
Cheers to 2025
Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of
Do you love crime fiction? Then this story is all you ever wanted.
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Someone knows something
When Onono walked into the Henderson Hotel lobby earlier that afternoon, there was no doubt she turned some heads, especially the men. They couldn’t decide whether the dress she wore or the curves of beauty that laid within was worth an extra second of ogling.
The moment the glass automatic doors opened into the lobby, it seemed that time stood still. As she moved, the dress flowed around her and gave the impression that she was gliding weightlessly to the receptionist desk.
When she turned to tuck her hair behind her ears, the dress would wrap around her for a second before formally sliding back in place. It complimented her feminine shape so much. She was drop dead gorgeous wearing that dress with a plunging neckline that gave almost a glimpse of the bourgeoning molds of flesh on her chest.
The dozen or so middle-aged men, with beards that betrayed their promiscuity, as they lingered in the waiting area, turned their heads a full cycle to behold her backside. That effort earned her an exaggerated and slow shake of heads and an open invitation into their world of sexual fantasies.
What she lacked in facial beauty, she made up for it with her stunning body shape. That was probably why Glory could vividly recollect attending to her that afternoon.
“Good afternoon, welcome to the Henderson hotel. How may I assist you?” Her well-rehearsed welcome speech came with a complimentary smile.
“Good afternoon, please I am meeting my husband, Ekpeyong Nta. Room 407.” One couldn’t miss her exuberant personality the moment she spoke. She rummaged through her handbag for her phone, while Glory admired her long, luxurious hairstyle that slid across her face when she looked down.
If wishes were horses, Glory would have owned one. The stupid good-for-nothing boyfriend she had been dating for months couldn’t afford to buy her call credit, let alone her monthly toiletries. All he cared about was raunchy sex at unholy hours.
“Hey darling, I am downstairs” Onono’s voice disrupted her line of thoughts. She couldn’t do much but watch her walk away towards the elevators, as she continued her conversation on the phone.
Just like the men who pretended to read half-torn newspapers and to sip from empty glass cups at the lobby, Glory joined in the unrestrained stare.
“God made this one different”
******
Efe was standing by the restaurant when Onono waltz in. Although she was a lot different than he remembered her, almost a decade ago, she was still the same girl he had spent countless nights wanking himself to sleep about.
They were not just classmates in the local community secondary school in the thick palm settlement of Esighi, somewhere in Cross rivers state, but also natives of the land.
Somehow, his heart still skipped beats the moment recognition dawned on him that afternoon.
His adorable Onono, now grown and beyond sexy. He had seen her beauty long before she blossomed and that was why he wanted her to himself. But every time he asked her to be his girlfriend, she turned him down rudely. She put him in his place promptly, not leading him on. They were friends and that was it. She made that abundantly clear. It hurt him, but that was 9years ago.
He had dreams that she would bear him beautiful children, that could compensate for his grotesque features and possibly bring him some good dose of luck that had been elusive all his years on earth. Wishful thoughts, that were now well and truly buried with his childhood.
A lot had happened since then. He failed the university entrance examination repeatedly for many years, till his father passed on and his peasant family ran out of funds. His education ended with his failures.
He tilled his father’s farmland for many years, toiling hard and exerting energy, but the ground didn’t seem to favor his efforts during the harvest season. He lacked the skills, experience and goodwill his father enjoyed from the land.
Now he was a pool cleaner. A job he was grateful to get after travelling down to Lagos to eke a living and to escape the shame of failure in his homestead.
He heard that Onono gained admission into the university almost immediately after completing their secondary education, but all his handwritten letters to her were never replied. He didn’t know if she ever got them.
His job was certainly not as energy intensive and sapping as the dirty work he had spent years doing on the farm. It was the laziest money he would ever earn; twenty-five thousand naira for cleaning near-clean pools.
He was still unlucky with the ladies even years after. Glory had persistently turned down his offer of love. She was nowhere close to Onono in stature, grace or beauty, but she would do for now. If only she knew that he had once held the gorgeous lady who just walked away from the reception a few years back.
He couldn’t wait to gloat.
Glory was still admiring the sense of style and grace of her guest, when Efe leaned over the reception counter.
“I know that babe”
“You don start again. You go just dey run your mouth like fever.”
“But I am serious, I once dated her” he turned his face towards the elevator where Onono waited for the elevator bell to chime.
“Na lie”
Efe started to walk towards the elevator when the doors opened and a family of four poured out of its open jaw. He paced quickly to meet up with Onono, but she slipped into the cabin with her phone clutched to her right ear as her conversation got even more animated.
He arrived at the elevator just within inches for the automatic door to shut. The split seconds was enough for Onono to recognize the boy whom she had no iota of affection for, way back in secondary school.
Her attempt to wave at him in acknowledgment ended as the doors shut firmly and the elevator started its ascent.
He was glad she recognized him, even if it was for a micro-second. He watched as the number on the digital display changed rapidly until it stopped at the fourth floor, before walking away to the derisive laugh from Glory.
“See your life.”
Efe tried to explain, but Glory wasn’t having any of it.
“Abeg commot for here. You see correct babe like that you dey spin story say u sabi am.” Glory hissed and then turned away to attend to a new guest at the counter.
Efe was left with thoughts in his head.
“Fourth floor. Onono. Beautiful still. Fate. What to do?” such were the thoughts that danced around his head.
******
No one at the hotel knew that Nnamdi was dating Glory. Their romance started a couple of months after she joined. How could she refuse him?
He was all man, so macho and so full of empathy. It was the sexiest combination, the mark of a true alpha. His accent was such a playful tune, as if he were the star of his own movie. She could sit there all day simply to listen and smile to his every joke. She felt privileged to be his love interest.
Her broke-arse boyfriend had her only during her time-off work, but the best part of her body was reserved for Nnamdi.
They had sex during her shifts. Sometimes it was on his office table, if he couldn’t help himself or in one of the unoccupied rooms in the dead of the night, after everyone had gone to sleep.
He was a die-hard romantic who spent minutes kissing her before he unbuttoned her shirt- the uniform she had to wear on her shifts. In that moment of the kiss they shared, their chemistry became an ever-bright flame that it burned intently that they couldn’t keep their clothes on.
All Nnamdi had to do, was to smile at her and she got the cue. Their relationship was fueled by sex, the intensity of which left them both panting after each session.
The few times they got to talk about Efe left them both reeling in laughter at his awkwardness and lack of tact. He was the poster boy for stupid jokes.
Nnamdi made sure he was confided to the poolside the moment he realized he was making passes at his girl.
What Glory didn’t realize was that Nnamdi was also dating Amara, the other receptionist, who alternated her shift with her.
Both ladies shared a common secret, yet they told exaggerated tales about the “man” they dated just so they could make each other jealous.
In the end, Nnamdi never lacked options. The two ladies worked weekly shifts and only met during the weekly meetings on Sunday where one handed over to the other.
Nnamdi enjoyed the best of both shifts and looked forward to his weekly escapades with fervor.
That unfortunate night was one of those nights where he enjoyed the company of Glory as they rolled between the sheets in room 102, until the maddening scream from Efe startled them.

Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of

There is a category of question that polite intellectual company tends to avoid: the kind that, if you pull the thread long enough, begins to unravel not just a specific mystery but the entire fabric of what we think we know about human history. The Pyramids of Giza are that thread. They have been standing in the Egyptian desert for roughly 4,500 years.

Let me take you somewhere. Not to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean — at least, not yet. First, to Lagos. Nigeria. Sometime in the late 1980s. A teenager who should probably have been revising for exams is instead sitting cross-legged on the floor of a library, holding a book that is older than most of the furniture around it, reading about a city beneath the sea.

This is my story of discovering a film that challenged everything I thought I knew about the gift of time, every pulsating detail documented to inspire you to leap beyond your limitations and appreciate the beauty of growing old.
This story explores the paradox of immortality and why a movie from 2015 still resonates so deeply with audiences today.
I hope you find it worth your time.

This is my story, every pulsating detail documented to inspire you to question what you know and leap beyond your limitations.
This story is about the audacity of belief, the power of a well-told lie, and the journey to unlearn the things that poisoned my teenage mind.
I hope you find it worth your time.

There is a category of question that polite intellectual company tends to avoid: the kind that, if you pull the thread long enough, begins to unravel not just a specific mystery but the entire fabric of what we think we know about human history. The Pyramids of Giza are that thread. They have been standing in the Egyptian desert for roughly 4,500 years.

There is a peculiar kind of madness that does not arrive with hallucinations or trembling hands. It arrives quietly. At two in the morning. In a small desert town in New Mexico. It sounds like an idling diesel engine somewhere in the distance — except there is no engine. It sounds like a bass note being held by an invisible orchestra — except there is no orchestra.

Let me confess something. Long before LinkedIn articles, podcasts, and leadership keynotes became my world, I was a teenager sneaking to the library

In an era that increasingly demands hyper-specialization, Akin Akingbogun stands out as a refreshing anomaly. He is a man who refuses to be confined to a single box.

There is a particular kind of silence that falls on a man when the phone stops ringing, the proposals go unanswered, and the diary that once groaned under the weight of appointments sits quietly — almost mockingly — open. If you have ever been there, you know it.

Let me tell you something uncomfortable: the most generous person you know — the one who volunteers every weekend, donates quietly, never asks for anything in return — is probably getting something out of it. Not money. Maybe not even recognition. But something.

Adaeze had been awake since 4 a.m.
Not because she was anxious — though she was — but because this trip felt different. After eighteen months of follow-ups, phone calls, and PowerPoint presentations polished to a mirror shine, the deal was finally ready to close. An investor meeting in Abuja. A partnership that would change the trajectory of her small but gutsy consulting firm. She had triple-checked her flight, her documents, her outfit. She had prayed. She was ready.

When he told his father, Dare’s first response was a sigh. Then: “I told you to practice more. I told you months ago. You don’t listen. You never listen.”
There was no “I’m sorry, son.” No pause to let the boy simply feel the loss of the thing he wanted. Just a swift, seamless pivot to what Temi had done wrong — and, by extension, how Temi’s failure was evidence of Temi’s failure to take his father’s wisdom seriously.

I want to tell you something that took me embarrassingly long to learn. Not because the idea is complicated — it is not. But because it cuts against something deeply wired in us, something we are rarely honest enough to admit.
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13 thoughts on “Damaged Goods (Part 2)- a short story”
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More like what is adapted into 007 movies.
The detail description of scene and events leaves one feeling all is happening before his eyes. Great thoughts and presentation.
Movie scripts loading
It’s the attention to details while describing people’s stature and motions for me..lol…nice piece boss
Thank you Faith!
Efe is a suspect, he has to know something.
He sure knows alot
Very lovely article. You are a don broo. Keep it up. Lovely piece
Thanks again bro
Ok, this is getting interesting, full of suspense
Not me imagining things in my head
This is well detailed
Nice work author