Afrosays to me

…random excerpts from my communions with the AfroMuse

Olu-Aye And The Seventh Sorceress November 25, 2010

Filed under: Scenic — afrosays @ 1:19 pm
Tags: , , ,

Beloved villagers, this is the reason for my prolonged silence.

I shall not speak much, the crazy goddess is with us.

Let us gather in one ritual spirit, keeping our thoughts in distance, as I, the TownCrier beat a spiritual ‘Konko-below’ tune in honour of her majesty. Our souls shall listen with a single ear as AfroSays:


She's calling you...

We’d been sailing for ten days with neither food to warm our bellies nor wine to cheer our spirits. We had depleted the water skins two days ago and our throats were parched for many a soul had perished drinking these foul waters we were navigating.
Our redemption was not far off anymore for an island had suddenly appeared before our eyes in the early hours of the night. I encouraged the men to gently urge the battered vessel towards the new found land because although I realized that remdeption was at hand, it would be unwise to let the desperation I saw in their eyes prevail over good judgment. I reckoned that we would not last a minute in these dangerous waters if we lost the ship.
We sailed two more days and lost two more men to the dark sleep, but the island wasn’t getting any closer. I suspected some foul magic at work but hope for land was the only thing left to motivate the men. I could not steal that hope from them lest they burn the vessel for they believed that the foul spirit of the sea would not claim their souls if the fire messenger escorted them to the underworld. I believed different.
I took another look at Elewe, our diviner. He hadn’t said a word to anyone since our escape from the accursed clay country. Elewe had saved us all from the hellion, but he had bent a rule to do so; an action that the spiritual kind undertook and paid for with their lives. He hadn’t escaped himself, the sixth sorceress had discovered his treachery and cast a spell on him before her passing; it was a spell worse than death. She had cursed him with a vision of pain he would always see but can never tell. I saw him break down in bitter tears, experiencing terrible things our typic minds couldn’t fathom. He had only come back to us five days ago and he had been of no use to us since.
I took my place beside him, looking out to the dark waters, wondering why he had offered his life in exchange for ours, stealing peeks at my own inner demons, when he calmly made speech.
“The seventh sorceress has found us. She’s calling you”
Taking in what he said, I knew I was to be alone on this last part of the journey. My destiny was to face Abami-eji, the one with a dual consciousness, the chameleon. Elewe suddenly grabbed my shoulder and I began to see.
“Olu-aye oh!”
I turned around to see the most despicable sight. A effeminate, old pervert catered to by two most handsome, young boys amidst seven thousand others. The man was clothed in a kind of see-through, sequined, flowing red silk material that wasn’t covering much, as were his acolytes. The magnificence of his surroundings exuded the lusty, throaty call of Sodom. His stage was a twisted living puppetry of every unimaginable fetish. This was the seventh sorceress.
“Olu Aye, care to join me?”
If this was Abami-eji, I turned away from her covering my eyes in disgust. Elewe had once told me that it was common belief among the spirituals that one could not look directly at her but no one really knew why. Her prescence stripped one of all sense of decency. Even one inclined in such desires would lose such an inclination in this temple of perversions.
“You know, Olu I like you and I think you deserve a chance…. at immortality.”
“Kiss me Olu, let me take your age away, let me make you young again”
“I know your darkness, I see the sickness in your blood, let me fix you”
He kissed my neck. I cringed. I turned back to see the most beautiful woman. Her ample breasts were soft cushions on my body. Her hands were taking away my evil, my wrinkles, my cares. I could feel every detail of her curves on my body. She was working her magic and I was yielding. I closed my eyes, soaking in the enthralling seduction and my hands betrayed me. They quickly forgot my instructions and went wandering on their own. They had not wandered too far when they found strong evidence of manliness.
I freaked out, pushing her away from me.
I saw the shriveled, old degenerate losing himself in laughter. I was on the floor sobbing. Defeat was near.
“My Olu, my beautiful man. Why wouldn’t you accept my gift?”
His voice was like a beautiful layered sound of a dozen instances of pouring wine. Every part of my being felt an uncontrollable pull.
“You have chosen to duel, Mortal. Immortal”
He became her once again. I stole a look at her as she kept on speaking. She seemed quite unhappy to lose yet another potential man doll. She attempted a pout, pucking her colored lips in mock protest. She became him.
“You would have made a fine princess”
I shook my head, wishing the unwelcome thought away. His acolytes began to laugh, a riotous, animalistic melee.
“This is your challenge!”
His voice became a freakish scream, like a thousand swords scraping on the stone walls of a palace dungeon, like ten thousand demonic birds of prey crying in unison, bringing a vision of slayings and sacrifices, of horrors unimaginable; the sound of the end of the world.
“To seduce him!”
My world began to spin around me as I was transported through a time portal to a different, yet familiar existence. I saw the mountains where I had walked as a child and I had made my home as a man, I saw my wife, beautiful Omoniwa, I saw my young cubs, practicing battle with wooden swords.
My already failing spirit disintegrated as I saw myself become another man, irritatingly beautiful like one of the acolytes.
Abami-eji pointed into the whirring mix of visions and showed me my challenge, my prize, my love-interest. The one to be seduced, he was admiring his family from a distance, smiling with pride at his success as a husband, as a father, as a man.
I trembled in denial as I began to realize the sheer wickedness of this bewitchment. I tried to close my eyes as the one to be seduced turned around and I saw his face.
It was me.

