It’s best to know when you’ve crossed the finish line. Although recognizing defeat is considered necessary for survival it has eluded generations. For mama Biola it was her sixth daughter, she could have stopped at two. She heard the whispers, knew it too well.

“A womb barren of sons”,

“Mama Biola’s poor poor husband. Who would carry on his legacy?”

The gossips omit that his legacy consisted of a dingy bungalow and millions in debt.

Mama Biola went on her knees every night for vindication. Mercy from god, for a fertile womb. Strong sons.

The third she named Asikooluwaloju; the ‘Timing of God is best’, her name a prayer. A useless prayer which meant thank you but this isn’t enough. A plea for more.

Asiko grew filled with bile, suckled on her mother’s disappointment and grew into puberty like an unfulfilled promise. Drawn to weary men who could never satisfy her.

Undeterred by gossip

“Asiko Ashawo”

“Asiko never keeps her legs closed”

“Asiko who sleeps around like a man”

Asiko, unsatisfied as they come, Asiko searching for the right moment. Asiko who never stays.


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