Exactly two years ago, as part of activities in a young writers’ Whatsapp group we belong to, Kossi and I engaged in a prose banter. The idea was to hit at each other in creative writing. Thanks to Facebook’s record keeping and badgering reminder of our past – some of which we may not want to remember, here you are.
Be the judge of who hit the other better.
Slowly and surreptitiously, they scaled the wooden borders of the kraal and went low almost immediately. Light from a torch had scanned the area right after they landed and but for their fast reaction, they may have seen their faces in the newspapers in two weeks. Undaunted, Eli grabbed a fat he-goat by the throat, ostensibly to block any stupid sound the stupid animal would have made. They were not there to joke.
The salon was filled. There were women of different shapes, shades and sizes. At the far-right corner, a fat woman complained bitterly about her husband as she was treated to a pedicure. Her attendant was drowning in saliva. At the facials section, a click of four women run their mouths on almost every topic on the surface of the earth. Surprisingly, Ma Rose the Salon’s chief gossip snored loudly under the dryer.
Esther looked around hoping to catch the eye of the manageress so she could squeeze her in somewhere.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I want to clean this place”, a male voice distracted her.
“Kossi!” She exclaimed. “Didn’t you tell me you were a CEO at a certain company?”
“Oh yes, madam, I did. I meant Clean Environment Officer, C – E – O, at this salon”, the unmoved Kossi replied.
They were about to make love in the shower, Elikem and his new wife, when the door creaked open slowly and they saw a gun pointed at them. They wondered what was happening but alas!
“Boss, get me some shea butter”, the masked man requested in a croak voice.
Almost immediately, Elikem began consoling his wife. “Baby girl, just do it for us. ok? I promise you’ll be fine. It will be over soon.” She merely nodded.
Shaking and dripping of soapy water, he rushed to the bedroom and got the shea butter.
He got back to see a naked man with a huge grotesque phallus almost the length of half his arm. The rapist pointed at him and barked, “Massa, bend down and lift your butt in the air.”
The congregation was all fired up in praise. It was very unusual for Pastor Kossi to join the congregation in dancing. The songs were, however, moving him. He was sure God himself was dancing with his church that morning. Did the Bible not say that God inhabits the praise of his children?
🎶Obiara nhim ne handerkerchief🎶 The praise leader started another song.
Kossi couldn’t help it anymore. He stepped onto the dancing space. The congregation cheered as he performed some trendy moves.
🎶…him wo handkerchief…🎶, they sang on.
Pastor Kossi reached for his pocket and took out his handkerchief, waving it and dancing like King David in the Bible.
Suddenly, the music stopped. Pastor Kossi was surprised. He turned to the praise leader for answers. The young man stood like a statue with his mouth wide open. Almost all the people there had the same expression on their faces. A few of them giggled among themselves.
The utterly confused man of God now turned to the congregation. Almost everyone burst in rapturous laughter. The pastor laughed too, not knowing what the joke was.
“Pastor Kossi, is that your handkerchief?”, the women’s fellowship leader asked. “A G-string?”
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Let’s go, people!