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#SocialLeague: Story Twelve 

The Vice-President could not sleep. He listens to his wife snoring beside him and realizes that if he indeed becomes president, he will be stuck with her for another four years. That will be one of his biggest regrets. He had been planning to divorce her secretly before he was picked as Vice President and now providence was going to make him president.

He really should be asleep. Everything is working according to plans and the president will not know what hit him when the senate reconvenes in two days and he is impeached. The Maestro has worked everything out including ensuring that the perception that the president is ineffectual does not affect the party. They have based all their criticisms on the person of the president and used his own media team against him. The only person they have not been able to get is Nasir, but even that is about to change. He really should sleep, tomorrow is going to be a long day. He has to go through the list of cabinet members and decide who to keep and who to let go. Left to him, he will sack them all and get in his own people. But this is politics, interests need to be protected. He gets into bed and shuts his eyes. He knows that soon enough, sleep will come


Nasir is going through his email. If someone has managed to hack into his mail who knows how many emails they could have sent. He clicks on sent items and begins to go through the mails one after the other. He is very tired and wonders if it will not be better to go to sleep and do a more thorough check whenever he wakes up. The knock on the door startles him. He automatically looks at the time. it is 1.42 am. The knock becomes a more urgent bang. He looks at his phone. There are no missed calls. He rises and goes to the door and peeks through the spyhole. Maria. His eyebrows furrow as he wonders what she can possibly want from him at this time of the night. He unlocks the door and lets her in, a query in his eye.

“The President will like this visit kept below the radar,” Maria begins the minute she steps in, “when was the last time you swept this apartment?

Nasir wrinkles his nose wondering what smell she is referring to. “swept”.

“For listening devices? Bugs?”

Nasir feels like a child who is about to get a scolding. 

“That will be since inauguration,” he answers.

“Then I suggest we talk outside,” Maria concludes already leading the way out.

Nasir turns slowly wondering if he should throw on his just discarded shirt.  He decides against it and walks out topless.


Niyi sits hunched over his laptop. Just as he suspected the header of the email terminates in Shenzhen China. He tries to remember something he had read about the city and decides that whoever wrote that email does not want to be found.  Niyi stops to think of the handful of hackers he knows that can execute something like this and he can only count them in one hand. He cannot decide on a process of elimination. At this point he does not even know what the criteria will be. One thing he knows for sure is that the person knows Akata and perhaps has a personal beef with her but also knows Nasir and may be looking to settle scores as well.

Niyi massages his temple with his fingers. Perhaps those on Twitter may know Akata but what could she have possibly done to make anyone so upset as to keep attacking her. The only thing he can think of is perhaps someone in the presidency is upset about a story she did and hired a hack to deal with her. He can’t even think of the Social Leaguers, they are the ones most likely to be used by someone in government. But, he has also come to know that things are not always what they seem.  He goes back to his laptop, time to rewrite the algorithm.  


The President sits on his desk going through some papers, reports from various Ministers just as he has directed. He is particularly interested in the Minister of Education’s report. He sorts it and begins to read. The Minister has some revolutionary ideas for the sector but he can’t seem to concentrate on reading it. He keeps wondering if he is one of those that are for him or against him. He shuts the report and wonders whether Maria  has carried out his instructions.  He knows he should have asked for Nasir to be brought in so he can speak to him directly. He deserved that much.  But he has again allowed his aversion to conflict to make him ask Maria to do the job. He needs to concentrate on fighting his political enemies and not be wondering if his Chief of Staff is still on his side. The hard part of this fight is that he is fighting members of his own political party without being aware that there are even factions.  Maria is the only person on earth he trusts at the moment. She had suggested that he make Senator Jimmy Vice President.  He closes the report and rises from his seat. His actions in the next 24 hours will be the most crucial. The first thing he has to do is replace his Chief of Staff and he knows the woman for the job.


