The Identity Chase

This may pass across as a long read, but do read. Every line is worth it. I promise. This post is one I personally like.

This post is dedicated to God, the source of Inspiration.

Enjoy.

Source: Google

Help me

All I can hear is the echo of my voice…
I can’t breathe! Help me!
But the silence just gets worse
The darkness gets thicker
I try to claw my way out of the darkness
It only suffocates me
The last thing I remember is a heavy slap on my face and then I recede into nothingness…
I wake up to find a man beside me
“Hello stranger, he pipes, what are you doing here?”
My spirits soar
At last some help!
I’m looking for something, I sputter in excitement; can u help me find it, I ask?
Oh I know just the thing, he says
Money! He screams
Money answers everything!
I look at him, my emotions in a jumble
Are you sure? I ask
Oh yes, he says, money is the way forward!
I was confused about how money could help me
He didn’t even ask me what I was looking for.
I wanted an answer so badly I just followed him.


No!!!
Don’t bring me back here!!!
Please! I’ll do anything to be away from here!!!
Help me!
I have all the resources to satisfy your whims!
Please take me away from here! Please!
But my pleas fall on deaf ears and the door clangs shut very loudly
Disillusioned I fall into a heap
Unaware of when sleep comes to claim me…

Darling!!!
Wake up!!
What! Wh.. Who… Me?
When did I get married?
I open my eyes to the very picture of Aphrodite all my senses became alert instantly!
If this wasn’t heaven nothing else was!
Are we married? I ask
My eyes heavily lidded in lust
Oh no dear she answers sultrily
But we will be soon
I close my eyes in pleasure
Nothing beats this! nothing!
As she leaves, leaving me languishing on the bed I begin to relive our pleasure filled moments
Grrrr! My phone rings very loudly
Jolting me rudely from my reverie
Hello! I bellow in anger
Within a second my anger vanished. Even sweeter than the former was the voice over the phone
“I have perfumed my bed and I have your favourites on. My chauffeur will pick you up...”
Hardly had she finished speaking when a loud knock vibrates on my door
I dress up hurriedly to my destruction…
Ah! This is the life!
Life cannot get better!
Trapezing from girl to girl!
And none of them not having an inkling of what’s going on!
Ah I rub my hands in pleasure…
I love my life!

If you touch me!
Do you know who I am!
I will slap you!
The last thing I remember is a kick to my shin and exploding pain before the darkness envelopes me once again…

“Ade!”
“I’m talking to you!”
With rapidly blinking eyes I am jolted back to the present
“This is it, man”
“If you try this thing, no more worries for you man, this is the key to respect, man”
“Just take a sniff”
I don’t know about this, I stutter
“Don’t you trust me?”
With great trepidation I sniff a little
The feeling was indescribable
Nothing beats this
I must have all of this
I say in excitement
And I had all of it
I want more
I still want more
I must have more…
I swear I could smell it
I bring my nose closer to take a sniff
I open my eyes to relish the scene
And all I see is darkness…
…..
“Dance this dance!”
But I’m tired
“You must continue o!”
But I’m tired!
“If you don’t dance no one will accept you…”
With aching limbs I continue to dance…
I am dancing but my steps are not quick enough
Very loudly, whips land on my back
Ah! Have mercy! I cry
“Don’t you want to be accepted? Don’t you want to be part of us?”
I do not answer
I continue to dance
The dance of recognition
The dance to be accepted
This time I know exactly when I lose consciousness
And for the first time I appreciate the darkness…

What we are about to offer you is unparalleled
We hear of this darkness that consumes you
And we beat our chests to tell you that the end has come to the darkness!
Our only condition is that you agree…
This must be right I think
It has to be
It must work
It just has too…
The horrors of that time are indescribable
The evil lurking in the within is boundless
I do not wait to be thrown into the darkness this time
I walk into it with joy and pleasure…

My search is fruitless
I have searched and searched and my soul is weary with pain
This gaping hole deep where I cannot touch is sickening
I cry but I cannot cry out
I weep but my lips do not move
This darkness is nauseating…
Perhaps ending it all is the answer
I make haste to end it all…
Suddenly a bright light envelopes me
What is this I ask? Who are you? Who am I?
“You are who I say you are” a voice from nowhere answers
A voice unearthly
So sweet the darkness recedes at its echo

The voice of God.

