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WHO
CARES
ABOUT
LOVE?
(A Short Story and Some Poems)

SMART ABAVO
OLALEKAN DANIEL KEHINDE

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 Copyright © 2021

Smart Abavo
Olalekan Daniel Kehinde

All rights reserved.

This book may not be copied or reproduced without

the written permission of the author.

Smart Abavo
smrtendurance@gmail.com
+2347034591402

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 Dedication
This book is dedicated to Folashade Oluwaseun Adedeji, the beloved
mother of Ayomide.

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 CONTENTS

Short Story
After One – Smart Abavo

Poems
February 14 – Smart Abavo
Why Should I Love You? – Olalekan Daniel Kehinde
Durotimi – Okunlola Latifah Busayo
Fairest One – Triumphant Pedro-Okor
Your Eyes Found Me – Olalekan Daniel Kehinde
Hollow – Smart Abavo
Valentina – Olalekan Daniel Kehinde
The Taste of a Candy – Smart Abavo

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 After One

About four years ago, while she was in secondary school, Helen was
nicknamed ‘S.U.’ as a result of her strict adherence to her religious belief
and way of life. In those days, she never allowed a man’s arms round her
shoulders. Shoulders? In fact, she rarely shook hands with her male
colleagues at school. A humble smile and a wave of the hand were enough,
revealing the dimples on her cheeks that added glamour to her light skin
and slender body. Any further intimacy birthed a disapproving warning and
perhaps, a pregnant slap.

In those days, she was the pride of the youth choir of her church, the
lead vocalist, rendering heartfelt worship with teary eyes. She was always
the most punctual at choir rehearsals and church services. It was not
difficult to know she was in church. Her height announced her presence.

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Every mother engaged their praying knees that their children, especially the
females, would at least be a carbon copy of Helen who was also a maestro
in strumming the acoustic guitar.

In those days, Helen was the whiz kid of Bravo Group of Schools.
No one would have believed she was in the Sciences because she had an
angelic voice that cut deep into the bones and marrows of worshipping
students and teachers during the early morning Assembly. It was like a
volcano eruption in the hearts of all and sundry. On several occasions, the
mandatory Assembly which usually lasted for twenty-five minutes had
taken a worthy hour as a result of the spirit-filled worship of Helen. She
had literally telephoned heaven and its splendour. When she voiced a song,
it was as though she knew the password to unlock the secret longings and
yearnings of her listeners. Not only was she an anointed singer, but she also
was a delight to behold on an acting stage. She interpreted every role so
perfectly that the audience always reminisced about her performance.

In those good old days when Helen was Helen, her accolades at
school and in the church were as the sand of the seashore. She had been
the most outstanding teenager at school, winning numerous academic
awards and talent hunts. At the Kingdom Worship Ministry where she
served God, she had been the best Sunday school student in the teens’
class as well as the best teen worshipper.

But all was now gone. Helen became notorious in the community of
Oki for her wild way of life. She now featured in every adult’s party and
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night club in her locality and beyond. Young men in her age bracket would
not even dare to woo her except they had the money to buy Brazilian hair,
Ghana weavon and the latest iPhone device in town. Who would have
believed that the eighteen-year-old Helen would delight in passing the night
in a man’s house – a once detestable sight to her? Who would have thought
that Helen, who never missed a church service, would now become a
stripper at night clubs, entertaining men of high standing and giving them a
licence to fondle her breast, glue their thing to her bent posterior and even
unravel the mystery in her teenage clitoris? Of course, no one would have
believed that Helen, who was the brightest student in secondary school,
would turn out to be the most active sex worker in the neighbourhood
where she was born.

One would ask: “Where was her mother when things fell apart?”
Where else could she be? She was always at the T-junction frying Akara
and Yam. Who would blame the poor woman? Since her beloved husband
died, she had been unable to secure a job to cater for Helen and her
younger sister. Mrs. Jumoke Ibeh graduated with a Second-Class degree,
but her late husband never allowed her to work while he was alive.
Sometimes, when she thought about that, she exclaimed her regret in
marrying an Igbo man. He wanted her to properly nurture his intelligent
children, which she did. When he died, however, his callous and
malevolent family members took over all he had since he died untimely
without writing a will and more so, he did not have a male child. The

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duplex where they lived and the two cars were sold. Mrs. Ibeh had
struggled since then, to pay her daughters’ school fees, pay the rent for the
one-room apartment where they stayed, and of course, feed the family.