Maria makes her way towards her car. Nasir hadn’t taken it so well, not that she expected him to. She knows he loves the President like a father but what had to be done, had to be done. She wonders if she should go home and take a quick nap before flying to Lagos to complete assignment number two. Her phone beeps as she gets into the car and she checks the notification.  It is a message from Osi. She reads it quickly and shuts her eyes.  They are moving faster than she expected. How did they know to go after Senator Jimmy. If you found him so can anyone else. It was time for her to activate her Twitter network. She has left it dormant for years.  She seeks out a number and hits send. 

Akata picks the call at the third ring. She had fallen asleep trying to figure out how to resolve her issues and nothing seems to be working. The number displayed on her phone screen is not familiar to her.



Akata holds her breath. There is only one person on earth who calls her that.


The laugh at the other end of the line is unmistakable.  Akata remembers a time from long ago when they had been friends and had adopted those names. She also remembers a more recent meeting.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Maria responds. 

“You sound so awake…it’s 2 o’clock you know.”

That laughter again, followed by a clearing of the throat. Akata could tell this was going to be important.

“I need your help,” Maria begins. “I need your help with pushing a counter narrative.

“A counter-narrative?”

“Yes, you will be going head to head against the Social Leaguers.”

“I don’t understand,” Akata says, sitting up in her bed. “You know I’m non-partisan.”

Maria looks at her watch.

“You know what? I will be at your place in 15.”

She hangs up before Akata can protest.

Akata gets out of bed naked as the day she was born. She always sleeps naked. From as long as she can remember, she has always been comfortable looking at her naked self in the mirror. She once made a joke about being able to identify any part of her body if it goes missing. She picks out a chiffon gown and throws it on as she makes her way to the living room. She knows that Maria will stop at nothing to get her to be involved in this war, but she is determined not to be drawn in.

The knock comes exactly 15 minutes later and Akata is ready for it. She had boiled water before Maria arrived and she used the first five minutes to break the ice. She avoids looking at Maria, concentrating painstakingly on the measuring: a level teaspoon of cocoa, a teaspoon of sugar, two teaspoons of milk, hot water to fill the small cup.

“Would you like something to drink?” Akata asks unexpectedly.

“Maybe after we talk,” Maria answers a smile on her lips. Akata misses the smile. “You know you can look up at me,” Maria continues. She wants to add something else but changes her mind.

“You know my answer is no. I know we have been friends and I know it’s probably for a good cause. But my answer is still no. Besides, I don’t even know if my blog is going to recover from the last spate of continuous attacks. So I really am of no use to you”.

Akata finally looks up and finds Maria’s smile, firmly in place.

“But I haven’t asked you anything…yet,” Maria responds.

Their eyes meet and hold and then the two burst out laughing.

“My God, Akata,” Maria begins, “You are so uptight, you are seated bolt upright like we used to do in Madame Coker’s French class.”

Akata relaxes as she continues laughing. She remembers how it used to be in Madame Coker’s class. Everyone seated bolt upright hoping they don’t get called to answer any of her questions. She never said anything in English from the moment she steps into the class to when she leaves adding to the general confusion.

“On second thoughts, I will have a beverage. Do you have any coffee?”

They both walk into the kitchen and Akata picks out the unopened tin of coffee from the shelf and gets out a cup.

“Sugar? Milk?’


Akata hands her the cup but she makes no move to leave the kitchen.

“I have no intentions of dragging you into politics. But I know how much you love this country. And no matter how non-partisan we may be, there comes a time when we cannot afford to be neutral.” Maria pauses but Akata can tell the pause is not meant for her to respond .

“What I am about to tell you will shock you but I swear to you on my honour that it is the absolute truth. When I’m done you can decide if you still want to sit on the fence.”

@akatablog was first to tweet the breaking news. The Presidency had relieved Nasir of his duties with immediate effect. Wale almost had a heart attack when he saw the tweet. He reached out to Etim Immediately but Etim was unreachable.  Etim was on a flight headed out to meet with the Maestro and the rest of the Social leaguers. Things had reached the point where phone calls could no longer do and the next few days would be crucial.

