Baby I Can Die For You

“Baby,” she said, caressing my sweaty chest.
“Mmmm…” I mumbled, hoping she’d forget whatever she wanted to tell me. This was no time for pillow talk. I’d just spent one hour kissing her, another one hour licking her clean-shaved south-south region plus maybe fifteen minutes doing the main oil exploration. Over two hours of kwokirikwo! I was more than tired. I was weaker than Samson after Delilah had turned his dada to kodo.
“Baby, I love you, ” I heard her say.
“I love you too sweetie,” I heard myself respond.
“Baby,” I heard her call me again.
“Mmmm… Mmmm…” I mumbled drowsily. I wasn’t even sure if I was still awake or dreaming.
“I can die for you,” she declared.
I opened my eyes suddenly like someone waking from a nightmare where a masquerade was chasing him with a cutlass. I wanted to be sure of what I’d just heard because the words kept echoing in my ears:
I can die for you…
die for you…
die for you…
for you…
you… you… you…

My startled reaction must’ve looked funny to her because she giggled.
I closed my eyes again, concluding that I’d heard ‘I can BUY for you’ or that I’d only been imagining things.
“Baby, I can die for you,” she said again. This time she said it into my ear, kissed that ear and lay her head on my chest.
Gbigim gbigim… gbim gbim… I wondered if she could hear the drumming of my heart. Now, I was sure her words were real, not a dream or an imagination as I’d hoped. If she was expecting me to automatically say ‘I can die for you too’, fa fa fa fowl. No way! I just pretended as if I was already sleeping. I came to the final conclusion that her ‘I can die for you’ came out as a result of her over-satisfaction tonight. Maybe she was too overwhelmed by her orgasm. ‘By tomorrow, I’m sure she’ll forget this nonsense about dying for me,’ I reasoned.
“Die for me ni. Die for me kor,” I said to myself minutes later. I looked at her alarmed. She hadn’t heard me. She was already sound asleep. Thank God!
I can die for you…
die for you…
die for you…
for you…
you… you… you…

The words kept echoing in my head as I woke up in the morning. My girlfriend was staring at me intently, her left hand playing gently with my right nipple. The intensity of her stare that early mormor really scared me but I didn’t show it. If eyes could speak, I could hear her eyes saying
You will die for me…
die for me…
die for me…
for me…
me… me… me…

It echoed inside my head like a horror film. If I didn’t know how churchious my Ada was eh, I’d be afraid that she was trying to jazz me with her eyes, to cast an evil-eye on me.
“Good morning, my life,” she said, kissing my lips.
Had she just said ‘my life’ or ‘my love’? I wondered. “Morning my love,” I greeted back, putting an emphasis on the ‘my love’.
“Baby, I can…” she was starting to say.
“Shhhh…” I said, placing my forefinger on her lips to hush her.
She held my right hand away from her lips. “Baby, I can…”
“Shhhh…” I used my left hand to cover her mouth this time.
“Kikikiki…” she giggled, holding my two hands between her own. “Why are you covering my mouth na?” she asked, still giggling.
“You know why. Don’t say it again,” I said smiling at her.
“Say what?”
“What you said last night!”
“But what did I say last night na?” she asked, really enjoying this her I-can’t-remember-that-I-said-I-can-die-for-you game.
“John i ga-egbu mu o! John i na-egbu mu o!” I said, twisting my face and mimicking her moaning voice during our kwokirikwo last night.
She burst out laughing hysterically and beat my chest playfully. “You’re not serious! I never did that. Hahahaha…”
“That’s what you said jor,” I winked mischievously.
“I said I can die for you,” she said in a serious tone.
“An Igbo girl! Die for me? I am dreaming. I am dreaming,” I exclaimed in disbelief, pinching my neck.
“Hahaha…” she laughed and suddenly became serious again. “John, I mean it. I can die for you.”
“Okay o!” I said, shrugging in surrender.
There was no point arguing with her. I knew she could argue till eternity about dying for me. The same way she would soak and wash and soak and wash and wash and wash my stained white shirt till either the stain commits suicide or the shirt itself started begging her for mercy. That’s Ada for you. She never gives up.

