Conclusion Of Iyawo Nylon Bag

 Waiting For Chapter Two

Somewhere in the compound that she and her family shared with four other tenants and the caretaker, she heard a door open and close. Idly, she wondered who had come in. It was probably Prince, the caretaker. 
He usually came in and went out at all hours of the day. Everyone called him Prince. She had always assumed Prince was from a royal family, hence the title ‘Prince’, until the day she saw him writing with charcoal on a piece of plywood “Prince of Electronics-The master Electrician”. He had been painting a new one because the old sign that hung on a sturdy stick driven into the ground outside the compound was faded off completely, which was why she had never noticed the words written on them.

Her feelings towards Prince were ambivalent. He could be charming, playing and jovially cracking jokes with everybody. Those were the times she liked him the most, the times when he made her mother laugh. Mother would relax and the hard lines on her face would smoothen out, allowing her beauty to shine through. Mum was very pretty when she wasn’t frowning and people often commented that she, Chilo, was the spitting image of her mother.

The times she disliked him were when he wanted things done in the compound and he gave directives like a petty dictator, but he never barked her way. If he wanted something done specially by her, he would hold her hands and whisper to her. Sometimes he held her by her buttocks, or when there was no one around, her breasts. His touches made her uncomfortable but she didn’t know how to tell him to stop because she didn’t want to be disrespectful towards her Mother’s age mate. It often embarrassed her because her breasts were rather developed for a ten year old. Full, firm and jiggly. A nosy neighbour had called her mom some weeks back and advised her to buy Chilo a bra because “the child is maturing faster than her age”.

She hissed with irritation. Some people never minded their own business.

She sighed and looked up at the wall clock. It was 12.30pm. Time to go do the dishes. If Prince, who didn’t like the sight of dirty plates, saw the heaps of plates stacked untidily by the tap, he was bound to complain. Father had told her and her siblings not to give Prince cause for complaint because he was doing them a favour by allowing them stay on in the house without paying. Their

house rent had long expired but since the landlord was not in the country, he could afford to give them a period of grace until they could find the money for rent. It was almost a year now and they were still ‘living under grace’. Yep, that was Prince alright, Mum often said when he was out of earshot, her mouth puckered like she was sucking on a lime, Tyrant Lord of Grace. O, we must never cross him, or the heavens will fall!


She dragged herself off the carpeted floor and headed to the back of the house where the tap was located. Earlier in the morning, she had stacked the plates in an untidy heap by the wall but now they were flung hither thither and some had even rolled towards the centre of the compound. This was most likely the handiwork of her baby brother, who imagined himself some sort of soccer star. Another Rashidi Yekini in the making. He was very fond of kicking plates and cutlery around, and not even repeated ministrations from Mother’s Rod of Fire, as she called the hateful rubber hose mother used to trash her and sibs, discouraged him from kicking his way to his dreams, the crockery be damned!

With a sigh of frustration, she set about gathering the scattered dishes. It seemed the little brat had been at his element that morning, because the plates were flung far and wide. She had just picked the last spoon where it lay in a corner covered with sand like something a lunatic had used to dig trenches, when she heard the door of the room behind her open.

She stiffened. Prince lived in the boy’s quarters behind the main building, so it meant she was home alone with him. O shoot, she was going to be subjected to another question and answer session, spiced up with the occasional grope on the more sensitive areas of her anatomy.

“Good afternoon, Uncle Prince”, she greeted turning to face him.

Ehen, nwunyem, how are you?” he answered, smiling at her.

This was another thing she disliked about him. She just wished he would stop calling her ‘nwunyem’, which means ‘my wife’ in Igbo language. The thought of being anybody’s wife embarrassed her greatly, and marriage to Prince, with his thick lips, muscular, hairy arms, dark, medicated aviator glasses and conk ‘igbotic’ accent was totally inconceivable. Let him go look for his age mate, she often thought angrily.

She expected him to come sit by her to chat, as he was very fond of doing, but strangely enough, Prince didn’t leave his door post. He stood there like a muscular, hairy apparition, watching her every move with a single minded focus that she found very unsettling. He didn’t utter a word, but stared and stared and stared. As she bent down to start washing the dishes, she was painfully aware that part of her young bosoms were showing through the top of the pinafore she wore. For the first time, she wished Mother had gotten her a bra, but how could she bother with such inconsequential things as female undergarments when they could barely feed?     

Under Prince’s intense scrutiny, she washed the plates as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to remain pinned under those reptilian eyes that stared at her from behind semi-transparent lenses. She was gathering the dishes to take back to the house when he broke the silence.

Nwunyem is anybody at home with you?” he casually asked her.

“Yes,” she replied, wondering why he was asking.

“Who?”

“Oliver”. Her brother’s name was Oliver.

“What is he doing?”

“I dunno o. I left him sleeping”

She lifted the basin containing the stacked dishes and was about to move to the main building when he called her back.

Chilo, drop those plates here and come back, I want to talk to you”.

Reluctantly, she dropped the basin by the tap and moved back. Prince left the door post and sat down on a bench that rested by the wall. He then motioned to her.
“Come here,” he said, and stretched out one thick hand to her.

She hesitated, and then forced her feet to move forward. She stopped a few feet from him and waited expectantly.

“Come closer,” he crooned softly.

She unenthusiastically crossed the remaining feet and stood directly in front of him.

“Why are you afraid? I won’t eat you”, he said, chuckling mildly.

He took hold of her damp hands, turned her around and sat her down on his laps. His thighs felt unpleasantly stony beneath her buttocks.

“I don’t know why you are always very jumpy around me,” he began. “You have to learn to trust me, because I am your uncle and will never harm you”.

Even as he was speaking, he was already rubbing her exposed knees gently. She wanted to ask him what family tie made him her uncle, but she was too discomfited by the hard hand massaging her knee, so she decided to save the question for a more convenient time.

He adjusted himself on the bench ,and between the time it took for her to inhale and exhale, his hand, like a slimy, insidious snake, slithered up her tummy and enfolded it itself on her right breast.


Chilo shuddered . . .  

20 thoughts on “Conclusion Of Iyawo Nylon Bag”

  1. What plot?very boring,the 1st part was ok but the second and this one was very uninspiring.
    Am not looking forward to the next biko

    Reply
  2. hunm,i think i've come across this story somewhere but can't remember precisely where.The Prince end up silencing the poor girl with ………..,don't let me let out the cat out of the bag,watch out for part 2.Iyawo Nylon bag indeed

    Reply
  3. Tanks for this story, these things happen all d time and dey are almost never talked about. Dirty old men molesting babies. I remember wen a 60 year old family
    Frnd wanted 2 try dat rubbish with me wen I was 10yrs old. I gave him d warning of his life and went ahead to tell my parents and grandparents. It's very important to have a good relationship with your kids, let them trust u enuf to tell you these things.

    Reply
  4. Tanks for this story, these things happen all d time and dey are almost never talked about. Dirty old men molesting babies. I remember wen a 60 year old family
    Frnd wanted 2 try dat rubbish with me wen I was 10yrs old. I gave him d warning of his life and went ahead to tell my parents and grandparents. It's very important to have a good relationship with your kids, let them trust u enuf to tell you these things.

    Reply
  5. Write your own let us read. Very easy to condemn yet people like you cannot string a sentence together. Smh

    Reply
  6. Dem dey gree fear God? All these Demonic things masquerading about as Men and molesting little girls,it is God that will punish all of them one by one!! Mschew.

    Thanks for Reading jare.

    Reply
  7. Soulspasms you definately are talented with good discriptive skills. Keep working on it and one day we shall buy your books. Chapters tooooo short though

    Reply

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