tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51033854213638931182024-02-07T09:20:59.142-08:00ii~WitnessUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-13282225564322455152016-10-07T16:34:00.002-07:002016-10-07T16:34:17.261-07:00Memories of FGC: The CAIPO Dairies<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Mankind's
greatest and most ancient problem has been the law. Everything is normal until
you make a rule out of it. We always prayed for an opportunity to sleep in the
afternoon until the boarding authorities attempted to make siesta compulsory.
Even naturally, erosion passes through your frontage to your neighbor’s until
you choose to make a little mould by your gate…just in case…Worse still,
Staurday morning inspections in F.G.C. Ikot Ekpene were like a walk in the park
until the new Principal christened it “Marks-Awarding” Inspection and made it
compulsory!!!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXe3Lo2nAjIEynZ7yUei7k7StHJAsSZvSqQo8iZ0FZoUT7KPzQCUTcXpPTohfbRLTOa7xybpDen9h6LyqVOAnaEa-d3QwuCjmGRgr9YepCnZVHgMRKUWEgBlZ_Hyzh4dpyJdiIGdY7-tbu/s1600/FGC+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXe3Lo2nAjIEynZ7yUei7k7StHJAsSZvSqQo8iZ0FZoUT7KPzQCUTcXpPTohfbRLTOa7xybpDen9h6LyqVOAnaEa-d3QwuCjmGRgr9YepCnZVHgMRKUWEgBlZ_Hyzh4dpyJdiIGdY7-tbu/s400/FGC+1.jpg" width="316" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">MPE
sat on the corner of CAIPO that made it easier to realize that he was the new
intake. Dark as charcoal, MPE rarely spoke. I always admired that aspect of him
until, recently, I realized why: he could barely make full sentences in English
Language. Yet, his Ibibio was far deeper than those I heard from my grandfather
the few moments I spent with him in the village. Most times, MPE was compelled
to sit alone, except where he was assured that the conversation in the group
was done in vernacular. Severally, he reacted with so much rage whenever a
member of the group attempted to switch the conversation into any other dialect
than the deep Ibibio he was conversant with. His ability to churn out proverbs
in Ibibio was second to none. The few times he attempted to make contributions
in an English conversation, he would end up feeling like a stammerer struggling
to complete a hanging sentence. This usually threw him into rage; the type that
kept us all away from him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
had made myself adapt to the company of “skippos”, myself being one of the
greatest. It was a taboo to attend every activity the school had to offer, even
if one had the capabilities to. For those who may not have been priviledged to
attend F.G.C. Ikot Ekpene, skipping was the act of not attending a compulsory
school activity…even meals. This Saturday morning was a core skipping day;
Marks-Awarding Inspection was ongoing. Funny enough, the most unlikely place to
have found a skippo was on this road; CAIPO. Yet, we all gathered here; gods,
spirits and humans.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">In
my 4 years as a student here, I had discovered all the skipping routes and
places. I even perfected the act by having resting places in each of the skipping
routes. White Sand, Caipo, Back of Kitchen, Orchard, J-Staff Forests, Back of
Soweto, Back of Library, Intro-Tech Lab, under stairwells, Pavelion, lawn
tennis court, Back of Canteen, etc…were all beneath my feet. I knew where to go
during any particular activity. Of course, you would not skip to the Intro-Tech
lab during the Introductory Technology classes. In simple analysis, my skipping
skills were legendary and only trailing behind the gods of skipping like
Amanambo, Senegalle, Igboayaka, the Ideh brothers, Varlash, Sparrow and the few
others. These were not humans, they were spirits. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Amanambo
was raw legend. Even as a fellow spirit, I rarely met him. He could disappear
at mere sight. Yet, what distinguished him from the rest was that he never missed
his meals and he slept in the dormitory, right beneath the noses of the
numerous seniors and, even his classmates (creditors), who searched day and
night for him like the deer searches for running streams. He could hide in
plain sight. He was rare enough a spirit we had to nickname him “the unfamiliar
spirit”; he was everywhere, yet, nowhere!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Senegalle
was human until his fingers came in contact with any two green leaves. His
green Niger River House cheque simply blended with the leaves. I ignored this
fact until one evening, while we sat together behind Ntinya’s house in the
company of lesser gods, Ini-ini and Ayadu, Mr. Ntinya showed up almost
unexpectedly and swore that he will turn “3 of us” over to the labour prefect.
In shock, I turned around and realized that we were actually 3; Senegalle had
disappeared and only the wind that trailed his demise waved the leaves around.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Igboayaka
was much more of a name than a person. The person behind the name was far less
physically present except that he left delible footprints anywhere he passed.
Legend had it that where that name was mentioned anywhere near a locker with
provisions inside, the padlock would vibrate. This figure preferred to be found
where others are prohibited from; hostels during lecture periods, classroom
during siestas, etc.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
Ideh brothers were almost demonized by those that knew them. I only saw
Ideh(Snr) on Saturdays in Mr. Ntinya’s residence. I would rather talk more
about Ideh (Jnr), who later became the Commander-in-Chief of Ntinya Boys
Association (don’t ask me who we were) and MY PERSONAL TRAINER. He preferred to
devise an escape than to hide ab initio. So, usually, he would sit around, get
caught and escape. Ideh (Jnr) was once captured during a raid on Senegal one
Sunday night by an age long enemy. The senior student was on his way to having
a bath from Kampala to Soweto; Ekpato was fun of walking around unclad from
post to post. “Mkpo Ufok”, one might be tempted to say. While the senior
student had his bath with his fingers clasping Ideh’s wrist, Ideh came back to
me! The senior student almost fainted when he realized that the moment he
closed his eyes to rinse his face, the god has replaced his wrist with that of
a JS3 student standing around, holding the senior’s towel. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">For
Varlash and Sparrow, I still intend to sue the College for ever giving out
certificates to students that were never in school. These gentlemen knew more
about Ikot Ekpene township than they knew their 2 times table. With permanent
residency in Etokakpan Street, they barely had an idea of when school closed.
Sometimes, they would visit the school days after others had gone home, only to
discover an empty school. I will speak no more of them because, till date, fear
of these men grips me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">As
my thoughts trod around, so were my eyes. A small group of huge men sat some
distance away; the Unamas. Varlash and Sparrow sat on CAIPO fence, facing town;
only seen by fellow gods. Just ahead, lesser gods sat; Stone, Olu, Ofonmbuk,
Ekott et al. I sat beside Ideh (Jnr). My confidence never wavered. My very soul
could tell the time once it was 10 am. Right now, it wasn’t. The waving leaves
had a particular rhythm that seemed to be registered in our brains. Anything
faster or slower than the usual will be treated as a threat and reacted to
accordingly. Speed was everything. For the sleek and tiny like myself and Ideh
(Jnr), we had it all. I had even acquired an extra weapon in my skipping
arsenal that I realised was only ever possessed by Unen, the little’un. A
little taller than the enamel bucket we used, Unen could freeze and watch the
threat run right past. One Saturday, after breakfast, we arranged the dinning
tables into a table tennis board and began our games. It was prohibited, yet,
we loved illegals. When Mr. Dimgba appeared unannounced, we all ran. Realizing
that his size had given him up already, Unen simply carried all the balls and
bats and stayed right there. Mr. Dimgba simply walked past. Whether he hid in
plain sight or not, that was mind control. I had this too. Mrs Odiongenyi
walked right past me severally on the canteen after break period, even though
she only sought to punish those, like me, who had stayed out beyond the
official break period. Yet, one must know when, where and against whom to use
it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Just
as I turned to take the last look around, some change had occurred in the area.
This could only have been noticed by gods. I was one, so I noticed. In split
seconds, I calculated the speed and velocity of CAIPO leaves; they were faster
by about 17 nano-seconds. This was unusual. I turned to warn Ideh(Jnr), he had
vanished. I simply disappeared and reappeared in my resting place; beheath a
little mound of dry grass, gathered just beside CAIPO fence. Then, I heard the
scramble. The screams. MPE had been captured, I could hear him beg Mr. Ekumah.