We didn’t talk about her dying for me again until one month later. She told me how the governor’s son who recently returned from America had stopped her at Shoprite proposing marriage. At first I thought she was joking. I thought it must be her corner-corner way of telling me to come and pay her bride price. But I knew that water don pass garri when she opened her Louis Vuitton bag, brought out a small glass box and showed me the diamond-studded gold ring inside it.
“My frwend, this is 18 carwat gold and rweal diamond, wallahi. Make I give you ₦100,000,” Alhaji Gold said when I showed it to him the next day.
“No worry Alhaji. I go come back tomorrow,” I said, snatching it from his hand.
“Ah ah, my frwend, come and take ₦150,000,” he offered as I walked away.

For Alhaji Gold to offer me ₦150,000, it meant the ring was worth times two or more, worth ₦300,000 or more. When my girlfriend came to see me later that day, I quickly dragged her inside, bolted my door, sat her on my bed and held her hands.
“Sweetheart, I love you,” I confessed.
“Baby, I know that. But first…” She freed her right hand and opened it. I knew she wanted me to give her back the diamond-studded 18 carat gold ring. I knew she was actually planning to return it to the governor’s son.
“Sweetheart, wait na. Do you know how much that ring is?”
“Hundred thousand? Five hundred thousand?” She shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m returning it back to him. I’m not interested in his stupid proposal” still motioning her hand for me to give it to her.
“Yes baby”
“Shebi you said you can die for me?”
“Ehen, what has that got to do with this now?” she asked, clearly confused.
“Die for me” I said.
Die for me…
For me…
me… me… me…

I had hoped it would echo like that in her ears but she simply stood up from my bed and took a step towards my wardrobe. I knew she knew where to search for the ring.
“Baby, I know you like that ring. But I must return it. I’ll buy another one for you,” she promised.
“No no no Sweetheart,” I stood up, grabbed her arm and pulled her back. This time, I sat her on my laps. “I. Want. You. To. Marry. Him!” I said slowly, one by one.
She was so shocked by my words that she stared at me speechless. Tears began gathering in her eyes. I guessed it was probably echoing in her ears.
Marry him…
Marry him…
him… him… him…

“Sweetheart, I want you to marry the governor’s son,” I repeated, heartlessly.
She rose from my laps suddenly as if a tambolo had stung her yansh. The tears were flowing down now.
“Sweetheart, please understand,” I pleaded, pulling her down. “I love you. You know I love you. But you know how these powerful people behave na. He might kill me when he finds out I’m the reason why you’re rejecting him,” I explained.
My cry-cry baby wiped her tears with her hand. “John fmm, so you fmm can’t fmm fight for my love?” she asked whimpering.
“Fight for love? With a governor’s son? Impossicant! That’s suicide na,” I exclaimed.
She just looked at me silently. Her eyes urging me to say more.
“Okaaaaay! You want me to die for you like Ramsey Noah abi?” I asked teasingly.
“God forbid! Kikikiki…” she said, giggling. Of course, she remembered that film we once watched where poor Ramsey Noah was killed by Jim Iyke the son of the king of one land like that.
“Then you better do fast and accept Jim Iyke’s proposal. Or make him come and give me my own ₦10million. I no go reject am o!” I winked.
She laughed hard. Even though she knew I would gladly collect Jim Iyke’s ₦10million if I had been Omotola’s wretched boyfriend in that film. Ada knew I would never tear the cheque like Ramsey Noah, throw it at Jim Iyke’s arrogant face and shout ‘Over my dead body! You can’t buy my love!!!’ Over my dead body ke? She knew I wouldn’t hold Omotola’s hand swearing that ‘I’ll fight for our love’ minutes before Jim Iyke sent hired assassins to blast his head. I dey craze? She knew that I loved her but not enough to die for her. Make I die for myself first before dying for another person jor.

Ada eventually found the diamond-studded 18 carat gold ring in my wardrobe, wore it on her ring finger and waved me goodbye as she banged my door on her way out.

I really missed my Ada. I called her ten times a day, no picking. I texted her ten times a day, no reply. I 2goed her, whatsapped her, facebooked her, nothing nothing. ‘Has my Ada finally married the governor’s son?’ I wondered. ‘But is that not what I wanted her to do?’ I sighed. Every night for those long Adaless days, I would hug my pillow as if it was my Ada. Sometimes, I wouldn’t even know when I’d start unleashing my konji on the poor pillow until my boxers got wet. The same boxers my Ada had bought for me the previous month. Every corner of my room I looked, I’d see something she’d bought for me in the past. My orijo Marks and Spenser black suit, Ada. My orijo Gucci shoes, Ada. My orijo Rolex watch, Ada. My orijo BYC singlets, Ada. My orijo Samsung Galaxy phone, Ada. It was Ada, Ada, Ada, Ada everywhere. How could I ever forget my Ada? How?