@Its_Kash thinking on www(dot)obafuntay(dot)com

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Many of us face this every day, in different ways going through life in search of, who we truly are, chasing after an identity to call ours.

In this pursuit for Identity, to know who we are, we’ve succumbed to peer-pressure, seemingly ‘lived the life’, trying to fill up the void within, in anyway we can, we’ve made bad decisions, terrible resolutions, and eventually, have lost ourselves… Who we truly are? What we were made to do? Our purpose. Our Identity.

When you feel defeated, worthless and think you can’t amount to anything good? That’s the devil talking, lying, that’s his job and he has been defeated. Ending it all is never the answer. It’s time to listen to that sweet voice, the voice of God.

You are who I say you are – God

But then, this is what I think, what do I know?

The Female Child. by @Anubabyy

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Her parents knew she was meant for great things.
As a child the birds were drawn to her
Leaves grew greener on paths which she walked.
The air always seemed fresher where ever she stepped
And her smile… Oh yes! her smile made flowers blossom.

As a teenager she made fresh water rush
The flowers bloomed around her
The butterflies fluttered
She was springs queen.

In Autumn she would watch the leaves fall with tears in her eyes…
She would whisper words as she said goodbye
It confused her parents, but still they believed she had a kind heart.

She became a woman
The most kind hearted and free spirited woman ever
She would dance with the wind and sway her hips

The gods came down and told her they had waited for her to grow and become a woman,
they had long awaited for her arrival,
The day she was given birth to beautiful snow fell
The softest snow that was ever felt.
They told her she was mother nature
A queen of seasons who would birth a child of hope.

Anuoluwapo Kalejaiye.
@Anubabyy

I just want to be normal. II

So, today we have Gbemisola, with the sequel of her short-story.

If you missed out on the yesterday’s post, you should read it here: I just want to be normal. by @Gbemisola_A before continuing with today’s post.

Enjoy.

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Pakistani weddings are so different. It all went so fast yet I went through it all in slow motion. First there was the proposal party which held at my ‘rented family’s’ house with my rented parents and siblings. Then came the engagement, I can’t even remember what happened or how it happened. After that was the Dholki, I liked this one, I got Henna all over my hands and legs and I thought it was pretty. After that was the Mehndi which I got even more Henna. Finally came the Shaadi, the wedding itself. Here I was, a young girl in her second year marrying a man who had overnight become a stranger to her and of course £500,000 richer than I was before it all. I guess this is pretty normal. I am now Mrs Vanessa Tauseef, my names don’t complement each other.
 
Now I spend most days just talking to myself in my room. ‘My husband’ hardly comes home. Spends most of his time with his true bride. The power of a British passport. Shahid Tauseef never loved me, he never even liked me, but he needed me, he needed me so desperately, I was the gateway to a better British life. I thought I was more to him but I was merely a pawn in his large game of chess. I was the ticket for his family and bride to come into the UK and be citizens as well. I would never forget the day he texted me to come out, I never should have gone, I remember clearly the words he said to me as we sat on the bench just outside my apartment building. “Vanessa, I know you care for me, and I need a favour. My student visa would run out and I have not been using it, I have been working, I need you to marry me so I can stay in the country, I know you’re a citizen and I know you care for me that much, you can’t afford to see me go, do you really want to lose me?’. I was so naive, so gullible, I saw the pain in his eyes and I was so utterly in love with this normal man that I agreed to do it. I didn’t want the money but his father insisted. It is a lot of money, I just couldn’t say no.
 
It’s been almost a year now, sadly the rules have changed in the UK, not only do you have to have proof of the whole marriage shenanigans, you also have to remain married for at least 10 years, remaining in the UK. ‘My husband’ wasn’t aware of all the rules but now that he knows he is terribly bitter. He carries out his anger on me, he blames me for all of it, he beats me, insults me, deprives me of dignity and altogether demeans me. The one person in my life I thought was normal was one of the most abnormal people I had ever met in my life, this was why I knew I had to do something.
 
