*In Fela's voice* I want to tell you a story......seriously I do.

Saturday, 15 September 2012



Mother’s attitude about the Nonso episode really upset me. I didn’t think she had done any better than me. My father and Danjuma weren’t indicative of her better judgement. She had no right to act that whole “look what you did to yourself because you didn’t have me to direct you” way. It really pissed me off. My chance for revenge came soon enough. Mother went out to run errands and I had no lectures that Friday morning. As soon as her car drove out the gate, I entered her room. Dangana wasn’t asleep in bed like I thought, he was having a shower. As I stepped naked into the shower cubicle with him, he seemed frozen. He had attempted to touch me several times after that night but each time, I fought him off and threatened to let mother know. He’d left me alone after a short while but I noticed his eyes on me frequently. Mother noticed too and hardly ever left us both alone. That day was a rare occurrence. I told him mother was out as I pressed my body to his. He was like a man possessed. On and on and on we went only stopping for Dangana to call mother to make sure she wasn’t coming back any time soon. We went from the bathroom to their bed and on the single sofa in their room. I couldn’t believe how much of a kick it turned out to be. Having sex with my mother’s lover was a trip and some.

One day she came into my bathroom while I was getting ready to go and see a “friend”. She hung around a little uncertainly as I washed up my privates with alum for the tightening effect. I kind of knew why she was there and I knew exactly what I would say to her. Dangana had become stupid of late and would even try to cup a feel with mother right there in a room.

“Is Dangana bothering you?”

“I don’t know what that means but yes mother, I am sleeping with him.”

Her only reaction was an involuntary twitch at the corner of her mouth....but I saw beyond that as I brazenly applied shear butter mixed with Makari on my naked body. I saw the pain in her eyes and it gave me joy. She didn’t say a word. I didn’t see Dangana until a little over a week later when I saw his obituary in a national daily. We never spoke about it but I knew that she knew that I knew that she had a hand in his death. That was that for Dangana in our lives.

Men are such a bother. For some months after,  I stayed away from sex for pleasure. Mother and I resumed our uneasy business relationship; she had most of Dangana’s links. I became more and more aware of a particular request that mother always turned down; me and another girl, with a “friend”. I wondered why. There was little that I hadn’t done or hadn’t been done to me by “friends” so why was this different. I asked mother and her answer sealed it for me.

“It’s a sin” she said with her face crinkled up in disgust.
Within a few days, I had picked up a girl from the salon. Again the thought of hurting mother gave the situation more appeal that it was actually worth to me. I also believed that I found where I belong. I’m not a lesbian, neither am I bi sexual but as long as I could hurt mother and get some emotion free, uncomplicated sexual satisfaction, I was down with it. It became my habit to have brief intense affairs with women. I chose women who were married as they were least likely to go yakking. My product value wasn’t any less with them, they strove to please me.

When I was twenty four I met Maimuna. I had become tired of my randomness and needed a steady lover and Maimuna was ideal. The pretty quiet ministers’ wife was crazy about me. I liked her well enough and was comfortable with her.


He was one of my best "friends". Mother called him my "resting place". Never has there been a man who worshipped the very ground I walked on like Musa Sambo, the chief of army staff. He spoilt me and mother stupid. Mother suddenly hit upon the smart idea that I become his third wife. I didn't mind, an end to "friends" and the man worshiped me. I had it all under control. Sadly, despite continuous prodding from mum and I, there was no talk of marriage.

In came the black prophet. Mum claimed that he had helped my appeal all these years. He assured me that Musa was mine if I really wanted him. I did; I was ready to settle down. A week before I was to return to find out what the "spirits" wanted from me to make Musa mine, the selfish bitch that is my mother goes and has a heart attack in the middle of the night. I found her stone cold dead the next morning. How inconsiderate. As usual she had acted with just herself in mind. I buried her the next day without much ado as I'm sure she would have wanted. She had no family so I was well and truly alone. I bemoaned my fate and actually drove myself ill from worrying about handling money and responsibilities myself. Mother had taken care of all that and I really did not know what to do with all that business. Neither did I care; I am a beautiful person that should be taken care of. In the next six months I would turn twenty five and still unmarried. That was already one year behind target. I did not want that.


