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I have been approached by www.jon-matthews.com to help develop awareness on driving habits.

RRP £9.95
Sale: £6.02
I thought I should offer you the chance to buy a copy from me direct, from Amazon.co.uk
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/offer-list...
NOTE: Actual book will be dispatched immediately after 5th Feb, 2010.
Any problem buying, please drop me a note.

Nduka Onwuegbute
Here's a sample:
Are the rivers standing still?
have the seas lost their salt?
Will the rivers salt the seas?
Will the seas run the rivers?
With stagnant rivers
saltless seas
Bile for hunger
Venom for supper
Is it time?
Time for answers?
Time for questions?
Time for both?
Adored by foes,
Abhored by friends
A miscrean hurricane,
Did anyone know me?
Riding this hearse
Lost in the crypt
Eulogies, false and exagerate
Stab me back to consciousness.
Ask not what I'm up for.
They that know the question
Must have the answer.
Else, why ask the question?
Is the riddle not the riddle?
Is the answer not the answer?
Then question not the question.
Pray...what is the question?
Aks not the question
The question is the answer
And the answer is the answer
Then what is the question?
this is the answer:
Was I not doomed to live?
Was I not blessed to die?
Was I not born to ride this hearse?
Was my timing wrong?
Was ime's timing right?
Was my timing wronged by time?
Did my timing wrong time?
Whose timing wronged the other?
Why was I hung limp?
Dare I answer the answer?
Robbed of air, I ride this hearse?
Nduka Onwuegbute
{to be continued}

Now it's time to... listen to the reading..."


Sorry you went to facebook on my account and was disappointed. Fact is; I am experimenting with FaceBook Pages (and not getting it right), hence the duplicity of profile.
I did, however, manage to get the rare music here and hope you have managed to listen. I also added a bit of photo montage.
By all means, feel free to see it on Youtube as well.