The rest of Twitter received the news with mixed feelings. The Fencists tried to analyse the news and what it could portend. Some predicted an imminent cabinet reshuffle. The lower rung of the social leaguers were at a loss what to say, without their leadership actively tweeting, some decide to just ignore the information. Wale tweets that it was difficult to tell if this news was true or the handiwork of some disgruntled bloggers and advised that everyone calmly wait for the presidency to release a statement. A few tweeps took exception to Akatablog being referred to as “disgruntled bloggers” and soon there was a full blown twar between the social leaguers and the supporters of Akata blog with each trying to outsub the other. It was in the midst of this cacophony that Zainab opened her Twitter.

(Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.)

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Posted by on August 9, 2016 in Series


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#SocialLeague: Story Nine


The ringing of the phone wakes Akata. She looks around disoriented for a few seconds. The page full of p’s is a testimonial that she fell asleep on her laptop. Her phone begins to ring again and she picks it,  silencing the offensive noise.  She berates herself for not switching to silent mode before sleeping. But,  then again she had never really planned to sleep.
“Hello,” Akata says without checking who is calling.
“You need to check your TL now!”
The urgency in Zainab’s tone set her heart beating faster.
“What will I find…”
Zainab hangs up.


Niyi’s eyes flick open. He had not been having a bad dream, it was more as if someone tapped him awake. He picks up his phone and checks the time.  4.30am. He might as well not go back to sleep.  There is still no power.  He remembers he had not switched off the generator the previous night. It must have died after running out of fuel.  He makes a mental note to put a gallon in his car boot to get some on his way back from work.

He pads his way through the room using his phone as source of light debating whether he should make breakfast or buy some when he gets to the office. This bachelor life no longer suits him.  He needs to find a wife who would worry about these things. He smiles subconsciously as a certain Twitter feminists voice mocks him, “You need a wife to cook? Hire a maid”.  The things he has heard this same feminist is doing to get a man into her life!

He begins to brush his teeth.  This is the moment he has the most clarity in the day.  The time he uses to make a mental plan of how his day will go.  There is something about the automaticity of brushing his teeth that makes it effortless to think.  This is his idea of multitasking. He rinses his mouth and spits into the sink. He wonders how Victor will go about calling out Nasir. It is still difficult for him to believe that Nasir will go on a clampdown of the  press without instructions from the President.  He has this nagging feeling that there is something he is missing. He hasn’t spoken to Nasir in a very long time…yet. He remembers how they had parted and how he had promised never to speak to him again. Neither of them had ended up with the girl they had the fight over. Niyi wonders where she is now. He steps into the shower and banishes all further thought.


Victor sits back and looks at his TL.  He had gone on a rant as early as 4 a.m. His first tweet had been that he can’t seem to sleep because of something he had heard, some elements were trying to derail Nigeria’s democracy.  He then tweeted passionately about how the President is a good man and needs the support of all to make Nigeria great again. He had then swiftly moved on to talk about the villain Nasir and how he is allowing greed and ambition to crowd his thinking. He had then mentioned how an unnamed source had noticed how Nasir sends fake releases in the President’s name and even executes contracts in the President’s name. He smiles because he knows he had no proof of the latter allegation but he had to spice up the story to increase its emotional value.  He had then concluded by talking about Nasir’s latest antic. He wanted to shut down a section of the press. He had added one tweet to boost his own cv. You all know I don’t care much for opposition press,  but freedom of speech is a constitutional guarantee.  He had then tweeted the hashtag #NasirMustGo. His phone started buzzing with notifications almost immediately. His worshippers were at work.


Wale tried to ignore the buzzing phone. He had slept with a smile on his face last night thinking of all the things he could do with his money.  He wanted to sleep like a king even if only for one day.  The phone keeps buzzing. Wale picks it up tentatively with groggy eyes, he looks at the caller ID and he is instantly awake.
“I thought we were paying for times like this?” Nasir barked from the other end of the line.
“Times like what?” Wale responds before he can stop himself.
“Have you even visited your TL this morning? It’s almost 5.30 for chrissakes.”
“I’ll do so immediately,” Wale responds thinking how he probably should start spending out of the money he was paid. Nasir ends the call.