Monday, 10 September 2012



Hajara and Umita were my only “real” friends.  I met them when we moved from Rayfield in Jos to Army Engineers (forget the name; it is really just a housing estate). We grew up together and were kind of close. They were never really bothered about the gossip and mystery surrounding me and my mum, maybe because Umita's mum was also a single mum and Hajara's dad, the area drunk. We were something of a "crew" in the area. They were very curious about me but accepted me as a very private person. I appreciated their friendship as I was used to more wary friendship from other females at a tender age.

I so understand how Adam and Eve felt as they suddenly realised they were naked, my eureka moment?  I was fast asleep one night when I felt hands all over my body. I am normally immediately alert when I wake up but I was strangely lethargic and remained so as the oddest scenario played out. My mother's lover seemed intent on stimulating me. See, despite my extraordinary looks, I was very innocent about the opposite sex. He looked focused and determined as he stroked, rubbed and pinched. I was bewildered. I recognised that it was another transition. I was afraid of the coming stage in my pain filled young life. I was on fire. Sensations crackled in nerve endings I didn’t know I had. I wanted to fight him off but something strange was going on with me. I remembered mother making me a cup of cocoa last night. I thought it was strange considering my strict diet. My moaning seemed to have been his undoing. He started to breathe heavily as his erection stuck out. He didn’t look focused any more. He looked ravenous, like he wanted to eat me. He was breathing heavily and watching me with glazed eyes as I stared up at him, my waist still moving from the over flow of sensations. He pressed his thumb down, applying pressure on my clitoris. I bucked, then I heard her voice and realised that mother had been there all along. She ordered Dangana repeatedly to stop but he seemed like he was going to disregard her as his hands ran over my breast.

"Enough, enough, enough". 

She screamed and dragged him off me. The look on her face as they walked out of my room was my moment. Eureka, I am not so defenceless. I have grown used to that look on the faces of the majority women that I meet.  That night, I touched myself, mimicking what Dangana did to me. I was fourteen, heady with primal sexual need and power. The next day I met the weeping vice president. Even though he hurt me and I was scared silly all through, he met me a willing horny virgin. Even as the feelings ebbed to an anti climax, I finally began to understand the power of who and what I am.

I remained uncomplaining as my life as a sex object played out. I was enjoying being the beautiful one and learnt to twist mother the way I wanted. I was the one whose body men paid to possess. When I turned nineteen I met a boy, Nonso. Nonso was a final year student while I was in my second year. Umita had introduced us to her handsome toaster and I fell for him right there and then. He called me later on in the day to tell that it was me he wanted. I was used to male appreciation but sex for me was an exclusive product which I peddled as a means to an end. I had no time for boys but Nonso was different. He had a small apartment close to school and within a week, I’d moved in with him. Even though sex is something I am good at I had no personal need of it, until Nonso. Not one of my "friends" had ever taken the time to give me pleasure or quench the fire that Dangana started in me. Nonso did and more. We spent our nights in the throes of passion and our days doing same except when we had stuff to do. With Nonso, sex wasn’t just me giving pleasure; with Nonso it was about me getting pleasured. I was over the moon. Mother's reaction was unexpected. She neither looked for me, nor called me again after I ignored her calls a few times. She only sent me a bbm "when you find out what men are really like, you know your way home". Umita reacted badly, very badly. Hajara took sides with her. I couldn't care less, I was in love and so was Nonso.

For eight weeks and four days, I lived with Nonso and hardly a day went by that he didn't give me delirium inducing pleasure. One day he got back from lectures late with an unreadable expression on his face. He asked me if I knew a certain ambassador who was a "friend". Apparently Umita had somehow gotten to him and had given him a version of my life's story that was only close to the truth because she got that I was a plaything for the high and mighty. Senseless from my infatuation, I decided to come clean about my life.
In my unguarded moments, Nonso’s expression still haunts me. Disgust, he was disgusted with me. That night was different; that night, I was with a stranger whose only use for me was for sexual release.
A week later, I was back home. Mother smiled. Dr Williams examined me, performed an abortion and that was that. Except that I became sure that I do not like men.


