Nana Bee Scribes

Islam. Life. Cosmos

Recipe for Spaghetti with smoked titus and crayfish sauce.


For Spaghetti


Place a pot with clean water on fire (stove or gas) and bring to boil. Add your pasta and a little or no salt at all. Boil for about five minutes or till almost soft. Pour content of the pot into a sieve and then pour in cold water to drain out all starch left in the pasta. Pour the pasta back into the pot, adding salt and some water enough to make the pasta soft. Do not add too much water, just a little will do. Add a bit of oil if you wish to (this would help ensure it doesn’t get gummy). Once it’s done, turn down the heat. Your spaghetti is ready!


For Titus & crayfish sauce

Smoked titus
Cray fish
Blended Pepper
Maggi & Salt
Curry & thyme / ginger & garlic (optional)

Place a pot on the fire with a low heat. Pour in some vegetable oil. Add your already sliced onions about five seconds after. Stir-fry a little to prevent the onions from burning. Add in your blended pepper next. (I used tomatoes and grounded chilli pepper but you can use red peppers instead). Stir fry for about five minutes then add your seasoning and salt as required. The crayfish and the smoked Titus should be added next. The titus must have been de-boned and torn into bits/pieces. Stir-fry (to prevent the sauce from burning) for about twoIMG_20180106_160319_585.jpg more minutes and then turn off the heat.

And that’s fried plantain by the side to make the meal more scrumptious 😋. Simply peel your plantain, slice and fry in oil until golden brown. 

Yummy! Pass me a plate pls.

©️Nana bee


One Plus One equals One

A productive morning to you fellow 😃. Did you sleep well? Did you make it to work early enough? Was breakfast tasty? Or no! You kinda feel weak to get as productive as you should be?
It’s okay to feel that way. Don’t get so worked up that you are not doing it all well, just yet. Great things take time. Just keep trying, Alright? 😊

There are times thoughts cloud your mind and you see yourself in a different place. You are standing at the foot of a mountain but in your mind, you are up the hill already! Yes, that kind of scenario.

So yesterday morning i thought – what if i were in a competition and was asked to choose btw my husband and mom. Whom would i choose? I was, in my mind’s eye looking at me on the hot seat. I was arguing with the anchor saying i wouldn’t choose any over the other. I would take both but he wouldn’t have it. He wanted me to choose just one. Eventually, i thought of one thing but i would share only after i have posted the story that has inspired this post.

Yesternight, i got one of those broadcast (bc) messages my lecturer, who was also my project supervisor as an undergraduate, in person of Dr Bashorun M. T., sends from time to time. I couldn’t read it at the time but ensured i made a mental note to go back to it as soon as i could (that has become my new custom with broadcast messages. I add them to the to-read list on my mind and go back to reading them.)

I decided to scroll down my whatsapp chat msgs this morning to read up the bc message and guess what it was all about? You had better see for yourself.



One day, during an evening class for adults, the psychology Teacher entered the class and told his students, “Let’s all play a game!” “What Game?” The Teacher asked one of the students to volunteer.

A lady, Aliza came forward.

The Teacher asked her to write 30 names of most important people in her life on blackboard. Aliza wrote names of her family members, relatives, friends, her colleagues and her neighbors.

The Teacher told her to erase 3 names that Aliza considered most unimportant. Aliza erased names of her colleagues.

The Teacher again told her to delete 5 more names.

Aliza erased her neighbor’s
names. This went on until there were just four names left on the blackboard. These were names of her mother, father, husband and the only son…

The entire class became silent realizing that this wasn’t a game anymore for Aliza alone.

Now, The Teacher told her to delete two more name. It was a very difficult choice for Aliza. She unwillingly deleted her parents names.

“Please delete one more” said the Teacher. Aliza became very nervous and with trembling hands and tears in eyes she deleted her son’s name. Aliza cried painfully…The Teacher told Aliza to take her seat.

After a while Teacher asked “why your husband? The parents are the ones that nurtured you, and the son is the one you gave birth to ?
And you can always find another husband!!!”

Total silence in the class.
Everyone was curious to know her response. Aliza calmly and slowly said, “One day my parents will pass away before me. My son may also leave me when he grows old, for his studies or business or whatever reason. The only one who will truly share his entire life with me, is my Husband”.

All the students stood up and applauded her for sharing this truth of life.

This is true and a fact of life. God created marriage for all and its a relationship for life.

