I am hosting me and some!

I have an e-book book online under the name Vera Ozomma-Jonn. The title is ‘In blood and soul’.  It is a collection of five short stories. In blood and soul is one of the stories in the collection. It is an African tale of two sisters. The other stories in it are Perfect stranger, April fool, I and Myself and White Land.

Click here to read a preview of the book.

A friend of mine who is an upcoming hip hop artiste shot this video a few weeks ago. 

The single off PhatBone Ijaya's debut album Klaustrophobia, 'Monjawonlaya' is produced by Dhecade and is currently enjoying air play on Hitv, Tv Continental, Galaxy and Soundcity. 

Check these out guys and tell me what you think.

Love you all.

Lily Johnson 

I am back! I hope.

Hey guys! Thanks for being there for me. You all are amazing. I have been going through a rough patch and I sincerely hope that I can be consistent for a while and if I am not, please try to understand. But I will try. I missed you all and I want to say thank you again. And again.


I celebrated my birthday on the 17th of April and I tried to blog that day but I couldn’t due to bad connection. Since I couldn’t throw a party or anything like that, a gentleman took me and my best friend out. I had fun. I realized that I hadn’t had that kind of fun in a while. And since I couldn’t pop the champagne bottle with my blogger friends, I decided to post one of my short stories; April fool. It contains scenes of violence and loads of swearing so if you are not into that kind of thing, I understand. I sincerely hope you guys enjoy it. Please bear in mind that I want my collection of short stories to get published some day so just tell me what you think.

I love you guys. Seriously.



APRIL FOOL

April 1st 1979. 7:48pm

Eric reassured himself that he was doing the right thing as he entered the dank and smelly joint. A fat and ugly woman dressed in a short see-through dress that showed her sagged breasts and flabby belly, was dancing to some crappy music in a corner of the small room. The men, mostly old butchers and pensioners were clapping and pushing coins and dirty notes up and down her dress exposing more wrinkled flesh. They looked like they were having the time of their lives.

Eric walked to the bartender who gave him the usual patronizing look before nodding in a direction. He thanked the old man and walked towards the table at the extreme right of the room. The man at the table had his head and hands on the bottles on the table and was oblivious of the young man’s presence. Eric wrinkled his nose in disgust and hesitated but he knew that there was no turning back now.

“Jake!” he tapped the man’s shoulders, “Jake!!”

Jake grunted like a wild pig and moved. Some of the bottles on the table fell off and broke. A red faced Eric looked around to see if they had attracted attention. The fat woman was wriggling her bulbous bottom in the face of a deliriously happy old pervert. No one had noticed them.

“Well, well, well,” Jake’s voice startled him, “Look who’s here to get his old man”

Jake was a big man. It was a wonder how he sat on the small chair though it creaked dangerously under him. His coffee brown T shirt was tight fitting and showed off his large biceps. He flashed a drunken grin.

“Nice garb Eric. Do you have a date or did you dress up this good to come get me huh?”

Eric looked from his white cotton shirt to his dark blue Levi jeans trousers and his well worn black and white Nike sneakers.

“Let’s go Jake.”

“Did she send you?”

“Doesn’t she always?”

Jake laughed and revealed small yellow teeth, “Now that’s my girl! Help me up son.”

“I am not your son!” Eric snapped. He was tired of reminding him.

His father was killed in a hunting accident some years back. He was ten years old. Some months later, Jake showed up at their doorstep. His mother had told him that he was her ‘special’ friend. Night after night, he had listened to them argue about payment of bills, Jake’s alcoholism and a whole lot of things. Then he began to hit her. His mother would try to smile with a spilt lip to bid him goodbye to school. Sometimes, she wouldn’t be able to come for the parents and teachers meetings or art days because she had a black eye. He had even broken he arm once. He had missed two weeks of school because he had to be at the hospital with her. He had listened to her cry her heart out all those nights. But she had always gone back to him and Eric couldn’t but wonder why.

