Cracked Porcelain [5]

Nwando had never liked white people. Even as a sex worker or runs girl, or hustler, whatever they wanted to call her, she had little patience for white people and steered clear of them. The stories she’d heard of how they often had bizarre and kinky sex needs, sometimes stiffed girls or underpaid them didn’t butter her opinion of them either.


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My Den of Secrets  




Posted by FemmeFaçade in My Life on July 28, 2012


Haha. Was going to write about my sister today because she annoyed me, but I’ll keep that to myself. That tell-all post is almost finished anyway. LOL, I swear, all the family secrets I have found out and the ones I have kept will drive people mental. Anyway, I wrote another poem. I call it porcelain. Let me know what you think, guys, that’s what the comments section is for.


I have lips that tremble like women with bellies swelled
And fingers that curl as though clutching a blanket my mother gave me
As I begin to weave a web of deceptions

As the river of lies from lairs lips flows steadily,

Like soldiers marching; soldiers who do not stop to sit
Their footprints in the lives of others are permanent behind them.
You know them because they are gripping their secrets like porcelain
Holding them tight enough to make them moan, and then crack.

Later they ask why things are the way they are.

In the sea of tears, blood and water that they eventually meet.
For a lie is a lie. And as long as the truth is not told,

The liar is bound to continue to lie. Until the day they die.





Nwando sat at the bar at the Transcorp lobby, nursing her mojito and studying the comers and goers. She would have preferred to be seated by the window for a better view, but she didn’t want to attract too much attention to herself. Not yet, at least. She was especially drawn to the large numbers of white people that frequented the hotel. It was understandable that they were here because of the Hilton’s reputation, but she’d always found their numbers disconcerting. Surely, there were other hotels in Abuja they could stay at, some even cheaper and of the same excellent standard. She knew most of them were foreign businessmen, oil workers and expats but it didn’t quite register in her head that people could live so well on honest money. There were times when she’d theorized that the people who lodged here had either stolen money from their country, or duped some people and were laying fugitive here. How else could people live so extravagantly? Even now, a Russian party of five occupying one of the sofas by the window drinking, eating lunch and laughing held her attention. She’d seen them come in and order several drinks before their lunch arrived. No doubt, they would be there a while after they were done eating and drinking some more and making a ridiculous amount of noise as Russians in Abuja were known to do.

For some reason, Nwando had never liked white people. Even as a sex worker or runs girl, or hustler, whatever they wanted to call her, she had little patience for white people and steered clear of them. The stories she’d heard of how they often had bizarre and kinky sex needs, sometimes stiffed girls or underpaid them didn’t butter her opinion of them either. She’d even cussed out one or two particularly creepy ones that had the gall to approach her at clubs. She liked her men Nigerian, older, rich and preferably government connected. The sex was simple and the rewards were lavish.

Shifting her attention from them, Nwando glanced around the room and studied other subjects – business men having meetings, more white people, women hanging out, and families with luggage by their tables, probably waiting to check in. of course, the single people like her were at the bar. Much more convenient to sit on a stool when you’re drinking alone, no? Thinking about coming alone made her chuckle as she remembered the hotels rules against single women who aren’t guests entering the hotel past 10pm. The security had actually tried to turn her around one night she’d come here on business and she’d had to call her client to come down and get her. Funny how these people forget she’s trying to make a living just the same way they are, however different her methods may be. Even coming here in the afternoon could be a bit of a problem sometimes. But she’d chosen this location specifically because of all the attention she knew she would get dressed in a tight tube dress and heels, heavily made up.

Nwando thought back to her meeting with Miriam a few days back and how she’d felt when she saw the engagement ring. She was glad Miriam had gone on to better herself, and that she was getting married. The life of a sex hustler was not one she would advise anyone to continue to bank on for all their days on earth. You can only stay attractive for so long, and God knows things can go south for anyone at any time. You could get raped, kidnapped for rituals, duped, beaten up, and no one would care because “You’re just a prostitute.” She scoffed at the thought and sipped her drink. What had really gotten to her at her meeting with Miriam was the news about Chief’s Odukoya’s other girls. She’d known she wasn’t the only one, and she hadn’t cared because she’d believed she was highly favored. That was until she’d found out from Miriam about the parties he’d thrown for other girls abroad, even flying out artists like Iyanya to perform on private beaches, and buying them cars and such. In summary, she concluded that she was probably the least pampered of all Chief’s girls. It infuriated her to no end and she intended to sort all that out today.

High, shrill laughter rang through the lobby interrupting her thoughts, and Nwando looked up to see where the sound had come from. Two elaborately dressed girls carrying big shopping bags were laughing and making their way to a sofa in the far corner. She could tell these were just spoilt, rich kids, as opposed to ladies looking for clients, from the elaborately flashy dresses. They were the kind you would wear to a party, wedding or dinner, and not an afternoon lunch; unless you were rich and deemed yourself to be fabulous or a fashionista of some sort. Nwando snorted.