Always value your life partner, it’s not only for husbands alone but wives as well. God has united these two souls as one and it’s on you to nurture this relationship above all other
relationship you have with friends, loved ones and

Before marriage, God first, your family second but when married, God first and your husband or wife second.

So as a Couple enjoy your marriage and make it healthy, truthful, peaceful, enjoying, religious,
romantic and enviable!!!



Actually, i had resulted to a conclusion i later dismissed. I decided i was going to select the one from amongst the two whom islam places high above the other. I thought: “who is most important to you in the world, according to Islam? Paradise is said to lie beneath mother’s feet, so i would choose mother.

As i was perusing that though, i remembered a quote i read on instagram which states that obedience to one’s husband is above obedience to one’s father. Then i thought, does such go for the mother too? Is my husband more important than my mother?

I would keep looking for a clearer distinction but note: both are the most important people to a woman in the world – her mother & her husband. And as for the story, i leave you to agree or disagree.

Aisha Harun (Nanabee)
November, 2017


#SensitivePost #JustAWanderer #UnnecessaryButNecessary #DoNotKeepWondering.IMG_20171107_121342

The constructions at Oshodi


It was a journey home from school, for the last time as an undergraduate. I had completed my clearance and signed out of the institution just the day before. It was a thing of joy and fulfilment. Four years done, and dusted. Phew!

I sat in the yellow _molue_ bus in the traffic at Oshodi, reminiscing about my moments in Lagos at that same place I was. As for my alma mater, the feeling of nostalgia had not yet clouded my mind. I was back where I was familiar with and lived with, years before. I was sitting in a bus in the city my body and mind had always known as home – sweet home.

As the bus travelled slowly -matching the pace of the traffic with faltering progress, I looked out of the side window. I could see people everywhere and heard voices and horns and music. I couldn’t make any sense out of the noise though. It was all busy out there with each person in the picture mending a different thing. And the smoke? So alive as though it were air itself. People were used to the smoke and couldn’t have cared less. I saw men and ladies, walking as fast as their legs could carry them. Some smelt of faded perfumes while some were obviously just beginning their day; although it was past eight in the night. I kept staring until I was tired of the unfolding drama, and kept my eyes on the constructions and the men at work, despite the hour.

I wondered what target Lagos state had set for itself; as workers should have long retired to the comfort of their homes by that time of the day already. A man with a helmet bent over a drill with his partner in the dark, with a torchlight to see what they were doing. I didn’t look at them for long, as this wasn’t Ilorin. Lagosians don’t stare at a thing or person for too long. You look and then move on.

I had however, stared for several minutes at a perfume seller I saw some miles away. He was covering his nose with a dark face-towel and I wondered why a fragrant vendor would cover his nose. Did the perfumes nauseate him? As I looked on I realized he probably was just tired as he stood against a railing looking a bit out-of-elements. He took the dark towel off his nose for a minute and that was when he saw me. That made me look away and wonder if he was only trying to hide his face. He might not want to be recognized for one reason or the other.

I looked back in his direction but this time only at the perfumes he displayed on the floor, padded by a large sack. He sold majorly smart collection perfumes and I knew some of the types he had in stock. I soon got bored with that and retreated to my corner of the bus. All commuters were tired of the very slow traffic and were starting to curse under their breath. As for me, I wondered how much more time I would spend in Lagos. It was better to enjoy the rush while it lasted. And so, I thought, why not resume your petty writings Aisha?


Diary of a prospective Corper.
Aisha Harun
(Nana bee)
November, 2017


beehI know my life is like a crazy box sometimes; perhaps, often times! Right now, I have three things ruminating my mind: how to be a better me, how to find a misplaced charger, and how to clear my mind.

Note that this post may be less beneficial than my previous posts – if you actually have been finding them beneficial. It might even seem like a no-direction piece to you eventually, so if you’ve got no time to spare, runnnnn. If not, then ride along with me pal! J

I just gulped down a sachet of pure water and so, my head is clearing. In retrospect, i have been enduring the pains tearing at my head from every corner of it, because i didn’t drink enough water after my brunch! and yeah, I can’t do without water 😦  Hear what the Doctor says each time: “you need 6 litres of water everyday Aisha!” But no! if i hear say i drink 4 seff

Now to the Proper of this discuss:


Yeah guys. i am the ugly version of myself and i am not even bluffing L. Think of Aisha Harun as a person; complete as God has made her, and believe me, you’d perceive nothing but wholeness. You’d see perfection in form of uniqueness. You’d see beauty worthy of lofty admiration. You’d see a legendary being. You’d seee….. *sigh* I am sighing because all those aren’t what you’d see. They are what you SHOULD see but you wouldn’t see them.

