THE 3RD SIDE OF A COIN

                                                     WE ARE ALL PROSTITUTES

                                                                CAP2 EPISODE 2

I parked my car carefully; made sure the doors were locked and moved slowly into the crowd. There was another herd of girls. Watching them was free, one could window shop too and since I wasn’t buying, I took out time to feed my eyes. I checked every lady around the area but Flora was not there. I dialed her number. She picked like one in a hurry.

“Coming to the gate,” I grumbled without giving her any chance to say ‘Hello’.

Her voice was teary when she said: “Please, come to the back of the building.”

“Behind the building? Flora, I ….”

“Obie, Just come, please” she cut in, and I surrendered.

The back of the building was poorly illuminated, but the girls meant business. Some were smoking and some were negotiating with their male clients. I snapped glances into shadows and I noticed one who stood alone. If she were not Flora, then she was made in the image and likeness of Flora. I moved towards her and the doubt was cleared.

It was Saint Flora. At the conviction, my movement towards her instantly lost its speed and I faltered. I wondered why on earth her breed would stand in the counsel of the ungodly. For Flora to be seen in this place, then the heaven was asleep; there was no better explanation. Nothing would have permitted an angel to dwell in the lowest part of the hades. Heaven would have come to her rescue. Seeing me, she froze. She stood there and sobbed audibly and because she could not move, I concluded that she was a fallen angel – but this time, with broken wings.

She wore a short white gown and the tears from her eyes had washed off some of her make-ups. Her crime was purely premeditated. From a distance, she looked good. She looked nothing like the Flora I used to know. She dressed like a club girl who had not learnt her trade or a model who couldn’t fit into the fashion world. 

Whatever the case was, sex oozed from her and she was as full of amoral as a palm nut is full of oil, but still fresh like palm nut bursting with oil yet to be extracted. “Come let’s go” I pulled her when I came closer and she followed. We headed towards my car. She didn’t speak a word. She wept uncontrollably with convulsive gasps. No explanation would make sense to me. In my judgment, the summary of what happened was a hustle gone south; an intro to the real reality.

Girls of her kind thought that prostitution was an easy trade. They thought that one just needed to lie on her back, mix pleasure with business and in the end, get paid.

In their understanding, harlotry required no qualification or experience. False perception. Unknown to them, there was always a course, a full-time program required: One needed - first and foremost – to have multiple sexual partners; from there, graduate to operating small-scale pre-prostitution activities; which would help to beef up personal experience, then finally sign a deal with the darkness over the conscience before standing in the middle of the night. She thought it was simple, but in reality, harlotry was not a mean challenge.

In silence, we drove; and Flora made no attempt to explain what happened. She couldn’t pull herself together to narrate. Besides, she would have found it difficult to convince me.

Entering the house, I directed her to the bedroom. Like a zombie, she staggered into the room and continued with her audible sobs. I allowed her to have the room alone. While I was deep in sleep, around five in the morning, someone tapped me softly. I opened my eyes and, ‘Lo and behold’, Flora was before me. She was not in her short gown anymore, but in my brief, and loose polo… and a questionable stare.

To Be Contd....                                                                 .......Story By  Ozii Anieto 

THE 3RD SIDE OF A COIN

 CAP2 : WE  ALL ARE PROSTITUTES

                  EPISODE 1

The night was dark and rather gloomy. Too quiet, save for the classical music

from the nocturnal birds. Somewhere inside the darkness, Flora waited patiently;

with an excuse, and definitely with an explanation.

As I drove into Wuse 2, calmness deserted the night. Cars were honking and

standing in pairs were the queens of the night. I watched as the hookers flagged down cars as if they needed free rides. Time was no longer on their side. Any that couldn’t hook up with a client would soon retire to her abode counting her losses and praying for a better tomorrow.

A black Range Rover car stopped some meters away from my 2005 Toyota Corolla. With fake smiles, the girls near the car moved seductively towards it. They sampled their wares with seductive poses. The real deals on the side; a human-market with steady supply of the Men, who stopped to buy, and the girls, who were available for purchase. But the only reason men drove into the crescent at odd hours was because all the bad girls in town assembled there, and sex in Wuse 2 was negotiable. I wasn’t tempted in any way to stop.