Ndibe was there too, I could decipher the vibrations from his pounding on
someone’s back. Varlash and Sparrow were probably sleeping in their rooms in
town by now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIhQPH5bLeJTVdSiyzFJwHhgM2jiksFBfVjyvv7jdHMNj81kE_n-XyvkyRJibtXyJ7JWqeb_zx0_Je-doERlKnq4PrOXpN0ialWJZTsRsZ7OpkRyoiLcAOxNBN_bgwh3s4KURwUJsPpZb/s1600/FGC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIhQPH5bLeJTVdSiyzFJwHhgM2jiksFBfVjyvv7jdHMNj81kE_n-XyvkyRJibtXyJ7JWqeb_zx0_Je-doERlKnq4PrOXpN0ialWJZTsRsZ7OpkRyoiLcAOxNBN_bgwh3s4KURwUJsPpZb/s320/FGC.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
“NO-Movement” rule in resting places during raids was in place. Ideh (Jnr) lay
by my side once again. We had selected resting places near each other. This
rule had saved us severally from the arrows that flieth by day and the
pestilence that walked around by night. It was sacrosanct. Something was not
just right, Ideh (Jnr) had moved! This was unlawful and he, of all men, knew
it. I needed to warn him, so I twisted a bit and starred at his direction. Oh
No: Ideh was unmoved, something else had moved. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">A
slim muscular rattle-snake lay, coiled between myself and Ideh (Jnr), starring
right at me. It displayed its fangs visibly and waited for my reaction. Trust
me, this was not the problem. What I realised next was. The snake was feeding
on the numerous termites that had flooded my resting place, and now, covered my
body. The twisting of my head had alerted them that there was a biological
object upon which they crawled. So, they began digging their pincers into my
very flesh. Now, there was a problem. Something heavy stepped on my back just
above the mound of dry grass, I could barely breath. It was Ndibe, the Labour
Prefect! Whether to continue its sumptuous meal of fleshy termites crawling all
over my body or to strike the impending danger above, the snake’s thoughts were
unknown to me. I simply saw the darkness that followed, the moment the snake
began.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
am i~Witness.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Shout
out to all 2003/2004 graduates of Federal Government College, Ikot Ekpene. May
your paths stay straight. And if you don’t belong here, you have not been
tested by fire.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Grant
eternal life to those ones who have gone to their rests with the hopes of
rising again. Shine Thy perpetual Light upon them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Names
and places in this article are clearly imagined; with regrettable coincidences
where any is found. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-64906830827394174722016-08-16T15:59:00.001-07:002016-08-16T16:06:43.171-07:00Demons, Oracles and Testicles.<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><b>The problem with crawling on dry leaves is usually the fact that it
screams like a dog in heat. Yet, my addiction for this spot in the deep
forest was unparalleled. This was not boosted by the fact that the
Oracle sat a stone throw away, no. Neither was my visit encouraged by my
very love for nature; whose presence here was closer than the distance
between the testicles in the scrotal sack. I would rather miss my
breakfast than miss the sight of the Demon as she strode past towards
the thatched building donated to new religion just towards the edge of
the village. Morning mass, they called it, was conducted by the white
lengthy-nosed figure of a man, who spoke through those nostrils while
the followers answered AMEN, some earlier than the rest. Obviously, the
later respondents were as dumb as the dry leaves that lay beneath my
feet; laughing only when stepped on and moving only with the wind.</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgivX_lH7GNlVUhNhHaSFw0UsncKtZgpjGzdSGYHLnbT0_xJIrZLHjcTIgB-UbeDonO1tvoMJw7V0IgRRAd-D9q6Ajgk5rjigfotxk9uqExJHIqo-XWMv_RLnE70RPWDkMhuuE1rKyVrGhg/s1600/Demon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgivX_lH7GNlVUhNhHaSFw0UsncKtZgpjGzdSGYHLnbT0_xJIrZLHjcTIgB-UbeDonO1tvoMJw7V0IgRRAd-D9q6Ajgk5rjigfotxk9uqExJHIqo-XWMv_RLnE70RPWDkMhuuE1rKyVrGhg/s400/Demon.jpg" width="299" /></a><b>
Enwongo must have been the most beautiful idea nature conceived. Of all
a fifteen year old boy would want to see, her figure seasoned my worst
nightmares with wet shorts and dreams of certain very erotic activities
most nights. This never deterred me from hurrying the following morning
to my spot of sight. Her presence alone at the new god's worship place
attracted so much young men that married women needed some spiritual
exercises to keep their husbands sane. I called her the Beautiful Demon.</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><b>
Her barely clad buttocks moved as if they connived to deceive any
starring eyes. Crafted in form of largely moulded akara balls, one would
jump on the other in turns, while she walked calculatingly across the
forest floor. I have resisted the urge to describe the two pointed
moulds that decorated her chest for reasons that my infancy would be
violated by the true words with which they can be defined. I was just
fifteen: yet, the figure between my legs must have been much older. Of
course, while my fifteen year old brain imagined why a human being
should be this beautiful, my older third leg always responded much
faster; it would kick and stay at an attention until some liquid left
its peak. I was not ashamed to stroll home with patches of liquid around
the penal region of my shorts. After all, Asuquo, the hunter, Affiong's
husband, had far bigger patches than mine: yet, I was told he was born
in the same yam harvest season with my father's elder brother. Of
course, we met every morning, just that he never saw me.</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><b> It was
unusual for the Beautiful Demon not to pass. The last time she didn't,
masquerades raided the village and killed a Chief. Next, the Oracle was
nowhere to be found. In fact, if Enwongo overslept, it was a bad omen.
The white Preacher had insisted that those who don't attend the morning
Mass will be kept in a special fire that burnt forever. At this thought,
I took a quick glance at my skin and smiled. This morning seemed colder
than usual.</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><b> The temperature stayed unusually low even as I
sneaked out of Mama's hut. I could risk death just to catch my daily
dosage of a glimpse at the Beautiful Demon...or, so I thought. There was
no rain, yet, the clouds fought themselves angrily. I took the usual
route, away from the village stream and resurfacing directly behind the
Oracle. My hiding place was, as usual, unoccupied. Soon after I had
positioned myself for the video, Asuquo followed suit. He placed his
hand in between his legs, through the rags he wore, and, as usual,
rubbed vigorously at whatever was left there...(I learnt any object that
is rubbed with such intensity everyday for a period of about five years
would gradually disappear completely) Asuquo had been doing this
everyday. His very existence seemed to be dependent on this.</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><b> It
completely occurred to me that the Demon had not passed on time as the
signing by the white Preacher's followers begun. Suddenly, my heartbeat
increased its pace. The morning darkness got darker as the clouds
bellowed in sudden anger. My legs shook. Asuquo seemed more confused
than myself. His activity was slowed down by whatever thoughts moved
through his head. Memories of all the evil I had committed danced
through my head. The elder between my legs folded to its normal age.
