Friday 27 October 2017

Caught in a chaos (2)

The blaring siren ringtone of my 'chinko'(China) Nokia torchlight woke me. I had dozed off on the couch amidst reading a novel and couldn't believe I was still asleep till 8am.
With a sigh, I sluggishly scrambled for my phone on the side stool. Like a fellow over dosed on codeine, I answered.
It was Okete on the other end of the phone, requesting we meet up in Owerri. Ignorant of happenings in that town, I picked up my handbag, brushed my dreadlocks, and zoomed off trusting Okete to communicate his exact location by SMS.

 I could smell the hostile air of Owerri as I alighted the bus at Douglas;the town had become a sparring ground for some time; the state governor turned her people against each other so I heard. the strength of the sun had begun to wane amidst the unrelenting heat. It wasn't business as usual. The road side sellers had disappeared and the place was almost deserted. Scouting around the place i looked for something to reassure me that I was not in the wrong town. I dialled Okete for the seventeenth time and this time he answered with stories of how he just left Owerri; I could feel words boiling inside me, at a hundred degree ready to burst, with a ghast; I rained vengeance shielded in words on him.

"You don't just leave vengeance for God, get a gun and lit his ass!" Ebony cut through my swear call, decades of inhaling marijuana had fine tuned his voice to a deep baritone. He stood about 6ft 2" with skin so dark that one would believe the dust from which he was molded from had a mixture of gold and charcoal.

"Thanks, you are far too kind," I replied. I couldn't believe a man had stopped in the mist of his personal chaos to eavesdrop on my frustration. My adversaries in these past weeks seemed to have overwhelmed me. I had gone from a broken relationship to a broken phone; from a lost phone to a lost route. I stood there at Douglas, praying that time would rewind.

I damned Okete for bringing me far out to a place where I knew no one. I damned him for leaving me in a town where peace had been abandoned.

The chattering footsteps of the crowd racing towards me dragged my attention off Ebony. Sliding my phone into my handbag, I mounted the culvert in order to own a view of what masquerade made the people run so hard that I could hear their hearts pounding loudly against their chests. Then bullets filled the air....

Monday 9 October 2017

The Woman


 Rebekah had never had a problem with her job before, sure when people asked her why she chose her job they were left surprised when they learned no great emotion pushed her to her job as a councellor to people struggling with depression and/or sucidal tendencies. In fact they were even more bewildered when they found out she enjoyed her job. But it so happened that particular Tuesday with grey skies hanging low with rain Rebekah wished she had been anywhere in the world doing any other thing, maybe because it was raining fervently and Rebekah so despised the rain, or maybe because she had a fight with Miriam the closest person to her in this world and had left it unresolved, whatever the reasons were Rebekah wished she had not agreed to come out to speak to the obviously broken woman before her. Yet she knew no matter how many times she wished she didn't agree to take the case she would never turn down any opportunity to help save a life.
Coming out of her musings Rebekah cleared her throat as she prepared herself to talk to the woman 
  "so.. she started, my name is Rebekah Aliyu"
she paused to see if there would be any reaction from the woman only to be met with a silence so loud it wailed of despair, but Rebekah didn't mind she respected her space because experience taught her nobody wanted to leave this world without telling their story, almost like a final attempt to leave some kind of mark on the universe; but she doubted the universe ever noticed.. Rebekah moved slowly to the ledge where the unknown woman perched, an attempt to make sure she didn't scare the woman. Rebekah didn't know how long she sat there as the rain fell with a vengeance, she tried to suppress shivers as she felt cold creeping through her. As if the woman felt her discomfort she spoke out loud
   "nothing you say today will stop me, Rebekah recognized her accent  but couldn't place it she thought maybe she was from the Brumm tribe in Jos but couldn't be sure.
   "today i will do what i've not been able to" she continued in her lyrical accent
   "and maybe my sister will forgive me for being a coward" Rebekah saw silent tears fall down her eyes and wished with all her might that there was no evil in the world, but Alas it wasn't so!
   "what happened? Rebekah asked timidly. The woman was silent for a long time she thought the woman didn't hear her question over the pounding rain or she heard it but chose to ignore it.
    "I was born in Jos  once, again the woman startled Rebekah, my parents died one day when some gunmen who were part of the Boko Haram terrorist group invaded our village and started killing- the tears that were once falling was now pouring 
     "it was on a Sunday, we had just come back from church when we heard gunshots followed by shouting and crying, it turned out some gunmen had entered the house of our pastor who had just preached that afternoon and killed him putting his head on a stake and burned his house down with his family inside as soon as my parents heard it they immediately panicked telling me to pack clothes for my sister and i, i think i was sixteen then and my sister Rejoice was twelve we ran outside to see masked gunmen enter the compound, and simultaneously like it had been planned from the beginning my parents threw themselves at them while screaming for me to carry my sister and run and never stop. RUN! KEEP GOING!! my father screamed, i did as i was told, i ran and didn't stop, not even when i heard the sound of a gunshot followed by my mother's scream, i didn't stop when i tripped over the corpse of Usman a young boy who often helped my mother in the market. I ran till i could run no more arriving at the city by three in the morning"
  Rebekah's heart twisted, she had heard of the atrocities committed by the terrorist group but had never seen anyone personally affected by their actions since she didn't grow up in Nigeria; her mother having whisked her out of the country to study in England. 
   "When we arrived at the city i went to my aunt's house, she haboured my sister and i and did her best by us, God bless her soul" Rebekah wondered if her aunt's life was taken by the terrorist group but didn't know how to ask, as if reading her thoughts the woman answered her
"she died of stroke some years back, leaving rejoice and i truly alone for we were now with no living relatives. I tried my best for Rejoice, making sure she continued schooling, as i started buying and selling tomatoes. Things seemed to be going well finally for rejoice and i when one day Rejoice came back from school with a friend whom she introduced as Khadija , i don't know why but the moment i met Khadija i felt uneasy, she was a nice girl but her lifestyle was too fast she had too many male friends, i kept telling Rejoice but she refused to listen, so finally i decided to stop talking. One day rejoice came to me and told me Khadijah was pregnant for a boy called Abdul; a lowlife thug in her street, but he rejected her and the baby, she told me she was going to talk to him on Khadijah's behalf. I warned her against it, i felt Khadija should clean her own mess, but Rejoice was no longer a child and i could not force her to do anything . Three days later.. i think, i was just coming back from the market when Aisha my fellow market woman came screaming, i couldn't understand much but i heard my sister's name and that was enough for me. I followed her out dread immediately making my stomach churn. We ran to a compound and there lay my sister's body her head severed from her body... Rebekah heart broke a million times as she heard the raw pain in her voice and could do nothing but stare at the woman as she cried,her veins straining against her forehead, mucus running down her nose into her mouth..She closed her eyes trying to block the pain, she felt cold but it wasn't from the rain now abating. As Rebekah opened her eyes she found herself staring into the woman's eyes being swallowed by the immense sadness buried in there
    "her body was just there- the woman squeaked, her body was just there. I didn't know what to do, my life had just ended right in front of me. When i asked what happened it turned out that Abdul got into a fight with Rejoice over Khadija and used a cutlass to attack her plucking Khadija's eye in the process. She turned to Rebekah and asked " tell me what kind of anger leads you to take a life? A life you can never recreate. TELL ME!! she screamed anguish. Rebekah looked away in shame for she too had been asking the same question all her life and had never received any answer. HAHAHA Rebekah looked up in surprise to see the woman laughing wildly  aan- and do you know what? A man killed an innocent woman and plucked the eye of another and he's been in jail for twelve years still awaiting trial!!!   NIGERIA WE HAIL THEE!! she mock saluted wildly.
Rebekah couldn't move and she didn't know why, she couldn't move when the woman stood up, she still couldn't move when the woman looked at her one final time before she jumped. And she didn't move until an officer she didn't know came to get her from the ledge. Someone wrapped a blanket round her but she didn't, couldn't feel. As she slowly passed the woman's corpse her body bent unnaturally the only thought that went through her mind was that she never asked the woman her name.