Wale hits the Twitter icon.  He does not need to scroll too far before he sees the offensive tweets.  He let’s out a groan. So this is how he chooses to come at me?  Wale  picks his other phone and calls Etim.


Niyi whistles as he finishes up dressing.  The kettle begins whistling with him and he makes his way towards the kitchen.  He had decided to make a cup of cocoa. He carries the cup and heads back towards the dining area. He turns on his phone as he begins to sip the beverage and the notifications pop in. Akata had been trying to reach him.  Her DM forces him to look at his TL. #NasirMustGo is already number one on the Nigeria trend list.  There is already a full scale war on the Timeline. Niyi notices for the first time that it there is a war between two groups that have always been on the same side. There is already a counter hashtag #FreeNasir. Niyi shakes his head in wonder. How can Nasir’s people not see that they are making things worse? He resists the urge to call Nasir. He picks his phone and calls Akata instead.


Maria walks briskly through the gates.  The last time she had been here it had been a little more difficult to get in. There had been so many protocols. Today, the news she bears is too important. He must have left clear instructions about her coming. She is ushered into the office by one of his aides and she sees him, back turned to her, looking through the window. She wonders if she should sit or keep standing. 

The suit he is wearing fit perfectly or as Twitter people would say, his suit game is on point. He always looks good. His bio says he is 40 this year. He had started his career in politics early, right through university and while studying for his Masters and he still graduated magna cum-laude. He had risen quickly; worked through to the very top of a multinational company, contested for the Senate, won, and by some political upheaval and a large dose of luck he had become Vice President at 32. His predecessor had finished his eight years and his party had fielded him.  He represents change not in the sense most people think –  a change of the ruling party but change in political dynamics. He is the youngest civilian President Nigeria has ever had. The man Niyi knows as John.


(Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.)

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Posted by on February 11, 2016 in Series


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#SocialLeague: Story Five


Niyi looks at his watch the moment he takes his seat.  This was one reason he hardly agrees to meet anyone.  He keeps giving people the benefit of the doubt and they keep failing. Perhaps he should join them.  His phone flashes red and he looks at the notification, debating in his mind whether he should read it or not.  He has been receiving some hate mail since he wrote an objective analysis of the current administration.  He had known some people would be angry but he had not expected the type of anger and hate that he got from people who should know better.  He had even considered closing his account after Victor set his followers against him. He had expected much more from Victor. He had expected better.

He looks at his watch again. He wonders if coming here was a good idea. But his curiosity had got the better of him. One thing he knows for sure that Osi is a troll and not the humane type. You could tell from reading his tweets firing salvo after salvo at anyone and everyone.  It was as if each day he wakes up and asks: which group should I annoy today and then he digs right under their skin. Niyi would have been out of his mind not to accept to have lunch with him.

Niyi looks at his watch again and then succumbs to temptation and checks his mentions.  Osi had sent an open message.   “20 minutes”.  Niyi automatically looks at his time. He has another 10 minutes to wait. He goes to Osi’s TL to see what he has been up to.  Apparently, someone had been accused of rape and after playing Devil’s Advocate,  Osi had turned around to troll the living day lights out of the ‘devil’.  “Didn’t your mother tell you that every married man  should keep his jack-in-the-box?” Niyi couldn’t help laughing out loud.  Then he looks round to be sure no one is looking. But who in their right minds would have tweeted such a pun. It has to be Osi. Only Osi.

He keeps scrolling down his TL wondering what really should be the correct order. Shouldn’t older tweets be at the top?  He suddenly realises that he has absolutely no idea what Osi looks like and so he could well be seated across from him and he wouldn’t even know. That was Twitter for you.  The anonymity helped a lot.