Here is the noise that’s been blurring the actual message – I am first of all, a huge procrastinator! And trust me, i am not doing what should be done, enough, to reel that off my sleeves. I need help!!!! Only that you can’t help me, i just gatta sit up and help myself! To be honest with you guys, that’s the best way to go – not only for me, but for everyone out there looking to make a difference! The change you wanna see in yourself begins with how you handle the situation.

Asides procrastinating, i am not a person full of vigor “naturally.” The energy that an average human exhumes is like times 2 of my entire energyL. But i am not a chicken aha! I am just some rare egg that belongs in a throne “literarily more than the actually meaning of that uno.” This one is kinda beyond me but there’s God. I need only turn to Him. Abi?

And here is the last – I HATE being praised. When someone says: “Hey! That’s so wonderful girl. Keep it up!” it extinguishes my morale. I know. It’s weird but that’s one thing I have no power over. I just don’t know why a ‘thumbs up’ should make me ‘face down.’ But it does and I am working on it. We all get praised for one thing or the other at every point in time in our lives, and I believe no one should be less inspired for a “thumbs up.” So Aisha, you gotta shake that off! ASAPpray


“Have you found mr Razak’s charger?” I have been asking around all day. I even asked the top-boss :-O Poor me L

I used Mr Razak’s charger yesterday and returned it to his backpack before leaving for home. This morning however, he told me the charger I had kept in his bag isn’t his. Then whose?

I found out, later on, that the one I had returned is the secretary’s. Someone else had detached my phone yesterday and taken away Mr Razak’s charger but I didn’t pay attention to that fact. I just picked up my phone from the desk, grabbed the only available charger in sight – because it looked exactly like Mr Razak’s  – and went on to deposit it into his bag. He had travelled to a nearby state and would only return later – after closing hour.

So guys, keep the charger in your duaa! May Allah help it find its way back to us. Everybody is worried now.


No one’s mind is ever stack clear. NOONE! But someone’s mind could be near clear: Free like a bird in the skies and smooth like the evening breeze against one’s fore-arms. Awwwww. Sounds cool right?

Something’s been bothering me since last night and trust me, it’s like a wet log on my mind – heavy, damp, and crumby! I didn’t know what to do nor how to push it out of my mind until an idea struck me. To pray! So I observed sallah and I felt better.

But here is it man, life never leaves you happy for so long. I learnt from Dr Qarni’s book that

man barely stays happy all through a day, without encountering something that would cause him distress.

I cried and prayed and then thought of those words and I shook it off! It was WORLD PASTA DAY yesterday, so I ate some spaghetti to wash off the thought. Man cannot comman die abeg.

Albeit, I still am thinking of that thing till this moment.  Am in other words, bothered!L Well,  I just need you to help say “AMEEN’ to my prayers. Perhaps, that’s the solution outta this one! Pheew!

Have a nice day!

PS – i didn’t design those images. They are memes

Aisha the foodie

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The heading above gives you an insight to the content that’s following now. you shake your head, grin, or perhaps, coo with a little swerve that “i’ve finally admitted what a foodie i am” – for those who already know me. If you didn’t know me, here is what you may be thinking: Oh? is she actually a foodie? Or does she intend to say the reverse of what the heading depicts? How would one even admit that she is a foodie? Is she gonna talk about herself or some other Aisha? …and the list could be endless. And hey! if you didn’t know already, know it now. I am Aisha! Aisha Harun to be precise. And believe it when i say i hate to not use my name as my username for this blog, fate just always has different plans! Besides, “Nanabee” is so cool. Such a cool .. de plume that i am eternally grateful that Allah granted it to me. hehehehe 🙂

Shall we get serious here and now?.?

Food can be said to be any substance, consumable, and beneficial to the body, giving it the nourishment and vigor it requires. We are not in a food class, so i would assume further reiteration about what food means isn’t necessary here. However, it is paramount that i include, that food is also any edible substance with attraction, aroma, and also with the capability of triggering hunger – that might not have been perceived before one comes in contact with food. And yes! food is attractive. Many would go for a particular meal over the other at a ceremonial function because the former looks well garnished and/or smells so nicely. In fact, hunger sometimes dissolves into thin air when outlining the reasons why some people eat as much as they do. They don’t feel hungry but they are inevitably attracted to the food. So bang! They attack with their harmless but steel weapons of spoons and forks. Need i say here, that food is like fine wine (for those who have a comprehensive understanding of the pertinence and joy it proffers) or like a beautiful bride: untouched, physically bounteous and ready to be relished by one deprived of for a time too long. In essence, when a man eats good but delicious food, he forgets his woes – even if it for the minutest of seconds. The question that springs forth then is, “How there you call such person a foodie? How dare you? Aha!