It felt good returning all the money to Shahid’s father. It felt even better turning myself in to the police and telling them all I had done, I knew deep down somewhere in me that purchasing a gun and doing what I had in mind wouldn’t have helped me,I felt liberated and at peace this way and I could move on with my life. What I didn’t expect was ending up in the same mental clinic with my mother for severe bipolar disorder and Major depression disorder. 
 
Well here I am now, again on a search for normalcy, but what exactly is normal? Is it perfection or is it a word made up in our minds that makes us somehow part of a wider vast system, and gives us a feeling of involvement? Is it that thing that differentiates a functional family from one that isn’t? What exactly is it? I ask myself everyday. All I wanted was a mother to love, a father to look up to and a life to look forward to.
 
Well I guess I’ll never know what ‘normal’ is.

I just want to be normal. by @Gbemisola_A

My name is Gbemi and I write short stories and not-so-short stories among many other things, I’ve been given a chance to write for Obafuntaydotcom and here’s a little something I finally found time to come up with.
Hope you like it.
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My name is Vanessa Folusaye and I believe I’m normal. To be honest I can’t exactly determine what normal really is neither can I explain it. You see, I didn’t really grow up like the rest; I didn’t have a loving father who was affectionate with his kids, neither did I have a mother who was quick to discipline or offer any sort of reprimand. I lived through complete opposites. My father had ‘tough love’, what he saw as befitting compassion was rewarding us with two single hard sweets and sometimes a pat on the head with a straight face and a look that said, you’re worth nothing to me (I think I was the only one that saw that though). No special ceremony. Nothing. I had 2 brothers, one above and one below, you would think with three kids we would at least be a conventional family. My mother on the other hand was different, she would shower us with gifts, spoil us beyond our wildest thoughts and not once would she condemn anything we did. 
 
Here I am completely disillusioned with the world in general. I don’t know about my brothers, we all got sent away to different boarding schools after my mum was diagnosed with raging Schizophrenia. We should have known, no normal human being would hug and kiss a child for breaking sliding glass doors. My father would rather have his head cut off than look after teenage children, so we had no choice, we had to separate. I wasn’t bothered, I never knew my brothers. We all had the same problem, I was convinced that boys weren’t meant to show emotions of any sort and girls were meant to be overly loving and compassionate to everything, things got worse when they became the overly compassionate ones and I became the introverted disconnected one. I was sent to a school in the UK and that was where I spent my formative years.
 
My first year in university was just as you would expect a first year in university to be. I rarely got talked to because I didn’t seem approachable, I went for classes regularly, went out when I felt like and was starting to acquire a greater sense of normalcy. Then it finally came.
 
His name was Shahid Tauseef. He was the most good-looking man I had ever seen and he was so different from my father, he was sweet and compassionate, but not as extreme as my brothers. He came up to me in the café and just sat there for a while, before I could place my thoughts together we were conversing like old friends who hadn’t seen in years. It was very refreshing and that was the moment I finally felt normal, I felt human, I felt like a girl. 
 
Shad as I called him would take me around school, around the town where our school was located, soon it was to neighboring towns and cities and then we were travelling together, seeing the world together. I had fallen for this Pakistani boy who one day decided to sit next to me. It felt so wonderful. I knew he was feeling the same way, he just had to, from the light kisses on my cheek ‘by accident’ to holding my hands when visiting the chateau de Chambord in France or pulling me close when walking through Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome.
 
I knew, or thought I knew what was coming when he asked me to meet his family. His mum kept saying how I looked the part with my fair skin and long hair with big beautiful eyes and sweet pouty lips. His dad would say I acted just right and he was glad, I never understood what they were saying, I thought they were complements. I was none the wiser.
 
On this beautiful Sunday morning, I woke up with a start as I felt my phone vibrate beside my pillow, it was a text from Shad saying I should meet him downstairs in 30 minutes. I thought this was it, he was going to ask me to date him and have a relationship.
Boy was I in for a shock…
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Second half of this story, continues tomorrow: 4pm

 

My womb is damaged. by @Delia_Maraj

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An empty vessel;

That’s what I’ve been feeling like since I learnt that I could never have children.

My womb was damaged, they said.

Only, it’s not just my womb. It’s me.

I’m a damaged woman.

I will never be able to do the one thing I grew up looking forward to.