Passing Amigo Supermarket, I drove straight to the Wine Shop. At the entrance of the shop, there were scores of young and neatly dressed young women who stood as if they were waiting for someone, or, as if they were stranded. Like sheep with no shepherd, they moved in an uncoordinated cycle. As I slowed down, some of them gradually approached my vehicle. “Hi,” said a girl in a fake British accent.

Checking out her features, I ignored the greeting. She was fair, her bosom was big; her eyes were not different from the cats’. She realized I had no wish to price her wares – but had taken advantage with my eyes – disappointedly, she hissed, turned around and walked away. And with each step she took, her big

buttocks bounced rhythmically.

“Na wah o,” I muttered in excitement as I navigated to a free parking space

inside the compound.

To Be Contd..                                                        ...........Story By Ozii Anieto

THE 3RD SIDE OF A COIN

 CAP 1: THE SUNCITY OF ABUJA
                       Episode 2

I first met Flora seven years ago at Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka. Then,

she was tall, thin and looked a lot younger than her eighteen years of age. Like a

beautiful girl would attract a willing young man, she did interest me. But she was

too serious to accept my offer.

She said I was a nice guy and would just like to be a platonic friend.

“No Flora,” I did told her, “I hate being good friends with my crushes,”

I wasn’t too naïve to not know where she was driving my passion to and I hated ‘friend zone’. I persuaded the much I could; she did not shift ground. That was seven years ago. So when I heard she had relocated to Abuja, I welcomed it as a second chance to re-confess my love.

Believing I might be lucky, I did the necessary and paid her a visit in Sun City Estate, Abuja. The estate was a fine neighborhood with beautiful landscaping

built for the rich.
Waiting in front of a beautiful cream colored house; in a long peach gown and holding two mobile phones in her left hand, her face broke into a smile when

she saw me.

“Welcome, Obie,” she said as I walked into the compound.

“This place is beautiful,” I complimented.

“Thank you.”

“And Flo,” I added, “you are looking more beautiful.”

She giggled.

The apartment, where Flora was squatting, provided shelter for her and her two

friends and there was another inmate I met - a dwarf white dog whose only duty was to wag its tail. The details in the living room showed that the girls lived

in abundance. I have met girls like that in the past. They lived everywhere in the

city of Abuja. The real magicians, I’d call them, who could not afford a bottle of

beer but drank only champagne.

Sitting on a brown couch was one of her friends. She was fair and appeared tall.

She could be of Flora’s age. Her yellow bum-shorts could not completely cover

her laps, and that created a distraction for my lustful eyes. A green singlet

covered her tempting body and there was a snake tattoo on her neck.

Throughout my stay, her eyes were glued to the television and I found it

difficult to understand how Flora, who I knew as an extrovert, ended up in their

company.

“Flo, this is a wrong crew.” I couldn’t keep it to myself on my way out. “How

do they afford this lifestyle?”

Flora gave me a weak response. I rested my case.

Because my protest would not give her shelter and I knew I could not separate

her from her company, I said the much I could and let her be. Flora, I could tell,

became an accident bound to happen. It was not hard to discern that soon the

chicken would one day become a cock, and do what cocks did. It was only a

matter of time.

A few days later, at after eleven o’clock in the night, the exact time I laid on my

bed, a call came into my cell phone. I wanted to ignore the call but realizing it

was from Flora, I picked up the phone.

“Please, can you come and pick me?” she said in a tense and weary voice. She

sounded like one who had been assaulted.

“Flora, where are you?” I reluctantly asked.

“I am at the Wine Shop in Wuse 2, near Amigo.” she replied.

“Wine shop by this time? What on earth are you doing in Sodom and Gomorrah

at this God-forsaken period?’

“Please, I will explain” She mumbled. “Just come and pick me from here.”

To be Contd..                                                     .......Story By: Ozii Anieto

THE 3RD SIDE OF A COIN

CAP 1: THE SUNCITY OF ABUJA
                       Episode 1


I want to tell you a secret. Something yet unknown to man. Like how the spiders
survive in palaces and how the worms find its way to the princess’ belly. Secrets
of men who sought the unknown; who journeyed to find their dreams; sailed
the seas with no compass; and crossed the deserts with no guide. Men who
expected nothing from life, who knew that one’s success or failure in life’s
journey was the decision of the gods.