He helped Jake to his feet. At seventeen, Eric was five foot nine inches tall, just a few inches shorter than his step father.

“Your mother knows what’s good for her boy,” Jake’s breath stank of booze and cheap cigarettes. “I just can’t wait to spank her!”

“Really?” It took all Eric had in him to resist punching him square in the face.

“Yeah, she loves it when I knock her around. Gives her the kicks I tell you”

“It does?”

They walked out of the room with Jake trying to walk without stumbling.

“Where’s the car?” Jake asked Eric as he walked towards a Volvo in the tiny car park opposite the bar.

“Over here,” Eric opened the door of the same car. “Mum bought it last week. I think it is for you but don’t say I told you or she would be mad at me.”

“The bloody bitch!” Jake exclaimed and ran to the car. “I like Volvos. How did she know that?”

Lucky guess, Eric thought as he remembered how he had snatched the car from a young couple. It wasn’t hard as both of them were high.

“Get in. She has other pleasant surprises for you I guess.”

“Really?” Jake entered the car. “And how would you know that son?”

“Because she told me to bring you to an old cabin somewhere out of town.”

“I didn’t think she was romantic. Infact, I didn’t think she had any brains at all.”

Well, isn’t that a surprise Jake?” Eric smiled mirthlessly

“Yes it is son. Take me to my whore.” He patted Eric on the back, “Take me to those surprises.”

“I sure will.” Eric drove off clutching the steering a bit too tightly.





The car pulled to a stop after eighty minutes of driving, in front of an old cabin.

“Well what do you know,” Jake whistled as he got out of the car. “This place is like in the middle of nowhere”

“Yeah.”

Eric had found the deserted cabin a few weeks back. It was surprisingly in good shape. It had a large four poster bed in one of the two bedrooms. He just replaced the dirty sheets. Everything had to be perfect.

“So is she in there?” Jake asked.

“I believe so. Let’s find out.”

They walked into the cabin with Eric in the lead. There was a candle burning in the sparsely furnished living room. A bottle of Scotch and a glass were on the small wooden table in the middle of the room.

“Ah! Claire has really gone nuts,” Jake’s eyes widened as he saw the bottle of Scotch. “She is in for it because Scotch really drives me wild.”

“Don’t you want to check out the bedroom?” Eric asked heading towards the tiny hall way that led to the bathroom and two bedrooms

Jake sat on one of the chairs, “No. Not now. I want to romance this bottle for a while.”

“She wouldn’t want you to be drunk Jake”

“Am I always not?”

“Excuse me then, I have to use the bathroom,” Eric walked down the hall and opened a dimly lit room. Once he was in it, he began to hit the walls in rage and frustration. He had wanted to be swift and ….merciful. But not anymore. Jake had pushed him to the wall by calling his mother names. He opened a drawer and brought out a pistol. He was about to take the baseball bat that lay on the floor when the door opened.

Jake staggered in with the bottle of Scotch in his hand. Eric hid the gun behind his back.

“What are you up to young man? Where the hell is Claire?”

“She must be in here somewhere,” Eric tried to smile. He stood up and made for the door but Jake hit him on the face. The gun dropped off his hand as he fell.

“What?” Jake tripped on the old carpet and fell spilling the contents of the Scotch bottle.

“You and your slut of a mother wanted to kill me?”

Eric held his stinging left cheek, “You bastard! He brought out a pen knife out of his jeans pocket and slashed the older man on the arm.

“Son of a bitch,” Jake reached for the gun but Eric was faster. He took the baseball bat and knocked it out of his reach and stood up.

Jake panted for a while and smiled mischievously, “So what’s next son?”

“This.” Eric hit the baseball bat hard on his left leg.

Jake screamed wildly, “You broke it! Damn you! You broke my leg.”

“That was for the slaps that gave her face those bruises,” Eric said menacingly.

