Adeboro

have you seen my other blog? html.adeboro.com

Category Prose

Hey Babe

                                                                                                                 12 December, 2013 Hey Babe, I can’t believe I’m writing this letter. Two years

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Definitely Unsure

How did I get to be in this place, at this time, for this reason? We are about 6 girls now. We are basically girls. The oldest of us would probably be that girl sitting at the far end of the bench opposite mine, reading a Joyce Meyer book (very inappropriate for the moment except she’s desperately looking for some conviction and last minute excuse to get out of here).

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I Hated my Childhood

I hated my childhood. I did. When I think back to my childhood days, I shiver a little bit. Sometimes, I even semi-yell out an ‘arrgh’. I was dyslexic – Simple. Or was it? I didn’t start speaking until I was three years old. I could speak in my mind though. But it was really hard producing what I was thinking into spoken words. I wrote my ‘d’ as ‘b’,

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Just Shut Up

My name is Jane and I am a karateka. No, scratch that, I am a black belt karateka. Most karate fighters have heard, a least once, that ‘Your belt does not show how good you really are at karate. Your skills define your karate’. But I must humbly say that I am good. Very good. I started karate at the very old age of 15years old. I had just started

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Letter to my Husband’s Next

I love him, he loves you, you love him, we love him. Please don’t feel guilty because of this letter. In fact, I must commend your stealthiness; You are not like those other mistresses who bombard their ‘masters’ phones with calls when he is in his real home; You are more experienced than that. With this letter, he’ll probably also deliver the news that we’re in a divorce process. I

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Je suis a fighter

*Hello people, this is another ‘One Pic; a Thousand Stories’ post. Remember; you can send in your own interpretation of the picture to oadeboro@gmail.com* ‘I love you no matter what you do, but do you have to do so much of it?’ Those were the words James had scribbled in the card he thrust into my hand. I read them, rolled my eyes and said (exaggerating concern) ‘She cheated again?’

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MY ESSENTIAL TREMOR

*Hello everyone, this is the first post in the ‘One Pic; a Thousand Stories’ series. The idea is that I take a random picture and try to make a story out of it. However,  mine is just one in a thousand stories that can be made out of the picture. So, if you have another interpretation to the picture, you can send it to me via oadeboro@gmail.com . And i

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RALIA, MY FRIEND.

*This is a post written by and on behalf of my friend, Ralia… enjoy* My name is Ralia. And no, I’m not the sugar girl. I’m the fruit salad girl. I hawk fruit salad on Lagos-Abeokuta road; around Iyana-Ipaja. And I have a message to pass across to you all. No, I wasn’t born into a wealthy family whose wealth suddenly came crashing down when my father died. No, I

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BECAUSE WE CAN!

When they ask us how we met, we both smile, giggle and then try to look as though we are thinking of a particular frequently traveled path down memory lane. Then I hold his arm affectionately, he responds by gently pulling my cheek, I laugh and I say, ‘Feyi, the honor is yours’. He responds by looking into my eyes and saying, ‘It’s an honor alright’, and then he smiles

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