Once again, I felt fifteen down there. The dry leaves around rose in
unison, exposing the bare forest floor. The Oracle fell of the tree
trunk it hugged. Something was wrong! I could smell it. Then it came out
of the shadows: a Demon: this time, from the depths of doom...I rose to
run, yet its claws took a long swipe at me. Asuquo produced so much
urine that the figure got concerned. With this distraction, I jumped off
the forest floor...</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><b> ...rather, my bed.</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><b> The hotel
attendants hurried to my door and knocked. I signaled that i was fine
and rose from my sitting position. My bladder screamed the need to be
emptied. I knew that relief I usually had when rising from
nightmares...I waited for it, it never showed up. I felt an evil
again...the nightmare was not over. I recognized the stench of the demon
from that netherworld. I resisted the urge to believe that it was just
an ordinary nightmare. My soul quaked. The very depths of my testicles
pounded in unison with my heartbeats. Once again, my bladder blew an
alarm within. I hurried towards the door to the toilet. As I opened the
door, I realised fully where it all began. Well balanced on the WC, was
the demon from my dream. This time, I fell hard on the tiles and woke in
absolute darkness.</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><b> I am i~witness.</b></i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-15929051321665438772016-06-13T04:44:00.000-07:002016-06-13T04:44:16.178-07:00The Birth Of The Christ<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>"Sanctus. Sanctus. Sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth!", we chorused in unison as the One took His Place on the Throne. Amidst the fluterring of wings and the silence that followed, I sensed the certain reign of Divine aura and density deep within my heart.</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>I prefer to call him "Boss". It felt safer for those of us who had chosen the path of light, not exactly what our former commander had chosen. This Name forced me into the memory that my very existence was His and I had nothing else to exist for.</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>"Mankind has gone astray!", the Boss thundered, sending most of us to our knees. Then, timelessly, He turned aglow while His feeble Voice reminded the gathering of how much He loved them. From the group of Seraphs who stood to the far right, Uriel spoke. He was the most outspoken, even above Mi-ka-El, who had immediately taken the war-path against the decision of our former commander. Uriel, lead vocalist and director of the Seraphs and Cherubs had been gifted with a voice like no other's. The Boss had mostly kept this for moments like this. Just like all of us, the Boss loved him...yet, One sat beside Him, whom He loved most since the One, too, was part of His God-hood; His Only Son. Above Them Both, hovered the Spirit, the final person that made up the Trinity.</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>''Master, You are most merciful and magnificent in Glory. Yet, the fate of the flood may need to be repeated on . . ." Before Uriel could finish, the One had cut him short. "Not again! Remember the rainbow? Look at the children of Abraham. See the sons of David. Hear the cries of innocent women. This is the work of Lucifer, the one who revolted from our midst." With these words, His voice dropped to a low tone. "I love them all", He concluded.</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="line-height: 19.32px;">Again, the Boss thundered, "The land has to be cleansed. One must go down from here and pay that price. I am no more interested in the blood of their goats and sheep. Those have become an abomination unto Me. I need a perfect and permanent sacrifice. Only then, shall I desist from the destruction that I plan. Whoever decides to do this, know this; YOU WILL SUFFER IMMEASURABLY. Take your time and think." At these words, the Light deemed from the Throne and the Boss was in recession. Heaven was quiet. The question hovered, "WHO SHALL GO FOR US?".</i></div>
<i><div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="line-height: 19.32px;">............</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTq63xpAmwWTf9RftFySAzrP8LdUg1WkRBy_v5lzLfqcGUztV96BTbYCtfF8fAVmfkUIDW_cICtG5hhNycZ-DaJxKlQ_CyPdzXpfFBQbedY0jfP1kSpOfLHJ3YhHvencAy4_IrryzInr6/s1600/Birth+of+Xt..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTq63xpAmwWTf9RftFySAzrP8LdUg1WkRBy_v5lzLfqcGUztV96BTbYCtfF8fAVmfkUIDW_cICtG5hhNycZ-DaJxKlQ_CyPdzXpfFBQbedY0jfP1kSpOfLHJ3YhHvencAy4_IrryzInr6/s1600/Birth+of+Xt..jpg" /></a><i style="line-height: 19.32px;">"Gabriel!", the Boss thundered from His quarters. My heart sank. Have I been chosen to pay the price? I doubted as I strode down the corridor towards the Throne-Room. The Boss was much more democratic than that. He always allowed us to chose. The moment I stepped into the room, I felt it. Something was wrong, hugely. The One, His own Divine Counterpart-in-Godhood, had taken the challenge. He had chosen to die for mankind! In tears, the Father simply starred at me. "Go to Bethlehem, the home of Joachim and Anne. There is one I sent to them neatly 14 human years ago. My Son needs a channel of birth. I shall use hers." With this, I turned and walked away, towards Bethlehem's route."</i></div>
</i><br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="line-height: 19.32px;">The young lady sat by the Carpenter's workshop. Joseph, a man of extreme decorum, a carpenter, under whose care Mary had been put, for tutorage and subsequent marriage. </i></div>
<i><div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="line-height: 19.32px;">............</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="line-height: 19.32px;">The conversation was short. She simply listened on her knees, asked a few questions and concluded with a statement that shocked the Angel out of me; "I am the handmaid of the Lord, let His word come true as He wills it!"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="line-height: 19.32px;">............</i></div>
</i><br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>The next string of messages was to follow on the appointed day. Some human months later, amidst hugs, tears, fears and excitement in heaven, the Son stepped down from beside the Boss. While I left to announce His coming to mankind, the choirs rang out again in unison.</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>First, I met some shepherds sleeping in an open field. Before I revealed my full self, they all vanished. It was the major problem of mankind; fear. I simply reappeared ahead of them, cornering them to a standstill. While I broke the news, I heard the shrill cry of a baby in a manger somewhere ahead in Bethlehem. Then, I realised how unknown the Master's ways are.</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>I simply walked away, screaming in joy and excitement. I can tell this story firsthand, because my name is Gabriel; the Archangel and Messenger!</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i><b>I am i~Witness.</b></i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-20586944944403080642016-06-09T14:22:00.001-07:002016-06-09T14:22:44.005-07:00Stripped ~ 1 (Series)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just
sitting in my birthday gift to myself, a Mercedes Benz GLE and with a Chris
Aire engagement ring for the love of my life in my right hand. Tonight I’m
taking Tomi out and putting this ring on her finger. It is long overdue. You
don’t want to know, trust me.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Akin
you better drive with your body, spirit and soul in this traffic because I will
not take it lightly with you if I see any scratch or dent on this car. You
better face the road and stop smiling like a goat that just got his lips shaved
off”.</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">It’s
my 28<sup>th</sup> birthday and no one sent gifts, cakes or even greetings
my way. Even Tomi my girlfriend of 14 years and all my friends. Wow, does
everyone just hate me over night. I hope this is not the beginning of my Job
experience “shut up O2, you take things too personal. Just get home man”. Well
I just can’t wait to get this ring on her finger.</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oh
sorry for not introducing myself, this birthday thing is getting to me. Osasere
Osagie is my name, my friends call me O2 because of my initials. An
accomplished young entrepreneur is who I am, don’t make that face jooor, I am
pretty much accomplished. My team and I are responsible for “Group Study” and
“Living waters” besides I made it to “Forbes 30 under 30 individuals changing
the Africa”. I’m not usually this proud but a man’s got to blow his trumpet
sometimes. Wait I didn’t tell you Tomi calls me her tall glass of dark
chocolate milkshake, yea I guess it’s expected when you are six feet and five
inches with a sexy body. I am not vain. I just love me.</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">For
some reason, with all my accomplishments I still feel empty. There’s a void
that needs to be filled. A lot of times I pretend not to know what it is, that
makes me feel this way. Trying to get rid of this feeling, means going to look
for that missing slate and that is something my pride and anger won’t let me
do. It is just hard. Today will be a significant day in my life. These kind of
days are to be shared with friends and family. I dread days like this. No no no
no wait, you don’t understand. Days like this remind me that I have no family
left in the world. My parents separated when I was 14 years old, my Dad passed
on ages ago and I have no clue if my mum is still alive, all my grandparents
kicked the bucket too. Growing up as a kid in Lagos, Nigeria was so much fun.
Dad taught me how to play soccer. Every Saturday morning, we’d drive to the
beach to play soccer, then have breakfast while enjoying the sea breeze and
watch the waves. My dad was my mentor, my role model. On some Saturdays mum
would come with us, she was my biggest fan. When I joined the soccer team in
school, she would come watch me, she never missed any of my games. My mum was
my biggest cheerleader and the best chef. My mum was Ibibio, if you know women
from that area you’ll know they are a natural when it comes to cooking. There
was no soup she couldn’t make, was it Afang, Atama abak, Ikon, Edikai nkong
name it. Every soup was stuffed with a variety of sea food and well roasted
goat meat. I really miss those days.</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Finally
home. This is my Victoria Island home, it is a beautiful five bedroom duplex,
with a three bedroom boys quarters or guest house like Tomi always calls it. It
has a basketball court, a pool area, a gym and a garden. Babe seems to thinks
it’s a big property but I think it’s just ok.</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQtVlj2QTbMTRYuBNSiYe76Dh4FDtEZDiTyi-wq9JJzm9Q9R3LLgn5-p9hiOHEPOH6HdAzQGTFPq16cexJdjkCC7ank9LxvC4mqXdOQXvk7GewdSC25Qt1I3clMbnBpOKjWgGD4d9WH2e2/s1600/Wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQtVlj2QTbMTRYuBNSiYe76Dh4FDtEZDiTyi-wq9JJzm9Q9R3LLgn5-p9hiOHEPOH6HdAzQGTFPq16cexJdjkCC7ank9LxvC4mqXdOQXvk7GewdSC25Qt1I3clMbnBpOKjWgGD4d9WH2e2/s320/Wedding.jpg" width="320" /></a><i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Everywhere
is so quiet, did Tomi leave me already or did something happen, different
thoughts going through my head. Walking into the living room, it is pitch-black
and quiet but I feel the presence of humans in the room. I switch on the lights
and then voices just start singing happy birthday. I almost ran out but looking
across the room I knew everyone in there. Tomi just stood there smiling at me
like the angel that she is. I was close to tears but I did a good
job fighting it. My closest friends were all present. I hugged Tomi so tight.