The bat came down again on his right leg. Jake groaned in pain as he felt his leg break. “That is for breaking her arm. It affected me too Jake. I missed my exams and failed a class.”

“You son of a bitch! You coward! You got me drunk so you could do this to me? You gave me the goddamned Scotch to break my legs”

“You were already drunk when I got to that cheap joint Jake. Don’t fool yourself. You are a hopeless alcoholic Jake. And if you think I am a coward, well that’s your problem.

Jake’s legs were apart so when Eric hit his groin, it was right at target. Jake became unconscious.

Eric was breathing heavily when he dropped the baseball bat. There was blood on the floor and on his shirt.

He ran out of the room to the bathroom where he had kept the plastic keg that contained fuel. He quickly poured it all over the place and some, outside the cabin. He entered the Volvo before throwing the ignited lighter into the house. He heard the roof of the cabin blow off a few meters away.





April 1ST 1990. 8:45pm

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” Shannon asked Eric and kissed him once more. “We could go to a fancy restaurant.”

Eric’s car was parked in front of Shannon's house. “I don’t know. I could be working tomorrow.”

“I could come over at night and sleep over,” Shannon flashed him a sexy smile.

“That could work,” Eric stroked her cheeks.

“See you tomorrow then. Goodnight,” she kissed him again. Eric waited for her to lock her front door before heading home.

He parked his car in his small garage and entered his house through the kitchen door. The house was dark and when he switched on the electricity, it didn’t work.

Strange, he thought aloud, I will have to call Mark.

He lit a candle in the kitchen and headed for his bedroom to get his mobile phone. He had forgotten it there earlier.

Once in the living room, he thought he saw a shadow entering one of the rooms. He heard the door close almost noiselessly. His gun was in his bedroom so he brought out a Jack knife from the pocket of his jacket. He opened the door of the room and scanned through it with the candle in his left hand. He saw nothing and exhaled. Must have been his hurting head showing him things that weren’t there.

When he turned to leave the room, the electricity came on and at the door, a grotesquely shaped figure with charred flesh and familiar eyes smiled through oddly shaped lips.

“Hello son,” it said. “Did you miss me?”



Lily Johnson.

Strange connection

This is the sequel to ‘Perfect Stranger’. You can go to my older posts and read it to understand this one. I intend to publish a collection of short stories so I really need to know what you guys think about the stories I publish here.

Strange connection

The prophet looked at me with hooded eyes as he closed his holy book. It didn’t look like anyone I knew. Not like the Holy Bible or the Holy Quran. Its shape was odd too.

The elderly man smiled at me sympathetically. The kind of smile a doctor gives a dying patient.

“You have the same problem as many young and beautiful African women. A spiritual husband.” He said “husband” with more than a little emphasis.

“The man didn’t say he was my husband,” I said stiffly. “He only said he….”

“Lisa!” My friend in deed and spiritual matters Ella put her palm on my mouth. She smiled and muttered apologies to the prophet who nodded without taking his eyes off me.

Oh please! The small room was hot and smelt strongly of incense and aromatic oils. I was beginning to get dizzy and sick and I wanted out. So the last thing I wanted was a grey haired and oily man who claimed to be a prophet giving me a look that seemed to say “I am helping you. You foolish child.” Please!

Ella was looking at me strangely too. But hers seemed to me like it said “Lisa, I hope your big mouth won’t get us into trouble one day. Let’s hope this man won’t cast a spell on us. How dare you interrupt prophet Zima?”

Ella had been my best friend for ages. We both don’t remember exactly how we had met but we didn’t exactly care either. What we knew for sure that kept us together was the love for music and art and the will to succeed in a man’s world. We didn’t hesitate to tell any man that the world itself was a woman. We were like twins, sisters and friends. We loved each other and would do anything for each other.