Hey people.... so i decided to put this up. The sad and heart breaking thing is this story is actually true. This happened to someone who decided to share this with me so hopefully i can share with the world, Shitty and violent things are happening and just because we've never witnessed it doesn't mean it isn't. It is.

Tuesday 19 September 2017

Caught in a chaos


    "Twenty-three percent! After all the time my phone spent; just twenty-three percent? Uju belted out at me. This wasn't the welcome I expected I craved it different. I wanted to be wrong about her, I wished she would free herself off the charade of solitude she had confined herself to.
"that was a mistake" I responded absentmindedly; the aura of the incident at Douglas still breaths cold in me, never thought traveling could turn to the devil's dance which have left me jinxed,I sensed. The drive to Owerri was a house ride in an old iron bugged bus that battered me on the move; the liquor drowned driver who thought he was an Olympic racer never missed a hole,with the precision of an archer he bumped into every hole leaving my melanated skin breakfast to the curled iron bugs propping out at the ends of the bus.

    "Don't try this again" the familiar voice of Uju yanked me back to the present; couldn't believe I let myself be swallowed up in Thoughtland after the decision I made not to be perturbed of recent happening. The voice came a second time; " I don't car...oh! It's nice to know you dont care", reaping the words off her almost saggy lips, I ninja-ed her arrogance mid air . A match to her "can't be bothered" attitude; wouldn't let her nonchalance disrupt the consolation i'd already given myself.
"You pulled the trigger"
"No he did".
 I kept having this deranged argument in my head; It took the strength of a psychic to convince my conscience, the bullet which left blood dripping down the huge sketchy body of that stranger didn't go through the firearm in my possession and as much wouldn't let anyone add an iota of imbalance to my vibe. I hastened to the bathroom as she seemed to lack words-the butterfly effect. I had to be in AƱara before sundown.

   The journey to Owerri the previous day and back to Umuahia today has been stress filled, yet I am in a hurry to embark on another body-battering ride through the same route with an embargo on my mind. How could I jettison this one thought that has left me at loggerheads with the world. Rest hasn't crossed my lane in days; the head compressing migraine which visits when am less rested has come knocking again, this time it brought gongs and drums banging out of sequence as concubine. I knew a proper bed rest would send me into a torturing trance; I knew a water therapy would be a welcoming substitute as I stepped into the bath and twisted the shower handle. I allowed water struggling out of the perforated disc to fall on upon my face; making way through my breast down to my feet,I was aligned with its sleekness. Peace took over me while I sank deeper in thought...

Sunday 17 September 2017

Arinze






This is the story of a boy called Arinze.
Arinze had a life, he had a mother that loved him. One day Arinze left home to a nearby store so he could buy tomatoes for his mom.. Arinze was like that; a kind loving boy, he would help his mother cook, he would help her wash. He was not a perfect boy for often times as is normal with all humans he would get irritated and quarrel with his mother over things like: why he hadn't washed his clothes or cleaned his room as was common with kids his age. But what set Arinze apart from his mates was the fact that he always felt contrite and ashamed of himself after. He would never be happy or play with his friends until he had made things better with his mother. He would wash his clothes and clean up whatever mess that was the cause of the quarrel, then he would go to his mom and never leave her side until he was sure she was unhappy no longer.
Arinze was the kind of son every mother wished she had. For as long as he could remember Arinze had nobody but his mother, he didn't know his father who took off the minute he heard his longtime girlfriend was pregnant with his child, but Arinze never felt alone or the need to have a father because he knew the lengths his mother went to make sure he lacked nothing. His mother came home one day with a stricken look on her face, concerned as he always was about her, he asked her why she looked like that for her to tell him how two of her colleagues who were staunch supporters of the Biafran movement were shot dead in a violent riot, as she told him this she couldn't help but feel fear toward her only child, her only family remaining, but for unknown reasons she didn't voice her concerns, she couldn't think of anything happening to him. One day Arinze left home to buy tomatoes for his mother, the moment he left, his mother heard news of a violent exchange between Biafran agitators and the Nigeria police force in the nearby street, panic gripped her heart as she prayed with all her heart, mind and might to every god in the universe that nothing happened to her son, with every passing minute and hour her stomach tensed as she waited in futility for her darling boy to come home.
One day Arinze went to a nearby store to buy tomatoes for his mother and never came back.