Ngozi - A tyrant
Egurugwu - Her unwilling husband
Uzo'ma - Egurugwu’ secret lover
Eso - Ngozi's mother
========================
‘It’s breeched!’ Orie exclaimed. ‘It’s coming legs first.’
Those were words Uzo’ma did not want to hear. ‘No! Take it out! Take it out!’
‘Shut up and be quiet.’ Ngozi shouted at her. ‘A child is born every day. And you are going to deliver this baby!’
‘You are enjoying this, aren’t you? You are so happy this is happening to me.’ Uzo’ma told Ngozi; ‘You are a callous little girl! A maggot has more sympathy on its tiniest of hairs than you will ever have in your lifetime!’
‘All that doesn’t matter now; just stop pushing!’ retorted Ngozi.
‘Yes. You would like that, won’t you? Well, it’s not going to happen! I will have my baby and there is nothing you can do about it!’
Egurugwu, who had been sitting outside the room hearing his two lovers batter each other with such cruel words, could not take it anymore. Reluctantly, he got up and made to dash in. But he stopped as he heard Ngozi’s hash, yet reassuring words. Uzo’ma’s response did not help his indecision so he went in any way.
‘Egurugwu, save me; save our child. Don’t let this witch from Idu ruin what we have, what we have dreamt of. Save me, Egurugwu!’
Egurugwu knelt beside Uzo’ma, holding her flailing hand in a soft but firm attempt to pacify her. His words were equally high pitched yet, his resonance calmed her. ‘Listen, Uzo’ma. Orie is going to help you through this. I am here. Just calm down while we figure out how to bring our child into the world.’
Uzo’ma, still paranoid from the news of the breech focused on her lover and gradually slowed her breathing. ‘But it hurts Egurugwu. It hurts too much.’
‘It’s your first.’ Orie chipped in ‘This is nothing.’ And she immediately regretted saying it.
‘Nothing! Come have my baby then! No, you can’t have my baby!’ And to Egurugwu she said: ‘Tell them they can’t have my baby!’
‘No one is having your baby, except you, Uzo’ma. Trust me. You will have your baby.’ Egurugwu collected the bulbous woman into his arms in assurance, re-instilling what little faith he could. With both their chins resting on each other’s shoulder, Egurugwu gave Ngozi an eye signal to leave the room. Ngozi refused, folding her arms into a cross and staying put.
‘None of us are really helping here.’ Orie said; ‘Not even you, Uzo’ma. I have only had one breech in my years of bringing children into the world. I have done countless births like this. But you have to let me help you. You have to trust me. Luckily, your sack is still intact. I can turn the baby, but it will hurt a lot more than the pain you are getting now. Listen to your husband. Let him hold you, but please, just be calm and do as I ask of you. Bear with me, the pain to come, I will not lie, it’s severe. But you will get your joy. I will deliver you of your baby.’
Uzo’ma, who had been nodding in affirmation of the help was gradually feeling the pains return as another contraction knotted. Her neck swelled as the muscles on her shoulders fought the pain. Her face grimaced and her eyes glared as wide as she had ever had them. Her nostrils were flared wide enough to blow out the child, if only the foetus could imaginatively take that route. Orie sensed her body firm up fighting the contractions.
‘The contractions are coming again?’
‘Yes!’ exploded Uzo’ma.
‘I know, but trust me, don’t push yet. You are not ready to have this baby.’
Egurugwu tried to take his hold on Uzo’ma away but she clung on to him like a hungry leech furrowing for fresh blood. Helpless, he scowled at Ngozi. Feeling used, she stormed out of the room. She reached the palace and sat down, not on her raised throne but another chair used by her councillors, and her eyes rested on Uzo’ma’s confiscated drum. She looked behind her in the direction of the door she had just emerged from where her husband was helping his lover deliver what should rightfully be her own baby. She wanted the baby.
“That baby is mine!” Ngozi thought. “Uzo’ma has no right having my husband’s baby. I am Ngozi, princess of the new world. I am the law, my father’s hand in Nun; and I decide the fate of this baby. Live or die, it is all down to me.”
She knew she had such power, the three villages knew what voraciousness she could wield. It was her moment of glory.
Half dreaming of what to do with the situation at hand, Ngozi’s angry fingers dragged a reluctant right hand to pick up Uzo’ma’s drum. She tapped on the goat’s membranes. It was a sharp and violent crash. If the drum had not been well strung or the leather not tanned properly it would surely have ripped. She brought the drums to herself, parting her legs and imprisoning it firmly between her pulsating thighs. She relaxed, shaking her high-held head, loosening the muscles around her neck, freeing the blood to travel at her will. She took a prolonged breath, sucking as mush air as she could into her lungs. When she exhaled, her mind was clear. There was only one thing to do and she knew she was the only one who could do it.
Orie was glad that Ngozi had left the room. She had brought too much tension to an already scary situation. Uzo’ma’s contractions were returning stronger and more frequently, but she was calm with Ngozi gone from the room.
‘You say you have done this before?’ Egurugwu wanted reassurance for himself, whispering to Orie.
‘I was trying to calm her down. This is my first.’ Orie confessed, quietly. ‘She’s calm now, so I want you to help.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I am going to try and turn the baby, but it will hurt, a lot. You need to hold her down, make sure she does not move.’
The slap of Ngozi’s fingers on the drum outside jolted the trio back into apprehension. The drum’s ripple had stopped but even Uzo’ma’s pain disappeared momentarily. Her concern was no longer that of bringing forth the child. Feeling guilty that she could think of self preservation under the circumstances, she couldn’t help the sweat that evaporated from her face.
Her eyes, no longer tearful, Uzo’ma was keen and alert. She was not just going to survive Ngozi’s attack but was going to have her baby as well. She promised she was going to have Egurugwu’s child and that is exactly what was going to happen, breeched or not!
Orie could not understand what was going on. Neither could Egurugwu. They could not understand why Ngozi would choose such a time to be playing around with drums when her husband’s wife was in a childbirth that was not going well. Uzo’ma, who didn’t appreciated the drumming either lived with her lot and hummed to herself, fighting the pain, holding back the contractions, waiting for the go ahead to push the wayward baby out. Mysteriously, the drumming was helping. She could not understand why. Maybe it was the familiar repetition of her heart beat with interruptions from by Ngozi’s own staccato renditions that reminded her she really needed to succeed.
Egurugwu knew a drumming of some sort was going on, but could not recognise any of it. He had heard that it was in fact Ngozi playing and he would have wanted to know why but was too upset to contemplate what tune was being played. He spoke gently to Uzo’ma instead as she struggled from Orie’s pressing touch, and he pinned her ever so gently back as she reluctantly attempted to free herself from the probing that was happening to her unborn child.
Orie did not know what it was, but noticed the baby had stopped moving. Most disturbing was that the child was not curled up like it should. She could still feel the skewered position of the foetus and managed to feel there was a pulse different form that of Uzo’ma’s breathing; but the contractions had slowed down to a near stop. Her realization numbed her and Egurugwu was quick to notice her hesitation.
‘What have you done?’...{to be Continued}

