Crushed Roses: The Saga

By Ibiere Addey

Crushed Roses - The Saga details the journey of a young woman looking for meaning in her life’s struggles.

Love and heartbreak. For artist and poet Zainab Ali—“Zee” to her friends—these two things always seem to come hand in hand. It all started with “road-wrecked mind,” one jazz night at the cafe and the lure of a forbidden romance. Zee’s life was never the same. Now tell me, who defines relationships between best friends? Who draws the boundaries of where, when and how with love?

Because I tell you love does have a force and when it strikes, the choices you make matters. I bet Zee can tell you the same when the shades of life did hit, and life turns out different, she must decide her next path, she must rebuild herself—and then decide where to place her faith.

Find out more about two best friends (Zee and Wale Badmus) who believed in -You, Me, Always...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ibiere Addey
• Release date: Apr 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9783945837399

Ibiere Addey

Ibiere Addey (known to friends as ‘Ibi’) currently works as a Senior Operation Analyst, reviewing processes and ensuring technical implementation as per business requirement. For her, even her job is just another form of story-telling, bringing to life the customer’s needs and expectation. She’s been in these type of roles for seven or eight years, and while she loves meeting people and being involved in the development process, that burning desire to keep writing takes over once the working day is over. “The funny thing is that writing other stuff has been lingering in my mind all day, but the hustle and bustle of a typically technical operations world keeps it restricted,” she explains.

Book preview

STORY ONE

The Saga Of An Undefined Relationship

He, She, and the Others

My thoughts’ voice

Crossed life’s path

That left tales

Scattered like

Text, letterDescription automatically generated

breadcrumbs

Words engraved

on bruised hearts

Wrestling to flee

Red roses pool

Silent, let the mind whisper

Truth

Ibiere Addey

Who am I?

Allow me to introduce myself

I am

Zainab Ali

Fondly called Zee

What’s the meaning of Zainab

fragrant flower, ornamented tree, beauty, or grace

my surname?

Ali meaning high, elevated, or exalted

and my parents?

Fulani - in every word (a northern tribe in Nigeria)

My background?

I am – Nigerian Born British but a Naija mix

And Naija – is the local name for Nigeria

My flow?

Dress code – smart casual is a Must

Trust now, Clothes must not always be a statement

but dress to kill when lacking in some qualities.

shush! I’ll tell you

about my qualities later

Planned Career: Poet and Artist

For sure…

‘Ms Independent’

Die-hard Christian Yes – ooohhh!

Like we’ve been …

26th March 1996

Two years, six months, three days, five hours,

and […]

Termed a decade if permitted.

Wipe the slate when paths crossed.

Blow the letters away.

My mind’s flashback rejected.

An almost tale for you …

This is for

ears that crave engraved History

and a mind that yearns for comprehension.

How two similar but separate beings

complete the last words of each other’s sentences.

I’ll fill you in on some info.

To save you from the constant frown

between your eyebrows.

Let’s cross pinkie fingers first, for this is a one-off story.

Never to leave your lips.

Promise me…

Here it goes…

The route to Lagos University Nigeria

known as UNILAG.

Had rutted grassy sidewalks

unpaved, potholed roads

and a signpost nicknamed Nameless Street —

not because it was nameless

but because the harsh years gone by

had broken and given the once cedar-coloured

metal and white letters an unusual look.

The signpost – Nameless Street

now clad in crimson rust

hung like a

little child’s rag doll

forgotten

by the riverbank

three summers ago.

My memory lane

At Nameless Street

23rd August 1994

I met

A fine-boned face guy

With

bushy eyebrows and cinnamon eyes

anchored by a narrow nose

between sharp cheekbones

a cupid’s bow mouth surrounded

by a scraggly goatee.

A guy called -

Wale Badmus

Who was

six foot three inches and

a tenant to Number Two Nameless Street House

Plus, he was always found slouching

with hands shoved in his pockets

in a company of [various shaped females……]

where word ping-pong was the rule of each day.

Wale Badmus

a third-year business law student

and I, Zainab Ali

starting out

in English literature and communication

Side confession

There were other routes to Lagos University

but my eyes locked

onto a perfect painting my heart desired

All caution gone to the wind

Sue me!

My pool table of buffet guy options were:

solid cream, yellow, caramel, chocolate-brown, black—

but the black ball ends the game

and as my game goes

he (Wale) was the black ball.

I potted

and let’s just say Mr. Nameless Street

the black ball

Wale Badmus

got potted

gameover.

My knight in shining armor right?

Hold up!

Scrap that thought…

not in the way you imagined it.

Here’s the real story

You know what reallllly happened, not all the fairybook story.

Just lean in as I narrate my story to you.

Honestly,

it was an accident

It felt like yesterday.

Down untarred, dusty, Nameless Street

canvassed with trees on both sides of the road

My head bowed against my chest

The soft rising and falling

of my guarded twin assets – you know my boobs

that was

stuffed into a low neck, compressed khaki top

My well-arched knee-length black skirt

gave way to my slender caramelized legs

that made their way past a

half-cemented building.

Hoping

Hoping that the

barrel-chested dark cocoa-complexioned guy

Whose back lay against the

drab concrete fence with his hands

rammed in baggy jeans

that brushed over

wide leather open

sandals would take a peep

in my direction.

That those pearly white teeth

From him

would shine on me.

A being of perfection

just standing there

blowing away reason and caution

making me forget

the nature of the untarred, dusty Nameless Street.

Tssiish!

I wished, I wished

that God had warned me

that as I approached the hollow,

gritted sidewalk

my ankle would buckle

under my sixty-eight-kilogram body

and my five-foot one-inch frame

would swing like paper

Captured by gravity

towards Earth into the big mud puddle

Pinch me someone

Did I miss the memo sent by brain

that I was about to approach danger

Maybe -

my caramelized legs could

have escaped the cold,

murky splash pool that

awaited me on a sunny

Thursday afternoon

Shamed – please do hide me

As

my swagger gauge

had just hit zero

I felt the strain

behind my ears

I squeezed my eyes

closed

and hoped to fade away

like powder in the air

Hefty strides came to a screech by my side

Strong palms curved around my shoulders

A scent that could only come from a man

The man

filled my nose and his barrel chest drew closer

Are you okay? asked a husky voice

Stars clouded my vision.

Sounds became like echoes across the ocean

and black letters knit my story

Wait for it…wait for it… Wale, my prince charming,

and I, his princess happily ever after.

Paused that thought

and mushiness in your hearts

Because I’m still waiting to be rescued, for my status in his life is: TRUSTED BEST FRIEND.

Haha – fooled you. That’s how the episode ended, two years later, I am still his trusted best friend.

Phew!

Glad we got that clarified.

I hate to start the story with a lie.

As we are the definition of

Best Friends.

Almost inseparable

I dare say.

Let’s begin on what transpired later, you know

– He, She, and the Others.

The Saga of an

undefined relationship

Wale Badmus

UNILAG’s most desired bachelor

A Lagos delight,

musclebound arms

modelled daily in shades of blue shirts,

bottom cladded in clean-cut chinos.

Either greedy

at the table of body parts

or he was God’s favourite being.

Study nights never a bore

Music, nibbles, and light conversation.

Sometimes accompanied by

Omoselewa, Aniekan, Iyowoichofe, Amaka …

Can’t remember all his special friends,

as I stopped counting.

Tall, slim, plus-size, dark, fair.

There was one thing for sure:

They were all beauties with

tongue-twister names

I, on the other hand, Zainab Ali,