I will never feel the joy of holding my own baby to my chest.

I will never look at anybody and think “I birthed that one”

That joy in calling someone mine and knowing;

That indeed, they are mine.

Growing up as an only child, I always wanted a daughter

I yearned for the days when I’d relieve my youth days to her

And make sure she learnt from my mistakes

Those days will never come now

I don’t need your pity

I’ve had enough of that.

I saw it in the doctor’s eyes as he broke the bad news to me

That rainy afternoon, five years ago.

The day I last felt any form of happiness

I see it in my mother’s eyes, she’s heartbroken too

She’ll never have a grandchild; poor woman.

But I see it most in the eyes of my husband

Though he tries to hide it from me

I see that look in his eyes each time he sees a child

Many nights he held me while I cried and begged him to leave me

I’d say to him ‘go and have children with someone else, mike,

I’m the barren one’ and he’d just hold me silently until I fell asleep.

He is my strength; I’d never have gone through this without him.

Maybe in the near future when we are emotionally balanced,

We’d consider adoption.

Until then…

Let’s give a moment to those women that can never bear children…

And to the husbands that stick by their wives regardless of their inabilities to have children.

@Delia_Maraj

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Although this is fictionally written, we cannot deny the fact that there are married women going through this same perplexity and feeling of void, who have not been able to birth children over time, after a perceived ‘okay’ number of years, who are stigmatized as the family outcast. There have been cases of the husband going ahead to take in a second wife usually with the backing of his family all in the bid to keep the family name going, at least that’s the excuse they seem to all use.

So, #QuickQuestion 1: Why are we always so quick to think it’s the woman at fault and usually never think it’s the man who can’t groom perfect swimmers? Or the one who just keep shooting blanks?

#QuickQuestion 2: What next for a couple who can’t have children on their own doing?

Please use the comment box.

The other side of thoughts

I have a long flight ahead of me. Pleased at the chances I will get to cut corners, I gleefully anticipate my trip to oblivion.

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They say its game over; I beg to differ, the game only just begun. Numerous opportunities still lie in our paths to concede goals and lose even more glory. Oh the joy of pessimism! Freeing you from the throes of disappointment! You can’t dampen my spirits! Too late my spirits are already in a puddle! How can you make me depressed when you already met me in that state? The intoxicating sense of power over myself grips me, ha! Nobody can ruffle my feathers, he who is down need fear no fall.

CrazyOldMan

Have you noticed that there is something quite happy about depression? In the smug satisfaction that comes with pitying yourself? In the blameless piety involved in blaming others for your problems? Oh the joy of being guilt free.
Why do you laugh at the madman? Don’t you realize he has been emancipated from the mind boggling frustrations of sanity? No wonder he is so happy! You must be mad to hold on so desperately to your sanity. Ha ha ha ha!

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Why weep at death? Staring at the empty shell that once contained your loved one. What happened to the belief that he is in a better place and can be hurt no more? Is it doubt that makes us hang on so tightly to our existence? Attempting to delay our trip to the other side of breath! I wonder. I gaze into their eyes and I see their frustration, struggling for relevance in a sea of irrelevance! Striving to attain greatness by embracing mediocrity! Scurrying around in a rat race, gathering shiny jewels and trinkets only to lose them all on their final trip.
I stand alone, watching! The lone wolf amused at the futility of their struggles. Though as lost as they are, I choose to stand still till I find the road map with directions to redemption.

But how do I find if I do not seek? All certainly is vanity!

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The idiocy of war! I disagree with you, so I’ll send some of my sons over for you to kill; in exchange we kill some of your sons. It then boils down to the smarter party losing when he realizes he cannot afford to lose anymore sons! While the stupid victor gloats over his willingness to throw more life away! Three cheers for the outstanding victor! Hurray! It can be summarized thus, war is young men dying and old men talking.

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Lovers necking in the moonlight! Neither aware of the niggling doubts in the other’s heart, neither aware that in the next minute all the warm fuzzy feelings would be replaced with harsh animosity. It is funny that in a relationship the person who cares less wields more power, but isn’t it the vulnerability in caring that is the very essence of the relationship?