The whole world deserted her and her daughters. Most surprising
was the church where they called upon the name of the Lord. The poor
woman had thought she would find refuge there, but she was treated like
an outcast.

“Even if I am a stranger in church, do I deserve this treatment? At

least, you said there is no stranger in the house of God” queried Mrs. Ibeh
as she lamented her woes before the pastor.

“You are important to us, Madam. But there is no way we can

accommodate you and your two daughters in the Mission House. It is
meant for the anointed men of God,” replied the pastor.

“But there are empty rooms without occupants. All I am pleading for
is just a room for me and my two children. Moreover, we also contributed
in the building of the Mission House,” she sobbed.

“I am sorry; there is nothing we can do now. We will see how to help

you in other ways,” insisted Pastor James.

Mrs. Ibeh left the church, disappointed that day. She never heard
from the church afterwards. Her faith was crippled. She absolutely lost
trust in the helping power of the church and so did her daughters, most

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especially Helen. Helen inaugurated her immoral escapades right from the
compound where they lived. She had sexual relationships with all the
lascivious bachelors in the face-me-I-face-you compound and they offered
her money which she remitted to her mother for the sustenance of the
home. Since the stipend was not sufficient, Helen extended her
promiscuous tent after her secondary education. She passed her Secondary
School Certificate Examination. It was time to further to a higher
institution but her mother’s small business could not cover for the tuition
and other expenses charged by tertiary institutions in the country.

As a result, Helen took up a job where she earned a little amount of

money. Little did she know that the job would catapult her into the field of
Advanced Prostitution. She met professionals and became one herself.
Night clubs were their places of primary assignment. Initially, she felt
uncomfortable with it; but since it fetched the family something to live on,
she soon adapted. After she had gathered money enough to continue her
education, she undertook the entrance examination on three occasions. She
passed on each occasion, but was not offered admission. That made her
really discouraged.

“What’s the point going to school?” she queried. “Well, I will try one
last time. If it does not work out for me this time, I will quit trying and
move on with my life,” she thought.

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 Fortunately for her, the last key in the bunch opened the door.
However, a baby had already taken refuge in her infant womb when the
admission finally came. It was her first unprotected intercourse.

“Who is responsible for your pregnancy?” Her mother asked angrily.

“Mum, I think it is the Counsellor,” she replied, as tears filled her

eyes.

“The Counsellor that was here to see you few months ago?” asked
her mother.

“Yes, Ma. He insisted that we have it unprotected. After then, he

gave me fifty thousand naira.”

“Where is the money now?”

“I added some amount to it and paid the rent for this apartment
since the landlord threatened to throw us out if we failed to pay before the
end of the month. I am very sorry, Mum. I’ve never loved what I’m doing,
but do I have a choice?”

“Have you told the Counsellor about it?” her mother asked.

“He warned me to never contact him again,” replied Helen.

Tears rolled down her mother’s cheeks as she heard those helpless
words. There were two bundles of sorrowful joy: pregnancy and admission.
The reality of life began to dawn on Helen. Her unborn child would be a

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bastard and she too would be tagged “After One”, a name commonly given
to single mothers, especially those who had a baby in their teens.

In the community of Oki, no sane young man would attempt to

propose marriage to a woman who already had a child without a father.
The men who used to park their exotic cars in front of Helen’s house had
suddenly disappeared like a shadow in the dark. The news of Helen’s
pregnancy spread like wild fire in the gossiping neighbourhood.

How about her education? At last, the long-anticipated admission

came, but there were now more important things to do. She needed to plan
for her unborn child. Work stopped for her when the pregnancy became
obvious. When hunger started lashing her buttocks, she decided to join her
mother at the T-junction. Frying Akara and Yam then became a family
business. The smoke from the fire turned her fair skin into a rather dark
one and her beauty seemed to fade away gradually as she appeared older
than her age. Her dreams of becoming a famous music minister and
biochemical engineer were paralysed. After nine months, she was delivered
of a baby boy, but men did not still show interest in asking her out because
she was “After One”.

-Smart Abavo

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 February 14
Gone are those beautiful days of Valentine!

Days when shy lovers stare at each other’s eyes

With words written on soft smiles.

Days when holding hands was intimate enough

To send the evening’s wine down the spine.

Days when youths dated to marry

And not on a mattress to tarry.

But now, love is slaughtered on the altar of lust

With knives that puke semen into open pots.

These are now days when youths are employed with blowjobs –
Jobs done with diligent hands and tongues.