Bisola and Ijeoma laughed as they collapsed into the sofa by the window and set their bags down on the extra cushion between them. “I swear, Bisola.” Ijeoma continued. “That was how I scaled fence that night oh, in my heels fa! I don’t even know where the strength I used to run came from.”

“Serves you right! I’ve told you about partying with them Chigozie. Tomorrow, they will tell you to come to that club and you’ll go again.”

“Me!” Ijeoma exclaimed and snapped her fingers “Tufia! Chukwu ekwekwala ihe ojo!”

Bisola burst into another fit of laughter. “Okay oh, Madam Igbo mafia, if you say so.”

Ijeoma sighed “Mhen babe, when I tell you I’ve been through a lot, Believe me.”

“I’ve heard.” Bisola shook her head. “Just be more careful.”

“I will oh!

“You know, I really needed this,” Bisola said, smiling a strained smile. “Since Sola’s death, I’ve been starting to feel like I’m going mad. Like the world doesn’t make sense anymore.”

“Awww, babe. Let’s not discuss that. You know you called me to help you forget all that mess and tragedy so I will help you forget. Enough mourning for now. Ok booboo? Mwah! Shopping and gossip for the pain. Ehenn…” Ijeoma clapped her hands and shifted so she was closer to Bisola. “How is our uncle Kareem anyway?”

Bisola rolled her eyes. “Who is your uncle?”

“Our uncle now…!” Ijeoma grinned. “…The one in the Dubai! Our Prince!”

The exaggerated excitement on ijeoma’s face drew yet another strained laugh from Bisola’s lips and she gave in “He’s fine oh, my dear. He’s actually coming in soon.”

Ijeoma’s grin spread even further “Oh yeah? With goodies ba? And some of that Arab money, abi?”

Bisola shook her head. “I honestly don’t even know how I know you.”

Again, the two girls burst into laughter. After regaining their composure, Ijeoma shifted even closer to Bisola “So, have you told him you’re not a virgin yet?”

“Me?” Placing a hand on her chest, Bisola chuckled “Am I mad?”

“Ahn ahn. So what are you going to do? You know how particular people like that his sheikh family are about these things.”

“Don’t worry. I have that under control.”

Ijeoma smiled “Is that so?”

“You know I told him I want us to get married in France, right?” Ijeoma nodded “Well, I’m already speaking with a consultant there to have hymen reconstruction surgery.”

Ijeoma raised her eyebrow “Hymen recon-what?”

“A few days before the wedding, I’ll go to the private clinic where they’ll operate on me. Basically, they’ll put a membrane there with a capsule containing something like blood. That way, on our wedding night, it will be my first time as far as Kareem is concerned.”

A slow smile spread across Ijeoma’s face. “You dubious minx. Bisola Baby! Slut of life!”

“Haha! I learnt from you now.” Bisola turned towards the bar. “We’ve been here for how long now and no one has come to ask what we will drink.”

“Wait, isn’t that your dad?” Ijeoma said, squinting at the people seated by the bar.

“Who’s that girl he’s with?”


Incorrect Password/Username Combination

“Ugh!” Chidera pushed his laptop away from him and slammed his palm down on the wooden desk. Trying to log in to Sola’s blog was proving a daunting task. He knew Sola changed the password weekly, but he’d hoped she hadn’t gotten a chance to before her sudden… departure. Since her body was discovered, his main priority had been to log in, find the post she’d told him was scheduled and delete it before it went up. There wasn’t much time left and he’d exhausted all possible passwords he could think of. He sighed, ran his fingers through his bushy hair, and immediately sighed again as he remembered how Sola used to love doing that. Someone could have been poking his heart with a needle at that point. He made a mental note to get a haircut.

“Chidera!!!!” His mother called up at him. “Inspector Nuhu is here to see you!!”

That one again…  Reluctantly, Chidera lifted himself from his study table, made his way downstairs and shook hands with the inspector. “Good afternoon, inspector.”

“Hello, Chidera.” Nuhu smiled “Hope all is well?”

“Yeah.” He gestured to the sitting room and they both went in.

Once seated, Nuhu began “I’m here about Sola.”

“Of course” Chidera nodded. “Any thing yet?”

“Not yet, but we’re getting closer.”

Chidera scoffed “Closer to what exactly?”

“What do you mean?”

“You say you’re getting closer. But here you are, about to question me again even though I already told you all I know. I’m just wondering what it is you’re getting close to.”

