"We thought you wrote."
Those were the words of the damned bitch and the evil witch that the world would I know as my mother, this evening. Just to prove that she's one of those (even if not the major person) behind the plunder of all the records that I had in seven flash drives and my laptop - all the records of all that I have laboured over for almost thirty years, including two published books, one book that's yet to be published (but that'll now earn not one dime, even after publication - as it is presently being read by all manner of the faceless cowards that plundered, or that derived from the plunder; and that most definitely will not spend a dime on a book they all can obviously read for free, anytime), including even over twenty more books and more on the way towards being made perfect, including academic records, and on and on.
All because the evil witch and her demented cohorts would they be all able to say of me that which she indirectly said of me with the words above - this being, "You did nought."
Thus, the cunning behind the words, "We thought you wrote;" that would the fool, the blind, and the naive believe I wrote nothing, that "they" all merely thought I did write - even after almost forty years of gifted writings.
To her — and to them — it’s not merely a case of I wrote nothing, it’s more of a case of I did nothing. I did not even go to school, I did not even work, and for over two decades - as, obviously, it’s not just my NIN slip and the affidavit with which I no longer bear the coward’s name of Sanda, it’s so many others of the documents that are evidence of all I have laboured over, all my life, that have been stolen from me.
And therefore the derision with which one of these demented imbeciles in Nigeria laughed me off on social media, just last week - as one who does not have even the birth certificate that the equally demented kleptomaniacs in Ibadan once used to deride me as being all that which I had.
"We thought you wrote."
And I reply unto those words,
May you die, O you Folashade Sanda,
May you die, O you Folashade Sanda,
May you die, O you Folashade Sanda,
May you die, O you Folashade Sanda;
and may there be none to say he or she knew you as you die.
- Ikoro Iyineleda; 24th of January, 2025.