Violence is not the answer. Never was, never will be.
SAY NO TO VIOLENCE!! SAY NO TO KILLING!!! 

   

Wednesday 13 September 2017







 Hello beautiful people, whats poppin?? I know there are diverse readers out there who come from different backgrounds, this short story is about a woman who tries to make things better with her daughter who she left as a child. If my mom ever wrote a letter it's how i see it going down in my head so...enjoy!!



Ada,
  Today you are 16 and old enough to understand my actions. I love you with all my heart, and everyday i regret not being in your life, i regret not being there for all your tears, laughs, triumphs, i deeply regret that someone else holds my place in your heart but know that you would always have mine. I know the thoughts currently running through your mind; why am i writing you now? What do i want from you? Baby i hope that by the end of this letter you will have all your questions answered.
I remember many years ago as a youth i never really knew what i wanted in life, my friends and the people around me had figured out their lives, some wanted to go to the university, some wanted to travel, others wanted to get married, but i didn't know what i wanted to do with my life and sadly didn't find out until it was too late .
I would never forget January 16 1997 , i was on my way to my mother's store when i met the man of my youthful dreams; your father (moon as he was known) i always wondered why they called him moon; maybe because he was as dreamy as the moon, he had everything i thought a man ought have, a fair skin and a heart to match, a gentle voice and soul. A lot of girls would have gladly followed him to the ends of the earth but for unknown reasons he chose and courted me. When your father came into my life i was so taken with him i stopped worrying about my life and instead filled it with him, which is why when i became pregnant it was easier to just marry him, i didn't know how to survive out in the world on my own, so  i married him. I married him because it was the easiest way, i married him knowing i was being selfish for i could never truly love him the way he did me, i married him even though i knew i shouldn't have and for that singular act i'm sorry.
We were married for five years; during the first two years i tried my best to make it work, i tried my best to bury my restlessness because i had the most precious gift in the world; you. But as the years went by the pull in my heart became stronger and i could no longer ignore it. I realised that what i wanted to be, "who" i'd wanted to be had always been right in front of me but i didn't see it. I wanted to be happy and being a housewife didn't make me happy. I think your father sensed me pulling away from him, i think deep down he had always known i was never truly his but when he sensed my restlessness he began to truly fear and did all he could to make me stay, but i couldn't.
Baby i'm sorry for being a coward, when moon went to work one morning i packed some of the important things i held dear to me. I packed light so he wouldn't notice, you might not remember but when you were little you had this teddy bear you carried everywhere, i hated that teddy, always thought it looked creepy but you loved it, you might not remember it because i took it with me, baby girl i took it with me because i couldn't take you. I was on a journey and i couldn't uproot you from a cozy life with loved ones to one of uncertainty, i knew moon would take care of you and love you more than i ever could, and from what i've heard i was right. Yes baby girl i've had my eyes on you for a long time now and i always will. I've been to your school, i've watched you play, i've watched you grow but i'm afraid that's all i can ever do; watch from the sidelines. 
I regret that i can't have you in my life but i don't regret the choices i made, i don't regret leaving you with moon, i can only hope that perhaps one day you would feel better towards me. I have to stop here but before i go tell your father i'm sorry, for i know i hurt him deeply, i know i shattered him the night i left, i almost changed my mind a million times before i reached the door, but i had to go. Tell him hurting him was the most painful thing i have ever gone through, tell him i don't deserve him.. i never did. You and your dad are the only family i have and always will have, everything i am/have is yours when i'm gone, for i fear it will be soon. I just needed to know that i told you how much i love you and how much you mean to me before i no longer can. Take care of your father for me.. tell him to remember the days spent outside mama's store, tell him to never forget the smiles he put on my face. I know i'm being selfish but i pray he never forgets me. Until we meet to part no more my beautiful angel, goodbye.
                                       your mother,
                                         chidiadi.


Hope you enjoyed this and reading it wasn't too tedious for you. PLEEEASSSE share your thoughts with me. thanks.