The whole of his TL was talking about the adulterous guy which means they had moved on from him.  He heaves a sigh of relief at that.  One of these days,  he really should leave Twitter for good and face his day job. Very few people knew he was a trained doctor who decided not to practice medicine. He had become a doctor just to make his father happy. He switched to real estate because he loved the thrill of a sale and then coding because someone dared him. These days he is delving into fiction writing. His father is still trying to get him to join the family business even if at an administrative level but he wasn’t sure he wanted to get used to the smell of a hospital. His phone rings and he picks it.

“Hello!” Niyi injects all the excitement he can into his voice. The man at the other end of the line had become a good friend and had even become instrumental to his selling a few luxury properties.
“What’s happening on Twitter today?”
“No ‘hi’ back? Just what’s happening on Twitter?”
“This is important… any political issues making the news?”
“Not that I know of.  The entire TL is talking about a tweep who left his wife and shagged another.”
“That’s Timeline…the space where we read tweets off.”
He sounded worried and Niyi wanted to know what the problem is. He remembers how when he just started real estate business and wasn’t making much of a headway,  he had randomly generated some numbers for the sake of direct marketing and his was one of them. They hadn’t met physically but were always in touch. Sometimes such as now he spoke with so much authority,  Niyi could feel the power he wields.
“Is anything the matter?” Niyi finally asks.
“I’m afraid there is but I can’t talk about it now. Give me a ring if anything appears on your TL.”
“You’ll know when you see it”.
He ends the call and Niyi is left with an uneasy feeling. He knows his friend simply as John who lives in Abuja.  Last time he travelled to Abuja  he had thought they’d finally meet. They hadn’t. Something had come up that took John out of town.  He had a weird feeling then and he is having the same feeling now.

“Are you alone?”
Niyi looks up to see a dark skinned woman standing before him. She looked early thirties,  wore little make-up and had this lovely smile. She had this aura around her and her eyes looked like she always got anything she wanted.
“I’…waiting for someone.”
“You must be Niyi then,” she says as she takes her seat before him.  “My name is Maria, but you must know me as Osi.”


(Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.)

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Posted by on February 3, 2016 in Poetry


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#SocialLeague: Story Four


Zainab is pissed.  She paces back and forth in her 10×10 room wishing she has more space to vent.  She picks up her phone and drops it.  She should never tweet in anger but what she had just learnt was burning in her soul.  “Calm down Tiger, calm down,”  she says to herself and then sits at the edge of her bed.  Her hand shakes,  she wishes she hasn’t stopped smoking.

The things she has discovered about the Social League over the past one week have been too much for her.  She is thankful that she has a medium to expose them for the true enemies of Nigeria they are.  So called intellectuals whose only concern is the food on their plate.  She hated being annoyed.  When she is annoyed,  she misses things.  She doesn’t want to miss anything this time. The last time she had missed something,  her best friend had died.

She opens her laptop and reads the mail again. One of the Social Leaguers was being sloppy.  Or maybe it’s not what she thinks. She runs her hand through her hair trying to figure out what this was all about.  Perhaps she should forward the mail to Akata. Akata would know what to do.  She clicks forward and hits send trying to ignore the feeling in her mind. Red flags are going up in her head,  she has to ignore them.

Zainab is aware there are now factions among the Social League  and that is partly why she has this mail but they were all still working towards one goal. They had all framed and pushed the narrative that led to the ousting of the last administration.  It is not as of the government did not commit grave errors themselves but they had a mission and the top four were paid well to get that job done.  That was what annoyed her.  As far as she is concerned,  it is deceit to pretend to be working for the people when you are getting paid by politicians.  This is why it is so important to her that Akata’s blog goes back up before tomorrow morning.  She had to break the story that would expose Uche for what he really is. Funny thing is he still thinks he is relevant. No one deals with a thief with no honour. So why did this mail come from him?

Zainab hated puzzles. She picks her phone and this time scrolls to a number she hardly ever calls. It is saved simply as SK but he is the only member of her family she maintains any type of contact with.

