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The book – Teen of Fifteen is out!

We have a new book for you…

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Excerpt from the eBook…

When the hymen breaks, she bleeds. She is in pain. Her husband of sixty one assures her the bleeding and the pain will soon stop. Her mother also concurs. She believes her. Her mother will never lie to her.
The bleeding stops.

“Fati, I told you the blood will stop. Hasn’t it stop?” He smiles and scratches his noticeable large head, evenly mixed with grey and black hair. He has just rolled out of the bed-less mattress to sprawl on the rug after an amatory exercise with her

“But the pain is still there, Alhaji.” She complains.

“My prophecy on that will soon be fulfilled as the first one. Very soon you will not be feeling pains, insha Allah. You know, it is because you were a virgin that is why you are facing this problem of honour.”

“Problem of honour?”

“Yes. Only few girls nowadays have the honour of entering marriage with their virginity intact.”

She conceives but the pain remains. It persists on every intercourse with him during the embryonic stage of her pregnancy. His prophecy has failed. She desires an amoristic break, but he sweet tongues her: it is essential for the health of the coming baby.

During the foetal season of the pregnancy, the pain wanes. She is happy; he is happier, and increases his amatory performance. As the delivery month comes closer, the pain dies; his night exploits also dies. Her fresh, plump and spotless skin, now unattractively bulky, and most of all, has becomes watery beneath.

THE obstetrician pities her. She is a child. Her large built did not deceive him. He knows them; he has treated many child-mothers. Her opening is unripe for a passage. Poor little child; the obstetrician mutters to himself and shoots a glare at her husband.

“What is the matter, Dr. Aliu?” A jumpy countenance instantly hangs on his face.

His glowering face suddenly showcases a smile. “Nothing much, Alhaji Bala; it is just that she may need a caesarian operation to make her give birth.”
“Ha, kai, operation?”

“She is a bit not matured to give birth through the normal route. Her birth canal is not yet matured. But I will still examine her, she might be lucky to deliver without going through an operation.”

“Doctor, please, do your best.”

“I will, Alhaji,” he nods, “please, excuse us.”

He looks at his groaning wife and gives a comforting nod. He leaves.

The obstetrician did his best. Only a little cut paves way for delivery after three days of labour.

He is a boy. She sees him, so tiny. A skinny nurse holds him on her palms, drenched with her blood. Her heart smiles; the paleness on her face has clouded her smiling face. When the somnific drug begins to manifest, she sleeps.

The doctor stitches the cut.She wakes up to see the grinning faces of her mother and husband. In few days, she is discharged.

Her mother nurses her and her baby because she is a baby with a baby. The mother teaches the new mother during the six months she stays with her.

Mother returns home. The following midnight he enters her bedroom while the baby sleeps. He wants her.

“So, you have been praying for my mother to return home.”

She smiles.

Something like a babyish grin hangs on his face. “Have I not tried, Fati? Is six months a little time to wait for your touch?”

“Haven’t my colleagues been attending to you?”

“They have. But you know you are my favourite.”

She giggles. “Well, have you forgotten my wound?”

“ Haba, but the doctor has removed the stitches long ago. Is it still paining you?”

“No. but … I don’t know … em, don’t you think if you touch me it will injure the wound?”

“Haba, haba, what wound again? It is ripe now.” He convinces her. They enjoy it.

One morning when she rouses, a stench hits her. The mattress is soaked with strange liquid. She bends to look at her private part, it stinks.

She is bewildered. She removes the bed sheet and soaks it with Omo on a stainless basin. She refreshes the room with turare, and bathes. She wonders about the strange flow from her body.

She is ashamed of herself. Her husband would have seen her shame if he has slept in her room.

In few weeks, she remembers no more the ‘stinking’ past. Love making is now constants and sweet.

THE stink comes back. Her husband perceives it when he wakes in the morning. He wakes her, “what is smelling, Fati? He covers his nose with his cupped hand. He is unsure whether it is flatulence, but surely, the foulest stench his nose has ever encountered.

She springs up. The liquid flows down like a ridged path from her right thigh to the ground. He sees it; she is only donned with a red underwear and a white brassiere.

“What is this?”

“I don’t know.” She replies gruffly; her attention is on the mattress. She holds an edge of the bed sheet to pull it off the mattress without an excuse; instead, she waits, waiting for him to figure out her intention. He looks at her but her face is down”

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