Category Archives: Stories

What’s your story?

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story1-300x191Every one has a story to tell. The “Once-upon-a-time-stories” always end with “and they lived happily ever after” but that’s in the kiddies books you know! In life, it sometimes starts bad, middle good and end bad. Other times its simply yummy…and I love those yummy seasons. Though I won’t deny that the rough times, groom me and toughen me up while increasing my faith. Loving on you Jesus!

But in all the different episodes that life gives you, I will always encourage you to look for the lesson, learn it well and fast and move on to the next page. There’s so much joy to discover, don’t get stuck in the rut and live your whole life on Act 1 Scene 1 alone. Move on! Explore! LIVE!

Today, I’ll post a link to a friend’s story and how it has made her view life differently and decide to help people she meets and also improve herself. Kash, (I call her ‘Cheque’, don’t tell her I said so. LOL. But she knows that already) is one person you want as a member of your crew. She is a willing help/helper. Always follows-up to see if you have concluded on the assignment. Is she all yummy like that? Nope, she is a people-reader and so tries to relate with you accordingly, though still showing her sweet nature until you intentionally ‘push’ her away with your bad attitude.

Was she always this nice? I guess not! Would you like to know how she got changed? I bet you do! What are you waiting for? Go read and if you want me to hear what you have to say, please share your story. https://fidelitybank.ng/mytoughjobstory/index.php/miss-kashimana-ichaver/

Please don’t forget to vote for her by clicking on the ❤ sign, if you love what you read and I’m hoping you will like I did!

Enjoy your evening!

Picture source: http://blog.kevineikenberry.com/leadership-supervisory-skills/six-keys-to-crafting-your-story/

©2016. Frances Kelvin Otung. All rights reserved

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Serial Killer 2

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Writing 101, Day Thirteen: Serial Killer 2
Earlier in the course, you wrote about losing something. Today, write about finding something. For your twist, view day four’s post and today’s post as instalments in a series.

I found out today that there was more to your innocence and calmness than you portrayed. Yes I suspected that you might be in some funny association, but hey it was just a thought. Wait a minute, what am I on about? You told me about it, so why am I feeling as if I found out myself.
It must have been one of those ‘dare or truth’ moments and looking-somewhat-sheepishly-or-embarrassed-to-speak, you began.

“I don’t want you to be upset about what I’m going to say, I mean well” stumbling over a few of your words for someone who speaks flawlessly.

“Yea, what’s up?” I replied trying to pretend I was calm whilst imagining the worst news ever.

“You see that ring with a dark stone I always wear and don’t let you touch” (trying to describe this funny ring I noticed on your finger sometime back and had queried you on) “It’s not an ordinary ring” you concluded.

“How do you mean?” I asked stepping away from you as a feeling of sudden dread came upon me.

“Nothing to be afraid” you replied, reaching out but I pulled away. “I wear it when I’m out of the house just so I know who is planning evil against me” you continued.

Interested, I asked “So how does this work?”

“If an evil-doer is around me, I feel a heat sensation on that finger”

“Do you know the repercussion of wearing this ring? What if something bad happens to you?” my questions poured at you. “Please dispose of it; I don’t want it around you anymore.”

The D-day came shortly. Painting your picture to my mum had made her ache to see who had captured my heart. This new Eva was one she liked and she needed to know who made it so. It’s been years now, and I can’t remember that meeting day but knowing mummy, I’m sure she offered you some refreshments and the questions began, while I pretended to be busy inside the kitchen and the next minute my room. Of course that entire journey had to take me across the sitting room where I would eavesdrop while walking past both of you. And seeing you calmly seated and answering her questions made me join you two there.

“Darling, did you know that Wande’s mum (Peggy) and I taught in the same school?” Mum said to me.

I had outdone myself, I soliloquized. Was this a good sign?

“Go to the box of pictures and bring them over, I have something to show you,” she continued.

That box of pictures was an easy find as every time we wanted to poke fun at mum over her olden days dressing, Afro hair and simple makeup, we always pulled it out. Going through the collection of pictures, she brought out one. Fair, bright eyes, full African sensual lips and Afro hair, a beauty untainted by harsh weather or life’s condition, she sat beside three rows of children. The first row had the pupils seated, the next row some stood; while the last row stood on a bench so that the final outcome was like a pyramid. Mum looked really beautiful. Auntie Peggy on the other hand was chocolate complexion equally beautiful and her hair made in some lovely African style. Looking closely, I noticed a cute boy standing between her legs and to my shock – it was you!

By our love, mum had re-discovered her long lost friend and what a joy that her friend’s son was in hot pursuit of her daughter if only she knew that by this discovery and encouraging us she would ‘lose’ me. I’m positive she’d send you parking that very moment.

A Lovers’ Tiff

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Writing 101, Day Seven: Give and Take
Focus today’s post on the contrast between two things. The twist? Write the post in the form of a dialogue.

Tugging at her shoes as she pulls them off with more energy than necessary, ‘I’m upset with you!’

Continuing nonchalantly browsing on his phone, he pretends not to hear her. ‘I’m sure she calm down if I don’t utter a word,’ he says to himself keeping up with the pretence.

‘Baby, I said (she emphasises) I’m upset with you’, this time staring at him with eyes blazing hot from anger.