Zainab grew up as a troubled child.  Her father died when she was just four and her mother remarried less than a year later. Zainab had never forgiven her for that betrayal.  Worse still, he step father was anything but a decent man. He attempted to rape Zainab when she was 10 and she scorched him with an iron. He couldn’t explain that she had scorched him in bad faith but had convinced her mother to send her off to boarding school, a solution which further alienated Zainab from her mother.

“Hello, ” the bouncy voice at the other end of the line says.
Zainab loved the way her brother answers the phone and would sometimes call just to hear him say “hello”.
“Can we meet?” Zainab hates pleasantries  and discards of them whenever she has the opportunity. 
“In about an hour,” he responds and Zainab can feel him looking at his watch.
She hangs up. 

That was settled.  If the content of the mail is really from the Presidency, SK would know.

She walks over to the tabletop fridge, pulls out a bottle of water and takes a long swig. No one on Twitter knows SK is her blood relation. He had an anonymous handle and his avi had not hatched.  Those Twitter babes would have orgasms simple by looking at his picture.  Zainab chuckles and finds that she has become quite relaxed.

She picks up her phone again and checks her Twitter. And then she sees Victor’s tweet.  “Fool”, she thinks involuntarily as her stomach lurches  in revulsion. She makes a mental note to make him the subject of her next exposé. People like him always have something about their past they dont want anyone to know of.  She begins typing a tweet about how shameless some overlords are,  has a rethink and discards it. There is no need feeding his narcissistic ego by acknowledging his foolishness.

She begins to get dressed slowly,  trying to go through all the information she gathered that day.  It is obvious that someone,  somewhere is ensuring that most of the news that gets to the media has been watered down . These days traditional media relied on social media for news and information. If social media is under anyone’s direct or indirect control so will the traditional media. It seems plausible enough but something about that email just doesn’t add up. 

Zainab turns off the light and will out of the room.  She has always had a feeling that Akata’s blog is being targeted for a reason  but going by the content of that email, this is a coordinated attempt as using blackmail to silence any voice that is likely to go against the Federal Government. She will talk to SK and then she will know what next steps will be.

(Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this series are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.)

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Posted by on February 3, 2016 in Series


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#SocialLeague: Story One


He stares at his Timeline,  a smile playing on his lips.  He certainly is achieving what he set out to do and the feeling is orgasmic. He had promised them he would change the narrative. He is god, whatever he says he will do.

He clicks on the tweet and views the activity.  It has not even been 30 minutes but he already has a tweet reach of over a 800k from about 300 retweets  He  should make a screen grab and mail it now.  He smiles as he sees the so called opposition getting riled over his tweet.  It often amuses him that they can’t see they are a great help to him. In fact,  he is yet to decide if they are not more help than those who latch on his every tweet.

His mind flips back four years. He had just lost his job and was standing under the bridge at Ikeja,  hoping that someone in the crowd gathered pontificating on Nigeria’s issues would buy the Guardian for that Tuesday so he could borrow and read the job placements section. If only he had not succumbed to the temptation of stealing from his employer, better still: if only he had known how to cover his tracks. They had been four involved in the deal but only he had been axed.

He was distracted by one of the debaters postulating about the disadvantages of the removal of fuel subsidy. He had heard talks about this but could not understand what the fuss was about. The government was right anyway but the people did not know this. What if there was some way of letting people know?  Information dissemination was big money. His last boss was into communication and that is how he bought his big car, big house and married the babe with the big tits. He had about 3,000 followers on Twitter.  That was more than all the newsletters his boss sends out in a year.

He tweeted at the Ministry of Information handle and received a follow back.  After a few DMs he knew he wasn’t getting anywhere. It must be an aide tweeting for the HMI. He had to reposition. He then saw one of his tweets go viral and it was one calling out a government agency for not supplying water. That was when he realised what powers he has.  The best way to get people’s attention is by attacking them. He made himself into a one man opposition squad  latching on the fuel subsidy removal brouhaha tweeting what the people on the streets think and following up with blog posts.  In just a month,  his followership doubled. He then saw one of the tweeps he admires unfollow everyone on his Timeline and he just knew that for him to really arrive he had to ensure that his followers to followed count was at the ratio 1:100 for starters. He woke up one morning and unfollowed all but 50 people in his followed list. And then he started tweeting against the information ministry. As expected, the Minister of Information invited him for a meeting in Abuja. He stopped searching for a job.

