E.
And it is scary AF.

All in all, here are my Words Of Wednesday,.
My apologies for missing the post last Wednesday.
I hope you felt something reading this today and I promise, you will feel something reading Bastards 3 this Saturday.
I promise you that, so brace yourself.
Haven’t read my current series – BASTARDS?
Start here

Till very soon y’all,

Stay Up, Stay Safe & Stay Strong.
I LOVE YOU!

Yours always,

The Wordsmith
Master of Cliffhangers

Please leave a comment Below!

Please comment, retweet and share. Thank you for your continued support.
You are highly appreciated.

WordsOfWednesday

© 2020 #WhatTheHeckMan

#WhatTheHeckMan · African Stories · Fiction · Stories

Bastards 2

Blood is thicker than water but only one bleeds when the heart is cut.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.
In.
Wow.
I couldn’t see the light. Was I even supposed to see the light being that I died in sin?
Has anyone figured out how that whole thing works?
I obviously had not.
The room was dark and everything was moving slow.
I was trying to figure out what was going to happen next. Slowly opening my eyes trying to see what just happened…
As I opened my eyes I looked around my body to make sure that I had not been shot.
I couldn’t find any bullet wounds, so I looked over to where Adesuwa was standing.
Slammed to the floor with a gun in her hand.
I looked over to the door of the room and that is where I saw her standing with a gun in her hand. I was shocked. After all, she wasn’t supposed to be here till tomorrow. “How did you get here so fast?”, I thought.

“Ivie, what the fuck?
What are you doing here?”

I said as I got off the bed.
I slowly got up and walked over to her. As I approached, she lowered the weapon.
None of it made sense.
Shaking to my bones, I slowly approached Ivie.

“Ivie, let me explain.”

I opened with. I was trying to calm her down and not let her shoot me because I was cheating on her.
As I approached her, I knelt down and pleaded.

“Ivie, I am sorry.”

She didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were fixed on Adesuwa’s lifeless body on the ground.
A whole minute that felt like an eternity must have passed, but she eventually handed the gun to me.
I took it in my hand and stood up.
As I backed away from her, she said,

“We need to get rid of the body.”

My eyes grew big and I couldn’t understand why.
I asked.

“Why?”

It was as if then she finally snapped out of a trance and she said,

“Your mistress is dead on your bedroom floor and you’re asking me why?”

“But I didn’t shoot her.”

I replied.
Cold and firm, she walked over to me and said,

“Your prints are all over that gun in your hand, your semen is probably inside of her and your soon to be wife was about to walk in on you two, what do you think they would believe Tomiwa?”

I stared at the gun in my hand and then at Adesuwa’s body.
Fuck!
She was right.

She helped me put the body in the carpet from the living room on the second floor; we hauled the body down and outside the house.
As I lifted the body into my trunk, she asked me,

“Are you going to dump it in the water?”

I shook my head and said,

“No, the body could float. I have to find an incinerator or dump it on the way to Lagos.”

She didn’t argue.
I ran back into the house and got all of her things. I vividly remember putting her cellphone in my pocket.
As I got into the car, I asked Ivie,

“Are you coming with me?”

She sharply said

“No.”

Then she continued and said,

“I have to drive my car to Lagos. Obviously cannot leave it here.
I’ll meet you at the house in Lagos”

————

The drive to Lagos felt like the longest in my life.
I kept trying to drive fast but I was worried that if I drove too fast it would raise suspicion.

Mowe-Ibafo, Berger, and I was making my way to Oshodi.
Sweating profusely, my throat was dry. I was just trying to get to the incinerator at my friend’s waste management company.
It was already midday as I pulled into the parking lot, I hadn’t called him ahead of time.
How would I have explained needing a professional torching chamber?

As I parked, one of the employees came up to me just as I was stepping out of the car.
She curtsied as she came closer.

“Good afternoon sir.”

She said.

“Good afternoon, is your oga around?”

I asked her in response.

“No sir.”

She replied with some disappointment.

“Will he be in today?”

I asked. She shook her her head and said,

“I don’t think so sir. Today and tomorrow, we are doing maintenance around the whole facility. So I don’t think anybody from the office side will be here. Till Thursday sir.

Do you need me to call him sir?”

I raised my hand to discourage her against that.

“No need my dear.”

I got back into the car and started it as I tried to drive off. I was turned around, trying to back out of the parking spot when I heard a light tap on the window.
I turned back to my left and she was standing there. As I wound down, she said,

“Oga, it’s like blood is dripping on the floor from your boot (trunk).”

I smiled and said,

“Oh, don’t worry about it, mo se se tan lodo awon eleran ni.”
“Don’t worry about it, I just left the meat sellers/meat packing.”

“Oh okay, sir.
Ke ni nice day”
“Have a nice day.”