Like mobile phones, teenagers ring moanfully under sheets –

With tones and vibrations of pleasure.

What do we celebrate – love or lust?

-Smart Abavo

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 why should I love you?

why should I
fall in love with you
when they say love
is like beautiful sunset
that spreads her wide arms
like a teenager before manly
darkness hugs her into himself?

why should I
fall in love with you
when you say love & lust
are intertwined couple
that do not break up like the sky
communes with sprinkled
stars brimming its surface?

why should I
fall in love with you
when they say love
is like a morning coffee
with sweet taste that
burns the tongue down
to the pit of her lover’s throat?

-OLALEKAN Daniel Kehinde

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 Durotimi (Stay with Me)

Hold on to me,
Lock each of my fingers tightly in yours,
And we’ll walk on this endless path
Branded with roses

Mama told me:

‘Hold on to your feelings’
I guess she saw a glimpse of you approaching –
At that moment, it all came out clear.

You grew and have grown to become

A promise I shall not fail;
A discourse I shall always ponder;
A desire I shall always admire.

Your gaze assures me -

The music of your heart belongs to me
So I dance, swing, and dance
For you are the twilight
That dazzles like gold

-Okunlola Latifah Busayo

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 Fairest One

Sing me a lullaby
Oh, fairest one!
Sweet is thy voice
Tender is thy skin
Warm is thy embrace
Oh, fairest one
In thy light, I see light

-Triumphant Pedro-Okor

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 your eyes found me

is there fire in your eyes that does not burn to ashes

but becomes guidance in dark moment whenever you wink?

because each time our eyes meet like two lost lovers
it seems your eyes light the way to your heart and call for me

i have been lost in my yesterdays and i’ve prayed my future

to send me signs that i find love, and these eyes reach me still

and i do not want to offend God if i fail to walk in this way again

-OLALEKAN Daniel Kehinde

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 Hollow

Tossing the earth;

Earth, hungry, darting in and out, madly.
Madly, man from fleshly flaunted feasts.
Feasts of beggarly fellows, rich in barren pilgrimage.
Pilgrimage to feed the heart’s hollow;
Hollow carved by Nature, by Birth, by Death!
Death of self to nature and pleasure:
Pleasure of genitalia and wine;
Wine brewed on the altar of Lust!
Lust too loose to find the lost.
Lost! Man stands in lust!
Lust’s not Love; Love’s not lost.
Lost? Find Love; He’s Christ!

-Smart Abavo

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 valentina

today, a lady tweets her birthday and uploads warm her heart
as brilliance round as the aura of rainbow sits on her cheeks

and i bet she does not know that tiny dimples sharpen deep into them
and that my heart hosts matchless love for her this day

there were days when i sat in a lonely place and wrote her name
multiple times on the sand and the wind would not wipe it like duster

there were days i threw coins, naming each side ‘love’ and ‘lust’
the side that bore love stood up, smiling and shining at me

i knew i did not lie when i said i loved you but those games were fun
and they were like prophets, telling me you’re the messiah to save my lost
soul

this day, i like to fold myself into you and peg a smile on your cheeks
as you tweet your birthday and our bodies warm each other’s heart

-OLALEKAN Daniel Kehinde

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 The Taste of a Candy

When my goals wrestled with me

With frantic frenzy for BIG;
When my shadows deserted me
In the midst of lonely siestas;
You shouldered my worries,
And breathed into the nostrils of my dreams

When my thoughts were naked

Seeking advisory garments of truth,
When gloom bore me upon its arms
To feed me to the beasts of uncertainty;
You read through the pages of my heart:
Dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s

When Jezebels flaunted seductive dances

Round my believing thighs;
And my wrinkling faith grew cold:
Shivering into the trash bin of sin,
Your words were like two-edged sword
Piercing through my unrenewed fervour

The bitter pills of my unforgivable past

Were my hard-earned disaster
My lot: a life of misplaced priority;
My stinging memories hunted me
Until I tasted your candy of love
That wells up to eternal bliss.

-Smart Abavo

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I am sure you enjoyed the poems and short story. Kindly share with your
friends and loved ones. I would also like to hear your thoughts about the
works you just read… Please, reach me via the contacts below.

If you would like to connect with me, you can also use the contacts below.

I am a Motivational Teacher, Author and Leadership Mentor. My message

is centred on implanting God’s kingdom in the hearts of the young and
raising leaders who will transform society.

For bookings, contact smrtendurance@gmail.com or +2347034591402

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