He gets a DM notification and clicks on it. One  of the Minister’s aides wants to know why he sent out only one tweet. He ignores the DM. All these twats that are trying to justify their pay. He will place a call to the minister himself later. This government is making too many mistakes and if they wanted to retain his services at creating counter narratives,  they’d have to pay more. His only annoyance is that he doesn’t have that much of a bargaining chip. All he and the other Social Leaguers had going for them is the claim that they had played a crucial role in bringing down the last government, but he knows that claim won’t stand strong scrutiny. They had to find something else to negotiate with.

He gets another DM notification. This time it’s a fellow Social Leaguer asking him to join the WhatsApp group chat. He hated being told what to do. He had been reading their chats in that group without contributing. He has been doing better than most of them and he is not unaware of the fact that there are cliques within their league. One group is presently trying to work out something directly with the Presidency- a deal he has already sent in a bill for. They were even offering to work for free for three months to demonstrate what they can do. Idiots! He will continue to use them until he finds other suitable people.  All the people he trains in this business eventually form their own group offering social media services. If only he could land that job as a Minister’s aide.  But for now, he had to work with his own group within the group…just four of them with a combined follower count of almost half a million. They were the ones who made things happen.

He can’t even work with the opposition right now. He had been too involved in opposing them during the last elections –  things had got too personal.  He only has two options,  find a way of getting a government appointment or set up an NGO.  He is getting tired of this tweeting business,  too much competition and you don’t even know when private conversation will be munched and put in public space which means he can’t even speak freely in private when he disagrees with certain policies. He is tired of acting to be dumb so as not to annoy his employers.

Another DM. This one is longer.  He clicks on it. This he must respond to immediately. One of those girls he has a thing for is finally ready to play ball. She wants a meet. But it can’t be tonight. He has to to get those his Niger friends to send him that mixture.  He recalls the first girl he dated and lasted all of three minutes.  Years later,  she found him on Twitter and tweeted about how he doesn’t last long.  He has been thinking of how to change that perception as his more recent girlfriends didn’t have longer tales to tell either. This is his chance.  His friend had told him how coffee, ginger and lime is a strong aphrodisiac but he would rather the Niger guys did it for him.  Tomorrow night he will try it out.  He will also have time to set up video recording so he can watch it later before he decides how to leak it. He picks up his phone and replies her DM.

(Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this series are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.)

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Posted by on February 1, 2016 in Series


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Another Sidechick’s Tale II, Episode 8


‘Hi…I’ve been trying to reach you’.


‘Are you alright?’

‘Couldn’t have been better’.

Akward silence. Then…

‘Are you mad at me?’


‘Come on Chelsea, I told you that you are the only one I love… She may be pregnant for me, but…’

‘Is there a reason why you called?’


‘Is that a yes or a no?’

‘We need to talk’

‘What about?’

‘Us… The way forward’.

Chelsea should have ended the conversation there. But the more she listened to Akin, the more she knew she had to see him again…even if it was just one more time.

She did the dishes as the song line ‘let’s just kiss and say goodbye’ played over and over in her head. That was a beautiful love song if there was any. She smiled to herself as she remembers the crazy Latino girl who actually categorized that as a love song. Maria and her endless sex partners. She never used the term boyfriend with regards to any of the guys. Maria was the closest Chelsea had ever got to a nymphomaniac if there ever was one.

The endless comings and goings from Maria’s room. Chelsea would place a glass cup on the wall just to listen to Maria moan in ecstatic pleasure. Her moans connecting with her core and sending through her a shot of sexual pleasure. Just remembering it now made her wet. Her hand automatically moves to her breast and she momentarily abandons her washing and kneads absentmindedly.