The party began, I didn’t even want to get out of my work clothes. There was a
lot of food. Dj Sagie my friend, was there to deliver good music. I danced my
ass off. Trust me I got moves from Azonto to Shoki to Nae Nae, I’ve got it all.</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">After
what seemed like hours the music faded out and my all-time favourite person in
the world had something to say about me and my journey so far. Tomi’s words got
me all emotional and brought tears to my eyes. We’ve been best friends before
we decided to start dating 14 years ago. So she has been there through it all,
in plenty and scarce she stayed put. She believed in me when I didn’t even
believe in myself. When she was done with her speech, it was my turn to go all
John Legend on her. This wasn’t the plan but it was more perfect
that what I had planned, after adorning her with the crown of every beautiful
adjective, I couldn’t bring myself to ask her the life changing question “will
you marry me?” After my unprepared speech, we danced a little more before our
guests began to leave one after the other, till everyone was gone and it was
just us two.</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Babe
made me go up for a shower, she said ‘by the time you are done with bathing get
in your pyjamas and come down your birthday gift will be right here waiting for
you.’ Filled with so much anxiety, I hurriedly had my bath got into one of my
old Chelsea jerseys and a pair of pyjama pants. I ran down the stairs like an
excited kid who can’t wait to unwrap his present. Tomi was there in the living
room sitting with a woman. I was confused as to who this was, or what she was
doing here, is she the gift? Could Tomi be considering a threesome just after I
proposed to her, well let’s see. Walking towards the living room, babe gave me
that flashy smile from across the room. This made me more uncomfortable. The
lady will not turn her face towards me, so I walked up to her closely. Then she
raised her head and I almost had a heart attack, WHAT! I fell to the ground...</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Uduakobong Etukudo </b>writes from Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia.</span></i></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-14977086029884442082016-06-09T13:49:00.000-07:002016-06-09T13:49:54.348-07:00Umudike<br />
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;">"MIsericordias
Domini in aeternum cantarbo..."<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
The cold humming continued as members of the Taize community sang their way
through my very essence via the car stereo. The low temperature inside the car
completed the requirements for a dull morning. Then, I was thirsty!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
"Pooommmmm!!!", came the most obvious sound from a hurrying taxi as I
let down my window to summon "the-kid-with-the-coke". I just couldn't
imagine the sharp difference. Heat waves from the window. A mixture o<span class="textexposedshow">f all sorts of sounds from all sorts of unfriendly
sources. Dust particles flying at random from shuffling feet in the dirty
tar-like stretch of a road. Signposts by the roadside were as many as the total
population of Madagascar. It was almost impossible to drive through here
unscratched. This is UMUDIKE!<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
<span class="textexposedshow">"Oga, which one?", the-kid-with-the-coke
asked, amidst other competitors. I had seen the particular bottle of coke I
wanted to drink from a distance. Infact, I could spot it from a million bottles
of coke in Abia State. It had the inscription "Share a Coca Cola with
Gabriel". Of course, the most comfortable thing in life is to drink a
chilled bottle of coke ALONE! I am not a marketer actually, 'm just being realistic.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
<span class="textexposedshow">Since I wouldn't want to have a kid's brain
splashed on my face, I drove slowly a bit forward, off the road.
The-kid-with-the-coke magically moved at the same pace with my car, no matter
how sporadic the changes in speed became. I had to quietly swipe my side mirror
down to be sure he had not straddled himself to my car. Surprisingly, he had
not.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCWJp2LR7Om3dSbvA05NjXTmrGBmy5-cBE49PjBrbTMZoFbzfxjfNH92qWZdBdcvmdG7IzUNwFyr8ombxv1b26XXk-BK85q1reFNyyBVgAZxgNC6HxuyrjXyVsANHPYg07nqKlNf3dW76/s1600/Umudike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCWJp2LR7Om3dSbvA05NjXTmrGBmy5-cBE49PjBrbTMZoFbzfxjfNH92qWZdBdcvmdG7IzUNwFyr8ombxv1b26XXk-BK85q1reFNyyBVgAZxgNC6HxuyrjXyVsANHPYg07nqKlNf3dW76/s400/Umudike.jpg" width="400" /></a><i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
<span class="textexposedshow">The-kid-with-the-coke looked 8, smart, intelligent,
could easily read my mind, spoke good grammar...yet, was not in school! There
were millions like him around here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;">While
he pointed the bottle at me, I thought through the fact that there were
billionaire politicians in this same community. Education was preached as a
free commodity.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;">Just before I could reach the <s>N</s>100 note in my pocket, the-kid-with-the-coke had vanished; with
his bottle of coke. Then, I heard the blarring siren of a police van...towards
where I had parked. My heart-beat increased.<span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
As the dark-tanned Police-Man walked towards my window even before their van
came to a total halt, I shot a glance to confirm the presence of the wig on my
dashboard. Then, I slowly let the window roll down again and smiled; this time,
with the confidence of a lawyer who just won a case against the government.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;">"Yes? How may I be of help officer?"<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
am i~Witness.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-1360684400443817702016-06-08T05:23:00.000-07:002016-06-08T05:24:16.103-07:00Save the Black Child<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129;">The evening dew settled on everything
around and harmattan dust decorated them to a different flavor. The humming
sound of the strolling river spoke volumes to my soul. My heartbeats became
like an accompaniment to the river music.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129;"> For
several minutes, my eyes felt like they were not permitted to stare away from
the waters. Yet, each time they belched, my heart sank to its very depths. When
I finally gathered the courage to look around, I realised how late it had
become. The beach side was completely abandoned. The Michael Kors time piece on
my left wrist screamed a tick; it was 8 o'clock. <o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129;">Thoughts of stories of mermaids swimming
out to river banks at unholy hours caused a tremor in my stomach. As I hurried
away, my feet struggled to jumble through the thick pile of quicksand. The blue
Amazon tie I wore kept flipping into clear view in response to wind direction.
Suddenly, my eyes caught sight of the object of my fears.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdY_uMFntRt1Lp4HeGJtIQAqsXXlBEiM5OmgOiXzTDKLyDkN6xIS8Xslacz2X736_S7A2O8F4eSqSKtEB-Q8cvYX54SAfJz69-WN4ZlhZ3TvXiM3JhGCA1cmtcVz4J76OovBWEXRLIywzO/s1600/Black+Child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdY_uMFntRt1Lp4HeGJtIQAqsXXlBEiM5OmgOiXzTDKLyDkN6xIS8Xslacz2X736_S7A2O8F4eSqSKtEB-Q8cvYX54SAfJz69-WN4ZlhZ3TvXiM3JhGCA1cmtcVz4J76OovBWEXRLIywzO/s1600/Black+Child.jpg" /></a><i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><i style="line-height: 14.5pt;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">An object lay
quietly just a distance away. Oh no, rather, a couple of objects. I attempted a
diversion, yet laziness and the length of the new distance brought me to a
standstill. I produced the thick glasses; my spare eyes, and stuck them on.
This thing has a grande relationship with my bone-filled face. It just sits in
and hugs the face like a gorilla in heat. Just as it settled into position, the
objects became magnified. And I saw, for the first time, the image of a tired
child, lying beside a bag of pure water, a plate, a spoon, an old piece of
canvas shoes for a pillow, a little heap of clothes and covered with two scanty
pieces of whatever rags these were.</span></i></i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></i></div>
</div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129;">My legs wobbled
as I gathered the guts to walk towards the heap. She looked 9. Frozen in the
cold. Unperturbed even by nature. I simply sat beside her, pulled my glasses
and let the tears flow freely. I pulled my suit and added to her
self-constructed set of duvét. She smiled in her sleep and stirred as if to
appreciate the increase in beachside temperature. As my teeth started
clattering in the cold, it occured to me that this one could simply die out,
unnoticed; and her corpse swept away by the ragging river.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0in;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129;">While I sat,
lost in thought; she woke with a start. "Officer please don't arrest me
again, I have no way else to go. My mummy and daddy have died and my aunty said
she will kill me if I don't sell all these pure water", she begged, almost
wailing. Obviously, she has been threatened or even arrested severally. I
simply pulled her closer. "I am no officer", I replied. Her heartbeat
hurriedly slowed down as tears splashed from her eyes on my wrist watch.
"What happened to you?", I asked. "My name is Edidiong."