He reaches to touch her hands. She snatches it away. Pulling himself forward, he begins to massage her shoulder and breathe gently down her ears. Thinking to himself this usually works. Shrugging him off sharply Valerie gets up from the bed. Strolls two steps away from him and with her back against the wall, the words just tumble out as the tears drop without stop.

‘How dare you! How dare you, play your usual games on me after what you just did? Of all the girls in the world Henry it had to be my baby sister!’ she sobbed loudly.

‘Honey,’ he stammers ‘we were just chatting and there’s nothing more to it or can’t I talk with your sister anymore?’

‘Liar,’ she interjects. ‘Hold it there young man and why am I even listening to you?! She exclaimed incredulously. With that she picks a flowery blouse from the arm chair, her pair of jeans from the dresser, some dresses that were in the wardrobe. Bending over him to reach for her jewelleries that lay on the other side of the bed, he grabs her enfolding her into a hug. She beats at him with everything she had gathered initially, screaming at the top of her lungs to be set free.

‘I can’t take this anymore, no matter how hard I try, you just won’t stop! From one lady to the other?! I’ve had enough.’

Usually given to much speech, it seems Henry’s oratory prowess failed him that cold windy day. Valerie had been good to him, having sustained him through the traumatic period he crashed his car, lost his job and was practically a wife. For him, that was the problem, as he needed to explore a bit! But how do you push away such a kind-hearted person he battled with the thoughts.

Based on this need, he had decided to ‘chase’ her sister so as to put her off and it worked. But watching her hurt deeply was too much for him to bear. ‘Don’t go,’ he pleaded, ‘Please forgive me.’

© Frances Kelvin Otung 2014. All rights reserved.

Day 4- Serial Killer One

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For months I remembered every stab, every second of every day. The pain was so intense that by just watching me, mum would sometimes turn away sobbing. Once she was bold enough, she confronted me head-on and spoke to me through the journey…seeking to reach my inner most being and unplug my adaptor from its source of pain. Why did her precious daughter have to go through such …? I could hear the thoughts of her heart saying “Why didn’t it end with me? Must my children go through this?”

As you tore each piece, you smiled. Enjoying the thrill my cries brought whilst ignoring my plea to stop and just rewind the times back to when this period never happened. Who would have thought that such an innocent, quiet, really handsome boy with an unassuming look could unleash such! Maybe Psychologists, definitely not me, not my mum or the people that had to suffer as I suffered for something they had nothing to do with.

Standing by the window of my class (I think I was talking with some girlfriends…the usual stuff girls talk about) and I noticed you walking pass. You had this cool look and some twitch by the corner of your lips as if to say…“go on drool, girl… I know the effect I’m having on you!” When I noticed that, I quickly looked away and pretended to be engrossed in the conversation whilst making a mental note to steer clear of you or your likes. A part of me said “he’s innocent enough…you are too strong-willed for this one”. I loved the conquest-feeling that followed. Avoid you I did, but not for long. As sometime soon you would come searching for me and I wish I had said no and walked away. I wish, “but wishes are no horses or beggars would ride”.
‘Hi Eva’, you said
‘Hi’, I replied ‘and how did you know my name?’ I continued
‘You can know anything and anyone you want if you so desire’, you said and added ‘my name is Wande’.

Immediately I got the feeling I had just met a ‘fraternity boy’ as they are the ones that go through the trouble of searching out information about anyone and to think that the day you walked past, I felt like the conqueror not knowing I was the rat walking into a gathering of cats. Wande! Or is it Wanderer? Oh, my goodness, who will deliver me from this unfolding saga, I pondered.

Embrace_borealnz_1112962450_8a7bc7d566_m In poems, beautiful cards, lovely ‘hanging out’ times (such that made me wish classes didn’t have to close at the end of the day) those were your skills. Did I forget to mention the flowers? People didn’t believe in flowers anymore (especially from our side of the planet) but you were a lover to the core and knew how to ‘spoil’. I’m not given to flamboyant living, you understood this but every little act of love you showed, always made others wish they were us. 🙂

We were even called ‘Romeo and Juliet’ at some point until the other couple won that tag through their constant being together even to the point of missing classes. I didn’t mind giving the name to them, as what we shared was deeper and more private – not a matter for public debate. Besides, we had a reason for coming to school in the first place and falling in love to the point of stupidity wasn’t one of them.

My attitude to school changed, I looked forward to my transition school (College of Art & Science) more oft than nought and mum noticed my eagerness. She recalled my initial resistance to attend the school whilst waiting to get into University. This ‘new-me’ she couldn’t understand and knowing me, she knew something was up and this period wasn’t different. I couldn’t hide it from her as I needed advise too before I (we) got into trouble (you know the kind you are unprepared for).
“Darling, you have been really bright these days, what is happening to you?” she asked.
“Nothing mum, just a new friend I met”, I replied.
“What kind of friend?” she queried. Looking pained that I had hidden such information from her for so long, as we practically tell each other everything. “I’m grown, mum!” I thought silently to myself. Now I wish I had listened then. Who knows, I would have saved myself from many-a-trauma, and mum from being a team member on my sobbing committee 😦  By the time I described you in glowing colours, she fell in love with you too. You know I’m gifted with words and a beautiful picture I did paint. Mum just had to meet you…hmmm…someday soon I told her, someday soon.