By the seventh day, I was so determined to forget my Ada that I started browsing on my phone. I was tempted to download porn but I knew that if I dared watch porn it would only end up reminding me of the kwokirikwo I was missing with my Ada. So I visited Nairaland, Linda Ikeji’s blog, Stella Dimoko Korkus’ blog, Laila’s blog, NotJustOk, NaijaStories and finally visited to buy and read The Legend of INDIA VS NIGERIA by King kObOkO.

Sani Abacha was the hardest target for the Indians and for Yakshi their succubus.

Yakshi served him all her Indian dishes, Abacha ate them all and nothing happened to him. He even looked forward to her meals every night and began to go to bed as early as 8:30pm because he wanted to have enough time to taste all her different recipes. Yakshi eventually gave up on feeding Abacha in his dreams. She noticed in frustration that the effect of her poisoned Indian dishes was only evident in Abacha’s pot-belly which he described to anyone who bothered to ask as an evidence of good feeding.

Then, Yakshi approached Abacha one night stripping off her immaculate white sari and kissing him all over his body. The soldier between his legs stood at complete attention. Yakshi straddled him, moving up and down on his body. Left! Right! Left! Right! His soldier was inside her barracks now thoroughly enjoying its march.

Thirty minutes. One hour. Two hours. He was terrorizing the Twin Towers on her chest and milking them. Yakshi heard him say that they tasted like kulfi, the Indian ice-cream she’d fed him before. By the third hour, Yakshi was exhausted. But Abacha’s soldier wasn’t done with her. She had to disappear from his dreams that day before it became a nightmare for her.

When Yakshi appeared back in India, Lakshmi the main goddess was disappointed. She told Yakshi that she should have pulled off the dark glasses always covering Abacha’s eyes before making love with him so that she could hypnotize him successfully. But Yakshi was still so scared that she refused to return to Abacha’s dream.

And so Lakshmi agreed to accompany Yakshi to Nigeria. They both emerged from Lakshmi’s lotus flower inside Abacha’s dream to find him lying naked with his soldier standing at full attention already. He saw the two of them approaching and licked his cigarette-blackened lips in anticipation. He recognized Yakshi’s immaculate white sari and marveled at Lakshmi’s golden sari. He’d always thought Yakshi was the most beautiful woman on earth. But this other woman in gold looked like the most beautiful woman in the universe. He couldn’t wait to begin this threesome.

After about 20 minutes of Lakshmi trying her best to convince Abacha to pull off his dark glasses, Abacha grudgingly pulled it off.

Alas! Abacha was cross-eyed. It was almost impossible to hypnotize a cross-eyed person because their eyes could turn the hypnotizer into the hypnotized. And so both Lakshmi and Yakshi ran four-forty. They took off. Vanished! Vamoosed! From Abacha’s dreams forever.

Abacha never gave up on his taste for Indian women though. He sought them out in real life. He eventually found very beautiful Indian twins Jayalalitha and Vijayalalitha. They became his lovers. They were his dream-come-true. However, he wasn’t a superman like in his dreams. So every time before they had their threesome, Abacha would drink burantashi. Burantashi made his soldier doubly ready to commandeer two barracks at once.

He had pet names for the two of them. He called one ‘My 1st’ and the other ‘My 2nd’ especially as pronouncing their real names nearly made him bite his tongue. He would always make love to them for 45 – 45 minutes each. They fell in love with him more and more and would bring him the sweet Indian fruit Safed Jamun (more popularly known as Love Apple). Abacha fell in love with their love apples.

One day, Abacha was so drunk that he kept boasting to his twin lovers about Nigeria’s victory over India in 1970. That was when the twins discovered the real meaning of their pet names. My 1st and My 2nd were actually an allusion to the first half and second half of India vs Nigeria. They felt so used and slighted that day that they broke up with Abacha. When Abacha came back to his senses he regretted his drunken boast and begged and begged and begged the Indian twins to forgive him. They bluntly refused and returned to India.

Abacha was so devasted. He was already so addicted to his burantashi, the India twins and their love apple that he couldn’t live without them. In his depression, on 8th June 1998, he pasted the picture of the Indian twins on the walls of his room, drank an overdose of burantashi, ate the last love apple he had left and began masturbating to their picture.