I gaze at the meadows the beauty of d flowers, the fluttering butterflies and a wry smile touches my lips as a small child grabs a butterfly and stuffs it in a jar. What is captivating shall be made captive, what is ravishing shall be ravished. It is the very nature of man that makes him destroy all that is beautiful in his path.

Written by @Yholar

NYSC: THE TRAVAILS OF A YOUNG LEARNER by @PoloGren

Hmm.. it was closing down to graduation time and its like my life was just gonna start! July 2nd, 2012 was a reality….. The whole event including the partying was epic, we were young, wild and free, spending money like we just hit a lottery.

Next up, NYSC, one could not wait for the feel of the orientation camp, the booze, the ladies and the dancing, another time to remember was coming up, but first i had to land myself in Lagos camp to ensure the maximum fun!! To aid my mission of Lagos camping, my Major General uncle was on hand to push the buttons, (he had previously done it for my Elder brother and sister who all served in Lagos) So this was obviously gonna be a walk over. Infact, if i was asked before call up numbers even came out, “were are you going to serve?” i will respond with energy “LASGIDI!!”

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September Came, Call up Numbers came out, when a friend checked and sent ma number to me, 30 secs later ma uncle received the text with all ma details, a response text came back. “I have seen it Joshua I am on it”!!. I started laughing at people that were paying sef, that your own will flop, i got the best connection. lol. Subsequently, cause that my uncle can forget things, I sent it, my father sent it and my mum sent my details again, I sent it to his wife and children, U even sent my details to his Back man (His orderly, the soldier that follows him like fly in the ass). I was calm, relaxed and ready for the time of my life in LAGOS CAMP!!

October, Call up letters were ready to come out, I was so pumped up with optimism, lol. (poor me). A day before call up letters were to be issued, my Uncle sent the most devastating text I could ever have imagined.. the text was to my father, it read “what school is your son in?” LOBATAN. A day before call up, he is asking for this?? Has he even done anything? But I was still positive, cause he is a Rank Higher than the DG of NYSC so it should be a straight order to reverse things for me, the Golden Boy ready to Storm Lagos Camp.

Call up day!!! Still happy, people were checking theirs and Jollificating, a friend of mine, Dayo Said he was posted to Borno!! LWKMD! i was literally rolling on the floor, until it hit me like a thunderbolt.. ‘Check yours’ the small voice whispered in my ear!.. Sharply i PING-ed Edafe. ‘MY G, help me check my “Lagos” Posting’… Edafe PINGs back! it reads “You are in KEBBI sir“.. KE What?????? Connection Fail Toh badht.. my next pm read “bye bye to vehicles, cheers to riding Camels” People laughed at me, but I was still optimistic, cause in my sisters time, she was posted to Taraba, Pops took the letter to Abuja the next day, it was signed on for her to be brought back to Lagos, in my mind i thought, same can be done for you.. Not until my uncle called and said i should go for the orientation camp in Kebbi First. Held Work on my Redeployment… The Golden Guy of Lagos Camp was going to be the Bronze man of KEBBI!! Days passed by and somehow i was starting to think it was a great idea, new environment, new people, new everything. A breath of Fresh air!!! lol! NOV 7th I was on my way to the unknown, flung in an abyss.. i was on my way to the city of KEBBI. But first stop was Sokoto, I had to fly there then go by road to KEBBI.

I kacked to the Airport, Jeans Jacket, Muxins, Vickers all Ironed looking like a million bucks, I had prepared, welll packed, white shirts, shorts and everything needed, ready!!!. I was kinda hurried to the Airport as mum and dad accompanied to see their last child off to Youth camp. The two lovebirds were done paying fees, what a relief for the Young man!! lol. (Love that Man). Funny enough we had a stop at Abuja, to change planes and join another that will take us to sokoto.. my luggage was kinda too big for hand luggage so I checked in at the foot of the plane. Rough Flights both of them were. but over Sokoto, it was obvious we were in the far north, from the plane it was a large expanse of Arid desert! Loadsa other corpers were in the plane too, all to different states…

Touchdown Sokoto!

