This post is for the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) Challenge, run by Priceless Joy. This week’s photo prompt was provided by her. Thank you ma’am! The challenge is that you write a story of 75-175 words inspired by the photo prompt below. I hope you like it
Tommy sprawls on his stomach on the thick paisley rug by the fireplace. His crooked elbows supporting his head, as he gazes at Nana with rapt attention.
In her favorite rocking chair, her shawl around her shoulders and Jack-sparrow at her feet, her little round glasses keeps sliding down her nose, when she chuckles.
He loves Nana dearly and her tales are full of magic. Time spent with her are precious.
He enjoys such special nights; the room is warm and toasty, despite the downpour. Cups of warm cocoa with marshmallows and buttery toast are just the thing. Nana’s pecan pie; the best in the entire county. The scents of spices all form a sense of coziness in their hearth.
Stretching his limber frame, his dreamy senses are roused by whispering voices and the waft of vanilla essence. Thomas pads over to his kitchen, brews a cup of coffee and sits by the misty window watching the rain drops.
He startles as a shadow of an orange floral shawl and a limping dog float by. Rushing to open the window, scents of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla and other spices float in.
Time to finish writing Nana’s tales, he tells himself.
Isn’t it peachy and very ambitious of me to lump in doing Writing 101 and Blogging 201 along with the busy-ness of my life hmm!
Truly, the bargaining chick in me saw the offer as a BOGOF (buy one get one free) and couldn’t resist biting the bait.
Well, sometimes, I guess we need these extra push to step out of our comfort zone and push our limits just a bit harder. Well, lets see how far I fare with the heat under my butt 😉
I love blogging because I have so many tales to tell and it would be selfish to keep them all to myself, what do you think?
I decided to start blogging because writing stuff down on notebooks no longer satisfied me. Writing gives clarity to my thinking process and helps me focus on the goals ahead.
If by chance of passing through this corridor, I gain notoriety as a leader in my field, that would be absolutely delightful.
If per chance I continue to connect with more fantastic bloggers; like I am doing right now, then I would be very glad and enriched with the presence of beautiful souls.
If per chance I am able to succeed in snagging a book contract or self-publish, then that would be a complete circle of success.
At each point in time, it is worthwhile to review one’s goals, fine tune them where necessary and ramp them up as well if need be and in that spirit, I want to keep my goals simple and feasible.
Double my social media network by the end of 2015.
Add a bi-monthly series feature to my blog on or before September 30th.
Visit and socialize a bit more with my followers and discover new blogs each week.
Keep my nose on the grind and get the draft of one of my novel’s completed by 31st November.
Now let me not get too ambitious and just leave it at that.
Let me know what you think, please?
Thank you and regards.
Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to Blogging 201: Day One: Set Three Goals
For me, ideas can be formulated anywhere. It could be in the market square, a shopping mall, in a moving vehicle, in the shower, from a shared conversation, at the park, in the gym and the list goes on.
Everywhere serves as a potential generator of a thought, a poem, a story or even a joke. My ears and my eyes are my first major supplies for writing. My notepads, my Hello Kitty assistant purse filled with multi-colored pencils, pens, eraser, sharpener and God knows what else is inside are my second supplies and are easier to lug around.
When I am out and about (taking a walk) without these items, my phone steps in to the rescue; should anything that might be deemed interesting pops up. Sometimes, I deliberately visit a place of interest to gain more depth for an article that I am working on; for example, I had to walk into a police station at Jersey Village to ask some questions about something that I was writing on and they were very forthcoming. People usually are forthcoming when you ask nicely 🙂
My fomented ideas are transcribed into legible content on my laptop during the wee hours of the morning when the household still sleeps or alternatively, after the dust of the days activities have settled.
I prefer to work in a well lit room, on a comfortable chair with some cushioning for my tush 😉 and a good reading table to spread my paraphernalia for writing and then, I am good to go.
I am excited to participate in the 777 Writer’s Challenge and the invitation was extended by a generous fellow blogger Kay Morris.
The rules are:
I am to go to the 7th page of my Work-in-progress.
Find the 7th sentence on that page, and then paste the following 7 sentences into my blog post.
Select 7 other writers for the challenge!