“Urgh! Urgh Urgh! Urgh! Urgh! Urgh! Uuuuuurgh!”
He masturbated and masturbated and masturbated for more than ninety minutes until he collapsed to his sudden death.

Hahahahahahahaha… That part of the book about Abacha really made me laugh.
On the eighth day, I deleted Ada’s phone number from my phone. Even though I knew it would be Mission Impossible part 1,2,3, 4 & 5 for me to delete her special number from my memory. 080-666-00-666. I remembered how she used to laugh whenever I answered her calls saying ‘Hello Anti-Christ!’ or ‘Hello Lucifer!’

Kpom! Kpom! Kpo! Kpo! Kpo!
I heard the knock on my door one early mormor. Exactly nine days after she’d left me. ‘Only one person knocks like this na,’ I thought. Concluding that I must be dreaming, I turned on my bed to continue my Saturday morning sleep.
Kpom! Kpom! Kpo! Kpo! Kpo!
This time I rushed out of the bed and flew to the door. I opened it without even asking ‘Who’s there?’ True true, it was my Ada standing there, looking like an apparition of the Virgin Mary.
“My baby!” she screamed, hugging me. “Muah,” she kissed my forehead. “Muah, ” kissed my left cheek. “Muah,” on my right cheek. “Muah,” on my lips. “I told you I can die for you” she finally said, pulling me in and bolting my door shut.
I can die for you…
die for you…
die for you…
for you…
you… you… you…

Those words again? They kept echoing in my head as she dragged down my boxers and pulled off all her clothes. I kept wondering if this was Ada’s ghost visiting me this early mormor. For now, I didn’t care if this was her ghost, spirit, corpse or whatever. We made love passionately even better than our last time. I didn’t see the diamond-studded 18 carat gold ring on her finger anymore. Had she rejected the governor’s son’s proposal?

It was after one hour of our unlimited kwokirikwo that my Ada finally told me the whole story of her nine days absence. She told me how she’d convinced the governor’s son to take her to meet his parents, His Excellency the Executive Governor of our state and Her Excellency the First Lady. How she kept chewing gum like an ashewo, brought out a stick of Dorchester cigarette and lighter and pretended to smoke in their presence. How she’d interrupted the First Lady’s question about her background to make a fake call to an imaginary friend and how she gossiped on the phone non-stop about the politicians she and her other runs-girls would fuck that night. How the First Lady ordered her to leave and never return. How she’d dropped the diamond-studded 18 carat gold ring in the governor’s son hand. And how the governor’s son had never flashed talkless of calling ever since that day.
“Hahahahaha…” she laughed when she finished telling me the story.
“Jesus! Ada, na lie!” I shouted. “Are you serious?”
“I swear!” she said, nodding.
I knew Ada. She was very very very serious. I just couldn’t imagine my rich, shy, churchious Ada doing all what she’d told me she’d done. Had she really done all that just just to scare away the governor’s son from marrying her? Did she do all that just to remain with me? Jesus!!!
I can die for you…
die for you…
die for you…
for you…
you… you… you…

That was how her words echoed in my head the next day throughout Sunday mass. Instead of picturing Jesus on the cross, I saw my Ada on the cross, naked and smiling down at me sexily.

Pi pi! My phone beeped on Monday afternoon. I checked the text message to see an alert for ₦200,000 paid into my account.
Pi pi! My phone beeped again. I checked to see Ada’s message on Whatsapp:
Baby, I promisd 2buy u anoda ring right? :)
Buy an original ring 4urslf. U knw u lik fake tinz. Lol.
Luv u
I knw u dnt lik 2hear it bt I can die 4u

By merely reading those words on my phone screen, I heard her voice echoing in my head:
I can die 4u
die 4u…
u… u… u…

For the first time in my life, I actually believed that a woman, an Igbo woman for that matter, could die for me. The next week, I withdrew ₦630,000 from the ₦720,000 I had in my account, bought a plot of land at Ijaniki for ₦540,000 and took her there. She must’ve wondered what we were doing in that rural area of Lagos, when I brought out a piece of paper showing my ownership of the land and handed it to her saying
“Sweetheart, this is our land,” I said, as she examined the paper.
“Wow! Baby, I’m so proud of you!” she said, hugging me.
Then I dipped my hand into my pocket and brought out a small glass box. The same glass box of the governor’s son’s ring. Ada had left it in my wardrobe when she’d taken the ring. I opened the box and brought out the 18 carat gold ring I’d managed to buy for ₦90,000. It didn’t have any diamond stud like that of the governor’s son but at least I made sure it was original. I’d bought it from Alhaji Gold.
“Sweetheart, will you marry me?” I asked still standing.
Sweetheart, will you marry me?
…will you marry me?
…marry me?
…me? …me? …me?