Ella was a ‘special person’. That was her substitute word for ‘superstitious’. I am very sure my great great grand mother who had believed that hitting her left foot against a stone while walking (she was partially blind though) meant something bad was going to happen to her, would have marveled at my friend superstitious beliefs. She had taken me to various places for reasons one would wonder at. I cut my finger while peeling yam, I saw a long lost pal, I saw and talked to a man I admired….the list was endless. Ella would take me from one eerie place to another.

"This is Africa Lisa," she would say. You are an African. Forget your light skin. Here, a blink of an eye means something.

So when I told my dear friend about the dream I had two nights before, she was alarmed and called the prophet on his mobile phone. (I found it surprising that the ancient one had this rather sophisticated piece of technology. I had expected that Ella would make a bonfire at the backyard to give him a smoke signal).

The prophet cleared his throat. “Like I said before, many young African women have the problem of having relationships with men of the spirit world. Many don’t even know that they are already mothers of spirit children. They don’t even have strange dreams. Consider yourself lucky my child. A problem discovered is a problem half solved.”

Lisa nodded approvingly. I felt like hitting her.

“So what can I do to solve this problem?” I asked.

“What can you do for us prophet? This is a very bad thing,” Ella added.

The old man smiled at Ella. “You have shown that you are wiser than your worldly friend. You are blessed my child.”

What! Then why was she always broke? Give me a break.

The man looked at me. “You will need to do some sacrifices child. That is the only way out. The things needed for this sacrifice are eight yards of white cloth, eight tubers of yam, eight eggs of a local fowl that is only eight hours old, eight pieces of white native chalk, eight calabashes that have never been touched and the eight front teeth of an eight month old mamba.”

Ella and I jumped. We had been to places. Places stranger than this place. We had met men older than this man but none of them had given us such a long list that included the front teeth of one of the deadliest animals in the world. We just sat there and stared at him.

“My children,” the man cleared his throat. “You see the problem with spiritual marital relationship is a serious one. The unfortunate man or woman may not get married or even if he or she does, may not have a child. These spirit beings are extremely jealous. They do all they can to frustrate their supposed spouses. They don’t allow the person to progress on earth. There are stories of people who went mad and those who died of strange ailments. Some herbalists don’t know how to go about it. Some pastors and preachers jump around and push down the person and the dreams stop. That doesn’t mean that the person is totally free. It is a difficult task to sever the relationship forever.”

Ella ‘the wise one’ was the first to speak. “Prophet, we can’t get some of the things in the list especially the front teeth of a mamba. How can you help us?”

I nodded in agreement. I couldn’t imagine myself walking the streets an insane woman or dying alone because the disease was worse than AIDS.

The man wrinkled his forehead. He was in deep thought for some minutes and suddenly clapped his hands. The sound was thunderous.

“I will help you get all the items for a given price. That is apart from the charges for the work I am going to do.”

“What would the total cost be?” I had to have some say in it. It was my problem after all.

“Seventy thousand Naira would do.”

Ella and I stared at the man like he had just materialized from the wall at his back. We were beyond being surprised. Telling us to bring seventy thousand naira for anything was like telling us to bring our very own umbilical cord.

Snap (A short story)

This short story contains strong language and scenes of violence and is not suitable for readers below the age of 18.

Just had to warn you anyway. And...... I think I enjoyed saying that. You know the whole movie rating thing.
What can I say, I am a big dreamer.
Now the movie produced by.....
Woww.....Just read the story and do leave comments.