Without any hesitation, I am very passionate about writing but I am still a fledgling on this chosen part that I thread on, so it is a bit daunting and with slight trepidation that I will be posting something from a novel which I am still brewing.
It’s a challenge which I reckon will toughen my writing backbone some more. Two drafts from my first two novels are 70% done and I am looking for the push to complete at least one of them before the end of November.
No one has perused these work at all; not even a sentence, so I bare the 7th page, the 7th sentence and the following 7 sentences into my post for you:
I was not yet a confirmed convict resigned to fate in prison, and I felt that telling an incomplete story was pure bad luck.
I felt that maybe not talking about it would make the nightmare of incarceration go away.
I spent my time in desperate ennui and missing my daughter left such a hollow feeling. Even though I knew that she would be safe with my sister, I had no doubt that she must be in a complete state of turmoil.
Her fractured, struggling mind would be unable to process such calamitous situation. Blessing and I had never been apart for more than a couple of hours since I gave birth to her almost six years ago, more so because of her health condition.
I silently wondered what would become of my daughter if I were to get stuck behind bars.
I would like to encourage the following bloggers whom I picked randomly, to join the fun and participate in the 777 Challenge:
In response to Writing 101, Day 5: Let social media inspire you:
One of the goals of Writing 101 is to tap into new and unexpected places for post ideas. Today, let’s look to Twitter for inspiration. Don’t worry — you don’t need a Twitter account to participate in this prompt. Below, you’ll see five tweets: each tweet is interesting in its own way, and we hope one will elicit a response from you.
I chose to respond to all tweets:
My Response: To empty oneself each time, is no mean task.
My Response: Home is that feeling embedded within you.
My response: That shows the capacious nature of brain. It stores all the gems and junks.
My response: The more you procrastinate, the less the zeal.
My response: There is so much to learn. You never stop, until life stops.
Time had halted ages ago. The filtered light through the reinforced window the only sign that life still existed. The rays create colored rainbows and sometimes, when she looks hard enough she sees a bird soar past. A desire for freedom rises once again within her shriveled bosom.
Voice cords long broken from screaming herself hoarse, from days to months to years and decades, she knows that no one cared, for no one came.
No sound filters in, no sound leaks out. This concrete walls covered in etchings of her mindless rambling. Pleading with the jailer to do away with her, to end the madness of the dementia, but he preferred to keep her.
Each day he comes with scrapes to keep her alive.
Each day he reads to her and combs her unruly long locks with trembling hands.
Talking to her in yet another soothing manner. Reminding her of the years that belonged in another life.
Her strength has grown feeble over incarcerated years, her limbs long waxed and waned from disuse, her only strength, are the spurious thoughts of her mind. She always waits for the imaginary one to come. To talk to her, to caress her itchy scalp and drive her round in the imaginary car.
The twinge of the iron latch, breaks through mad reverie and he walks in softly, bearing warm oats and a comb.
In response to Writing 101 Assignment 3: Prompts come in many different forms. Sometimes, a single word is all you need to get your mind’s wheels turning. Here are six words: Treasure, Regret, Home, Love, Uncertainty, Secret
My alarm tinkles and I know it’s 4:30 a.m. For one moment I ask myself what on Earth inspired me to set the alarm at such a time. I shuffle to the table to shut it down – I keep it away from the bedside, because I have known myself to stuff it under the bed in blissful moments in snooze land and then spend the next two days trying to find it – and I can’t resist taking a peek at my phone to check for Writing 101 prompt.
The prompt helps to clear the cobwebs from my eyes and makes me pause to think. I think of the things that I like and that is pretty easy to think of – it stretches from here to Armageddon; I think of the things that I wish for, which ties a bit with the things that I like, but the difference is that my wishes change now and again.
I then think of the things that I have learnt over my conscious years on Earth and that really got me thinking:
Over the years, I have learnt that:
No matter how many years that pass by, that the loss of a loved one still leaves sharp, poignant sentiments in my heart.
That life really goes on, even if you wanted it to stop.
To cherish the little moments of life because, it really floats by so quickly.
To dwell on my possibilities because it stretches the scope of my horizon and makes my life more interesting.
To love and accept myself wholeheartedly. I have learnt to live as myself and not as a mimic of someone else.
That dreams and ambitions do change and it’s okay. Not to beat myself to death over the head about it, but to dream anew and look for means to arrive at my goal.
