POST 5: Babaaláwo Of Our Times. Chapter 3 (part 2): Not a Tuesday.

 Chapter 3 (part 2): Not a Tuesday

Perhaps I meditated too deeply, as the cacophonous chorus became unbearable: hundreds of horns blaring away at varying pitches of anger and frustration; all persisting for lengthy durations and blasting out with irregular frequency; each and every single one so clear in its delivery that I could almost picture the intensity of each individual driver’s scowl from my bed. 

POST 4: Babaaláwo Of Our Times. Chapter 3 (part1): Not a Tuesday.

 Chapter 3 (part 1): Not a Tuesday

The sharp piercing pain in my head, which I had found so unbearable earlier, was replaced by a dull throbbing - a pulsating shallow thud which lasted for short periods in between lengthy pensive spells of pulsating-shallow-thud-anticipatory normality. No part of my body felt as bruised as before, except for my right shoulder, which still felt quite sore. But I thought that was because it had gone dead as I had been laying awkwardly on my side. 

POST 3: Babaaláwo Of Our Times. Chapter 2: Friday

Chapter 2: Friday

As I slept, I had a vague idea of what manner of confusion I wished to awaken to. I will not go into such visions of wanton debauchery, for lewdness is not the point of this story, but the note was very far from anything I had throbbing in mind. It read:

Donald,

      The bills have been paid.

      They will say the bills have not been paid because that is what they say.

Leave as soon as possible or there will DEFINITELY be bills to pay.

Regards,

Donald.

POST 2: Babaaláwo Of Our Times. Chapter 1 (part2): Tuesday

 Chapter 1 (part 2): TUESDAY

Hearing the words “Holy-Ghost-Fire,” the commuters waiting at the nearby bus top, who had previously been languid in their lingering - the blazing sun having baked them into a lethargic daze - suddenly roused themselves and also began chanting: “Babaaláwo! Holy-Ghost-Fire! Babaaláwo! Holy-Ghost-Fire!” at the top of their voices.

POST 1: Babaaláwo Of Our Times. Chapter 1: Tuesday

 Chapter 1 (part 1): TUESDAY

His smile upset me greatly. 

Typically, I am not the sort of fellow who gets upset greatly by smiles, regardless of how condescending or spite loaded they are.

Prologue: Babaaláwo Of Our Times

Having recently relocated to Birmingham after completing my post graduate architecture degree at Manchester Metropolitan University, I started on a literary journey in late 2004 and finished my first novel, Jumping for Joy, about a year later.