Crystal approached the house with trembling steps. She had cried herself hoarse for twenty minutes in the car before she summoned what seemed like enough courage to face her fears. As she stepped in front of the huge oak wood door, she brought out her handkerchief from her purse and cleaned her face. She pressed the door bell. There was no going back.
The African house keeper opened the door and looked shocked to see her. “Mrs. Kendall! You are late …. For dinner.”
Crystal pushed her way through the door into the large and tastefully furnished living room. “You shouldn’t be here Tamia. You close by six p.m.”
“I know,” the middle aged woman whispered, “I stayed when I noticed you were not in the house.”
Crystal dropped her purse on the sofa and headed for the mini bar across the hall. She needed some scotch to calm her nerves
“So you stayed. Why?”
“Oh child!” Tamia sighed sadly, “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what will happen when your brute of a husband knows you’re home. You and I know that you should always be home by five p.m. You came in by eight fifteen. In your husband’s books, not only are you late, you disobeyed him and deserves to be punished.”
The young brunette took a long sip straight from the bottle and chuckled. “Ah! Tamia. You know us only too well.”
“Six long years Crystal and I know that all my life, I have never known any man as brutal as Mark Kendall. Sweetheart, what are you still doing with him?”
Crystal poured herself a tall glass of the drink. “Because there is no place else to go Tamia. I am an orphan. I have no siblings. No relatives. Nobody.”
“Don’t you have any friends?”
“Ha! They are all bitches who think that I am a lucky wretch.” Crystal walked back into the living room and sat on the sofa. She was a beautiful woman. Petite in frame but had all the curves in the right places. Her large hazel eyes stared into space.
“Then come live with me child,” Tamia whispered.
Just then, a door slammed somewhere in the house.
Crystal held the older woman’s hand. “You should go now Tamia. He must not see you here.”
“No!” Tamia said sharply. “You should follow me right now. We don’t have much time.”
Sounds of footsteps on the staircase.
“Go Tamia! Now!” Crystal ordered her.
“Oh! dear child. You have completely lost it. What has he done to you? Come with me and end this. You are just twenty one. You have your whole life ahead of you,” Tamia pleaded with her.
Mark Kendall entered the living room. He looked slightly younger than his thirty seven years though he was a big man. Standing at six foot four inches and weighing about a hundred and twenty five kilogrammes, he made the women in the room who were slightly above five inches look like midgets.
He ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair and adjusted and adjusted his glasses on his nose. He was an attractive man when his blue eyes weren’t that piercingly cold.
“What are you still doing here Tamia?” His deep baritone voice was calm.
“I ….,” Tamia began
“She was just getting ready to leave,” Crystal interrupted her and began to lead her away but Tamia snatched her hand from her and stood her ground.
“Speak when you are spoken to Crystal,” he said without looking at her. His gaze was fixed on Tamia.
“You were saying?”
“Let her go Mr. Kendall. She is such an unhappy child. So hopeless and helpless. Look at her. I don’t know what she did to deserve this but she has paid dearly for it. Please let her go.”
Mark looked down for a few seconds and smiled mirthlessly then turned to his wife, “Did you put her up to this?”
“No! No!” Crystal was shaking with fear.
“She didn’t put me up to anything,” Tamia snapped angry that the foolish child that didn’t know when an opportunity to live a normal life presented itself.
“Do you want to leave me Crystal?” He fixed his cold gaze on her
“No!” Crystal cried.
“Do you want to follow this Tamia woman?”
“No. I don’t want to follow her.”
He smiled and touched her cheek with affection. “Where do you belong Crystal?”
“Here. With you,” Crystal smiled through her tears.
Mark smiled tenderly at her before bending to kiss her forehead.
“That’s my girl.” He looked sharply at the astonished woman.
“Now get out!” He barked.
Tamia clutched her purse tightly and made the sign of the cross across her chest.
“There is something evil about this Mark. But the devil will not triumph for long.” She stared at Crystal for a while and said, “Snap out of it child. Snap out of it.” She took her coat and left the room.
Mark who had been stroking Crystal’s cheek all that while asked with his eyes fixed on the entrance door, “What did you tell her?”
“I told her nothing I swear Mark. I don’t speak to …..”
The slap had the small woman sprawling on the marble floor. Crystal screamed in pain.
“Shut up Crystal,” he said calmly before picking her up from the ground like a rag doll, “You know I hate it when you scream like that.”
Crystal held her bruised cheek and tried to sob quietly. She had blood on her mouth and on her forehead. She even thought she had heard her skull crack.
Mark gently settled her on the coach and sat beside her.
“What is your name?”
“Crystal Kendall.”
Who were you before now?
“Nothing. Nobody. Lower than dirt.”
“Who are you now?”
“A beautiful, decent and fulfilled woman”
“How did that happen?”
“Well, you Mark Kendall were gracious enough to marry me.”
Mark smiled and stroked her cheek. Then suddenly, he grabbed her hair.