Some believed that seekers would find. A fallacy; a theory, yet unproven.
The only fact is that every accomplishment shows how lucky a person can be. Purely
a decision of the gods. For he that is favored by the gods amasses wealth and
him, whom the gods do not cherish would stand and stare. But nothing is as
pathetic as the man who his personal god – Chi – accepts his beggarly status. If
such a man fights against all odds and climbs out of abject poverty, he would
not last. His tale would not end well and, because he finds it difficult to
appreciate that ‘all who seek must not find’, the wrath of the gods would
consume him. But no one knows his destiny, be it fortune or love, till he seeks.
Take Flora for example. Cities like Abuja were not for good girls like her. But
she cast her fears to the winds, paid over the odds and fought for her little
dreams. She knew the terrain would be rough, but she did not appreciate how
rough things could be. Without relenting, she gave her best. She never backed
down even when the dice was loaded against her.

There were secrets she did not know. To her, Abuja was like the toss of a coin
Head: she would find her dream and live happily.
Tail: she would not find her dream and would return to where they came from.
She never considered the possibility of the coin landing on its edge. A sign that
they would neither find happiness nor find their way out of the town and it
happened to Flora. When her destiny’s coin was tossed, it neither showed the
head nor the tail.

Abuja doesn’t spare. How else could I have traded on its secret? Abuja was a
city where ladies hardly sustained that which they held in high esteem. Flighty
and swift. A wrong choice for guiltless souls. Abuja was that blacksmith’s
furnace which would test morals; that fire which would prove how fine steels
were. It was an anvil upon which Flora’s personality would be struck.
“Flora, this town is very strange,” I subtly warned her. But she never
understood.

A job was all she needed, she had said. Believing that once she found a good
job, she would be fine.
But good jobs, most times, came with a price tag which could either be a
signature on a letter or possibly, a body on a platter. Flora put in her best,
moved from place to place and hunted for an imaginary job. Good soul; but
being an eager beaver did not guarantee her quail and manna. There were dues
to be paid; Sacrifices to be offered. But Flora believed in her own strength.
Her heart, possibly, was made of diamonds. Unknown to her, not all diamonds
last forever. When Flora’s diamond was tested, it cracked.

.....To Be Contd.
                                                                                                          ........Story By: Ozii Anieto

MOMENTS WITH GEORGE : THE UNTOLD PAIN

                                         Story of Rape and Love and Pain.
                                                           ************

After secondary school in 2011, I waited a year before I wrote jamb. I needed rest from the rigorous Waec and Neco exams I had written. There was this bright girl in our street, 2poles away from our compound. She attended an all girls school and hardly had time for boys. She didn't even talk to boys.
No matter the swag we all try to put up in order to impress her she wasn't falling for our ploys nor schemes. She just wasn't feeling us. In those days, 2go was rampant almost everyone had a 2go account, getting this girl's 2go username was more difficult than wining an American lottery. The few boys that had the audacity to try talk to her received their own share of her indifference, she showed us levels.

We stopped seeing her in the street. In our corner where would gather and talk, gist about our escapades on 2go. We kept out an eye for her. She wouldn't coming walking past us, this continued for some time till we got the gist that she was admitted to study a course that wasn't mentioned in the University of Port Harcourt. Particularly I was challenged, others were bitter. The girl would surely show us more levels now that she's in school. From that day, I resolved to get into school the next year. I admired the girl, being admitted into school at such a young age was a feat. Inside my heart I wished to be her. Few months passed before I saw her again. She wasn't looking like the girl we all used to know. She was always looking sad and was more quiet than she was. She was looking like someone who was fighting a battle inside.
There was this one time I saw her on her balcony as she sat staring into space as tears trickled down her face our eyes jammed, she got up and went inside.

A guy in my clique of friends came to us one day. Telling us he had the story of the century. A story that would break the street. We all gathered that evening, about 6 to 8 boys. Stories was what we lived for.  He told us that he heard from a reliable source that the girl is pregnant. We were shocked, some opened their mouths in awe. He said his cousin who schools in UniPort told him that what the girl does in Port Harcourt is to run after men in big cars and grace the bed of lecturers  and students alike. He dropped another bombshell "she doesn't even know the father". We all shouted, I shook my head. A girl I had so much believe in and admired. From there she lost all respects we gave her. She became like an ordinary local girl to us. We didn't need to verify the story. What was said in the quadrangle was always "from a reliable source".