The supposed Airport was like a Kiosk. Cos only Arik went there and it was 1 flight per day. it came in by 11;30, thats when the workers close. lol ( Lazy mallams i thought!). Lucky me, ma sister got a friend in sokoto who was gonna come to the Airport and pick me and take me to the park to find a car to Kebbi. I had my Covenant Perfect Set Folder in Hand (Life saver, yould figure out in abit). I walk out to the baggage collection place and saw my sister friend waiting for me, gave her a big squeeze, exchanged pleasantries and said a few, while waiting for my luggage. First batch of luggages arrive!! mine not there.. Second batch arrive *obviously mine must be there* LOBATAN my luggage wasnt there too. Yeah right!! I was luggage-less!! it happens that when I was checking in at the foot of the plane, my luggage was tagged for Abuja, so when we touched down Abuja. My luggage was treated as an Abuja passenger and so ma luggage didnt follow me to sokoto.

*Sweats*

Normally, I’m one to find solutions rather than problems so i started brainstorming, to cut the long story short, I gave my sister friend my boarding pass to help collect the luggage the next day when it will be sent with the next flight of the next day (like I said, 1 flight per day). With a few calls and all they located my luggage and got it ready for sending. *now heres were the Covenant Perfect Set Folder helps a niccur* I kept my Call up letter and My notification of result inside instead of inside my bag, luckily all my cash was inside my pocket too. To cut more long story short, I was going to kebbi state With My jeans Jacket, inner shirt, Vickers, boxers, shoes and folder. Thats how I resumed CAMP!

Sokoto to Kebbi was 4hrs broken into 2 journeys. First, you’ll enter a car to Birnin Kebbi, Kebbi state Capital, then to Dakingari, the location of the NYSC camp.. I was Seeing live desert around.. I was in the FAR north. Hot, I mean very hot and underdeveloped. Lucky me sha, I could speak Hausa so it was a stroll in the park.

At the Gate of the camp, the security guards and all the uniformed people were so shocked that i was resuming without luggage and all, I even laughed at myself. But once again my hausa speaking tactics saved me. (prior to that though, a friend of mine has sent me the pin of one of her hot friends going to kebbi too). we were in constant contact and topmost on my mind was “is she as fine as pictures say??” (cause these days picasa and photoshop are deceiving niccurs). I was already super exhausted, registration went into the night, and yeah she was as fine as the pictures say. She was with me all through the registration time, putting me through each step. I entered the MAMI market that night to get what ild use to survive that night cause kebbi gets real cold in the night, and other stuf majorly toiletries too carry on the next day before I get my luggage! Kebbi was looking like a bad idea.

WAKE UP WAKE UP!!! next morning.

I am cold, but i gotta go for parade and all. it was getting worse, eitherways in the afternoon I got exeat went back to town, got ma luggage and came back. Things were looking better, cos i had everything to survive in that box.. i met with some CU graduates that I never knew in the school, *yeah we are that large* fuunny right? but true.. We got along instanta. before i knew it, we were a circle of close friends, keeping seats for ourselves always hanging together..slowly our circle got larger. being the Bronze guy of Kebbi wasn’t bad.

We were almost tagged the “buutty kids” cause we never ate the food that was cooked. we bought exotic things, Kebbi style. my friends, we made kebbi worth staying, but the heat too had other plans.. lol, i am normally dark, I was gradually seeing maself turn to BLACK!! Conditions too, were harsh, between throwing shotput, choked up rooms and poor infrastructure, i couldn’t choose which was worse.

As it went on and on i found out I really loved to match! *Flashback* (Wheel Retire about turn, Move to the right in threes Right turn, About turn by number squad 1, squad 2. Parade we Remove Hairdressing, Remove Hairdressing) lol. Im that good. I even got one personal washerman for me and the crew, lol, his name was Abdul Majid, Young Boy, I wondered why he was not in school but rather here working! another Amazing thing i saw in kebbi was life Camels, DANG!! they huge! Very big!! I was scared to climb o. people did sha. not me, couldn’t let my athletic body fall of that thing. yes it is a thing *straight face*

My friends were wonderful, the way we bonded was like Adhesive on wood, quick set. we stuck like family. see the sequence; From a Team, to a unit, from a unit to a clique, from a clique we became a family, sharing things freely, discussing about our past life and having the usual perverted talk. lol. For our camp fire night, we contributed money and bought two live Goats, 9k for both, it’s that cheap in kebbi. Got someone to pepper it and munched for the campfire night. EPIC! lol, we did loadsa other stuff ild have to cut cosa white paper space.