imagesThink about your life and the events that have portrayed themselves in it. Reflect over your likes and desired properties and valuables you have always wanted to acquire; albeit the ones you have acquired. Does “eating surface on the list?” why then should you eat as though it were the top of your to-do list each day (and still consider yourself as no foodie)? if you ask me, i would say it is because it is as necessary as every other thing i intend to covet in life because, food is the fuel for the body. But No! saying that automatically makes me a foodie.

If i commend a plate of amala and abula , garnished with shaki, fuku, and kpomo (assorted meats) i would be tagged a foodie! If my display picture on social network carries the picture of “nkwobi” with a sweating cup of orange juice beside it, i am a foodie! To ruin it all, if i am found devouring a plate of a properly prepared porridge, some unique casserole or even rice, beans and dodo with maybe kpomo that had been long drowned in soup (making it so curled up), ahhh…. i just affirmed their presumptions. I, Aisha, am a hopeless foodie!

Let’s get practical a while – for those who are familiar with the funke Akindele current series-
If you eat as much as kiki does in “JENIFA’S DIARIES,” i really wonder what category you fall in. If you would compare yourself to the way jenifa eats,  you are like I am :). if you are no more than toyosi – barely ready to cook but almost always prepared to eat, i could be better than you are. But if you are “Adaaku – shoo gbojookuni?” congratulations my friend. we have just located the foodie in the heading above! *grins*

On a serious note, Islam teaches us to appreciate the provisions made by Allah but that we shouldn’t let extremities take charge. The prophet (pbuh) relished different dishes, drinks, and sweets during his days. History revealed that he loved bread, honey, milk, and dates! No, you wouldn’t! you wouldn’t know all that. You would rather eat little food because you watching your weight. you would barely eat fruits as you already bought yourself some snacks and cant be superfluous in your spending. Besides, Aisha is the foodie here not you. init?

Get the point fam. Read the words rather the ink of which they have been crafted.

The fact that a person appreciates the beautiful colour that each variety of food is adorned with (by the Almighty), the fact that I like to have a taste of, not just a single type of food (for i am no food racist, aha!), the fact that i eat fruits before a meal, while relaxing, or suck on a candy while studying does not make me a foodie. And then, the fact that you don’t do all that but eat only thrice a day does not make you any less of a foodie!

Some of these people who tag others foodie, eat with bowls big enough to house a baby during its shower, thrice on a daily basis and still say “Why are you such a foodie?” to people like us. Biko who are you deceiving?

i am making no suggestions that we eat for countless times in a day or make every food item a commuter into our intestines. i am simply saying, know the difference! appreciate food, savour the taste of each variety, eat but with moderacy and know the difference between what a foodie is and what it’s not!


And here we are readers, it’s still like a puzzle for whomsoever got carried away by the flow rather than the message (like i usually do when i read an article tirelessly.) It’s okay uno. You can read again to find out if i am a foodie or not :). Just know one thing for sure: moderacy is the key to leaving a healthy life (even in matters with no relations with food.)  If you eat varieties moderately and you’re tagged foodie, turn your “deaf ear mode” on. Shikena!

Warning: this post is not give a generally accepted definition of the word “foodie” but to change your notion as to how to use the word appropriately. Quoting me could hence, land in you in a foodie mess… :’)

Thanks for reading.

Nana bee

When Wishes become Horses: Salam Namaste

indian-traditionThere is a proverb that says: if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. Well, for me, wishes have been horses, and i enjoyed the rides to reality, from mere wishes. Alhamdulillah – though i am no beggar 😀

It was a sunny day and i was in one of the classrooms at school. The regular cheers, banter and all was going on amongst the students and i was enjoying the thrill that flowed with the muses. However, i was more focused on a student comedian who was exchanging pleasantries with some of his colleagues.

As i watched on, i noticed the boy was greeting and hailing his friends from place to place. He would greet jack, move on to the next row to pat harry on the back, and then proceed to exchange a handshake with tom and so on (i used those names bacause i know not their names.) Then i noticed he did something to one of his friends. Rather than greet him like he did the others by standing, he bent down to touch the feet of his friend and then returned his hands to his forehead, clasping both palms. I watched with amusement as this act reminded of scenes from indian movies. I had never seen anyone do that in reality since i was sane enough to comprehend or recollect the happenings around me.

