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My Time by Jordan Rakei 

There was a new ambience as I moved around the house tidying things up.

Change was coming.

Finishing up little projects here and there, and baby proofing the house, I was dealing with mixed emotions.

Wura was mere days away from putting to bed and I was nervously awaiting what would be the next chapter of my life.

Her cousin Suki, had moved in with us to help around the house with me gone at work.

Home wasn’t the safest place at the time.

So many nights after work, I would go straight to Sayid’s and hang out.

Beers, sports and hours of FIFA.

I knew Wura was about to deliver but it all made me even more nervous.

I had told her that Bimbo was also pregnant. Honestly, I think the only reason she wasn’t too angry about it, was the fact that she was also pregnant.

But I know it hurt her.

To think that there would be a competing child in my life as we raised ours was probably hard to take.

She never really made it known though.

The slow grind towards repairing our young but challenged marriage was evident.

We were working hard to reconnect and in many ways, naive or otherwise, we both secretly felt like the baby would bring us back as one.

I ran out of screws for the baby gate that was supposed to close off the kitchen.

Without informing anyone, I grabbed my keys and headed out the door.

I sat in the car and began to back out of the driveway. As I turned to look forward, I noticed Suki in front of the car motioning to me.

I stopped the car and opened the door.

That was when I heard her saying

“I think cousin Wura is in labor!”

I left the car door open as I ran back into the house.

Game day.

Our lives were about to change.


“You better fucking stand there!”

She yelled as she gripped my hand and her eyes bulged from it’s sockets.

My heart was racing and I could feel sweat dripping down my forehead.

Wura was so strong.

She kept pushing as the doctor asked her to. There was a new level of respect I had for her and all women that day as my wife challenged the forces of nature to bring my child to the world.

Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours and each hour felt like eternity.

I had read in one of the baby books that active labor lasts between 3-5 hours but we had been in there for almost 7 and nothing.

Nothing but Wura fighting hard to push through.

I stood by her side, holding her hands tightly. I just wanted her and the baby to be okay.

With each passing minute, I got more worried.

Something was wrong.

Was this punishment from God for the things I had done?

Was this the representation of the sins of the father being visited on the son?

I was scared.

And I couldn’t begin to imagine what Wura was going through.

As I was saying comforting words to her, the doctor called me aside and said they were going to do a scan to see whats going on.

I agreed and they stopped the active effort to force the baby out.

A drip was lined into her arm and a few seconds later, she was fast asleep.

That was the most sleep she would get for the coming months.

About an hour had passed as they wheeled Wura back into her room.

The doctor called me to the side and said

“Sir, we have two complications. The baby is not breathing anymore.

We have no heartbeat.

And her walls are too badly damaged to hold the baby… I mean force it out.

So we need to operate and get that baby out.”

I was stunned but he could understand the confusion across my face.

I gathered myself and said

“Will she still be able to have kids?”

He nodded and replied

“I believe so.

but for now, we need this baby out.

I’m sorry”

I nodded as he walked back into the room, a few nurses went in.

Minutes later they rolled her into the OR.

I couldn’t even watch.

My entire body was washed with guilt and regret.

This all felt like my fault.

There was so much self hate within me.

Sitting in the waiting room, I couldn’t contain myself.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to leave.

I wanted to be woken up from this scary and exhausting dream.

But such is life and the clock ticked on as the hours rolled.

And then I heard the doctor come up and call my name.

He said

“We were able to remove the baby. You can see her if you want.

And your wife is doing fine. She’s in recovery.

You can be with her.

She’s asleep right now”

I shook the doctors hand and thanked him as I walked towards Wura’s room.

There were tears in my eyes and my heart was bleeding.

I stopped in front of the room and took a deep breath.

Slowly opening the door, I noticed that Wura was still asleep.

Quietly, tiptoed and sat in the chair at the foot of the bed.

I stared at her peaceful face as she slept.

She looked like a badly beaten winner.

If only she knew what sadness awaited her as she would wake.

My heart just wanted to say “I’m sorry” for everything.

Even this.

My mind flashed back to the night of our wedding when we conceived this baby that was then taken from us.

I thought of the night before the wedding.

Playing back every step, so much regret filled me.

Then I became so angry at myself. I couldn’t take it.

As I sat there condemning myself, my phone began to vibrate loudly.

I scrabbled and muted it.