“Then why did you choose to disobey me Crystal? Why did you come late today?”
“I fell asleep at the park and did not wake up until two hours later. I didn’t mean to come home late. I didn’t mean to disobey you.”
“You must have been bored.” He put his nose in her hair and inhaled before letting go of it.
“Why didn’t you come home to me?”
“I was watching the birds. They were so beautiful and peaceful and I just slept off while watching them.”
“You should have come home,” he shouted angrily took her by the wrist and held it tightly. Too tightly.
Crystal closed her eyes and tried to endure the pain
“You are hurting me Mark.”
“No I am not.” He squeezed tight. Crystal screamed.
“Now I am.”
When he let her go, Crystal heard a weird sound somewhere in her head. It was soft but crystal heard it loud and clear. It was like someone broke off a twig some meters away form her.
She held he head high and smiled at Mark as she rubbed her wrist.
“You just enjoy hurting me don’t you Mark Kendall?”
Mark starred at her for while and laughed. “Have you gone mad? You look at me and talk like that?”
“Well, the last time I checked you were human and the man I married. Why are you talking to me like I am some slave?”
He slapped her hard across the face and dragged her out of the sofa.
“I will teach you to respect and obey me!”
Crystal struggled to break free as he dragged her towards the kitchen. “Will you talk to me in that manner again Crystal?” he shouted as he rubbed her face on the rough carpet.
Crystal heard the sound again. This time, louder. It was like something had taken control of her body and she struggled to regain control. But she lost the battle.
She pushed Mark with a strength she was sure wasn’t hers because the big man fell on the floor with a thud.
In a flash, she jumped to his side and smiled at his surprised face.
“I think I broke my back,” he said as he tried to move.
Then she began to laugh.
Mark reached for her leg but she kicked him in the ribs before he could even touch her.
“Don’t you ever touch me again Mark Kendall. Don’t you ever lay your filthy hands on me again. Do you understand?”
Mark, who was groaning in pain made another desperate attempt to grab her leg but she kicked him again this time severally like a deranged animal.
“You have gone mad!” Mark screamed. “You are possessed. You couldn’t even break chicken bone before but now you kick like a pro. You got your strength from the devil.”
There was blood on his head and his shirt was wet with sweat and blood.
Crystal sat on the kitchen table and took a glistening knife from one of the drawers.
“I didn’t know you could bleed Mark,” she said as she examined the knife with interest. “There is blood everywhere and this time, it is from you. And you know what, I am beginning to like the sight.”
Mark starred at her with wide eyes. “Crystal……are you going to hurt me?”
The young woman licked the knife and smiled. “What a question Mark. You have been hurting me all these years and hurt me even more when some of the former wounds were yet to heal. Oh! Mark. Why are you asking me if I am going to hurt you when all you have ever done is hurt and humiliate me?”
Mark tried to get up but screamed in pain and held his lower back.
“You bitch!” he spat at her. “Get me to the hospital. I am seriously hurt.”
“No you are not.” Crystal walked towards him with the knife in her hand.
“Don’t come near me you crazy bitch!”
Crystal took at his feet and bent down to face him.
“Don’t even try to move. I will be kind.”
Then she heard a door open in her head. It was like some wind was blowing hard on her brains. She let out a cry and held her head for several seconds and it stopped as suddenly as it started.
Crystal looked around the room as if she was seeing it for the first time. She looked at Mark on the floor with horror and dropped the knife.
“What happened here?” she said with a small voice filled with fear.
“You tried to kill me,” Mark spat at her.
“How could that be?” she cried, “I couldn’t have. I couldn’t have.”
“Get me to the hospital now! I will bleed to death.”
Crystal started to help him but stopped before even touching him.
“Help me up to the couch you fool.”
“You will tell them at the hospital that I tried to kill you right?”
“Don’t you worry about that now woman,” Mark’s breathing was labored. “I am dying.”
“Then the hospital will tell the police and I will be arrested and put in prison,” Crystal thought aloud.
“Stop all that stupid talk and help me up and call an ambulance,” Mark cried.
“And I don’t deserve that. Not after all that you have done to me. And I don’t even remember hurting you.”
She went to the kitchen sink and bathed her face; cleaning away the blood then went into the living room and picked her purse from the couch.
“Where are you going?” Mark shouted after her.
She made for the front door but stopped in her tracks and looked at her husband, “Very far away from you Mark. I am going to a place where you will never see me again. I do hope you find help before it is too late.”
She touched the solid oak door, “You had these doors sound proofed so that no one would hear me scream.” She laughed. “Now, no one would hear you scream. Goodbye Mark Kendall.”
She opened the door, stepped out and shut it. She could hear the faint sounds of Mark screaming in the kitchen. she didn’t know how Mark got hurt that way. She didn’t even remember touching him. Maybe she would figure it out some day.