Thursday 7 September 2017




You were 20 and he was 25,you were igbo but he was not,at first you didn’t want to get too attached to him because you knew igbo people especially parents were tribalistic;you were tribalistic too. He was a staunch Deeper Life member by birth and you were an Anglican by naturalization but you didn’t like the whole Deeper Life stuff because you see most of them claim to be “too self righteous “. You disliked everything about Deeper life because of the way your classmate Akuabia in your Jss class used to look at you disgustingly because you wore earrings and this irritated you then,and you’ve sworn never to marry any deeper life member or even the likes of its sister churches because that was exactly what tore your family apart -your father’s siblings. It all happened in your presence and you made decisions like,any church that is capable to tear up a family is not worth associating with. But you loved him anyway,you looked beyond his flaws and saw a different person and most times you wished he wasn’t a Deeper Life member -that alone gave you sleepless nights. You loved the way he looked into your eyes and those butterflies in his eyes made your heart beat too fast. You always stole a glance when he wasn’t looking and avoided him catching you stealing a glance,sometimes he caught you and you never looked at his face for too long to avoid initiating a kiss. Maybe,you were shy or was just acting all female. You loved the way he held your hands with so much strength and you felt safe at the same time felt the fear of someone that didn’t want to loose you. His hold was always too tight but passionate and you pretended like it hurt you just to draw his attention like the last time you told him it hurts,he said sorry and you replied saying sorry wasn’t enough,he asked you if you needed more than the sorry and you said no; you knew you needed more than the sorry but you wanted to keep cool so as not to act all demanding or like you wanted him more. After all,you are a girl and he should know what to do and not ask questions,you thought out loud.
You were in the same University but different departments. You met him in one of the most unexpected places and what used to seem like a normal friendship between two acquaintances sprung into emotional feelings. At first you would see his calls and ignore them but soon you started keeping tracks to know when he called. When he eventually called,first your heart skips and goes on a feasting journey and you wished the call never ended. On one of those days you sensed the call was about to end,you popped “so do you eat Afang Soup?”,he laughed over the phone and reminded you it was the specialty of his people. You didn’t know whether he burst into a boisterous laughter because you asked the question or because he sensed you were fighting to keep the conversation going but you didn’t mind anyway because what mattered was that the conversation was going on.
You were different from him in so many ways but alike in most ways. Maybe that was what ignited the flame of what you shared with him. You were igbo,he was Efik. You were an Anglican but he wasn’t, much more a Deeper Life member. He was in his mid twenties while you were just kicking off 20 but he loved stories,he told lots of stories,read them and loved writing them just like you did. You exchanged stories and laughed at characters in the stories,sometimes you became quiet while he read these stories because you thought you were the character in the story,you were the character. The story that had so much effect on you was the one titled “Cold Night”. The first night he read this story to you during one of those cold nights you visited on weekends,it made you quiet the whole weekend. It made you wet you panties. For the first time you wanted him. You were quiet because you didn’t know whether the story was his own modest way of saying,”I want to get in between your legs”. You were quiet, you hated his thought but same time you loved it but that night you just wanted to sleep.
It was the weekend that changed you countenance over him,you were a church girl and you wondered how Papa will feel if he knew you slept outside the school and more in a “non igbo ” guy’s house. You left him because making out was not in your belief of a relationship. You were a virtuous woman before you left that weekend,you didn’t know anymore because your monthly visitor hasn’t come in three consecutive months.
Maybe,your Deeper Life brother boyfriend touched you and you didn’t know. You kept telling yourself nothing happened but maybe nothing happened and your hormones were just toiling with you. You couldn’t eat those months,you only stayed up in your room,rolled the bed cover over your legs and tried to recollect papa’s warning,”you can not bring in pre-marital pregnancy into my house “.
Last week,you told mama and with tears and anger in her eyes took you to the family doctor. You only got over that weekend when the doctor said, “Nenye,you have an irregular menstrual cycle”.

  



This piece was written by one of the bright minds of our generation. Precious Amaefule.
You can read more of her thoughts and stories on www.amaefuleprecious.wordpress.com  

YOU GET AN OPPORTUNITY! SHE GETS AN OPPORTUNITY!! EVERYBODY GETS AN OPPORTUNITY!!!







We have stories to tell, we have experiences to share, we have words to impart!!
Every writer who wants to share a little bit of them to Nigeria and the whole world can do so now!!
All you have to do is submit your stories in pdf format to my email "malvnor1122@gmail.com or anyway you can. Just speak and allow the world to listen. It's time for our generation to break down all stereotypes, eliminate all societal limits and tell others that if you can so can they!!!!
What are you waiting for??? Let us hear you!!!!

Friday 25 August 2017

   I could find no image to truly depict the emotions my character felt, so...no image


         DIARY OF A MAD BLACK WOMAN


I feel faint, i feel like letting go, my world is spinning, i am crying, trying my best to hold it in but i can't my fear builds as i look around my room one more time and i still don't find what i'm looking for.
My dad is dead, my mom is dead, my elder brother is in prison and i... i am mad; responsibility is a term i'm well acquainted with as a twenty year old orphan in her final year in the university, my mom and dad died seven months ago and since then i haven't been the same; no one in my family has. After they died i relocated from school to my home so i could take care of my junior siblings ada and ifeanyi ; ada 15 and ifeanyi 12, making this decision was what was expected of me from my life's onlookers; people who would pity but never help, lots of them called me brave and strong, but their accolades did nothing to ease the pain i felt leaving a life i knew, a life of freedom to one of deep responsibilities, still i bore it well for my siblings, i try to be the best i can be for ada and ifeanyi but it seems that for every action i take there is someone out there wishing my family and i ill.
     Things started to fall apart  three months ago when my parent's lawyer met with me to discuss my parent's will, i found out to my despair that there was little to nothing left for my siblings and i, i couldn't fathom what to do, as their legal guardian they were my responsibility now, as a student about to graduate i had issues to settle in school that needed a lot of money, i tried my best but soon there was no money to feed or transport my siblings and i to school, it felt like i was locked in a room with no air, i had to make money fast, so i started writing, as i wrote i hoped; i hoped my writing was good enough, i hoped i would get published fast, i hoped i would make enough for my family since none of my relatives were willing to help, i was so consumed with survival that i didn't notice it grow, as day and night i worried about chike in prison, about ada and ifeanyi in school, about how i would cope in my education , i didn't notice there was something terribly wrong with me, until one day while trying to come up with different ways to make the little money i had solve as much as it could, ada tapped me and asked me why i was muttering to myself, i stared at her confused. As i went back to planning how to efficiently utilise the money i had i couldn't shake off ada's words "sister you are muttering and chanting to yourself" as it kept ringing in my head. So i decided to keep an eye on myself and soon noticed that i would often mutter to myself about different things; what we would eat, how i would get money to buy food for chike when visiting. i was slowly fading to nothingness and i could do nothing to stop . I tried my best to keep it together for my family; i researched my project, cooked, washed, Yet i couldn't shake off the feeling that there was someone out there in the shadows of evil grinning and planning and waiting, what they were waiting for i didn't know.
   One day i came home from school and went to my room hoping to complete a chapter in my book, but i couldn't find my manuscript. The moment i didn't see my manuscript where it usually was; ontop of my drawer, i felt something moist crawl down my spine as slowly and methodically i searched for it , my actions growing frantic as i searched for it to no avail.
     "where's it? where's it?,where's it?i kept chanting as i lifted the foot mat; it wasn't there, i lifted the books;it wasn't there, i unhooked the picture from the wall to check behind;it wasn't there, i lifted my feet to check under; it wasn't there... i lifted my feet again to make sure; it still wasn't there. Paranoia hit me hard, someone was looking at me and laughing, i cried and screamed to my enemies as they surrounded me as they mocked me... the room starts to spin as i keep searching , yet what i'm looking for i know not, but i know i must keep on searching, maybe what i'm looking for is under my clothes i think as i remove my blouse;it's not there, i remove my jean trousers; it's not there, maybe it's hiding in my bra; still not there, i run outside and past people whose faces seem familiar yet strange but i can't stop, i have to find her, it, him, i have to find something but what? My enemies are catching up to me, i feel them holding me, i won't let them win. I struggle with all my might as I run out of the gate i keep chanting "where's it?" i must find what i'm looking for,i must show my enemies they would never triumph over me, i'll show them all i have to do is find it, her, him.....