It was Sayid.

I got up, glanced at Wura and headed out of the room quietly.

I stepped into the hallway and said


Sayid responded

“Hows it going bro?

Has she delivered?”

I looked up at the white fluorescent ceiling lights, fighting back tears and sighed as I said

“We lost the baby”


I could tell that he was shocked and he finally mustered

“…I’m sorry bro”

“It’s okay bro. So whats up?”

I replied.

He hesitated and said

“Bimbo just delivered. Twin boys”

I covered my mouth with my hand as I began to cry.

Oh Lord why?!

I couldn’t believe it.

I thanked Sayid as I hung up,

Planting my face into the wall, I wanted to scream!

This was just unfair.

I slowly peeled off the wall and headed back into the room.

I tried to sneak in, tip toeing as I made my way in. As I closed the door behind me, I turned around and there she was awake.

She looked at me with concern and said

“Where is my baby?”

I froze.

Those few seconds felt like an eternity. She shifted on her back, squinting in pain as she repeated

“Where is my baby?”

I never got a chance to respond.

She knew.

Tears began streaming down her face as she turned her back towards me and faced the wall.

I just stood there as she sobbed for a few seconds. Then I walked towards her.

As I was about to touch her, without turning, she screamed

“Get out!!!!”

I shivered.

She had never been that way with me. I felt it in my spine.

Turning around, I couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.

I just kept walking till I got to my car.

As I sat down, I grabbed the steering wheel and I just screamed!

I must have screamed for five minutes straight at the top of my lungs.

Tears streaming down my face, my head throbbing, heaving and sighing, I turned to my left and noticed a lady with her mouth ajar just staring at me.

That was my life in a snapshot.

It was the crazy movie everyone was watching.


Soooooooooooooooo…. STOP! Lol. Just for a sec!

So.. The Wordsmith’s birthday is coming up o! I heard this is now the move.

😊☺️ Birthday Wish List via


The days were normal. Tepid at best.

Our home was empty.

Our love was on the rocks.

And the bond between us was slowly waning.

A trying year had gone by with Wura and I repeatedly trying to save our marriage.

Nothing seemed to work.

Prayers were hard. Many nights, Wura would wake up at night and head into the living room to pray.

Her prayers reminded me of the story of Sarah in the bible. She cried and begged God with everything she had.

One night, I came out of the room at about 3am.

There she was on the floor of the living room, with a gospel soundtrack playing quietly in the background and two bibles opened in front of her.

She was sweating and crying as she prayed.

“Father, please remember me.

….Let people not ask me where my God is”

I joined her on the floor and we prayed for about two hours before we fell asleep.

We didn’t just go the religious route.

There was actual practical work done.

We started seeing a marriage counselor and Wura was seeing an individual therapist, as we both managed the loss that rocked our marriage.

One afternoon, I finished at work early and picked up Wura.

We picked up a frozen tub of stew from her sister’s house as she said she wasn’t in the mood to cook.

I tried not to inquire about her therapy session.

Traffic in Lagos was it’s usual hell but we finally made it home.

Pulling into the driveway, Wura grabbed her stuff and the food and headed into the house.

I grabbed my suitcase and my laptop bag and headed inside the house.

I grabbed the remote control off it’s stand on the wall and tuned the air conditioning on.

My plan was to change and take a quick shower before dinner.

As I made my way to the bathroom, I heard the doorbell ring.

I heard Wura’s footsteps as she walked to the door.

The door opened but I didn’t hear any sounds.

For a few seconds, it was quiet.

I was standing in the hallway when I said

“Babe, who is it?”

She didn’t answer.

I didn’t panic but I wasn’t sure why she wasn’t answering.

So I quickly opened the bathroom door and grabbed my robe, I threw it on to cover my nakedness as i walked to the door.

Turning the corner, I saw Wura.

Back to me, she was just standing there.

As I got up close to her, I said

“Wura, who is there?”

hearing how close I was to the door, she slowly moved out of the way and there it was.

Standing right in front of my door, were my two sons.

With their big bold eyes, they looked up at me and behind them was Bimbo’s brother.

Behind him, were a couple of packed bags.

I knew what was happening. Wura knew what was happening.

I stepped out of the house and shook his hand, he looked at me and said

“I’m sorry bro. All she told me was get them to their father”

I nodded and welcomed the boys in.