“Not today,” she whispered as she walked into the dark night. “Today, I am just going to enjoy my freedom.” She took a deep breath and jumped joyfully. “I am free at last!”

I am entertaining tonight!

Okay, i have been too damned realistic for a while now. (Two posts actually, telling you about how short life is. It is actually....) But hey! this girl is ready to party again! Actually, If you love reading short stories, then grab a drink girl.

Perfect Stranger is a dream. Literally. A girl had a weird dream that is going to make you laugh (some people did) and wonder. Please drop your opinions. I am gunning to make a living (or some change) with writing. It is my passion and i would just love to succeed with it. And i hope you succeed in everything you put your mind to.
Well, here goes..........

Perfect Stranger

I saw him coming. He walked beautifully. Erect. His arms swayed slightly and his broad chest heaved a bit. Perfect. I was with a couple of strange people. I did not know them but they were talking to me in a strange language that it seemed I understood
It took a while before I realized he was coming towards me. And he was smiling too. My heart beat began to thump wildly. Why was he coming to me? And the smile?
Why was I feeling excited, scared to death, thrilled and elated all at the same time?
“Hello,” he greeted me with a bow of the head.
I noticed his complexion was slightly lighter than I had assumed. It was the colour of milk chocolate; rich light brown. His dark hair was close shaven and well groomed.
As he looked at me, I felt I could get lost in his dark eyes. He was more handsome than any man I had ever seen.
“I…., “my voice eluded me. It was so unsteady that you would think I was a stammerer. I wanted to slap the life out of that thing called ‘my voice’ for failing me at such a crucial moment. The man must be thinking that I was some naïve lady. Maybe even desperate.
“I want to hear you say your name beautiful one,” he said in a husky baritone and flashed me one of those his breathtaking smiles.
“I don’t tell strangers my name.” I must have sounded like my neighbor’s seven year old daughter. I could just picture her saying that to some strange looking man at the gate.
“Let me hear it. My name is Firam.”
“Lisa.” I wondered why I was standing there in the first place.
“You know Lisa, I know you but you don’t know me. Beautiful Lisa, I know you very well.”
He stood there, as confident as a god, his eyes starring intently at me.
“How is that?” I asked trying to keep my legs from shaking violently.
He laughed. “Look at me Lisa. Not with your eyes but with your heart and soul. Look at me Lisa. Look at me Lisa!” His voice became harsh with the last words. I was visibly shaken.
I turned my back on him and started walking away. I walked as fast as my legs would carry me though at a point, I wished I was my younger brother’s pigeon who could fly. I didn’t exactly like that pigeon but I really wished I was it.
“Lisa, we are betrothed!” He shouted after me.
I stopped. It took me several seconds to remember the meaning of the word ‘betrothed’.
What was even weirder was a complete stranger; forget the fact that he was gorgeous, in the middle of nowhere would decide to tell me that he was betrothed to me.
Believe me, I wasn’t betrothed to anyone. I didn’t even have a boyfriend. I hoped that one day, I would find a handsome man that owned an expensive car and a grand house, who would sweep me off my feet and make me a very happy woman.
Yes, the man behind me was handsome but I didn’t see any car in sight and…..
His touch jarred me out of my thoughts. I jumped and nearly fell but he held me and whirled me round to face him.
“Lisa,” his voice was a whisper, “You are my life, my love and my happiness. You know I would give you anything you want. Just name it and it’s yours.”
“Who are you?” I managed to ask
"Your life, your love and your happiness," he said and lowered his head. He wanted to kiss me! How romantic! Just like in the movies. But why should a grown woman like me kiss a strange man with a name as weird as Firam?
Ahh! I shouted and pushed the hunk of a man whose name was Firam in a very un ladylike manner and started running to the rather exaggerated surprise of the people around. I ran wildly, screaming as loud as I could.
All of a sudden, I saw myself running to the bathroom of the house down the small hallway, screaming the house down. I was in my nightgown.

