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. 

                           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!!!!

   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.

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….

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.

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!!!!!!!