I imagined my words echoing in her ears. I imagined her screaming ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ with tears rolling down her beautiful face.
“Kikikiki…” Ada was giggling.
I held her hand and tried to slip the ring into her middle finger before she’d change her mind or something.
“Baby, wait!” she said, clenching her hand into a fist.
‘Was she going to punch me for not buying a ring worth the ₦200,000 she gave me?’ I thought, hardening my belly. I didn’t have six-packs but I didn’t have a pot-belly too. I hoped my two-packs would be enough to absorb her blow.
“Kneel down and propose to your queen,” she demanded, still giggling. She knew me. She knew I didn’t believe in going down on a knee to propose to a woman the way they do it in all those American films.
“No!” I refused.
“Hahahaha…” she burst out laughing. “Baby, can’t you be romantic for once in your life?”
“It’s because my own ring doesn’t have diamond abi?” I grumbled.
“Guilty conscience!!!” she said, not falling for my tactic. “You better get down on one knee and propose properly if you want me to say yes!”
I put the ring in the box, kept it in my pocket and folded my arms stubbornly.
“Baby, if you kneel, we’ll build a duplex on this land together but if you don’t…”
We’ll build a duplex…
build a duplex…
a duplex…
duplex… duplex… duplex…

I immediately went down on my two knees, took out the box quickly from my pocket, brought out the ring and said very slowly with the most romantic voice I’d ever used in my whole life
“My queen, I love you. Please marry me! I mean, will you marry me?”
“Hahahahaaha… My husband!” she said, wearing the ring on her ring finger.

Did you enjoy my short story?
You’ll also love “The Legend of INDIA VS NIGERIA by King kObOkO”.
Get your own copy on
or on Amazon, Lulu or Okada Books.
King kObOkO
+2348022776680 / /

12 thoughts on “Baby I Can Die For You” by King kObOkO (@koboko)

  1. you call tis a short story? there are so many irrelevant paragraphs here such as the indian story, repetition nko? you shoulda seperated them. I wonder how i was able to read thru sef! too lengthy!

  2. Quite lengthy!

    The use of slang words–orijo, early mormor, konji, kwokirikwo–especially in the narration, is it correct? I don’t know how correct or not it is oh, just asking. I just assume that it seem too informal. I still enjoyed it, but that Abacha part was not necessary. It was too obvious that you included it just to make us aware of that particular work.

  3. I admit, it was funny but the length took away from the comedy because I just wanted to get to the end already… anyway it was enjoyable.. your use of slang words, for people like myself who didnt get half of what does slangs meant what do you have for me????

    1. @ufuomaotebele e mean sey u b confam ajebutter o! Hehehe…

  4. Apart from the slangs and foul words, I really did enjoy it. You’ve got a good sense of humour.

    Keep writing.

  5. Shouldn’t have included the Abacha story. like a forced advertising.
    Otherwise good job.

    1. @aplusn u must buy my book by fire by force o! *winks*

  6. The abacha story was quite not good but lemme ask a question..Is that the through story @ abacha dead?

    I really enjoy the story.The girl is just so good,do they exist in naija like having two #lol

  7. @majiri my broda, yes o! **winks* U need 2read The Legend of INDIA VS NIGERIA 2undastand

  8. This is surely not the end of the story…
    These perfect (Adaistic) beings are very rare…very VERY rare. So I’d like to really know where their married life ends.

    You got me off the flow of the story with that Abacha insert, but I got myself back though.

    1. Hehehe… @levuz dis no be d end o! Watch out for part 2 *winks*

  9. I’ll be honest, I didn’t read the middle bit. I scrolled down to the continuation of the main story. Like others have said, it was quite cheeky of you to include it. But, I did enjoy the conversation style of the story itself and your sense of humour. As a whole, the story is informal yet engaging – a bit crude in bits, but that’s just me, I’m anal like that, :)

Leave a Reply