She began, in plain English. Her throat was cracked, I could detect it from her
voice. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></i></div>
</div>
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<i><span style="color: #1d2129;">While the bag of
pure water lay protected like diamonds, Edidiong excused me, strolled towards
the flowing river and lapped off some water in a doglike fashion. I sat there,
frozen and in tears as she hurried back, sat closely beside me, tugged herself
beneath my left arm and began her story.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I am i~Witness.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-11939115420290421272016-06-08T04:42:00.000-07:002016-06-08T04:42:11.541-07:00What If...<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 8pt; text-align: justify;">
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">There is nothing in this world I hate more than a January morning
in England. Oh! How I detest the dampness, the fog and most certainly the frost
in the air that comes with it. However, all that I could live with but for the
fact that a January morning in England is also deceitful. The brightness in the
sky gives you a false hope that heaven heard your prayers last night and it
just might be -2 degrees rather than -10 degrees. Ten times out of
ten, it is latter rather than the former.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Nothing was bringing me
down today, not the frost, not the damp and most certainly not the
disappointment that the brightness in the sky presented a false hope of a sunny
day. It was -13 degrees and yet I was determined to have a great day!</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Phew phew phew … I
whistled happily as I walked to the 79 bus stop. Today is going to be
good day I thought to myself as I waited impatiently for the bus to
arrive. </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Where is the bus
anyway?” I spoke quietly to myself. Of course I did not want to be mistaken for
a retard.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Whop! Whop!” I coughed
in an attempt to disguise my </span>whispering<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> from the people waiting at the bus
stop with me.</span></span></i><i style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Wow that was close”, I
thought.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Imagine if they
concluded that I was a retard. I obviously would be given a wide breath when the
bus arrives and we finally get to file in. It is bad enough that I am an
African girl living in England, I did not want anyone thinking I was a retard
as well. That would be double trouble.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I stretched my hand to
signal the bus as it whooshed pass me.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Bloody bastard!” I
shouted at the bus driver, this time not bothering to disguise my words with
even a sneeze. I regretted my impulsive words immediately as everyone turned in
my direction. Oh great! now they think I am an aggressive, ill-mannered African
girl.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Who bloody cares
anyway?” I thought to myself. At least, I was bold enough to say what all of
them were thinking.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I boldly looked each one
of them in the eye and dared them to say anything. Everyone seemed to suddenly
receive a very important text message on their phone, as they all quickly
whipped out their phones and tapped vigorously at it while avoiding any eye
contact with me.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I must stress the fact
that I shy away from using profanity, as much as I can of course. But I dare
anyone who lives in a country where profane words are used like an elder in
Umuanunu village uses proverbs, not to swear at least twice a day. As a child,
my mother would threaten to wash my mouth out with Omo detergent if I swore. In
fact I can truly say that I couldn’t say a swear word until I was eighteen.
Eight years later, I still hesitate to do so except in exceptional
circumstances, and I think the current circumstance warranted at least 3 swear
words. In my defence, I only used two.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">The bus had taken its
maximum capacity of passengers therefore could not stop at the bus stop where I
waited, to take in anymore passenger. That's just my luck!.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqzrfiLrr09pZT78ThwKpL5WN9OetYKWTTZjO6NZA7hBZ9ZExMvO7rKwyNZLNVcL07Mnp5th_CE0IdwQnqsXmEJdvRBa9tmBi_oBXTnipk_nVCfLpkowtzCgxGuYbybSVSHgXVDO9kdvIU/s1600/Chinwe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqzrfiLrr09pZT78ThwKpL5WN9OetYKWTTZjO6NZA7hBZ9ZExMvO7rKwyNZLNVcL07Mnp5th_CE0IdwQnqsXmEJdvRBa9tmBi_oBXTnipk_nVCfLpkowtzCgxGuYbybSVSHgXVDO9kdvIU/s320/Chinwe.jpg" width="320" /></a><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">A good day was slowly
turning to a bad day. Nevertheless, I was determined not to let that happen. I
was not going to let a minor bus incident steal my joy and so I clung to my
happiness like a drowning swimmer clutching at a broken twig. Desperation,
I swear is the mother of invention. </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">My mind sought new ways
to entertain itself. I thought to myself, if I had my life to live over,
would I change anything?</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">At first, I riled at the
idea that I would want to change anything about my life. I am well educated, I
have food on my table, the clothes on my back are of a good quality and to top
it all off, I have a family that loves me unconditionally. Why then would I want
to change anything about my life? I thought.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">As I thought about my
perfect life, doubts began to creep into my mind and before long I realised
that I had changed my answer to the question. My life was not so “perfect”
after all.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">It needed a few tweaks here
and there.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">If I had to live my life
over again, instead of wishing away the years in boarding school and whining
about the punishments, watery soup and cold baths, I'd have relished every
minute of it and recognised that they were the years that shaped my future and
the only chance I had in life to cast my cares aside, to live without major
responsibilities.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I would never have
maintained my father roll up the car windows during our trips to the village
just because I was afraid of a little dust settling on perfectly ironed dress.
A dirty dress was like a tiny speck of dust compared to the troubles life
brought with it.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I would have encouraged
my friends over for a visit even though our sofa was faded and we had no cable
t.v. In doing so, I would have been able to easily separate the wheat from the
chaff.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I would have taken the
time to listen carefully to my grandfather, my grandmother, my mother and my
father as they ramble about their youth. For truer words of wisdom were never
spoken that those that fell from an experienced tongue.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I would have lit the
pretty pink, passionate red and baby blue candles that were shaped like
cupcakes before they melted in storage.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I would have lay on the
lawn with my siblings and cousins and never worried about grass stains.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I would have laughed and
cried less while watching television and reading my novels ... and bit more
while watching real life.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I would have shouldered
more of the duties and responsibilities carried by my Father and Mother which I
took for granted. I would have eaten more ice cream and less salads.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I would have hugged my
mother a little more, said I love you to my father even when he upset me,
listened to my brother brag about his achievements, allowed my sister launch my
favourite dresses and never complain when she borrowed my stuff and never
returned them.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Given another shot at
life, I would seize every minute of it, see it for the blessing it really is,
try everything at least once, laugh recklessly, cry shamelessly, love
desperately and never give any minute of my life back, I will use them all
until there was nothing left of it.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Excuse me, are you
catching this bus?” an unknown said to me.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Firmly dragging me away
from my musing.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yes. Thank you” I
replied as I watched another bus 79 slowly make its way to the bus stop where I
stood. This time thankfully, it did not whoosh past me!</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">It may yet be my lucky