Wura walked straight into the room and began to cry.

The boys sat on the couch and curiously scanned the room.

I briefly left the living room to check on Wura. As I opened the door, she was sitting, sobbing with her head in her hands.

She turned, looked at me said

“They are not staying here”

The glare from behind her tears said it all.

There was not a single ounce of doubt in her mind.

She meant it.


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© 2016 #WhatTheHeckMan

Art · Drama · Erotica · Fiction · Life · Oakland · Poetry · Sex · Uncategorized



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Tell Me A Tale by Michael Kiwanuka


I was actually one of those people that left the office late. Way after anybody else with a life did. I was always in there working my head off trying to make something of myself.

I armed the alarm as I entered the door code. The code always seemed to make me laugh, it was “Lucy”. I always laughed because Lucy happened to be the only girlfriend I ever had that broke up with me. And she had done it because of my dedication to work and not having any time for her. Oh well.

I straightened my pea coat as I fixed my laptop bag that was strapped around my neck and headed into the cold of the night. It was a few minutes past 10pm.


Cooped up at my desk, I worked on report after report.

I think I sometimes had a fear of the outside world. How the world would view me. Or maybe it was just how my father would view me?

My father was a very difficult man to please. A great man in many ways but his lofty goals sometimes seemed unattainable. Since I moved here from Columbia, I have had to deal with culture shock but also a growing list of challenges. Being the first presents its unique challenges but being the son of a former Army general turned lucrative business man; it is expected in my culture that I turn out “perfect”.

To be a perfect example for all my siblings and the greatest role model to walk the face of the earth. All of this, as I doubled as the flag bearer for my family.

The pressure continued to weigh on me, so with my mother’s influence, I convinced my father to allow me to move to San Francisco. I was mandated to visit once a year and twice if, my schedule permitted.

Originally, I was going back home to Columbia twice a year. At least for the first few years but when I decided in my sophomore year of college to study journalism and not Economics, the trips became once a year at Christmas.

My father was understandably pissed but I needed to find myself.

I know he wanted me to take over his business in his retirement but it was not really what I wanted. Besides, he was still “young”, only in his mid fifties. He wasn’t letting go of control anytime soon.

I arrived at the sushi spot. It was this late night place; the only place open till 2am and the sushi was always great. I placed my order and sat in the corner of the room, at the end of the bench.

Fiddling with my phone, I finally got a chance to respond to text messages from the day as I tried to reconnect with my social life.

One of the hostesses walked up and asked me in a somewhat disrespectful tone,

“Did you say you wanted cream cheese?”

She asked. I looked up at her and forced a respectable smile and said,

“Yes, I do”

“You know it’s an extra $1.50, right?”

She chimed back. I took a deep breath and responded

“I know and yes, I’ll still like it in there”

I rolled my eyes as she turned away. The people in the restaurant didn’t always have the greatest customer service but something about that interaction seemed to annoy me.

I got my food shortly after and headed home. I was somewhat bothered about why she thought I couldn’t afford the cream cheese. At least that was what it sounded like.

But I guess that was also my biggest issue, I always worried about what people thought about me.

The food was good and sleep came shortly after. Something was off in my spirit though I couldn’t put my finger on it.



.       .       .         .         .

 The interaction from the night before with the lady at the sushi place was still weighing on my mind. I lay there staring at the wall clock and counting the ticks as my mind wandered.

Did she think I was a bum?

What had I actually achieved in life and more?

These were the thoughts that disturbed my morning.

See I always knew I was born to do something great.

But somehow I spent the majority of the last two years of my life looking for purpose. Trying to understand who I was, what I should be and my imprint on the earth. I had only started interning at this publishing house trying to gain experience for my perceived future as an author and journalist.

I was maintaining a blog and trying to grow it while attempting to save a rapidly flailing relationship. I could feel that I needed that big thing.

My current state made it impossible to give all of me to my partner and all she gave to me was justified complaints. She loved me so she hung on a little longer that she should have in truth but I just had nothing to give.


I had the day off from work and I decided to go and do my laundry. Cleaning seemed to be soothing for me.

I stopped by the coffee shop to get a drink and some change for the coin operated machine and then I headed for the Laundromat.


The lady called out over the counter. She pronounced it wrong, like almost everyone does.

My name is actually pronounced “Ha’mess”.