As i watched on, i saw him do this for about three times and his friends hailed him, laughed and jeered him to stop. His actions are usually humorous enough to in fact, rock an entire audience, not alone his parlance – very captivating! Though i paid attention to this particular student because of his humour and the humility he often displays, i was carried away by that act of greeting i saw him perform. I found myself thinking of being greeted in the same way and how much i would laugh at the silliness of it all. I wondered if i could perhaps greet someone that way and watch them remember the scenes they have watched it on, in indian movies. In short, i just wish it could happen with me being the do-er or the doee (is that even a word? aha!) Alas, i was making a silent wish that i dint even realize i was making at that moment, until a week after.


I was standing in front of a lecture room when a boy in his freshman walked up to me. I had not seen him coming, so the effect his greetings had on me was even more galvanizing.

He went straight to touching the tip of my shoes and raising his hands to his head and then doing it again, for at least three times.

My God! Was this not the same greetings i had yearned for – just the previous week?As i grinned uncontrollably at him, he started to explain that he was greeting me in the manner of the indians and that a respectable person should be greeted so, had we been in that part of the world. But his explanation was not even needed. He had done me the favour of having my wish come true without even knowing it. We exchanged further pleasantries, talked about study and then, he went his way but i didn’t go mine. I just couldn’t get over it so quick. I stood by the rail across from the lecture room and pondered the wonderment of Allah. He is “aalimul-gayb washahadah…” He is He who grants requests and fulfills desires. i was grateful for that little wish that He granted me and then i had a rethink of the proverb “if wishes were horses…” changing it absentmindedly to “wishes could be horses too.” for indeed, my wish had become a horse.

Guilty as charged


She rose at about 5:30, exactly an hour after her alarm went off. It was becoming a routine, gradually. She was beginning to hate the whole process of wanting to be disciplined. She didn’t want to care anymore. She just wanted things to go easy. Ease. How she loved an easy life!

As she dragged herself out of bed she remembered everything she needed to have woken up with on her mind. She had finally found her bearing. Life was just seeming to occur as a reality to her; again. An inevitable territory for struggle. She put on her flip-flops of determination even before she wore the physical one lying before her on the floor.

She needed to sweep the entire house like she always does every morning. Food must also be ready by 7:45am!
“Why didn’t I sleep earlier last night?” happened to be the only thoughts ruminating her mind as she stroked the tiles of the living room with the haggardly short broom. She wasn’t prepared for any hiatus in her activities that morning. She just wanted a clear – almost blank – mind as she swept the pieces of papers, crumbs of cookies and other particles alongside the dust that glamoured the living floor.

“Tade!!!” bellowed aunty moji. She couldn’t but reply as the broom already announced that she was right there, within earshot. As she replied, her aunt cut-in, “Where were you last night?” She need not say any more words. She had been caught and wouldn’t go scot free this time.
She had been careless enough to leave tracks of her dern this time and her aunt’s promise, that she would be sent back to the village if found guilty of that act would now come to past.
“What garment of humiliation has she just sewn for herself? She has engineered her own doom and didn’t even leave any loopholes behind to make her opportune for denial. Well, Life must continue, I have to face this…” The thoughts went on and on. She dropped the broom and went in to aunty moji in the kitchen, kneeling as she ventured in. “Kneeling wouldn’t solve a thing. But then, you never can tell” she said to herself as she started to plead.
©Nana bee
October, 2016

Fit to Win

jogThroughout my studentship in the University, there has been no time I smiled at my results as much as I did after my second semester; well, so far. As a novice to the University system, as well as being a person who had been away from the class environment for a period long enough to enter a new leap year from the leap year before, I found so many activities difficult. It was a struggle and a war I couldn’t fight without tears or consolation from my kins. Even with that, it still was an arduous experience.

In my first semester I didn’t care about results. I just wanted to have “Cs”; having heard what “D” stands for and look like. D , to me, was the beginning of failure. (Need I say that C isn’t a good result? If you are about to go in there to make wave, let “B” be your pass mark.) My worries compounded on my Matriculation day. I received a test-script and my score was, in all sense, depressing. If I hadn’t prepared for the test, if I didn’t study like a student should, I wouldn’t have being bothered. But failure after work always presents a form of sadness incurable! I was sad for the rest of the day. I retreated to my room and stopped the celebration I allowed myself to relish with my colleagues earlier on. I was bothered now, about how I had written the answers to number 3 under question 5, incurring poor scores for myself.