Remember people, i'm just a "childling writer", so don't be too harsh with criticisms, also forgive any mistake and if you are confused with any of my stories don't be for i aim to confuse. Goodnight beautiful people. 

Tuesday 15 August 2017

                           Dear Nigeria,


How are you? Hope all is well?? i believe that's quite senseless a question to ask, seeing as how things are over here.Nigeria, my great nation, my fatherland, why are we not progressing?  I was on a bike one day going to my campus, when a police man flagged down the bike i was on and asked the bike man for money, the bike man of course refused, because lets face it, no one wants to feed another family with his/her hard earned money, they argued for minutes, after the police man understood no money would be given him he asked us to go, just as we were about to ride off he spat at the driver who ducked leaving me with the saliva of an unknown man on my face, why Nigeria?? Why would you do this to not just me but millions out there, till today i feel shame remembering how i could do nothing but wipe the saliva of my face, never had i felt so powerless , so shamed. How's it going Nigeria? Why would you humiliate and not protect your people?? I love you Nigeria but you are not stepping up, i speak for everybody who's been bullied by Nigeria, for every slap from a police man or army man, for every time we have to walk in water waist deep to reach the bank or market because the government doesn't care if a little child is carried away or worse drowned, for every assault on women by men and laughed about it over bottles of beer with the authorities turning a blind eye, for everything Nigeria has done to strip you of your dignity and basic human rights, please i beg never give up on Nigeria, never get fed up, keep on working, every little right gesture counts, the change starts with us, one day like a phoenix Nigeria will rise in Glory. 
Arise o compatriots Nigeria's call obey, long live Nigeria!!! 

Will upload another story soon, hope y'all are still with me. Please drop a comment about what you think, suggestions, ideas, opinions, anything. C'mon help your gal out, make her better. Goodnight darlings live long and prosper!!!!

Saturday 12 August 2017

   THE NEXT DAY.....(part3)



                   

I felt my heart beating painfully, nearly bursting out of my chest with every step that brought me nearer to the school, as we reached the school compound my mother held my hands and walked to a door with HEAD TEACHER written boldly on it, she knocked softly so softly i didn't think it would be heard, but to my surprise the door opened suddenly to reveal a woman as pale as milk, it was the first time i saw "the white people" up close , i remember feeling so scared and awed as she ushered my mother and i into a small room, which was her office. she asked me my name in fluent igbo which shocked me, i never thought someone like her could ever learn our language much less speak so well.
"Obiajuru Ikwunze",  mother answered on my behalf.
Head teacher wilkins as i later came to know her stood up and guided me to a side of the room partitioned with a curtain where i changed to my uniform already given me, as i put on the white shirt and khaki shorts which hung loosely on my thin frame, i knew there and then i would never return to the farm, i stepped out from behind the curtain to see head teacher wilkins with a rope for me to tie my khaki shorts to prevent them from falling,after i held my shorts with the rope she handed me an exercise book and lead pencil,
"he will have to start from standard I even though he should be in standard II, he will be the oldest and biggest" head teacher wilkins told my mother before she ushered her out and led me to my classroom.
'Good morning class' the head teacher greeted as she stepped into the classroom,
GOOOD MORNING ma, the pupils roared like a special price would be given to the loudest
'this is Obiajuru your new classmate' she said while pushing me to a teacher standing in front of the class, as she left the teacher called me over, wrote something on the board and asked me to read it, i couldn't. I had never ever opened a book before,never in my life had i read, as i stared at the teacher not knowing what to say i felt like my world had crumbled, on my first day i had already started failing.
"go to the back and sit down, from tomorrow i would give you extra lessons" he told me in igbo, as i walked to the seat assigned to me i could hear the snickers of my classmates as they laughed at me. I sat down and hoped the day would end soon, after what seemed like forever school finally dismissed, i rushed out of the class to go home only to meet my classmates gathered outside, my heart fell to my stomach as they started shouting "itiboribo!! papa lolo!!- dullard!! old man!!" , i felt my heart shatter into a thousand pieces as i struggled to hold my tears, i never thought my first day in school would turn out to be the worst day of my life,soon after they grew tired of teasing me and dispersed in groups laughing and talking among themselves, i ran to my mother's hut with tears running from my eyes and snot running from my nose
"obia ke ife owu- talk to me what is it?" my mother asked with concern, tears fell more as i told her all that happened in school
"ozugo - it's okay" she told me while she wiped my face with the edge of her wrapper, she sat down and pulled me to her
"obim you were blessed from birth, i knew that the moment i carried you in my arms for the first time, mark my words son, those that laugh at you today will grovel at your feet tomorrow, ozugo nwam, wipe your tears, tomorrow do the extra lesson with your teacher and work hard, inu? - you hear? " she asked me. I nodded and went to remove my clothes. At night as i laid on my mat i thought of my mom and steeled my mind and swore they would never see me cry again no matter what.
THE NEXT DAY i went to school prepared to work hard and never looked back.


Sorry i put this late, i just finished my exams, guess who's a final year student now, this Girl!! Whoo!!.  
 so "The next day"   is done, i wrote this story for various reasons, one of them being to promote the stop bullying campaign because bullying breaks a soul, and because i want everyone who's been a victim to know that they have the power to  mold themselves.   I really hope you enjoyed this story, hope to become better and give you more,  Ciao beautiful people, live long and prosper.