day.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b>I am i~Witness.</b> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Chukwunonye Chinwe </b>writes from Nottingham, England.</span></i></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-31850498824389812682016-06-05T13:36:00.000-07:002016-06-05T13:40:43.188-07:00We Were Soldiers<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The thick brown khaki shirt stayed sat on his body and the large designer buttons clasped the piece to order. Mummy sat just a distance away, tear-soaked yet joy-filled. Otobong had just taken the dreaded military job. YET, that is far from the scary part.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><i>Crickets whistled through the night. The dusty wind blew with reckless abandon. Camp was scarier than usual tonight. Telephone networks had been marshed by terrorists' activities in this area. Wide roads had become bush tracks; except from a little protection by the desert heat. We lay almost a kilometre away from the last explosion...barely 72 hours away. I peered through the shadows and saw figures all looking like myself, except one; Otobong. This is my definition of fate: we both attended the same Secondary School...now, we have just been sent to the same war-front, having been admitted as 2nd Leiutenants the same day. He was more of a specially structured individual. I had felt his shape looked like an improper fraction; where the upper figure always stayed larger than the lower. His head forehead seemed to grow at a pace a little faster than his body. Muscular shoulders followed. Otobong was one man you dared not annoy. Apart from the military training we had, he was a stammerer...not exactly the kind of person you would double-cross. He was the complete soldier; made of steel and built for war.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><i>The camp lay still as we were all fagged out from a whole day's trip in an M35 Armoured Vehicle. The tank's danglings had caused an uproar within my stomach. This was war...toilets were a taboo. In the darkness, Otobong's forehead glittered from a reflection of desert moonlight.</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">While my thoughts and eyes travelled, I realised that other things had travelled too. There were short and brisk movements around the camp. The trees seemed to change their positions from time to time. It is military enough to understand what this meant; I did. I stayed stuck on my make-shift sleeping rack. We were under attack!</span><span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"> </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><i>The terrorists sneaked like a pack of lions into position. I starred, in horror, as a whole crew of about a hundred men were about to be exterminated. Yet, we all lay still.</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I had to sound the alarm. No way. The whistle that hung around my neck became heavier than the MG9.0 that lay beside my rack. My heartbeat skipped numerous beats. Otobong lay frozen...still. Something was not right about this. So I readied myself to activate the "seat-eject" button tied to my right wrist. It was a trap door which opened the pit beneath my bed, sent me downward and replaced my bed with a heap of grass. From beneath, I would follow a tunnel out of the territory. Everyone was advised to have a plan like this and one knew the other's. Even Otobong did not tell me his.</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwl0fqYwmGhNUJD1RzE76jMY38eaz8KuWw_vt97dGP7tI8wV-98C5egiIMp8JbW_FKfzFohPZrM6bUW9qKPYpsdkE1iZU-ozroAge6AJFYMkP8NeEiU-UBESn1Ev7ZnlFRUrynVfVL4w9r/s1600/Soldiers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwl0fqYwmGhNUJD1RzE76jMY38eaz8KuWw_vt97dGP7tI8wV-98C5egiIMp8JbW_FKfzFohPZrM6bUW9qKPYpsdkE1iZU-ozroAge6AJFYMkP8NeEiU-UBESn1Ev7ZnlFRUrynVfVL4w9r/s1600/Soldiers.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Just as the terrorists emerged from beneath the moving trees, my hand swung to the whistle. Too late. The sound of the whistle was buried by the Machine Guns which roared, vomiting bullets the size of my thumb on all our beds. I activated the seat-eject and disappeared into oblivion. Soldiers do not shed tears...yet, I did. I just lost about a hundred men to these animals and, I could have warned them. My conscience weighed much heavier than the gun I hung as I crawled through the tunnel.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><i>The 7 hour crawl was worth it, as sunlight shone through the cracks on the tunnel. Just as I found the outlet, my heart sank. I found a scarier sight; a hand waiting to pull me out and a forehead looking too heavy as its owner starred down at me. As I got pulled out, the rest of the team roared with an applause. I was the last to arrive. How they survived? They never slept in camp! Those make-shift beds were heaped with grass, forming the figures I saw. Otobong must have been a good sculptor; the reflection of his forehead came from the camp football we played shortly before bedtime.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><i>"I wouldn't dare die on my birthday", Otobong retorted, as we jogged along to our next post.</i></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I am i~Witness.</span></i></b></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-18428048226710241032016-06-05T09:16:00.003-07:002016-06-05T09:16:47.791-07:00Indlela Yokuthula<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
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<i>I had always believed that God lives right in our midst. There is no pretence about that. Of course, no further explanations could be given to the deep rooted peace I felt whenever I found my feet travelling this particular street. I called it "<b>Indlela yokuthula</b>"; a Zulu phrase I had learnt while in South Africa to mean "The Way of Peace". I would wake on awkward mornings and stroll through it for an exercise, the return trip was always accompanied with peaceful thoughts. You could rob me without any weapon...simply because I lacked the courage to trade that peace for anything. God, obviously, had an apartment on this road and did do some exercises every morning. Today was a typical December morning on Indlela yokuthula; yet, it seemed God had taken a trip to the next street. This notwithstanding, He always shows up on time.</i></div>
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<i>The dry harmattan wind trespassed all bounds. Like a reckless trabadour, it dragged with it, anything that cared to follow, voluntarily or otherwise; dust particles, brown leaflets from nearby trees struggled to stick on mothers; tree stems that had abandoned them and, even little children who seemed to be unperturbed by the freezing morning wind. I strolled along, humming G. F. Handel's "The Heavens Are Telling...", loudly greeting the farmers that hurried to their farmlands amidst the unkind temperature and wind. Just then, I greeted one; and, like John, her foetus kicked at the sound of my " aunty amesiere o". She was "fully loaded". Intuitively, I hit the end of the road, took a quick turn and followed her.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2QVzZfuxISv3jauflJkMCLPogsUAuqhOhuhSomtdxvFXy9nRUYlwE8KTzLwgaRO4Pd-7vHvQrq5PYeFGZNJAeT9wQ-A1Jyf2wlBGYafsWhJvzLnblL5ixMnfNM0E9oZNpjvFot7BT-ekO/s1600/Pregnant+Woman+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2QVzZfuxISv3jauflJkMCLPogsUAuqhOhuhSomtdxvFXy9nRUYlwE8KTzLwgaRO4Pd-7vHvQrq5PYeFGZNJAeT9wQ-A1Jyf2wlBGYafsWhJvzLnblL5ixMnfNM0E9oZNpjvFot7BT-ekO/s320/Pregnant+Woman+2.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>She was not only loaded biologically, but physically. The basin on her head indicated that this one was one hell of a workaholic. In a python-like fashion, she trod along. It occurred to me that her steps seemed numbered and laboured. My heart skipped several beats as she came to a standstill. I flipped a quick look ahead of her, there was no physical hitch. No gutters to cross. No road blocks mounted. I starred hard again, nothing had gone wrong...none that I could notice. I got stuck in this frenzy until I realised her fingers were tingling. Her bid to communicate something to me was obvious. I hurried closer and beheld a sight!</i></div>
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<i>A stream of blood mixed with water hurried downwards between her legs. Until now, I had completely failed to notice how shapely they were. They shock as she struggled in vain to keep the load on her head. Before I could muster the courage to grab the filled basin, it had begun its journey from her head. Her hands had failed as they vibrated from the force of an incoming truck. Confused as to what to catch, the basin landed with a thud, spraying its numerous contents on the sand ahead. Then, she followed! Her "water had just broken".</i></div>
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<i>A quick look around confirmed my fears; I was the only living thing on this road. This was not the major problem, there were two other basic issues. The first was that it seemed the road would remain lonely for a longer while. The second? The last time I ever sat beside a Biology textbook was 15 years ago, while I laboured to survive WAEC. Every other thing I ever knew about the human body was just due to my consanguinity with a doctor for an elder brother; who, like his professional colleagues, took a lot of humanly abnormal things for granted.</i></div>
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<i>The harmattan wind seemed to have stopped and stared helplessly too. The swaying leaves stood at akimbo, smiling at my ignorance. My Michael Kors time piece screamed its tick tock into the very depths of my soul, reminding me of the essence of time in the presence of blood. Yet, this blood would not just stop coming. In fact, the indlela lokuthola lost its peaceful flavour. All that came to reality now was that a lawyer was about to practice traditional midwifery. This was not fun. I breathed in deeply...and ignorantly began.</i></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNvFW-EWvYxjRV8yNrFPihpzqkTk9uRgMUquEzvWG-RIOaFOzwumycf2hejmr5s3qoK11fOeCBk9AiR-KyWXeyz3VeOTlfNUa7mHVClMchIq7qKKeKl-oEQ_1_3k33M0Vk_OsIEEclDY2/s1600/Pregnant+Woman.jpg" /><i>She had already laid on the sand, legs apart. Her fall had caused a little injury to the side of her head. Then, I realised that a lot of blood had been lost already. White eyes, pale skin...the blood slowed down! Her heart skipped some beats...then...stopped completely! Just then, I realised she had fallen badly and hit her head on a small stone hidden the thick folds of sand. Her temperature quickly reduced and her eyelids struggled to stay open...in vain. In minutes, she had found peace.</i></div>
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<i>Shocked, my gaze tilted upwards and the last I saw was an image of a blue sky and the sound of gushing wind. Then, the DARKNESS CAME!</i><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-29977455151379070652016-06-03T17:38:00.002-07:002016-06-03T17:38:35.194-07:00When I Served My Country (contd...)<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>13.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iuoACsebKRcN0Fe3p2DQIy36gS0IGA84CYhRXCIFr81zUKqPIp5dsq-dJmiO_g4wh9YO79Xd981rzReL-eH-1wqb_hmUUBBD4q7LUcSXBM_BYhh6qqhuBHjD0Ci6HGlIAS-8uBB4YqaG/s1600/Ocean+Road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7iuoACsebKRcN0Fe3p2DQIy36gS0IGA84CYhRXCIFr81zUKqPIp5dsq-dJmiO_g4wh9YO79Xd981rzReL-eH-1wqb_hmUUBBD4q7LUcSXBM_BYhh6qqhuBHjD0Ci6HGlIAS-8uBB4YqaG/s320/Ocean+Road.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>The ocean roared past my eyes like a bride hurrying late for her wedding. With mixed feelings; of joy, seeing the waters and of sorrow, imagining the up-hill task of fetching it back home, i turned and started the stroll back, making haste to complete the day's task ahead.</i></div>