Your vote and comment has contributed towards the Sneaky Preview for this week.
I will, however, be posting the music for those readers who narrowly lost the chance to make their voice count.

Your vote obviously counts. But since the margin was so narrow, please indulge my other readers who will like to hear the music recording (next week).
I hope you enjoy the preview.

First I would like to say thanks to all members, especially those who voted on the Music V Script.
So the poll was a close shave; with a one point margin in favour of Script Preview.
The post will be out next weekend. So watch out.

So my question to you is this...
Do you want Music or another helping of the book's preview.

Since Masters of the Confluence is all about freedom and liberty, I just thought I should illustrate (by means of photography) how the prevalent African Chiefs valued the lives of supposed dissidents.
Two guns = One boy/girl of approx 12 - 18 years old.
What crime did one commit to be a dissident? Some of you would like to know, I bet.
The mere disagreement with a political opinion was enough to get someone or his/her family in troubled waters (irony).
And for that, this is a picture of what the chief/ruler would get...

Of course the Africans lost both ways. First they lost their freedom, and when they resisted, were simply shot dead by the same guns, even by fellow Africans.
Success, therefore, was a matter of that ultimate ability to wangle one's way through the maze of political duplicity without coming out at the other side of the Atlantic.

I've just added a sample from my forthcoming book, Masters of the Confluence , here. Please click to read; only 680 words.
http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/4...
You are welcome to leave comments.

She knew her day was coming, but was hoping it was still a long way away. And without mincing words, she plans on killing him. That is her pledge. How much of him dying by her hands is also another matter.
Sarah wrote: "What are his reasons for believing she is a traitor? To murder your own mother is not a decision to be taken lightly. I'd love to hear how he comes to a decision and the consequences of making the ..."
Sarah wrote: "What are his reasons for believing she is a traitor? To murder your own mother is not a decision to be taken lightly. I'd love to hear how he comes to a decision and the consequences of making the ..."

That said, I do not think this is, or will be, his "first killing". So will he agonise? Maybe. Filial, you ask? Hard to say. But it is the one act that defines him from then on, especially to his people. The unfortunate thing for both mother and child in this situation is that there was no rancour between them.
All said & done, the village was never the same again. Note, however; this is historical fiction.
M and G wrote: "I think it is a valid concept to introduce.
The tensions between children and parents provoke profound and often violent emotions.
Will he agonise about the 'necessity' to cleanse the country/k..."

What are your thoughts? Should he? Or do we rid ourselves of this ruthless teenager?

Well, here's your chance to preview my book and say what you feel before I go to press. All you need to do is join the group discussion and let the panel decide where the story goes.
Though in its final stages, I am still open to making changes where my readers demand it.