As I drove out of the facility, I started to panic.
The body in the trunk was dripping and it was the high of the afternoon.
That meant I had to keep the body in there till night came before disposing of it.
Fuck.

As I pulled up to my house, I was trying to get in and park the car without anyone noticing me.
Audu, my gateman, opened up the gate and I immediately sent him on an errand that required him to leave the house.
Nkechi, the maid, was more than likely inside, preparing dinner. I quickly parked the car and I was walking to the gate when I heard sirens and the police swarmed my compound.
Immediately, I was reprimanded, handcuffed and thrown in the back of a police car.

The head arresting officer marched into the compound, walked to my car, stopped and then walked back to the car I was in .
He opened the door and said,

“Where are the car keys?”

“In my pocket.”

I replied.
He reached into my pocket and pulled it out.

“Take him to the station.”

He said as he closed the door.
And within seconds, the car was leaving.
All I could think of was WhatTheHeckMan.


Sanmi here popping in to say hi! If you’re new to WhatTheHeckMan, welcome!
I am not sorry for the cliffhangers and the suspense but I am thrilled to have you here. I hope you enjoy my stories – most of which I create in my head. My #WordsOfWednesday pieces are unfiltered and the purest me.
Thank you for reading all of it.
Please, if you are reading this, let me know how you feel about the story. Don’t assume that I don’t see it or that other people are doing it, so you don’t need to. Your support is EVERYTHING.


Here are my last three posts. Enjoy!
How are you doing, Sanmi?
Bastards
Too Faithful to Fail Me

Missed the last series? Start here! Scar Tissue
Now back to Bastards 2! Brace yourself. 😎


Sitting in that dark and cold cell, I kept thinking about how I got there.
How did they know the body was in the car?
I had only left Ibadan a few hours before. Did the girl from my friend’s business call him and he called the police?
How did the police know where to go immediately?
No fuss, no “detective” work, they just knew.

For the longest time, it never even crossed my mind that the person that helped me put the body in the trunk, may have snitched on me.
It felt like an eternity sitting there trying to piece together what had happened.
It had been an incredible 36 hours.
No one ever thinks that you would find out that your beloved father was not your father, your childhood love would die in front of you and you would be arrested for murder, all before another moon.

There was a man wailing in the cell next to me.
I could tell that he had been beaten and he was crying out for his family – essentially saying that he didn’t do whatever he was arrested for and he couldn’t breathe in that tight cell.
I was thinking about what I would say.
What would happen officially?
Would people at the company start looking at my siblings and I differently?
A wedding was in the works, but I was about to be outed as a cheat. And what would Ivie think of me?
What was she thinking of me?
Did she make it to Lagos safely? Did she know that I was taken?
Did she know I was taken by the police and not robbed or kidnapped?

I wasn’t sure what time it was but I was starting to get sleepy.
It was a weird feeling because my heart was racing like crazy but my body was tired.
I started crying.
As quietly as possible, all of the tears and sobs I tried to contain in the dark cell started to seep out.
My asthma was starting to act up and I was begging my body to behave but my heart was shattering.
It felt like my chest was closing in on my heart.
I stopped crying and began trying to control my breaths.
Slowly, in and out.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
I closed my eyes and tried to wiggle my toes –
a grounding technique I learned back in college. As I was starting to calm down, an officer came to the cell door and shook the bars while saying,

“Tomiwa Fehintola”

I opened my eyes and sprung up.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Your people dey here to see you.”

He said.

“My people?”

I asked to clarify.

“You no hear wetin I just talk?”

He replied rudely as he opened up the cell door.
I quickly rose and headed out of the cell. The hallway was dark and tight but I just followed him towards the end of the hallway.

As I came into the waiting area, I noticed my mother, our family lawyer and the DPO (Divisional Police Officer)
They appeared to have been in conversation before I appeared.
As soon as my mother saw me, you could see the relief on her face.

“Oko mi, are you alright?”

She asked concernedly while throwing her arms around me.
I nodded while fighting back those tears I was just shedding.
I knew I would leave there deep down, but with Nigerian police, what can you really trust or guarantee?

My mother and I walked out of the police station and towards the car as she rubbed my back.
We got into the car and waited as the lawyer spoke to the police.
I sat behind the driver and my mother sat next to me.
She asked again,

“Are you okay?”

I nodded again and said,

“Yes ma.”

A few seconds after, the lawyer got into the passenger seat.
The driver started the car and we drove out of the station.
As we got onto the main road, the lawyer turned around and said,

“Tomiwa, I have to ask you a few questions.
I know the last few hours have been hard but I need to know so we can start working.”

I nodded.

“Did you shoot that young woman?”

He asked.
I shook my head and said,

“No.”