If you think it’s good, invite someone to read as well, if not, tell me how to make it better. #ThankYou


Le sol uno – The only one November 23, 2010

Filed under: Poetry — afrosays @ 4:26 am

Work frenzy!

Yes! My flow has been stymied by all the calculations my subconscious is trying to do on my behalf (yes, I just saw Inception).

This big project I’ve been working on all year is finally coming to a close. I’m mentally planning an Afro-Epic story that I hope I can do next year while also planning my long-short story that’s still a work in progress.

I miss you guys! Two weeks is too long a time to be self (-ish/-absorbed). The gong has dust all over it.

The goddess? She’s really mad at me. I went to the shrine today bearing sacrifice and she refused to be bribed. She won’t talk to me till I finish off my backlog of undelivered messages. I know I totally deserve it.

One-by-one, I go finish am!

But for now, I’d borrow a Bocelli piece and beat a gong version because the villagers need to calmly hear as AfroSays:

take a deep breath

I’m in a pack. Or several.
I learnt early in life that one has to belong to at least one pack. A pack of anything. One needs a pack to survive.
I’ve been a member of several anythings: cool kids, athletes, losers, spirituals, hedonists, nerds, rich kids, average kids, dancers, musicians, artists, business peoples, weirdos, leaders, family, but I’ve never been able to fully pledge my allegiance to any.
I’ve been with drinking buddies, playing pretend, not really connecting to the camaraderie of percentages
I’ve been with the church team and, of course, I had to keep my dark thoughts to myself
I been with darker minds and I pity them
I usually am with ladies on the weekends
I don’t know if I’m the only one who can’t fit into a mold but sometimes I suspect that the other people too, they’re trying hard to convince themselves that they really belong.
I already know that I don’t.
But I also know, that I don’t want to be alone.
Dedicated to #FellowWeirdo, Amaraegbeni Chigozie

Ojukokoro (Delilah) November 7, 2010

Filed under: Scenic — afrosays @ 6:22 am
Tags: , ,

The muse has kept me very busy lately – busy because she recently picked up the habit of dictating drafts and I’m ladled with the job of making sense of her raw materials and dispatching same.

I’ve got lots of good stuff from her, I’m just working on making them into the kind of stuff you would like to listen to.

Recently, also, a villager complained that her messages have become too short and impersonal and that a classic, longer, short story like the earlier ones would be preferred. Please let me know what you think too because those take longer to whip up.

It’s been a great week so it should be a perfect moment to beat an R Kelly tune on the gong, with some autotune to boot, beacuse AfroSays:


(and yea, it’s not the R Kelly song you think, it’s World’s greatest :))

Sir? The mmmm...

Ojukokoro, coveteousness, she brought it all out of the mire of my subconscious to the forefront; you could almost see the lust dripping from the corners of my mouth. Good thing my wife’s gaze was glued to a rerun of Desperate Housewives because my inner man told me that I was looking like a crazed ostrich.
I sucked it all back in, I would not let this Delilah end my career. My wife was right beside me, i would not let this Lorelei end my marriage.
“Sir, your files…” She turned.
Why does this Jezebel turn around five or more times per conversation? Doesn’t she know that my heart is in poor condition?
I massaged the left side of my chest as she turned to face me with a wry smile on her face. She bent low.
“Sir, the stamp”
I used my free hand to ease the excited blood vessels on the side of my head into cooler temper. I refused to die because of this daughter of Eve.
“… And the stamp pad…” She bent lower.
Doesn’t she know that old men don’t see such things and live to tell the story? What in blazes did the succubus want from me? My eyes were running, my mouth was dripping lust in torrents, my body started overheating, my life-support machines became an orchestra.
I passed out.
I came to.
I fired her from my hospital bed.

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