Sunday 16 July 2017

THE NEXT DAY.... {part2}




Okay, firstly apologies for posting this late soooo sorry, no excuse. but guess what there's going to be a next upload soon... see, i love you guys(smiley face).. not much editing but please  Enjoy..



..........and start our familiar morning call
    “nwa na ehi ura kunie!’—sleeping child wake!!!
To which he would answer “dika agu si ekunie kam si ekunie!”—I wake like the lion!
 Then run out from his mother’s hut going through his morning ritual similar to mine like spittle had been spat on the floor to time him, he didn’t have to avoid his father for he was already in school and was left alone when he wasn’t in school so he could rest, this of course evoked a lot of envy in me for during the school days I would be alone in the mornings and afternoons,with him telling me fun, wild stories on how a bully in his class called “tinko”-tin head, because he never seemed to understand what was taught in class like a tin that cannot be opened, which made him the oldest and biggest, nkem would always come back with stories on how tinko beat a classmate for fifty naira, or how he stole groundnuts from the school farm and was caught roasting it behind the bushes in the school compound.                                                                            I was filled with anger towards my  father for wanting me to become a farmer and my mother for doing nothing to help me. I remember making my displeasure known, I would always run off, and if I was at home I wouldn’t talk unless talked to, one day my father called me to his hut, as I entered he cleared his throat and looked at me “obiajuru” he started,                                                  I knew whatever he had to say was important for he called my full name when he had important things to tell me, he would call me obiajuru and say “beware who you call brother for the world is evil” it was also the voice and manner he used when he told me my grandfather, his father was dead.                                 “obiajuru” he called again drawing me from my inner musings   You have been a very lazy son in this family- he continued, you refuse to do your chores and when you do it’s done carelessly an-     I wished he would just hit the nail in the head, getting uncomfortable as he listed my past transgressions with a scary expression .
       “so I have decided to send you to school”
I looked up suddenly, instantly regretting losing focus, like he understood my confusion he repeated his statement
“ you will go to the white men’s school with your mother tomorrow and register, let’s hope you won’t be lazy in learnin-
I tuned him out again excitement causing tingles up my legs, to my stomach and heart as I imagined myself in brown khaki shorts with white shirt tucked in, finally I wouldn’t just stare from afar I would join my mates every morning, I was dizzy with joy as my father dismissed me bidding me good night. I ran to my mother’s hut, my face all smiles, I came into the hut to see my mother smiling at me, confirming that indeed I would be going to school, I flung my arms around her hugging her tightly with all my strength as she crouched down
 “ozugo – it’s okay she said wiping tears I didn’t know was falling down my face, “ga hie ura – go and sleep” she said squeezing me tightly before letting me go. As the silence that comes with people losing consciousness to the night pervaded the atmosphere all around, my heart thudded against my ribs disbelieving, I felt fear climb up my spine as I suddenly thought about my father changing his mind in the morning, I imagined him insisting farming was my best option, I thought about my mother changing her mind due to her great distrust of the white men, I fell into a restless sleep while hoping and praying neither my parents changed their minds.
The next day I was awake before the sun, my mind was a jittery mess I couldn’t lie still, so I left my sleeping mat and stepped out of the hut, my mind was a jittery mess, I didn’t know what to do, I ran to pick and grind my charcoal, not bothering to take my time and choose, I was so excited I mixed too much salt with my charcoal, making my teeth freeze and feel like it was being scraped with needles, I fetched a pail of water from the well rushing behind my mother’s hut, not bothering to make fire from the  wood to warm it, regretting that decision the moment i felt like a plucked hen as the very cold water touched my back. My mother woke up to see me dressed and waiting
       “if it’s farm work, by now you would be nowhere to be found’ she said with a knowing twinkle in her eyes .
 I watched my mother warm the pot of leftover soup impatiently, it seemed to me she was especially slow in everything she did that morning, looking back now I believe she was slow deliberately, because she was always filled with fun, laughter and amusement.
I remember whining and asking when she would be ready till she finally snapped at me saying
     “hapum obi agaghim anwuru gi n’oria Monday’ –‘leave me obi I won’t kill myself for you”.

After what seemed like ages she took my hand, and led me down the narrow path leading to the school house, I looked back to see my father outside his hut staring at me; till today I can’t truly describe how I felt, but I knew with certainty that going to school, to learn about the women and men with skin the color of pale milk, men and women with things I had never seen before was a pre-destined journey i had to embark on. My dreams were bigger than my head and body combined, I knew I wouldn’t go back even if ten plots of land were given me, though a major part of me wanted to slip my hands out from my mom’s to run and play in the village stream or hunt grasscutters….

Thursday 13 July 2017

Break the norm

We've thought our women to be quiet; she can't speak up,she can't be heard. We are thought to perceive a fellow woman as an opponent; competing for men and materialism.
Why is a woman her kind's worst enemy? Why can't we compliment each other? We can actually be of strength to each other, but we are always at cut throat wars in a constant bid to buttress a man's ego.
God made a woman a helper to a man; not a slave dammit!!!... Well;that's for the Christians to decide. In Africa, a man is a protector to a woman; not because we are weak, not because we are irrational but because WE ARE ROYALTY. It means YOU CAN, don't let any one tell you otherwise;stand for yourselves speak for yourselves, forget the lies you were or being fed: raise above mediocrity, draw in good vibes and boost to full potentials.
A woman is not limited it didn't stop Dr. Rosaline Ihuoma Ndimele from being the Head of department in a department filled with male lectures, being a woman means you are flexible, that's why Mrs. Maryclair chi chi become a civil engineer; it didn't stop Dr Oke-oghene Philomena akpoveso from earning a PhD in pharmacology at 29.
Woman! you are nature;
you are birth,
you are growth, you are productivity,
you are nature.
Be a sister's keeper

Don't let no one mess with you.