She almost burst into laughter as she remembers the day she was so carried away that she decided to wank while listening to Maria’s moans…the shattering of the glass cup brought her back to reality…and Maria to her door.

A confession later got Maria and herself almost experimenting with each other. For some reason it was different with Maria naked and with her. Only her voice carried the magic. There was something about the way Maria moaned…

Chelsea forced hand back to the dishes but throbbing between her legs left Maria in her mind.Chelsea remembers Maria asking her to try out one of the guys she recommended. She insisted he is the best she had ever had. That certainly counted for something. Chelsea had been too much of a conservative to accept her offer. What would Akin think if he found out?


Chelsea finished off her washing and headed off to bed. Tonight she would sleep. She needed her strength for tomorrow. Tomorrow she would see Akin and he would get her parting gift to him. Perhaps they would kiss and say goodbye…

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Posted by on March 23, 2014 in Series


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Another SideChick’s tale II, Episode 7

Chelsea would have a vague recollection of the next few days. The lines between day and night were blurred by the tears which never seized to pour. It was as if her tear ducts were working overtime. She had been waiting and hoping that Akin would show up and tell her it was just a joke , but each time he called she was too scared to take his call for fear of what he would say.

She finally made her way into the bathroom after day three without any decision but to wash herself as if the wash would clear her mind of the shock and grant her a brighter future. She crawled into the bath and started running water, she did not bother to take off her clothes. As the water slowly climbed and she got submerged she felt her sadness turn to anger. Anger at Akin, Anger at her father, anger at the world.

She angrily peels off her dress, tearing it off her skin as if it had forced itself on her. She flings it against the bathroom door with all her might and it lands with a thud against the floor missing its mark. Her breast heaves up and down and she could feel the stirrings of passion within her. “Not now”, she thought, but her passion had a life of its own. She runs her hand over the mound and ends with rubbing her nipples between her thumb and her index finger. her body responds with a shiver and she groans. The build up of passion could only lead to one thing.

Chelsea allowed her mind to stray as she strokes both nipples absent-mindedly. She tried pushing Akin out of her mind to recall Kelvin. They had avoided each other after the botched session the day Akin called. She would have loved to take it further but she didn’t think it was right to hurt him like that. They never even returned to being friends. Days became weeks and weeks months as they slowly drifted apart and then stopped talking all together.

She saw Kelvin in her mind. His flawless teeth smiling at her. She squeezed her nipples harder and felt it tug somewhere inside her. She imagined Kelvin walk into the bathroom. One hand slipped down as she propped up one leg. She runs her hand over her V area and then pulls off her undies. She opens her legs and allows the water wash into it and then she slowly rubs soap over it using the soap to tickle her clits. She sticks her fingers in as she washes off the soap building on the tension of it all. She wanted to reach the heights of passion, yet she wanted these moments to last forever.

She slips two fingers in and goes slowly on herself her toes curling in ecstasy. She spreads her legs open giving her fingers deeper access, working her hips and moving it to the rhythm while kneading her breasts and groaning in sheer pleasure. Hips rub against porcelain faster and faster as fingers go in and out. Just when she is about to hit the point she pulls out and tortures herself for a bit. She lets the water run out of the tub and then raises her legs placing one leg on either side of the tub. She then puts in one finger and lets it in deep until she finds the spot and then she moves her finger in ‘come hither’ motion until she feels the passion wash over her as she gets there.

She lies in the tub for a while feeling the adrenaline wash off. She gets out of the tub and looks at her naked body. Something about the size of her nipples was always a turn on for her. She slowly runs her hand over her nipples as she feels the stirrings of passion all over again. She sits at the edge of the bath tub and spreads her legs open taking in the full picture of her clits. She begins to rub slowly working herself up and then she finishes up with her hair brush.

Dinner was large. She was grateful for the fact that she had wrapped away the remains of a left over chicken and she had some yoghurt in the fridge. She ate those while she waited for the pizza she had ordered. She was on the last slice of pizza when her phone rang. It was Akin. She finally had enough courage to take his call.

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Posted by on March 16, 2014 in Series


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