To grow a sense of humor. It is common knowledge that life is often too short; thus, I don’t want to waste it stewing and sweating the small stuff.
I should take better care of myself, health wise, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.
To have Faith, because that is really all that I have.
To keep an open mind. To welcome new perspectives and to never stop learning. The day we stop to learn, is the day that we begin to die within ourselves.
To have a sense of value for ethics and good morals without which I am less the person that I am.
To give. I have learnt that when you open your heart and hands to give, they are also open to receive.
To fall in love with as many things as possible and to give myself the permission to find out the things that I am really passionate about.
There is always room to improve on something.
Not to crowd myself with pessimistic ‘wet blankets’ in human form.
That my life is an evolution.
Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to Writing 101 prompt:
Today, write your own list on one of these topics:
An assortment of okada, keke, and several kabu’kabu/taxi’s, park lackadaisically on the hard-packed earthen kerb, beside the gutter that Mama Put used as her frontage. This is a busy corner of the road side, which teems with human traffic.
Mama Put’s shack is brimming with customers going in and coming out. Some still have their toothpicks in-between their teeth, sucking in air, in an attempt to dislodge a tiny morsel that had stolen into a gap, whilst some insert a finger in their mouths, using it as a wrench to pluck out remnants of chewed meat.
Lunch time is one of Mama’s busiest period. These rushed gathering of men jostle each other for space on the worn wooden benches and the few mismatched plastic chairs inside the crowded shambolic tent of the popular buka.
The men are taking a proper break from the morning rush. Most times they leave their homes on empty stomach as early as 5:00am for the quick business turnaround of taking passengers to their places of work and trade. Leaving early not only helps to put more money in their pockets, but it is also a means of beating the unbelievable go-slow which builds up as early as 6:30 in the morning.
Hasty gobbles of soft Agege bread, slathered with blue band butter chased down with hot tea from the local Mai shayi, serves as a respite till lunch time. On days when there is a lag between passengers, then it could be a quick meal of hot fried akara balls and ogi or kunu.
Hot Akara Balls
From 6.00am in the morning till she closes shop in the evening, Mama Put’s domain is a place of systematic chaos. She endeavors to start early to cater to her early bird customers and it was not a strange sight to see a flashy car or two with a customer carrying a food warmer to make purchase and eat in the comfort of their office, shop or home.
Her rivals spread snippets of malicious gossip that mama uses spiritual powers to keep her customers enraptured, but these back talks neither stopped her nor did it deter her customers. Nkoyo – Mama Put’s real name – could cook. Her food is always tasty, fresh and her demeanor pleasant.
The men look forward to their lunch. It is a place of camaraderie; a place you need to be, to keep abreast with the goings on in the vicinity. Heads crowd the steaming pots of jollof and dodo, white rice and stew, porridge beans and yam; each customer making their request and pointing out their particular choice of a piece of assorted meat or fish, whilst those who waited on the next round of pounded yam straddled their benches and engaged in idle chatter.
As they crowd the eating arena, an overpowering smell of dried human perspiration clings to the air, mingling with the divergent aroma wafting from pots of food and this creates a unique smell in itself.
The deep hums of their voices rhyme with the kpom, kpom, kpom beat of the pestle and the mortar at the back of the tent where a young lad mashes the boiled yam – which occasionally mingles with beads of his sweat – into softer lumps for swallowing with native soup. Pounded yam is a heavy meal appreciated by the hardworking men. It kept the hunger pangs at bay for hours on end.
Pounded Yam
Over their hot plates of food, their loud voices compete to regale each other with anecdotes of the days events. Of cantankerous, corrupt officials who dot every few meters of the road, casing the riders and extorting money from them. Sometimes, it would be the story of an irksome passenger or a tussle with another rider. They argue over football, a division of thoughts depending on the persons Premier League of support and their gist’s are often interspersed with ribald jokes. They talk politics, share their opinionated advise about women, touching on this and that.
“Ha!” “Mama, na wa o!” exclaims a stocky regular. This poundo fit belleful person so? E small o, he carries on talking as he receives his plate of pounded yam and afang soup.
Mama generously cuts a little extra portion and adds to the lumpy mound on his plate.
A beg give me pure water, another customer known as Sadiq requests.