Saturday 8 July 2017

WHERE IS ASA and SASHA?????



i don't know a lot of things, like why i'm awake by 4 in the morning listening to asa's bed of stone, jailer.. you know the drill, but then a thought struck me suddenly, i grew up listening to asa, i grew up loving my idea of asa, and like it had been planned by the universe sasha's "adara" played next and i found my self asking, and for the first time in a long time wanting to know something, what happened to sasha and asa, will there be a new sasha? who will be the new sasha? i want to, but maybe the universe would prefer i wrote about the sashas of the world instead. when i typed asa on my laptop simi came to mind, do you think there are similarities?? i don't really, but there is something that feels the same, i just don't know what. i love you asa, i respect you sasha, we all do so tell us when are you coming back??
yes people you can take this as an official prediction for a comeback either asa's or sasha'...or both!!!
Good morning good people of Nigeria hope we are still standing strong and burning hot against this cold!

The Next Day

    This story will be uploaded in  parts. It's titled "the next day". it's part of a cultural series i'm writing; titled " stories my mind told me".


  

      The next day
Growing up in my little village urualla, in Imo state, Nigeria, as common with most villages in Africa and possibly around the world, there are moments in your childhood you wouldn’t trade for the world, be them good or bad.
As a young boy I would remember waking up in my mother’s hut early in the morning after the seventh cry of the early morning cock, I would rush outside to my mother’s cooking area and grab a piece of charcoal, sometimes I loved to stay and choose carefully the smoothest or the shapeliest of them; whatever caught my fancy really, whilst most times I would just randomly pick any and run to where I kept my grinding stone, after grinding the charcoal I would mix it with salt from my mother’s kitchen, put a little of this mixture on the tip of my finger using it to scrub my teeth and tongue. After this I would wash of the night sleep and her kisses from my face and rush off immediately to my friend’s compound if I was lucky, if I wasn't before I would be able to rush off as was my norm my father mazi Ikwunze would call out to me
         “obia”  !  “obia”!!      to which I would answer
          “e mpa” (yes father)
I would quickly run to his hut for my father was not a man to be trifled with which was apparent in the way he called my name, my name is “obiajuru”—the heart than refuses” I was named after the famous forerunner who died saving our village from being infiltrated by nearby villages in the guise of night by raising the alarm cry even with a cutlass to his throat. Everyone in the village called me obi but my father chose to call me obia.
“eh mpa ina akpom”- father you are calling me, I would answer out of breath from running to answer him, I would enter the hut to see him already dressed with his “akwa” firmly tied round his waist, his cutlass gleaming in the dull light cast by the tin candle from being sharpened one too many times already slung over his broad shoulders
     “ehe obia get ready we are going to the farm”
As he said these words no matter how many times I had heard it and would still hear it my heart wouldn’t fail to flop like a fish into my stomach for I so hated farm work, I would rather spend my days playing with my friends nkem and uzo or go to the school built by the white men in my village but that was not possible seeing as how my father thought education a waste of time. My father standing almost six feet tall with the strength of 20 bulls scared almost everyone in my village including members of his age grade, so of course I a scrawny child of 11 with “ukwu okuko” (chicken legs) as my friends loved to call my legs, and a chest as dry as thin cut meat sun dried for days  kept to myself thoughts on what I would rather do and would nod grimly like person accepting certain doom, I would trudge to the farm in the gloomiest of moods planning that day the different ways I would escape going to the farm the next day. On the other hand if I was successful in getting away I would run to nkem’s compound built in a similar manner to mine and every other in my village except the white men’s schoolhouse, I would rush into the hut he shared with his mother for I was no stranger to his compound and start our familiar morning call.....



please drop your, thoughts i would very much like to know if you enjoyed this piece above, will be updated in two days. Remember keep on "kweening' and kinging!!!!!!!

Monday 3 July 2017

??QUESTION WHAT YOU WERE TOLD??

   My mind is at it,its running wild again.The white man came to us;gave us the bible in exchange for our land and people.If they knew well about Christ; why did they throw our people overboard,why did they call us slaves,why did the punish the slaves into believing the bible?  The bible portrays Jesus as light skinned with silky hair,in your  analysis,what is the success ratio of hiding a light skinned baby amongst a melanated population. My mind is at it,its running wild again.The white man came to us; gave us the bible in exchange for our land and people.If they knew well about Christ; why did they throw our people overboard,why did they call us slaves,why did the punish the slaves into believing the bible?  The bible portrays Jesus as light skinned with silky hair,in your  analysis,what is the success ratio of hiding a light skinned baby amongst a melanated population?  This piece in no way promotes racism nor does it encourage it; i believe in all creations, human and beast alike, i believe in our power to love. But someone has not been telling us something and it's eating me up, we will all be dancing around, we gon' still  be dancing around like wasted zombies if we don't question what we heard. The person or persons who compiled the bible omitted a very important fact about Jesus,is He dark or light skinned?

Sunday 2 July 2017

New dude in town???

Hey!!!! beautiful people!! i think there is a new dude in town, went over to see a friend in campus and i saw this video titled rap gyration by this very talented new kid on the block F2. i don't know him but i would like to, i would like to hang out , ask some questions and talk about collaborations...#winkwink . take a time to pause and see this video especially if you are into afro-hiphop\rap. Expecting more from this boss!!! Goodnight peepz don't let bedbugs bite!!!.

Friday 30 June 2017

WE ARE PERFECT TOGETHER


I CAME TO UNDERSTAND THE BEAUTY OF THE TALKING DRUM YESTERDAY,I WAS IN THE BEAT LIVING THE DRUM LIFE. EVERY STROKE MINISTERED WITH WHISPERS IN ACCORDANCE TO MY HEART BEAT . EJEALOMO YOU KILLED IT FOR ME AND THIS IS ONE OF THE THINGS I WOULD MISS IF BIAFRA GOES. NIGERIA IS A BEAUTIFUL NATION;WITH DIVERSE CULTURE,TRIBE AND LANGUAGE,NATURE HAS BLESSED US BUT SOME GROUP OF PEOPLE WHO HAS NOTHING TO LOOSE HAS BEEN FORCING US TO ACCEPT CONDITIONS BEYOND OUR TERMS. NIGERIA IS BETTER WITH EVERYONE IN IT ... IGBO,HAUSA OR YORUBA,WE'VE GOT TO FIND A WAY BETTER THAN DIVIDING.THINK FOR YOURSELVES PEOPLE!!!