He continued,

“Did you have any intentions of killing her or having her killed?”

I shook my head again and said,

“Absolutely not. I loved her.”

My mother looked at me when those words left my mouth.
She knew I did.
Everyone knew I did.
But it was not what my father wanted, so it never happened. It appeared that having his own children was the only thing my father didn’t have his own way.

The lawyer asked next,

“Do you have the gun or know where it is?”

I replied,

“Yes, I do. It’s in the locked glove compartment of my car.”

“Good. Good.”

He replied.

My mother said,

“We are going to stop by my house first before we take you to yours.”

I wasn’t sure why but I replied.

“Okay.”

A few seconds of silence and then I thought to ask,

“How did you even know where I was?”

“Tobe came back and noticed the gate was open and your car abandoned. He watched the CCTV recording and contacted me. I called around and located where you were being held.
Mr. Williams and I drove down from Ibadan to get you.”

She explained.
That damn CCTV finally came to use. And then it clicked.
I had the same system installed in my Ibadan home. Hell, my father had us install security systems everywhere.
That meant I could prove that Ivie came in when she did and murdered Adesuwa.

In a weird sequence of events, I felt quick relief and then sadness at realizing that Adesuwa was still gone.
I asked my mother,

“Where is her body?”

“Don’t worry about that son. Her family has been notified and we have explained that more details will follow as the investigation develops. Like I said, it’s being handled.”

She replied with calm and confidence. I had only ever seen my mother like this once in my life – when my father had knee surgery and she had to run the business for a few months.
She didn’t always flex this side of her but I always knew there was a cold blooded schemer in her. I knew there was more command, especially with the news about my father not being my father.
But I was willing to wait to learn those truths.

“Tomiwa, I am sorry about Adesuwa. I am well aware that you loved her and wished you could marry her but as you will continue to find out, in life, we do not always get what we want or deserve.
You will have your time to mourn her loss, but for now, I need you to be strong because we are about to be at war.”

She trailed on and I interrupted,

“War?”

She looked at me and echoed,

“War.
Yes, a full blown war against some bastards trying to ruin us. So brace yourself.
You and your sisters need to be at full attention and stay vigilant.”

She paused and said,

“Does Ivie know about Adesuwa?”

I nodded.
She sighed and said,

“Hmmm. How is she handling that with the baby?”

She tilted her head to the left as she looked at me.

“Baby?
What baby?”

My mom pulled down her glasses.

“You weren’t planning on telling me that Ivie was pregnant?”

She asked almost in betrayal.

“Pregnant?!”

I was shocked.

“Ivie and I have never had sex. Never.”

I explained to her.

“You and Ivie have never been intimate?
In all these yearsssss???”

She exclaimed.

“Yes mother. She always told me that she was waiting for marriage.
And I agreed because frankly I didn’t love her anyways so having sex with her was not something that I particularly wanted.”

My mom stared straight ahead with her right hand on her chin and muttered,

“You didn’t know?”

I then asked.

“How did you know?”

She said.

“Ivie came by the house early this morning in Ibadan and told me herself. I was wondering where you were but she said you rushed to Lagos.
It made no sense to me but I just assumed she was eager to share with me as she missed the funeral and all.
You know…to give me good news in these dark times.”

I laughed and said.

“Ivie came to you this morning?”

She nodded.

“In Ibadan?”

I continued.
She replied,

“Yes.”

I laughed and shook my head before planting them in my hands.
My head was spinning.
I was out of my depth and completely confused.
This woman was cheating on me as I was cheating on her but why would she try to pass off the child as mine?

My mother asked,

“So if the child is not yours and you didn’t know, then who is the father?”

Mr Williams in the front of the car responded without looking back,

“It’s his brother’s.”

I raised my head out of my hands as my mother and I screamed,

“What?!”

End of Part 2. I know you want part 3 ASAP but to get it, you have to comment! Go ahead and drop it below!
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#SanmiSaturdays

© 2020 #WhatTheHeckMan

#WordsofWednesday

HOW YOU DOING, Sanmi?

This is for everyone…feeling right now.

WordsOfWednesday

2:54am
I was talking to a friend about a month into the lockdown and I brought up the fact that our parents had similar and very different battles as they grew up. My mother was born during the civil rights movement. My father watched civil wars, coups, dictatorships, polio, HIV, and Trump.
I know it seemed like a huge jump to Trump but truly think about everything we have gone through as a race and a global community since he came into office. Fuck.

From our conversation, he mentioned the fact that we have to document these times.
The societal issues are largely accounted for in hashtags and op-ed’s but we need our own account.
As a writer, I am very guilty of not really liking to read back my work. 
Idk why but once I create it and put it out, it belongs to YOU. Somehow, I kind of detach from the content and I just hope it’s impactful.