Yeah am sure you’re wondering, “were is dis guy heading?” well lucky you, I’ve arrived there. lol. Asides the fun i was having in Kebbi and the fun i didn’t have in Lagos camp, i Learnt more than i could imagine. I’ll tell you what made me learn first of all, then I would join all the lessons. First of all, I met kids that were ready to eat our leftover food at mami market, cos dey never get to eat rice in their lives, they rush for dis food like no mans business (sorry i forgot to add that i saw Donkey too). Also, I met people that were way older than the NYSC stipulated age, but just for the need of the monthy renumeration, they had to enroll, the man below the bunk next to me had a 13yr old son, (how can he possibly be below 30??) Another one i met, looking at his face it’s obvious this man wasn’t in our generation, matching looked strange too him, I figure the last time he would have done that was at Nigerias independence day in when ?? yes 1960!! lol. He was the breadwinner of his family, and the first born in the extended family. all those mouths were gonna feed on his #19,800. I saw a village that had only one source of water, a lake opposite their village on the other side of the road, they drink, cook and bath with the water from that lake, at the edge of that same Lake Labourers were using the Water to Mould brick!!! That same Water!!. My washerman AbdulMajid was in ss3 but not in school because he could not payed his fee. guess how much? 2k people. 2000 naira you use to buy pizza at debonairs. His father and Mother couldn’t afford it. Anyway, my friends and I, ensured he had more than that to return to school before he left us. I heard of a village in kebbi also that had no light, no road part for any vehicle or bikes, you gotta use the giant animal, the Camel to access such places. lol. The capital of Kebbi, Birnin-Kebbi had no eatery, was a sharia state, they sold no booze, we not talking dead state, we talking super Graveyard!!

Lastly, i saw a man that just said by the side that if he didn’t receive that salary, he cant go back to were he came from! OLORUN GBAMI!!
Now you see were i am going, I constantly thought of all these and they seemed to hunt me.

My natural complains were the fact that my pops was slow in getting me a license, why I didn’t go to dubai in the summer?, why don’t I have personal car, why are some Ps not clicking with all my Swag and class,*yimu abi??*.

All of a sudden in the midst of all these Issues i was seeing; my problems seems like nothing, mind you, all these people had big smiles on their faces, nothing to show stress cos they were comfortable the way they are and I thought what is to this life if you cant bless another life?
How can you leave this Earth without making someone’s life better?
Do you deserve what you have?? See for all God cares you could have been born in that village that doesn’t have water and are stuck in village life. Sometimes we act like we chose our parents from heaven. See, you’re simply lucky to be born in a family that can afford for your basics and a little luxury! We have plans to go to school and be better and earn big and do business and all. While someones prayer everyday is to have bread to sustain them to see the next day.

Are you thankful? I went to Kebbi so I will remember I should give thanks, to remember God has been faithful, to remember I deserve none of all i have or seem to have or my parents have that they give to me or any of the things I receive. It’s what they call grace. A wise man once said if You stop Thanking You will start stinking. You wanna stink? Antiperspirant no fit save dis one o!! lol.

Now hold up and Thank!!! Thank God. Your just lucky, you deserve none of it.
I figured Camping in Kebbi was a Wake up call.. A wake up call to appreciate, there were loadsa other things I saw in that place but i probably can’t remember or at this stage its hard to re-enter it into my story. I made long term friends, I saw Animals I had never seen, I matched and U Graduated a Total Kebbi Koppa, a certified young learner!!!

Before you think I’m still in one villa in kebbi, I have been redeployed to lagos, my once sly uncle kept to his word! But in Lagos again they now sent B.sc Economics to Daycare. smh. Thanks For reading ma Boring story jare.

Cheers!!

@PoloGren

Misery by @pheesayur

A work of Fiction by @pheesayur.

Enjoy.

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Source: Google

Source: Google

It’s Monday morning where we finally go to court. His fate is to be decided. And I can make him go to jail or not. Forgive me I started losing you there. My name is not necessary now, because it’s a major reason for my story, my story is about my life, my life? One word “misery”.