Days ran into weeks, weeks turned into months. The girl was still at home and she rarely came outside. We hadn't seen her for some time now. We concluded that she was pregnant and her parents had kept her inside in a bid to hide it. The news rocked the whole street truly, parents used the girl as an example to stubborn kids warning them that if they didn't change their ways they would end up like her. I felt bad and disappointed in her. I pitied her still. Such a young promising girl subject to that much stigmatization.
She gave birth about the time I gained admission. Before I left for school my parents admonished me not to go and disgrace our family's name just like her. They used the girl as an example in all the advice they dished out to me,

I came back home after the first semester break. I was the big attraction in the street. I didn't come back with a bad report as the last big star of the street. I gained respect the respect of my boys and girls alike.
One day while I was running an errand for my parents I saw her again, trying to put a baby to sleep. I went over to her, she was now looking like her normal self, beautiful as she had always been.

I walked up to her, the baby was crying and I the young mother was singing to the baby, it seemed the more she sang the more the baby cried. I was a few feet away from mother and child when the girl started sobbing, in between sobs she would say "I curse the men who raped me and brought you into this world to make me suffer". Still as she cursed I saw a mother who loved her child even under stringent conditions.
"hello" I said jerking her back into life.
"Fine baby, how are you" I touched the baby cheek
The baby cooed and stopped crying.
"look at you, you are so big" the girl spoke.
"it's God o, you ain't looking bad yourself".
From there on, we started talking. I got to know her more and her "predicament". She still kept the rape aspect away from me oblivious that I already heard her. 

For weeks I would visit her. I grew a liking for her maybe cause  of her condition. One thing was sure, I pitied her. In those weeks we became close, she told me I was the only friend she had, the street had ostracised her. My parents got wind of my visits, there weren't happy. Her parents told me to keep a distance as their daughter was "broken and on her way to recovery" she didn't need a guy in her life to disrupt that process. 

The holidays were gradually coming to an end. Despite warnings to stay away from her I still visited her. I would she excitement in her eyes when I visited.  I loved playing with her daughter who looked very much like her. The little baby had come to know me and wouldn't cry if I carried her.

"today will be the last I see you"

"yes you told me,  you'll be going to school"

"will you be fine?"

"(I laughed), obviously"

"I mean it, will you be fine?"

"what do you want me to say, I'll be okay, you have to resume school"

"I'll keep in contact with you always"

"okay, try and be serious in school, you don't want to end up like me"

"you're sounding ridiculous now".

"yeah, heard that one over and over, they even said I'm a witch have you heard that one?"

She started sobbing . I sat where I was.

"do you know I was raped?"

(silence) I didn't talk.

" I asked you a question".

"No" I said

"I was raped on my way back from night classes"

She paused to wipe her eyes. I moved closer to her.

"3 guys, they raped me and left me for dead, that's how I got pregnant with her". She pointed to her baby lying in her crib.

"I'm sorry" I muttered, I crossed my hand and placed it on her shoulder. I didn't know what else to do. She smiled.

"apart from my parents you're the only one that knows"

"thank you for trusting me" I said.

"after the incident, I contemplated suicide, when they found out I was pregnant, I wanted to die. I wanted to terminate the baby, but I thought against it. Terminating the pregnancy meant the rapist had won the second time. So, I carried my cross" she pointed again at her baby.

"you're crying" she said.

"oh it's nothing, I'm just sad that people judged you without hearing your story"

"people tend to say things that make them feel good"

"why don't you let them know your story, at least they would stop judging you"

"pls don't tell anyone they should judge me. Of what good is it that I tell them now?"

I didn't say anything. I looked at the baby and wondered where the beast of a dad is now. Probably brewing the next evil he's to carry out in his heart.

I left her house that night feeling that admiration I felt for her return. What I felt for her became stronger. I needed to be with her. To nurse her through this rough path in her life. "She is broken and recovering" I need to be with her through the process.
She's strong. I need to be stronger for us.













                                                                                                      ..........................................Chronicler: Uzoma Anieto