Mercy, one of Mama’s kitchen girl heeds his request and ambles over with a cold sachet of pure water, which is kept cool with the ice blocks purchased from the ice block supplier.
Sadiq, calls her “my wife, my wife”, pats her ample waist and Mercy giggles as she steps away to answer another customer.
Jollof Rice and Dodo
It’s a typical selling day and nothing is amiss until a customer rushes in, breathless with news of calamity. A demolition order from the new local government chairman is taking place. Makeshift stalls, shacks and all are being callously pulled down. They say it is to make way for modern stalls that Mr. Chairman wants to construct and sell or rent to the highest bidders.
Grumbling of mistreatment of poor masses in the hands of elected officials ensues. The men disperse quickly in order not to be caught in the backlash and have their properties impounded, as the rumble of the crushing Bulldozer is heard chugging it’s way slowly and surely, leaving destruction, tears and anguish in its wake.
Mama flounders as they hasten to gather crockery, aluminum pots, pans and other items that they can move quickly. Her thoughts are scattered to the four winds as she glumly watches her modest enterprise bulldozed to the ground. Tears leak out of her gritty eyes, rolling down her face unashamedly. She is caught in a wave of abject despondency.
Her sweat and efforts of many hard months fast turn into a crumpled heap of rubbish. It has taken so much to get to this point. To get to a point where she had a steady stream of customers and feasible income. Her family existed from hand to mouth; from the sweat of her brows and thoughts of her children, Uduak and Kufre’s school fees which is due in a couple of weeks cause more tears to well and brim over.
The bitterness of her situation pools and curdles her spirit. She rails and rants in anger, her vitriolic emotions overflowing its bounds. Her life has been a deep struggle; from one point to the other, that it sometimes feels as if the current sweeping her is too strong for her to keep her head up.
“Where will I start from?” Nkoyo mutters to no one in particular.
“How will I now catch up with my book me down customers?” She ponders fleetingly?
The vote she that she cast for the imbecilic Chairman a thought to regret and hiss over.
For as long as she can remember, she pays the local government touts protection money in cash and with free plates of food too. They extorted sums of pin money with promises that her space will always be maintained. She even contributed when all the vendors were approached to add their meager support to the Chairman’s campaign kitty.
Now that trouble had come calling, where were they to flex their lying muscles? Where were the thieving local government officials and their area boys? The Area fathers have slunk away like sly foxes with their tails tucked in-between their legs.
Nkoyo sits on an overturned mortar beside the rubble in weariness, her ambitions of expanding her business callously truncated. Her leaden legs are too tired to carry her home.
Glossary for words in italics that you may not know:
Afang soup: A vegetable soup originating from the South Eastern part of Nigeria – Cross River states.
Agege bread: A very popular low class bread baked in Lagos and favored by laborers. Usually very soft and eaten with so many variations of items e.g eggs, beans, bean cakes, etc
Akara: Bean cakes made from peeled black eyed peas and fried in hot oil.
Area boys/fathers: These are loosely organized gangs of young men, who roam the streets of Lagos. They extort money from passers-by, act as informal security guards, and perform other “odd jobs” in return for compensation.
Book me down: Customers who purchase food on credit and keep an account with the food vendor.
Buka: Local food canteen a step below restaurants. Food cheaper than the restaurants.
Dodo: Fried ripe plantain
Go slow: Slow crawling traffic
Jollof: A popular meal eaten in most West African homes, a one-pot meal made with fried tomato and pepper stew, rice, meat and spices
Keke: Tricycles
Kabu’kabu: Shared taxi
Kpom, kpom: Typical sound made from pounding.
Kunu: Popular drink consumed throughout Nigeria but mostly in the North. Made out of millet or sorghum
Mama Put: Road side food seller so called because her customers are known to beg for extra food for their plates ”mama abeg put more now”
Mai Shayi: Road side hot tea sellers
Na wa o: Exclamation which expresses so many things such as surprise, woe, you don’t say etc
Ogi: Liquefied maize meal which is thickened with hot water and sweetened with sugar and/or milk.
Okada: Commercial motorcycle used as vehicle for hire in Nigeria.
Pure Water: Water bagged in disposable sachets.
This poundo fit belleful person so?: Will this pounded yam fill me up?
a cooking pot and twisted tales 