So for this piece, I have decided to write it like a journal/diary entry and I hope you find something here or just enjoy how I write if that’s all you need.
I had such high hopes for 2020, and honestly, it could still turn out fucking amazing but at this exact moment – FUCK.

  • WW3 scares
  • Australian Wildfire
  • Covid-19
  • Cancellation of Sporting Events
  • Confirmed UFO Sightings
  • Murder Hornets
  • Evidence of Parallel Universes
  • Murders of Black people + Riots across America
  • Return of #Anonymous

And it’s just June.

I remember telling someone that I didn’t think that the lockdown for this long. I was sure that the capitalist world that is America would force them to send us back to work as soon as they could.
I was wrong.
I think 2020 so far has shown us that the saying “we have seen it all” is nonsense because we have not seen this shit.
At least not at this rate. I feel largely conflicted on most days. The lockdown has reactivated my creative talents through @TheRantsShow and this blog. I am back to writing more and sharing it.
Key part: sharing it.
The best days on my blog (thanks to people like you for being here to read this) since 2017 have all come while the whole world is protesting the murders of #GeorgeFloyd #AhmaudArbery #BreonnaTaylor and the brutal raping of Tina & Uwa. #JusticeForTina #JusticeForUwa
So while personally, I have finally found some joy, I am still immensely consumed by sadness and dread.

Getting laid off in March, I struggled to keep my head afloat for about a month. Then I got to the final stages of a company I thought I wanted to work for and I was passed over.
Enter depression, doubt, and dejection.
So as I turned to my creative outlets like I know how I was so happy to be finally in the groove again.
And even that feels unfair. It feels unfair to be happy.
To have things that make you smile when my people are dying and the world is reeling.

Being unemployed in the middle of a pandemic, while worrying about your health and life is a different level of crazy.
Then the overwhelming news of pain and sadness everywhere you turn feels like being in a toxic relationship that you know you need to leave but you can’t seem to figure out how.
Everywhere I turn, I feel stuck.
For many of the reasons listed above, I have questioned God. Why this or why that?
Yet, I have somehow found some peace in God still.
It’s weird.

I can’t seem to think of much than getting a new job.
I know we should not be defined by our jobs but I feel like not being an active contributor in life truly bothers me.
I tend to feel inadequate AF.
I want to be doing things, being impactful, and truly touching lives. I keep thinking about @TheRantsShow’s Annual Give Back – will I be able to touch the lives of these kids this year due to the pandemic and being out of a job?
Sigh.

I was taking the trash out earlier tonight and my heart started racing. I stopped on the stairs to process for a second and I realized that it was because there is a county-wide curfew at the moment. So from 9pm-5am, everyone needs to be in their homes.
But I started thinking, what if a police officer saw me and I got shot or something bad happened.
I know in your mind, like in a mind, a quick thought came in about how I could potentially be thinking irrationally but just look at most of the recent killings of black men and women.
Nothing seems irrational or impossible anymore.

I worry about my blood brothers



and all my friends, acquaintances, and just random people.
Who got us?
Every time they call my phone, I panic. Is one calling me because something happened to the other one?
Did someone assault or abuse my sister?
Is everything okay?
I worry about walking to the 7/11, driving, being in the workplace, being around a certain group of people (yes, those people), or just fucking existing and it being a crime to be alive and black.
I worry.
A lot.
And that is weird for me. I hate worrying. I am team, worry about what you can control, change it, or allow it.
This sucks.
I feel like I’m constantly watching my back, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It’s mad.

We need to train our boy child.
All over the world but especially in Nigeria and the broader Africa.
Men need to stop raping women/girls.
It has to stop.
It doesn’t matter where they go. Women are not safe.
And what is mad is that through everything, they stay protecting us. How?!
We need to take the time to teach self-awareness, consent, and have firm consequences for people that violate other people on any level.
I wish I lived in Nigeria and I could have those conversations with young boys.
Consent is attractive. Consent is peace of mind. Consent is to be given, respected and can be revoked.
I pray for the families of the young women abused by animalistic men.

My heart is heavy.
My soul is weary.
My body is achy.
We all need peace.
Please do not give up the fight. We can and we will pull through.
I believe in us.
Please stay safe out there, we are fighting two wars – a global pandemic and racism.
Stay safe and sane.
Catch part two of Bastards next Saturday. Did you miss part one? Read it here

So how are you doing, Sanmi? You may ask…

HURTING. Really HURTING.

How are YOU feeling?
Leave your answers in the comment section below.

Thanks for reading as always! 💕
Till next time, stay up!

Please leave a comment Below!

Please comment, retweet and share. Thank you for your continued support.
You are highly appreciated.

WordsOfWednesday

© 2020 #WhatTheHeckMan