Funny but that was how I would always write it out for people to say it when I first moved to the States.

It would turn out to be a symbolic act in doing my laundry. That day, as I removed the dirt and life’s physical deposits off my clothing, my interaction with a man who man in life would consider “dirty”, gave me the purest inspiration and clarity on what life, love and its manifestation should be. I saw life through his eyes.

Through the eyes of a completely socially discarded man that had so much more to offer but the rest of the world was not paying attention because they perceived him as less but he and I had a lot more in common than our attires allowed us to realize.


I parked my car with the rear end facing the door. I stepped out and began to lift my clothes into the basket.

Carrying them into the building, I set them on the table and began sorting them.

I was about halfway through when a lady walked in and seemed like she was about to approach me. It was clear she was homeless. From her dirty clothes to her tattered shoes, she practically fit the bill as a homeless woman.

I continued to sort my clothes, colored from whites as I awaited her approach. It came shortly after as neared me and said,

“Hello sir, could you please give me $.65cents to catch the bus home”

I smiled and shook my head. Not in disgust but in attempt to tell her not to lie to me. I was going to give her the money anyways, her lying to me just made me uncomfortable.

There is a certain stereotype that all homeless people are drunks or addicts and that is all they would use the money for.

I bought into the notion that day as I dug into my wallet to give her the money. I expected her to immediately cross the street and head to the liquor store. As I gave her the money, I noticed that she glanced at the rest of the money sitting in my wallet. I looked up at her with the three dollars I had given her clutched in her hand and almost said “don’t be greedy”.


I turned around and continued sorting my clothes. True to my thoughts, the lady crosses the street and heads for the liquor store. I shook my head in sadness and turned my head down.

A few minutes later, she emerges with a jug of milk. My sadness quickly turned to regret as I had wrongly judged this woman. I tried to shake it off but I couldn’t. I watched her cross the street to a bus stop and she sat next to a man.

Something in my heart continued to pick at me and I eventually took out the five dollar note in my wallet and walked out there. I handed it to the man and he thanked me as I walked away. It felt good to have followed my heart and done something good.

All my clothes were now in the washer as I headed to the back of the building to get into my car. I was about to enter when I heard a man say,

“Excuse me. Excuse me”

I turned around to look at him. It was the man I had just given the money to. I thought he had come to complain again or something. I was wrong. He said,

“Thank you for the money but I have a question. How did you know that I needed it?”

I smiled and said,

“I didn’t know you needed it. Something in my heart just pushed me to do it and so I did. I’m glad I was able to help.”

He looked down at the money and began to tear up.

“Able to help?”

He said as he fought back tears,

“You just gave us our dinner and breakfast tomorrow. Initially the money you gave us was only enough for my friend and I to buy some milk. We were going to beg for the rest to get some cereal. Thank you.”

I was now the one trying to fight back tears. I was so moved. I did not know that my simple obedience to my heart was a blessing to someone else.

In that moment I knew I had to do more as I said,

“You’re welcome and I’m glad I was able to help”

I just felt my interaction with this man was not complete until I said,

“Would you guys mind if I bought you a hot meal for dinner?”

The man’s eyes grew big. He definitely was not expecting it.

He agreed and rushed back to inform the lady he was with. He returned alone and ready to go. I asked about the woman and he told me that she was going to head to the shelter they were going to spend the night at to secure good beds for them.

It made sense with the plan being that he would bring back some food for her.

So into my car he went.


His clothes were dingy and dirty but not smelly. He looked like he hadn’t showered in days but his teeth were pearly white; well taken care of.

I began to get the vibe that this man was not the “average” homeless guy.

He said nothing as he sobbed in the passenger’s seat as I drove to a local Chinese restaurant. The plan was to order a lot of rice to last them a while.

I navigated the uncomfortable silence by playing music. I believe.



Just Want To Say Thank You by Louis Baker ft. Jordan Rakei

Was playing. I just wanted to get there as quickly as possible because I didn’t know what to say.

I was not afraid of having him in my car but I was worried about not being able to be emotionally available for him.

We arrived at the restaurant and he wiped his face. We sat down after we ordered and waited for the food. I looked over to him and he said,

“I’m sorry I was crying”

I responded,

“It’s okay. We all have moments where we need to”

He nodded and said,

“I was crying because I wondered if there were people like you around the world being nice to my kids like you are to me”

My heart strings tugged. I almost cried I tell you.