I lost my mother last three years I was 18. She died of a cardiac arrest. Her will was to be read to me at the age of 20. Like her death was not bad news enough, she told aunty sola to give me the note that explained that my father, The one I have always known as my father is not my biological father. Without telling me his name? My heartbeat skipped like a 120kg woman who was trying to lose 50kg before her date that same day.

Questions start running in. Literally running, like fighting for first position to be answered. Who is my real father? Where is my real father? Does my “father” with all his wahala know this? I doubt it. Perhaps my real father is dead? Maybe? But hey. There it was. They say what you have been looking for in sokoto is inside you shokoto. Wait for it, my real father is the… I can’t even type this with still hands I feel I am lying to myself. I am convincing myself about the obvious truth. I do no not even understand.

Bode Thompson is the name of my father, erm my make-believe father. Well to do should be a way of narrowing things down, but let humility stay with my words. I am his only daughter! He has always seemed to be proud of me, says “my only omoge, sisi London. You will bring home my retirement money with your bride price” and that made me laugh so hard because I hardly dated anyone that could afford my crème de la crème lifestyle. Hehe. Our long time gateman, Mr. Jamiu will tell some guys that come to look for me that, “you better bring better car, next you are coming to see her, unless you want her father to cut off your legs” this was not an empty threat, anyway.

Dad is close to perfect, except he has this anger problem, that aunty Sola says killed mom. I never quite agreed with her. Apparently it killed my dad as well. Yes the “anger” problem. Relax let me answer your questions.

One fateful evening; aunty Sola came to pick me up. So we could go and do our hair together. The next thing, I started hearing loud arguments from the living room downstairs. Before I could place the cause. Getting to the living room, my aunt is really shouting. On the hilltop of her voice. You should be very ashamed of yourself, you are not a real man, you killed my sister and you can’t even make a woman pregnant, all the miserable days of your life. I start shouting “aunty sola calm down”.

She replies “shut up, you don’t know anything. You don’t even know your father is at the gate”. My knees are weakened. In confusion. My eyes feel like they have started hearing rather than seeing. My lips are wide opened, they are now for seeing. What does she mean, at the gate? She continues with my dad.. Bode; Sule Jamiu is a better man than you. The next thing I saw, my father stormed into the room. Picked up a gun went out, its like a dream. There I was drowning in confusion. Gunshots that’s all I can hear. Dad shot Mr. jamiu twice. The devil had come into our house in form of aunty sola.

We run outside together. Aunty sola is rolling. Tomi.. Bode has killed your father! A knife was too blunt a tool to drive in to aunty sola’s chest at the moment. Dad’s domestic workers are all out. Wailing. Aunty sola is up again jumping like she’s clueless about what she has caused. I am right there. Lost. Cold . Insane. Then I become so Numb I would not even feel a gunshot.

Without mincing more words, my name is Tomilola jamiu. The daughter of Mr. jamiu the gateman. My father just died. Tears? That’s an understatement. Sadness? Hahaha.

It’s more like insanity. I still go for lectures, it is my final year. I was supposed to have graduated last year, but I took sometime off because of the absence of my mom. I went through all the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. I am an orphan technically, right?

A court case has been birthed. I am to testify against Mr. Bode Thompson. So that “justice” will prevail. Here I am cooking a case to implicate Aunty Sola. She’s the murderer. The case is scheduled for 28th January 2013. Exactly two months after the incident.

It’s Monday morning the 28th where we finally go to court. His fate is to be decided. And my testimony is a big part of that decision. I need to hear the full story; I am not even clear about what happened to mum, how the gateman is my father. What will happen when Mr. Bode is in jail, rotting? Mr. bode is at the other side of the house. He has been instructed by the police not to speak to me in private. Thanks to aunty sola.

I have not been able to tell anyone, after all nothing has changed. I still have my fancy white range rover. A buoyant pocket. My friends just noticed the gateman is no longer there. Who cares about the gateman anyways?

Its 4:35am in the morning, court hearing is for 9:15am.

I do not have an inkling of what sanity means anymore. How I have had normal conversations Human beings is beyond me. The fake smiles, laughter born out of deep grief and pain.

What should I do?