Tuesday 27 June 2017

What/who is Biafra?!

        What i think? I Think Biafra is the love child of frustration and hope, a need to not be inconsequential  any longer. I think Biafra was birthed to solidify a hope in an identity so strong that whilst we would forever  mourn the lives of our sisters and brothers lost to the "Nigerians" we would have the strength to forge on. Who are the Nigerians? Am i not a Nigerian? Haha. There have been agitations nationwide for the secession of Nigeria, for the re-creation of Biafra, but do we really understand what/who Biafra is? A half of a yellow sun signifying the emergence of a new dawn, a clear morning for renewed strength to pick up from sisters and brothers cut in their prime from enemy bullets. Biafra is a nation founded on a need to satiate placeless minds, to foster a sense of belonging; but then i ask myself is this "sense of belonging' ethnocentricity  in disguise?". Is Biafra a child born of the need to dominate and exclude or a need to own and belong? If nothing else is sure the sentence 'Biafra was conceived on the lost souls of our people ruthlessly massacred in the north in the early 60's" is. By our doing one way or the other we lost Biafra before we got her, if we are to create a living, thriving Biafra we must swear to take care of her like we would anything dear to us. we would lead to serve, not loot, ptotect not harm.

Sunday 25 June 2017

SEE ME

SEE ME!
19TH June 1999
              Dear diary,
I don’t know what to do, I’m tired of people not seeing me, not knowing that there is more to me than they think, yesterday my friends came over we sat in a circle; or rather they did. As I looked at them sitting in a cicle laughing with each other I felt glad, my heart was filled with joy as I laughed along with them , but yet, something was missing, like in a way I’m the one being laughed at. I remember this one time we travelled to asaba together from my school’s campus, before or after we reached Azia village, the scenery was so fine, I think it was sometime in febuary at the end of the harmattan season, the rains hadn’t washed away the redish-gold dust blown unto the rooftops and tree leaves in the village, I would forever remember the magnificence of the afternoon sun shining down. Oh sweet nostalgia! Till today words can never truly descibe how I felt seeing everywhere bathed in an orange so brilliant it put the fruit to shame, I think I don’t connect with my friends as I would wish to because at times the world is too dark for me, and I just have to disappear into a world of my creation, but even in a world of my creation the gloom chases me still and I think of things that shame me. Yet this world in my head is my only remaining lifeline to sanity, sometimes I wonder if chimamanda has ever felt like this, I remember her describing vividly the primary school in nsukka, I felt like I I knew a primary school I never attended, is it possible she has once existed on the same dimension as i? I describe this moment so well because when things get too rough and I have to escape I find myself in a world so similar. In every group of friends there is a cleaner, someone who’s job is to always take care of the others, doing important things that are often always  neglected; little things like, picking up their phone chargers when they forget it somewhere out, waiting for the last person to cross the road and meet you even after the rest have left her, hanging around in the shadows should you see one with a guy you don’t trust….just in case. Giving your all without making a fuss about it. In this circle of friends I was the cleaner, but don’t get me wrong I’m not complaining, they are more than friends they are family, all I ask for, all I need is the littlest of gratitude, I just wnt them to see me when they look, not who they think I am, not who they hope to see, but my in all my glory even if it’s gory, because family ought accept you for whomever you are, or oughtn't they?.........

20th April 2007
Dear diary,
It’s been eight years since my last entry, I came to say bye. A week ago obie and adah came to see me, they wanted to travel out of the country since Nigeria seems to be getting worse by the hour, they needed some money to complete the necessary funds needed, I thought it was a good idea to travel together because I’d been wanting to travel too, so I told them I would love to go with them, they seemed cool with it so I started making plans after I lent them the necessary funds, yesterday I received a call from an international number having no idea who it could be I picked the call, it was obie telling me that she and adah traveled the day before, that “something came up asking if I could be a darling” and bring one of their bags they forgot.
I really thought making enough money to take care of all of us would make them connect with me more, that whatever was missing would be found, would make them see me as someone more, I guess I thought wrong. I know if you could read and understand hat I write you would call me a fool, but understand that I have let them define me, they are now the core of me being whoever I am right now. I have made them the reason for my existence yet they don’t acknowledge me as I ought be, so tell me, oh diary! Why do I exist? It’s been years now, we are all adults if by now they don’t see me even though I’m a constant in their lives, maybe I need to not be there anymore, maybe in my absence they would see me, and if they don’t well……
I’m tired of being the cleaner I want to be the one making all the mess, I think it’s high time I created a mess soo big they might never clean it up till their deaths. I have set it up all up, everything is ready, the camera is up and running, I’m right in front of it, by the time I’m done I will never write again but we have shared a bond like no other and I’m sure you would hear my thoughts still.

        Slowly and surely I pick the blade near me looking to make sure the camera is set on record I slice my feet drawing a thin line with my blood seeping out, I then slice my calf watching my blood trail down lost to the pain, I slice my laps as the tiled floor begins to turn red, I slice my stomach, then my face, the pain is killing me slowly with life, I can’t bear it anymore I want to live, I see my blood soaking the covers of my diary as I take the final slice and cut my wrists as I bleed I enter my world, I realize whilst the scenery and feelings change the recurring theme immortality and youth never change, I don’t know where I’ll go from here, maybe I made a mistake letting them define my life, but it’s too late to go back now, I feel fainter with each passing moment, and the smell of my blood is stifling, I smile as I imagine their faces when they see this video. With everything remaining in me I hope they are shown this video as I slip into my world, my kaleidescope of vibrant colors of orange. I know now they see me, in their dreams, in their waking hours, everyday till they die.. they’ll see me.                                                                 
Author: sandra uwadi.