Sunday, 9 September 2012


I am Estelle. I have never had to take responsibility for my actions. My mother’s greed and lack of morals coupled with my self-indulgence got me here.  Now here I am right smack in the middle of the worst repercussion of my life and the bitch left me to handle it all alone.
I knew I was different from as soon as I could reason. My mother’s fixation with my grooming and appearance was awe inspiring. As young as three years old, I had realised that there is something about me. I only always see me in the mirror but Estelle the analytical sees the girl that makes people gasp and gawk.

 25 years ago, a young prostitute named Grace landed a big fish. A French expatriate with an oil servicing company. She was his common law wife for six years. Four of which they shared with their daughter Estelle.
One day he upped and left never to be seen again. Grace was shaken. She had become complacent and existed as a housewife grateful for her position.Theirs was a peaceful home. There was no indication of  Jacques Duval's intentions. He had simply gone on a very usual trip home and never returned.

He used to cuddle me and kiss me and call me Princess. He told me stories of France, and taught me to say "viva la France". I loved kissing and cuddling with him.  The smell of tobacco on his bushy white beard spelt safety for me.  I couldn't believe that he would do that to me. I couldn't process it and so I waited but  on my sixth birthday my heart broke into tiny pieces as it finally dawned on me that he was gone and wasn't coming back. It was obvious he didn't want to be found. Mother was stunned. She wore her bitterness like perfume, it was every where. He rejected us.

My childhood memories are filled with pain. My childhood was filled with pain. Mother poured all her venom and energy into Estelle the product. She told me often how I was lucky to be "half caste" and that because of that we could and would never go hungry. It was years later that I understood. She sold the house, which he bought in my name and we lived on the funds realized. At six I started wearing a "back board" to "correct" my posture. I wore it for twelve hours almost everyday until I was ten years old. My shoes were also always a size too small for as long as I can remember, the result are a pair of dainty feet; prone to excruciating aches and pains but pretty and small. I had a palm oil rub applied to my body every fortnight after which I would spend an hour soaking in fresh milk in the bath tub. By the time I turned twelve, I was easily the most beautiful child for miles, everyone wanted to be friends with me. That wasn't perfect enough for mother; I spent my thirteenth birthday and the three subsequent weeks in bed,  on my side in a rented apartment in Florida. I had just had a Brazilian butt lift. All the extra fat from my stomach and back was refined and injected into me to produce one of my biggest assets. Of course I had to do the procedure all over again when I turned eighteen because my body had reabsorbed about a quarter of the  fat.

Then I began to wear a waist training corset. There are few more uncomfortable things. I protested, with my heart and soul but I was no match for mother. I got into a fight at school because the other kids thought there had to be something wrong with me for wearing such an undergarment. My teachers were shocked when mother rushed in, in response to their calls and was only concerned that I wasn't bearing and I wasn't going to be bearing any scars. I remember in the early days, I used to sleep with my hands tied to the bed post so I wouldn't take off the itchy, itchy corset.  Mother was scathing in the cruellest way and I quickly learnt the value of staying on her good side.

So you see, to Estelle, pain is a woman's life. To give pleasure to men you must endure pain.  Three months before I turned fourteen, it started. Estelle the commodity was birthed. I finally found out what mother's lover Dangana did for a living. He was a big time pimp with powerful connections. His racket was procuring kids and teenagers for the high and mighty..... paedophiles. I have to give it to mother and Dangana though, my "friends" were only cream of the crop, bonafide power brokers, visiting world leaders etc. They were very generous; and very sick men. I was surprised at my first "friend". He was the serving vice president of a first world country. He slobbered and wept as he took my virginity. I was used to pain, what was his story?

The rewards afforded us a good life style. One time, when I was fifteen I remember having sex with a fifteen year old boy for the viewing pleasure of the president of a West African country, half way through he joined us. To cut a long story short, this is my childhood.