Meat Market and other very short Stories

Meat Market.
She smiled happily as Baba sliced extra chunks of meat for her.
“It is for Sallah,Omoye”  he explained through age-browned teeth.
The other meat sellers looked on in envy. Baba’s line grew every weekend while they barely sustained one customer.
The weekend after, the white birds with yellow beaks were there. The meat sellers were there, the meaty smell was there.
Baba’s Stall was empty and the line wasn’t there.The meat sellers sneered and mocked, Baba wasn’t there.
He would never be there again.


She wasn’t the one John Pepper wrote about. That one came and went, tormenting the womb and soul of its mother.
“Chief, I need a new car” She wailed.
“Wole, haaa, I want that latest Blackberry” She whined
“Dipo, seriously, when will you propose to me?” … Then she boasted to her friends
“I have renewed my Uk visa, I will pass Dubai when i’m coming back”
She tweeted “Too much money, the problem is how to spend it”
Abiku, this one goes in and out of the hearts of men, tormenting no wombs…but pockets.
Setting Mama Free

After Mass every sunday, I knew I should run to Father Luke and say
“Bless me Father” then shut only one eye so I could see Ekene with the other. All I do during mass is watch him as he serves on the altar. I would still wait for Mother to push me
“Common go let Father bless you for the week,maka ogwu-because of juju”
Ogwu has ruined mama’s life. She is poor,it is Ogwu, her farms wont produce,it is Ogwu. My big brother went to Italy and never returned, Ogwu.
Mama never ate from anybody, never hugged anybody, because of Ogwu. Immediately the sun begins to go home, we head back to church for charismatic meeting. Mama killed, binded and casted her enemies and whatever Ogwu they may have done for her.
She has fore-sight, she sends the oncoming Ogwu back to sender before it comes. When I sleep off, I get that slap
“Chika wake up and pray against Ogwu!”
This sunday, I was fed up so I muttered
“Chineke, please, set mama free”
Grandfather’s diary.
Eke Market day,1933.
Our gods say they do not sleep.
That they stay awake when the Chief Priest flings our life chickens at their wooden totems. That they stay awake when we gave them our twins. That they stay awake when we killed whoever they asked us to. That they stay awake and roam our evil forests. They stayed awake, some people came and seduced our kinsmen to foreign gods.
Are they still awake?
Those people look like their new gods are better. I want to know, so that tomorrow I would look left and right at the path that leads to my farm.
And if the gods are not awake to stop me, I am off to that white man’s gods.

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