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<i>The sound of sweeping kept thrashing my ears as i got closer to my room! Dirty water flowed freely from the doorway. In semi-shock, i found two "mute" kids doing a perfect job; cleaning my "kitchen". These <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">young ones were not actually mute, but English language was a far cry from their understanding. With this difficulty in communication, i simply crawled away from them and reoccupied my seat of authority in the Bull.</span></i></div>
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<i><div style="margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
Truly, money is a language understood even by the dead. As i produced my wallet, they smiled. Of course, they understood that their labour was about to be rewarded. Quite awkwardly, i never knew who they were, because we could not communicate.</div>
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While i relieved the Bull of the load it carried, my "kitchen" kept frowning as it was almost filled already. "Knock, knock", the awe-inspiring figure showed up with a...hang on; is this a matress or a mat? Whatever it was, it was meant to be slept on. I received it with fake smiles and threw it on the floor as the figure rattled away.</div>
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As i looked for space to hang my numerous clothings, it was obvious I needed a carpenter to re-inforce the swinging wall hanger. Well, i doubt these people have any carpenter with equipments. Stones were everywhere, so, i walked towards one. I could do the job myself.</div>
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</div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">The stone seemed to follow my hand in a magnetic fashion. A shiny dark-tanned snake lay beneath it, starring at me with its head hanging!</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">.</span></div>
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I sluggishly picked up my diary. Before i could write anything, my dull eyelids unsuccessfully fought the urge to stay alive.</div>
</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-87312500124759313792016-06-03T17:33:00.004-07:002016-06-03T17:33:56.420-07:00When I Served My Country (contd.)<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>12.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>"Corper, follow me!". I was startled as the voice by the doorway met me staring in wonder at the sleeping figure before me. Nonetheless, I stood up and hopped after the container from which the command had emerged. It was a carefully packed confederation of bones, held together by bandage-like ligaments that served the purpose of flesh. The only difference between the neck, the back and the buttocks was that the latest advertised two covered Akara balls, which moved mechanica<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">lly like pistons of an old generator, in turns. The pink gown and a green headtie suggested a feminine creature.</span></i></div>
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"Na me de take care of Corpers for council", the creature continued, still moving forward like a robot. "I wan give you accommodation. Before that...", then she turned around, "...your acceptance fee na 1000 Naira." I quickly produced my wallet, just to avoid looking at the construction which stood in for a human face. To worsen my feeling, my hand came in contact with her's in the process of paying the fee. At that point, I was worried it had rather fallen on the hard blocked half-wall on the corridor...but the corridor moved; it was her palm!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjua13kbs4DL79y3sKi0CdnjkA53pU602Ax_8_tfCwOjrPsNz1tODH_WxZ_PrTkXw0BEl9vVTpsp2SD7OPhpJ7_urtu04j_y3OZJLUfHkMIgXNuFj0VRFB8LbbgDLmWbnKJ2P4n9tLCrw_p/s1600/BUsh+Track.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjua13kbs4DL79y3sKi0CdnjkA53pU602Ax_8_tfCwOjrPsNz1tODH_WxZ_PrTkXw0BEl9vVTpsp2SD7OPhpJ7_urtu04j_y3OZJLUfHkMIgXNuFj0VRFB8LbbgDLmWbnKJ2P4n9tLCrw_p/s320/BUsh+Track.jpg" width="320" /></a>The 7 minutes walk through a bush-track terminated in a "haunted-house". I stopped behind her and looked ahead in surprise. The question as to the status of occupation of the house ahead went right back to my throat as a slim beautiful young lady with an NYSC cap emerged from the block and smiled at the figure ahead of me! The contrast was terrible.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaImIZDFnKqUMh83KZeCkf9Yl_FEVD3o6mVeOTXXEl4FdxK2w1EbBKE5hyI_VjI22hF_C6nuRzVwHs8tY4CALjFOuXvdtUeyn7rZYK8eKrUSWEujiGtwPsyHEGUxtpc-leA4bk872Eh3fd/s1600/Corper%2527s+Lodge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaImIZDFnKqUMh83KZeCkf9Yl_FEVD3o6mVeOTXXEl4FdxK2w1EbBKE5hyI_VjI22hF_C6nuRzVwHs8tY4CALjFOuXvdtUeyn7rZYK8eKrUSWEujiGtwPsyHEGUxtpc-leA4bk872Eh3fd/s320/Corper%2527s+Lodge.jpg" width="320" /></a>"Uduak", the figure called out. I exhaled for my neighbor was from Akwa Ibom. My excitement quickly reversed when the door to my supposed room popped open. Uduak had strolled far off, out of sight. The room was just enough to contain only the books the Bull carried on my behalf! It had a kitchen wash-hand sink attached to the wall. Opposite the sink, lay 2 tubers of yam, 8 cooking pots, a kettle, a stove, some old newspapers and, quite awkwardly, a pillow!</div>
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The rattle of bones behind<br />
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alerted me just on time to see the figure turn and walk away. At this point, I knew I wasn't going to do my NYSC...but I hoped I could.</div>
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My Bull crawled through the track and stared at where his commander was to abide. First, I needed to keep pouring water in that room until it spoke. i quickly changed into work clothings, put on my canvas for a trek in search of water. A little stroll towards the other end of the track revealed a slope. Beneath the slope lay a road that had endured much more seasons than the colonial masters expected it to. I kept on down the track, smoothing my fingers through the edges on my NYSC Identity card inside my pocket...security issues.</div>
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Suddenly, the temperature of the late morning hurried downwards. The sound of an untuned radio gushed into my ears. Then, I stood face to face with a tributary of the Atlantic Ocean...on the other end, was a flag of Cameroon!</div>
</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-77872236125992880472016-06-03T17:26:00.001-07:002016-06-03T17:26:40.306-07:00When I Served My Country (contd...)<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>11.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>The temperature was blood-boiling. My heartbeat went in unison with the songs and prayers uttered silently within. The devil himself looked up, at my face. His silence was unbearable. I stood before him, trembling, broken, pierced, and most of all, weak.</i></div>
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<i>"Just come for your clearance tomorrow, we'll talk then", the devil finally blabbed. I heaved a sigh of relief and turned around without a word. The Bull seemed to understand my situation, as it seemed to move slowly in cooperation with my weak trembling feet that could barely press the acceleration pedal.</i></div>
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<i>I arrived my Place of Primary Assignment, the Local Govt. Secretariat, and lodged my Bull under an angry tree...it threw a dozen leaves on my bonnet, in disapproval to my packing. "Your leaves don finish?", I queried in annoyance too, and strolled to the area that seemed occupied.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_0-naiRDw7P_7fMvmWMY3yulmFrPvSlvZGJoWV0sRqbCAFFLG2CU7MpoBEoXvUv-ybDSxkccrVPVoo7WClC-tFoVb2_4GPx38lg80C0oE-f66ArcoS1lSLizHNN2o7o2Tk0sevsN9qvv/s1600/Obubra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_0-naiRDw7P_7fMvmWMY3yulmFrPvSlvZGJoWV0sRqbCAFFLG2CU7MpoBEoXvUv-ybDSxkccrVPVoo7WClC-tFoVb2_4GPx38lg80C0oE-f66ArcoS1lSLizHNN2o7o2Tk0sevsN9qvv/s320/Obubra.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>A little cow-shed lay to my left, made completely of logs. A signpost revealed it was a department. Chairs and tables lay in a haggard format under every shed. In fact, every place was an office! A man sat by a hall, tagged "Legislature", and smoked two sticks of cigarette at once. His face brightened each time he took the sip. Obviously, he was mentally unbalanced.</i></div>
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<i>"Corper, good afternoon and welcome to our land of peace", the figure whispered amidst puffs of smoke. I was taken aback. This was the only human, apart from the devil himself, who conveyed his thoughts in purified English. My smile widened, but my heart raced...soon, my feet joined!</i></div>
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<i>A woman sat under a tree just after where my mad friend had his home. I sincerely hoped they weren't colleagues-in-insanity. So, I walked up to her, boldly adjusting my cap. Before I could get close enough to her, she quickly pointed at a door ahead of me. I felt terrible though, but obeyed.</i></div>
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<i>The Inscription "HOLGA" hung nicely at the door. I knocked, and crawled in. A huge fair woman sat on a rocking chair and stared at me above a tilted pair of glasses which now rested on her pointed nose. The memories of childhood rushed back as she looked more like cartoons we drew as children. Funny enough, we used this image to represent the wicked step mother.</i></div>
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<i>"Good afternoon Madam", I said with a smile that mutual have tickled her fancy. A semi-masculine voice emerged from between the lipstick-smeared pair of lips. Wait o...did she apply this lipstick, or did someone simply fling a bucket of red paint at her?</i></div>