Thats it!! (Yep, it's Lisa again)

Lily Johnson

Got to do it? Smile at it!

Sometimes it is frustrating to want to do a lot of things not because you just want to but because you know you can! Okay what am I talking about? Well, let me use ‘yours sincerely’ as an example. I am a writer. I have written some short stories and published them too. I am a songwriter. I have written and composed music for the choir of my church and I can proudly say that I have a lovely deep voice. It kind of reminds you of Toni Braxton (Don’t believe me but I believe myself. And so does my family. And my friends. And my man. And the guy that featured me in his album. And the guy that is going to produce me some day. I could go on you know).

I have a Diploma in Public Relations from a college in the UK. I am about to get a Bachelors’ degree in Marketing. I know quite a lot in fashion and beauty. In fact, so much that people think that I would be wasting my time pursuing a career in Marketing. I should own and run a beauty business. I was thinking of having my own skin care and make up line. You know I would just look stunning and talk about my ‘moderately priced’ cosmetics and all the stuff that entrepreneurs like Iman and Kimora do. I would just love doing that. Just as I would love autographing my books (collections of short stories mostly). And singing on stage with my fans screaming for more. And having a successful Public Relations outfit that I run with so much finesse, elegance and determination.

Now that I am so sure you don’t envy me, I have also tried modeling. Yes. It is the one thing that I don’t know if it quite agrees with me. I can’t keep a fake smile for more than five seconds and I have been meeting psychos that pose as agents. I have taken loads of pictures and believe me; some of them are not really flattering. Some were just horrible

Why am I telling you this? Well, I know some people blog because they have nothing else better to do. Some do because they want to talk about something. Some do because…people they know have blogs and it would be cool to have one too. Some blogs are for business. Others for pleasure.
I blog because just like I can do all the things mentioned above and want to do it too; I really want to do this. Being a woman who wants to be successful in every sphere of her life is the most challenging thing ever. Every waking moment is a battle. Every move you make is got to be on point. And you have to find a balance to everything. (Like I am preparing dinner as I am typing this. Seriously).

It is not easy. But you got to do it. Just like I write stories and songs, read for my exams and beauty recipes, try to find a job as a PR person, find time for my man and family, and write here when I can. But you know what Miss Girl, I love it! So don’t whine and bitch about all that you have to do. Just do it and find a way to love it all.

This doesn’t have to make sense to everyone so if it does to you, I deeply respect you!

LILY JOHNSON