Those were words so sincere but they also made me a bit sad. 

“What is your name sir? I never asked”

I said.

“Darius. My name is Darius”

I then replied,

“Darius, you have children?”

He looked up at me and I quickly caught a glimpse of his eyes filled with tears. He bowed his head again and replied,

“Yes I do, I have two daughters.”

I almost lost it. Believe me.

All I had experienced in Columbia and my struggle with my dad, living on my own in a foreign country. I thought it had all made me stronger but I realized that it hadn’t. Moments like this made me feel so human on the inside.

I had my own emotional walls built up but the thought of two girls being homeless drove me to brink.

I gathered myself and said,

“Are they homeless too?”

He shook his head with assurance and confidence as he said,

“No no no! Never.

They are well taken care of. They live with their mother and grandmother… Doing just fine”

I let out a sigh of relief as he completed his sentence.

Not that his being homeless was anything to be relieved about but I felt some comfort in knowing his daughters were taken care of.

And then I asked the question that would open the doors to so much more and allow me to see a different world of life. I said,

“Darius, how did you become homeless and how long have you been homeless for?”

He looked at me and sighed. It was loud and loaded with such emotion and sadness.

He cleared his throat and sniffled a bit before saying,

“A little over eight months and these have been the worst months of my life. I lost everything!”

“Gambling? Addiction? Death?

What caused it?”

I asked in concern. He turned and said,

“Do you have enough time to hear it all?”

I nodded and said

“As long as you want, sir”

He said okay and then he started.

This is his story and it then becomes my story.



.       .         .       .         .

 My name as you already know is Darius.

My wife was by far the most beautiful woman I had ever set my eyes on. She was beautiful in so many ways.

She inspired me and pushed me to be a better man each day. Her name is Kim.

I remember when I first got my last job.

I was working at a sports complex as a manager at the time of the offer, handling all the day to day operations but I never really wanted to leave.

I was making “okay” money and taking care of my responsibilities and saving up for a wedding.

When the job offer came, the first person I called was Kim.

I told her about it while underselling it so she wouldn’t make me explore it further.


But there was something about Kim. She had a way about her. She just somehow knew that I was underselling the job. She stopped me dead in my tracks and said,

“Darius, take the job. You have so much potential and deserve an opportunity to grow. Take the job and stop making excuses.”

There was nothing left to say at that point. The training for the new managerial position at the port of Oakland was tough but I continued to go with her support and love.

The weekend after my training was done. We took a trip to a little town about three hours away from where we lived. That trip would change my life even more than homelessness has.


We arrived and checked into our hotel. Took a short nap and then headed out to dinner.

I had made reservations at a place called “The Red House”. It had some of the finest Italian dishes I have ever seen.

The night was going well and we were enjoying ourselves and laughing. Till today, I think that was our best date ever.

It was nearing the end of the night and our food had finished when I reached into my pocket and said


She smiled and said,

“Yes baby?”

Her beautiful smile lighting up the room; I said as I reached into my pocket.


“Kim, you are the greatest thing to ever happen to me…”

I flashed a puzzled look at Darius as he had stopped talking. Following his eyes, I turned to my right and noticed the hostess holding the Chinese food we had just ordered. I collected the bag from her and gave her my card. I set the bag down between Darius and I.

I smiled at Darius and said,

“Please continue”

He was about to start up again when the lady returned with my card and again interrupted us. I took it from her and turned to Darius as I said with a smile,



IMPORTANT NOTICE: In January, I will stop writing on #WhatTheHeckMan. I’m sorry but JUST KIDDING!!!! What I will like to do for the beginning of the year though is to do a “Behind The Writer” edition of my blog. Basically, I will spend that day answering questions all of you have for me. So PLEASE LEAVE YOUR QUESTIONS IN THE COMMENT SECTIONS BELOW. AS MANY AS 10 per person. I’ll pick the TOP 24 I like and answer them for you all in that piece! I’M DOING THIS SO ALL MY READERS,  SUPPORTERS AND WHOEVER ELSE IS LEFT CAN GET TO KNOW THE WRITER A BIT MORE AND UNKNOWN THINGS ABOUT ME.




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Thank you for reading and commenting. You are highly appreciated. 

Lookout for my new series next week. Name will be dropped on Wednesday.

© 2014 #WhatTheHeckMan