I started to talk to a colleague – one of those whose brilliance would forever shock you, as they never make efforts to study to know, to them, it just comes easy like breathe. And here is the deal my friend. The fit to make you lead the rest. The exact way I helped to keep my mind open whenever I wanted to study.

That colleague of mine, told me to quit the “non-stop” read style I had imbibed and relax awhile. “The body and mind needs some exercise before it should be put to work each time. Do something to keep your mind at home and all the day’s stress.” He would say.

Of the numerous ways to exercise, I chose jogging. I made it a duty to jog after fajr (dawn prayer) every morning before each day’s routine. And alas, it was the best choice I ever made. Though I felt pains and was discouraged right from the scratch, but my goal was my drive. I believed so much in what this colleague had prescribed and wanted to see how it worked.

As I made progress with assimilation, I found that some other mates had joined in exercising every morning too. Only that majority thought I just wanted to keep fit. Deep down however, I knew I wanted to win. And I did win. i checked my second semester results and I gave gratitude to the almighty, for helping choose the fit style to study.beginners-page

Are you fit? Do you even exercise at all? To stay healthy, keep in good shape or have a clear mind? Muslims are far from the word “fail.” They are people who know how to grab the Bull by the Horns! They seize the opportunities life presents them and make efforts to get better, each day.



Eight O’clock in the Morning


She was late twice that week already. It was getting into her routine like it used to in the past. But she wasn’t going to let that happen that Friday. She was determined that she would get ready in another five minutes. Her chores had gotten her late again, but no! The chores wouldn’t have a laugh. She was going to ensure her being late for work, that day, wouldn’t come to past.

One reason she had started going late was that she didn’t want the ride anymore. Mr Musty had picked her up for the first time on a morning as cold as every other morning since she resumed. Not too cold but enough to register a feeling of calamity in one. A feeling only to be relished in the house. Not at work.

She was not even paying attention to the road until she realized that the black car that stopped a stone throw from where she was, had stopped for her. The car halted there, waiting like it was the most natural thing to do – to wait for her to get in the back seat and then zoom off; which was the exact thing she did.

The ride was just for about 3 minutes as she had neared the company already. Ordinarily, her house to the company would take her 10 minutes of walk, which she enjoyed each day. Unlike the walk to school, this walk was short and exercising; giving her a sense of physical security. She sat at the back seat and just glanced at the road ahead. There was no talking between Mr Musty and her.

As he dropped her off, she thanked him and went to sign in for the day. Two days later, he picked her up again. This day, it was even shortly after she turned into the road from her street. He had waited and she had not seen him again; until she noticed that a car wasn’t moving and it was black. On the first day he had opened the door for her; leaning over from the front to pull the knob and push the door slightly for her to know it was she he had stopped for. This time around however, he just sat there waiting for her to notice the car had stopped and when she actually did, she opened the door and got into the back seat; for the second time that week.

She noticed the car was more clogged than the first time. There weren’t plenty of stuff in it, than there were the first time. But it felt stuffy and a smell hung in the air. She gasped for air. She looked around the car for brief seconds and then refocused on the road. She glanced sideways as they approached the company gate and saw that the gateman looked at her for what seemed like a second or two. Some other staff that stopped to greet Mr Musty also took a glance at her. She was new there, and it was normal to have people wonder who she was or what department she worked at.

That morning in the car, she wondered if she could tell him what she was thinking: she didn’t want the rides. No one would understand that you are turning down their offer to give you a ride simply because you would rather have preferred your concise peaceful walk. She didn’t want to be rude or ungrateful, so she just said “thank you” when he dropped her off that morning.

The Monday that followed, she delayed her going to work. She didn’t want a ride and neither did she want to refuse one. She figured the best way was to avoid running into him or he running into her and stopping to have her hop in. On Tuesday, she delayed herself again and same happened on Wednesday. She was now getting to work around 8:02/8:03 rather than her usual 7:45 am. She hated that. She wasn’t going to be a late comer anymore because of a ride she can choose to refuse or accept.

Though she had prepared her mind to leave home earlier on this day, she was already getting accustomed to the self-imposed delays she had cultivated some few days back. Stepping out of the street and unto the road on Thursday, she glanced at the direction the car always descended from and hoped she would catch a sight of the black cloggy car. As it was already Eight O’clock in the morning.

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