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Mathew Oluwaseun
University of Ilorin (Unilorin)
Mechanical Engineering
500Level, Nigeria.
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It is seven-thirty in the morning. Lomotey is strolling out of the house with his bucket; he is going to fetch water. He has a wedding to attend.

As he makes his way out through the gate that never closes, he drops the bucket, rotates a full one-hundred-and-eighty degrees on his left foot and is dashing back into the house, “Wɔn mo ba oo! Wɔn mo ba oo!”

He hurriedly opens his front door and disappears behind the closed door. He dashes underneath his bed and covers himself with the blanket that is now covered in bed fluff.

“Okay, sika no nie,” says Senyo outside and bids farewell to the TV license collectors.

“Next time wai.”

As Senyo returns to his room, he puts his face to the window of Lomotey’s room and says, “Lom, they’re gone now; I paid for both of us.” He strolls into his room.



Patrick arrives at the auto-mechanic’s place. The auto-mechanic is not there. He snorts in exasperation.

“Oh, you dey search Aka? E no dey o; e say e go e hometown for funeral. Buh me I see sey de only funeral wey e dey be de one e dey run from – de one give e moni. E know sey de TV license people dey com today so e run,” supplies the shopkeeper who sells nearby.

“I have a flat tyre and he has my spare.”

“Oh Chaaale!!! Den you for wait am. I sure sey e go com by twolve o’clock. Make you wait am. See, make I giv you seat make you wait am,” offers the shopkeeper as he goes to get him the high stool he has by his shop.

“No. I will go and wait for him at home. Please tell him to call me.”

Patrick leaves with his face contorted by exasperation mingled with indignation.



Naa is climbing the stairs to the chapel. Her right leg buckles on her ankle. Her heel is broken. She rushes out to a nearby store to find a replacement.

“Sister, wei deɛ me hu sɛ ɛsɛ sɛ wo kɔ fie o. Wontumi nhyɛ chale wɔtey ne w’atadeɛ wei. Ɛnfata wedding no nso,” says the shopkeeper.

Naa sighs, thanks the lady and finds her way home to replace her broken footwear.



Lomotey emerges from his house dressed in a purple lace top and trousers with matching purple shoes. “Senyo, com see. How I dey look?” he requests.

Senyo peers through his louvers to see the attire. “Well, you look posh. It’s nice. All the best Chale,” furnishes Senyo.

Lomotey departs – through the gate, around the bend and to the bus stop. He stops a taxi and boards it. He arrives at the wedding reception grounds – Naa and Patrick are waiting.

“We’re all late,” both chorus as Lomotey approaches them. They’re about to explain when Lomotey waves it all away. They shake hands. They find a table and sit.

“We picked the wrong table oo,” complains Lomotey. Naa and Patrick nod as they reach the serving table to find that the food is finished though they are not the last in line. As they go back to their table with their soft drinks in hand, they see other tables with plates half-empty. Lomotey frowns; Patrick pats him on his shoulder.



“Cynthia, send us the photos on WhatsApp,” Patrick requests.

It’s two days after the wedding. Patrick and Lomotey send Naa the photos they have just received, both with the caption, “Can you believe it?”

“So I broke my heel just for a handshake?” Naa replies to the photos that show Cynthia’s hand being shaken by her groom during the kiss-the-bride segment of the ceremony

opera.pulse.ng/books/african-flash-fiction-you-need-to-read-the-handshake-by-jude-davids-id5674176.html
African Flash Fiction You Need To Read

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Don not get stuck at the well of argument. Let God be your vindicator. Let Him fight your battles. He will vindicate you better than you can vindicate yourself.

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