Posts Tagged With: For Wale Taylor

Sixth Post: For Wale Taylor – my first Love

The sixth posting of my first  love tales “For Wale Taylor” was published on Femme Lounge yesterday. Whenever I go in to read readers’ comments, it brings me so much joy and fufillment to see that I have performed my role as an entertainer Writer. As a writer, I owe my audience a good read…and that’s always my first goal – to tell a story that will have you itching to read more.  I don’t write to show you how much of English I know…to force my love for words down your throat. But I write to make your time worthwhile…to engage you in an activity that requires that you won’t be passive.

My second goal as a writer is to pass on the little knowledge I have about our world and its challenges through writing. In so doing, I believe I make others aware of a world that is so far different from theirs, but one we all can still relate to. We all have our different stories…and they are all unique, but at the end of the day we all struggle with the same issues, howbeit in different contexts and different cultures.  

On that note, I  wanted to let you know that there is only one more posting left of this story. The last and seventh posting is scheduled for Thursday next week…as par the Editor of Femme Lounge, Shola Okubote. It is my sincere hope that you come away from this story fully entertained…just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The link to the sixth posting is HERE.  Happy reading….and have an AWESOME April. Enjoy the spring season guys…and don’t forget to take your umbrellas with you when you are out. You never know when those rains will start pouring in joyful torrents, ha!

Categories: My Stories | Tags: , , , | 1 Comment

For Wale Taylor – My first love II

“Aiyeeeeeeeee!” If I live to be a hundred years, I will never forget that scream …the one that marked the beginning of my life’s torture.

I was fourteen and I dreamed of Wale Taylor both night and day. In my night dreams, he was asking me to marry him and I was saying “Yes, Yes, Yes.” Then, we lived in a perfect world that consisted of a big Castle, filled with servants that said “My Lord” and “My Lady”…a castle where lack of electricity and armed robbers did not exist. A world where Whitney Houston’s “And I will always love you” played 24/7. In my Daydreams, he was kissing me again and just for special effects, I would hold up my stuffed pillow and pretend I was kissing him, tongue to tongue, mouth to mouth – as they do in the movies.

I kissed the poor pillow so much that it finally lost all its puffiness. I was having that daydream again when my mother’s harrowing scream reached me in my room, yanking me out of my romance-trance to the world of reality. “Aiyeeeeee” I ran and what I found in the living room left me too stunned to scream.

Sprawled on the floor was my larger-than-life Dad, saliva foaming from his mouth, his limbs contracted. My mom and my brothers were kneeling beside him, tears of panic running down their face as my mom screamed some more. Someone was banging furiously at the door trying to come into the house. Dazed and confused, I ran to the door to open it. Wale’s parents were at the door. Behind them was my crush – Wale Taylor himself.

They were all in their nightclothes. “Mama Yemi, mama Yemi….what is going on?” Wale’s parents cried. They didn’t have to repeat their question before they saw my Dad on the floor. “We need to get to him to the hospital now,” Wale’s father was saying. He lifted my Dad’s limp arm and pretty much knew it was too late. “My life is over. My life is finished,” My mom cried in Yoruba. Wale’s mother ran to my mother’s side and just then, someone rapped on our front door again. In a matter of minutes, there was a large crowd in our spacious living room as the commotion increased with every passing second. I remember someone attempting to wipe the foam off my father’s face.

A group of women was trying to hold my mother still. Others were trying to cover my Dad’s lifeless body from my brothers who were yowling and screaming, terrified at the sight before them. But no one seemed to remember that I was there, crouched by the door entrance, immobilized with shock. No one remembered to hide me from the ugliness in the living room …except Wale.

Except my one and only Wale Taylor, who held my hands as tears lacking any comprehensive emotion coursed down my face, while adults scurried to reduce the upheaval in our spacious living room.

(To be continued)

Categories: My Stories | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

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