“I see.” Nuhu clasped his hands on his knees. “You are a very stubborn and rude boy. And since you are asking, we’ve spoken to several people and they all point back to you. They say you and Sola were especially close a few weeks before she died. So I need you to be honest with me before things start to get bad for you. If I take you to the station, your stubbornness will disappear. Understand?”

“Look, inspector.” Chidera stood “I’m sorry, I understand that you are trying to do your work, but here’s some helpful advice. You’re looking in all the wrong places.”

“So, you’re saying you don’t have any information that could be helpful to our investigation even though you were apparently her best friend?”

Sighing, Chidera sat back down. “Before graduation, she was acting weird. Like something was bothering her. She never said what.”

Nuhu took out a notepad “Do you know who she was spending time or communicating with at this time that could have bothered her?”

“Just her family and I; I think she went shopping with some girls from class a few times, Macy and Oge.”

“Alright, for now.” Pausing from his scribbling, Nuhu glanced up at Chidera. “Is there anything else?” Chidera shrugged. “Alright then” He closed his notepad, stood up and retrieved a card from his pocket. “If you can think of anything else that may help, call me okay?”

Chidera took the card and smiled as the inspector left the house. Once he was alone again, he tossed the card on the table and went back upstairs. He had much more pressing things to handle.


Nwando rolled her eyes as Chief Odukoya grunted lustily, ejaculated and rolled off her. She hadn’t even bothered to pretend she was enjoying the sex this time, and the oaf hadn’t even noticed – another reason why she was determined in her resolution. She watched him go through his ritual of removing the condom, double wrapping it in toilet paper, and then proceeding to flush it before coming back into the room to get dressed. As soon as he sat down on the bed, she sat up and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned around, she crossed her arms and faced him squarely.

“I’m pregnant.”

Her statement hit the Chief like a blow to the head. For a moment he just sat there staring at her, unable to form proper words. “Did you hear me?” She was intent on not taking any nonsense this afternoon.

Chief Odukoya shook his head and managed to speak “How? For who?!”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, no.” Chief rubbed his head “You need money to get rid of it?”

Nwando laughed. “Get rid of what? At all, oh! I’m keeping this baby.”

The chief was really shocked this time “For who?”

Nwando shrugged “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that I’m getting married and you are paying for the entire thing.”

It was the Chief’s turn to laugh “Is it the one drink you took downstairs that got you high like this?”

Nwando chuckled “Look, Chief. I actually like you. So, let me break it to you. I know about all your other girls. The lavish parties, expensive trips, elaborate presents.” She paused to watch the new information register with the Chief

“You have been treating them like special girls and using me to do mumu here, paying me small change when it’s this my pussy that you always call upon when the konji is really doing you.”

“So, here’s what is going to happen. You will open that your briefcase of forex you take everywhere with you and give me forty thousand dollars. And then we will drive to the bank and you will withdraw another 15 million naira and deposit in my account.”

“Nwando…” The Chief’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Have you gone mad?”

“On the contrary, Chief, I’m actually thinking straight for the first time now. Personally, I don’t think I’m asking for much. After all, how much did it cost to throw Adaobi a party on a yacht in London and have Iyanya come and perform?”

“Ahn ahn, Nwando! But you know what is happening to my family, what happened to my daught…”

“Or the one week trip you took with that dirty Aisha girl to Paris? I’m sure you people were not sleeping under a bridge in the Paris.”

“Eh!” Wale buried his face in his palms. This was turning out to be the worst week of his entire existence.

“If you don’t do what I’m asking, Chief I will send all our kinky text messages to Linda Ikeji then go downstairs right now and let everyone know what type of man you are. And you know me I like drama. I’ll even go downstairs naked and tell them you tried to use me for rituals.” With that, she made like she was getting down from the bed, her naked breasts pendulating wildly.

“Wait.” The Chief sighed. He stared hard at Nwando. Indeed, he knew how much she liked drama; in fact, he’d suspected for a while that she was a bit mentally unstable. And he knew she was more than capable of following through on her threats. With all that was going on already, he knew he needed to contain the situation. Fast.

“Get dressed. Let’s go to the bank.”

“Awwww.” Nwando grinned.

“You’re the best, Chief.” She hopped off the bed and sauntered into the bathroom. “By the way,” she called from behind the door. “I’m really sorry for your loss.”




Written by Coco – @CeceNoStockings and  Uche – @Afreaque_  .



  1. Debbie
    Yes! whoop first! Love this episode! Love it to bits! Nwando is a hardcore runs babe. ah ahn. But cheif might have her killed in revenge. .. wait… what if cheif was the one that had sola killed bcos she found out about his affairs? O__O!
  2. Tori
    I think Chidera killed Sola, I mean look at all the lengths he’s going through to cover up. But then again, I don’t think it will be that obvious. Hmm, I like this series a lot.

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