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<i>"Corper, sit down", she responded, leaning back on her rocking posture yet still staring at me. I became too uncomfortable as she kept staring without a word for about thirty whole minutes. My face kept flickering here and there to avert the look in her eyes. In my confusion, I stood up and tried to say something, expecting her to revolt. Actually, she didn't! She just kept staring at my empty seat. Something was not right.</i></div>
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<i>As I moved closer to her table, I noticed a little smear of her red lipstick on her white blouse. Spittle travelled from her open mouth downward, getting an accompaniment from the red neighbors downstairs. Her upper jaw was linked to the lower by strings of foam. Her snores kept the rocking chair on motion. Behold, my host was deeply asleep, though her eyes stayed wide open!</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-42588434680648650542016-06-03T17:22:00.000-07:002016-06-03T17:22:48.330-07:00When I Served My Country (contd...)<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
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<i>10.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlnvrJ53HlkZr02YFhFBo_9KUf0WLHMb95liwFeJDD7XY4zNQxWisbXnjczjxVTIaBbiJBI-WIe30lsAIXn5Z-bFjyhJ9_GRtEuNueOVscgviiRdO0tUqzhZM9JgVRplqQLjIAs8OBjLo/s1600/Bad+Roads.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlnvrJ53HlkZr02YFhFBo_9KUf0WLHMb95liwFeJDD7XY4zNQxWisbXnjczjxVTIaBbiJBI-WIe30lsAIXn5Z-bFjyhJ9_GRtEuNueOVscgviiRdO0tUqzhZM9JgVRplqQLjIAs8OBjLo/s200/Bad+Roads.jpg" width="112" /></a><span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><i>The tarred road rushed under the "Bull" at a speed of about 124km per hour for about 10 minutes, then, I approached a junction where true Nigerian roads began. My negotiation to the right had a warm welcome from an unfriendly pot-hole, that narrated the full stories of deserted communities around. The Bull dangled it's way around under my tutelage. A 54 year old country still discussing roads of this nature certainly requires a spiritual check-up. Instead of this, my leaders are busy writing letters to themselves, exposing their mental illnesses. Some just reminded US that they attended Open Universities, so, open letters ain't out of place.</i></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><i>Oh, by the way, what's this thing I'm hearing about introducing Letter Writing as an independent course in Universities? Ai...I still love my country. Afterall, that's why I'm hurrying down to serve her.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHz_e3fChSwGR6Z3Z3aQMQ3-SssyXPVcEHp4BOgvlcpw2agIhPwY2ZFDxomwHKX7ZVN39TnvznoXKBMNbbGcX-373ZrhDlvT10AjoRnDUBrzMF55-sK5sPRJ7IEQkmw_YKdpqdRWjfgisK/s1600/Back+to+Hell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><i><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHz_e3fChSwGR6Z3Z3aQMQ3-SssyXPVcEHp4BOgvlcpw2agIhPwY2ZFDxomwHKX7ZVN39TnvznoXKBMNbbGcX-373ZrhDlvT10AjoRnDUBrzMF55-sK5sPRJ7IEQkmw_YKdpqdRWjfgisK/s400/Back+to+Hell.jpg" width="400" /></i></a></div>
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<i>The journey continued unperturbed and the Bull groaned at my command. My "brothers-in-black" seemed to respect my NYSC status that was flaunted by my emblemed cap lying conspicuously on my dashboard. Or, was it my lawyer's wig that lay with it? Well, whichever was doing the introduction did it well, for my brothers avoided me like a plague as soon as I got close enough for them to see the emblems. I simply drove along and watched them do their "primary assignment"; collecting bribes from wayfarers!</i></div>
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<i>A man stood right in the middle of the road, shovel in left hand and a stretched right hand. Obviously, he's been filling the gutter which lay right in the heart of the road. I scurried around for some "change" and found the pieces of notes totalling 90 Naira, which I got from buying an MTN recharge card with a boldly inscribed "100 Naira" on it. I had paid an extra 10 Naira...maybe for the paper, I guess. Hmmmm... I gave the worker some of it, he frowned, looked at me as I drove past, and pointed ahead in a "please get out of here" format. I simply smiled and drove away , feeling like the biblical widow who offered a coin.</i></div>
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<i>Signposts kept revealing how closer to "Hell" I had dared myself to. Akamkpa, Biase, Ugep...</i></div>
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<i>Just then, I picked up my mobile phone to make a call, a habit I'm still learning to quit...operating my gadgets while driving. While I dialed the digits of my colleague's number, I noticed that the network indicator kept losing weight. The bars hurried out as like a dog in heat that has sighted a mate. Finally, the display changed to "Emergency Only". I dropped my phone and looked up. The road had completely changed. The environment looked dead. No more houses and busy streets, no market stalls, no signposts, no human activities, just my Bull and her commander. Just then, I saw a small rickety war-time sign ahead. It must have been fixed in colonial times since age had its hand on it. I could barely see what was written on it until I was about 100 metres away from it. A faded inscription of white on black read "Obubra 2km"!!! My heart skipped about 13 and a half beats. My Bull entered 2 "potholes" due to my distraction. This threw me back to senses, though sights of demons flocked my thoughts.</i></div>
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<i>This was suicide because I voluntarily kept my feet on the gas pedal, pushing my Bull towards the unknown planet. Soon, figures of human-like figures began to pop around. The dialect around sounded like the beating of an old talking drum. I knew, most certainly, I had arrived Hell. So, I ordered the Bull straight to Satan's office. This, I guess, was a terribly idea. As soon as I stepped unto the dusty dead "tarred-road" towards it, I remembered that my NYSC Identity Card lay right under my pillow at home!</i></div>
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<i>I stopped in front of where i prefered to call "the seat of hell", the NYSC LI's office. Behold, Satan sat boldly on his throne!</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-21874728805121463142016-06-03T17:15:00.002-07:002016-06-03T17:15:55.902-07:00When I Served My Country (contd...)<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>9.</i></div>
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<i>I had comfortably assumed the "sit-and-watch" position beside my brown NYSC bag. The clock quickly ticked 3.00 am. Darkness pressed on, both outside the room and within my heart. My old rickety rechargeable lamp blinked like an old Volkswagen's "trafficator", hardly pushing the darkness from inside the room through an unseen void.</i></div>
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<i>My memories of a beautiful Christmas stayed soiled by particles of the text message I had received from the devil himself and a bleak thought of tatter<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">ed "poultry-like" building that housed every Catholic Corp Member that was as unfortunate as i was. By this time, I knew I needed a war-song to chant on my way back; obviously, I had one, every smart lawyer always does.</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://z-1-scontent-amt2-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/1521416_762510267110992_1603764107_n.jpg?oh=6a64dfee80507e67e197246e84145695&oe=580AF4E3" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://z-1-scontent-amt2-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/1521416_762510267110992_1603764107_n.jpg?oh=6a64dfee80507e67e197246e84145695&oe=580AF4E3" /></a><i>About three hours later, I sat behind the wheels of my "Bull". I preferred to label this car that way...it told a lot of stories of struggle, it was about telling another. A 2000 version of Toyota Rav 4, which was certainly done serving it's term as a new car, but stayed focused as a cherished SUV. I turned the key in the starter, the engine revved to life and I began my journey back to hell.</i></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-39828769799643488222016-06-03T17:09:00.000-07:002016-06-03T17:09:07.611-07:00When I Served My Country (contd...)<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>8.</i></div>
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<i>The man strode around, looking much more confused than myself. His igbo dialect flowed unbridled into his semi-anglosized mutterings. My continuous stare at him must 've attracted his attention...or, maybe, my "I-was-once-white" NYSC T-shirt. He crawled to me at a juju-man's pace.</i></div>
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<i>"Nwa-nne, kedu?" He finally vomited. I pretended a bit as if I didn't understand him...I actually did. My partial knowledge of igbo language had been kick-started on my 15th birthday, when a tailor in Aba offered me "udele" as meat for my celebration. Well, without mincing words, I enjoyed the meat. On a later visit to Onitsha, I demanded for Udele at a restaurant! Guess what reactions followed...</i></div>
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<i>"I'm fine", I finally lied. The man wrangled his tongue for about three minutes. I could understand terms like; From Umuahia, Children's party, etc... My eyes popped with grandeur the moment my ears picked up a sentence like "O uzo'a na'gha Uyo?". My excitement as a stranded wayfarer was submerged by my pride as a lawyer. "Let me just take you there, the road is quite confusing", I offered.</i></div>
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<i>The man almost danced his heart out. At this point, I thanked God that people's thoughts didn't float above their heads...he would have noticed that I had better dance-steps bottled up within.</i></div>
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<i>His two beautiful children sat comfortably on the back seat of his Toyota Tundra 2013 truck. Obviously, he had traveled from Umuahia, intending to make his children attend a Children's Christmas Party in Uyo, but missed his way. I kept telling him I just enjoyed helping people as part of service to my country. That's how to stay proud even in poverty.</i></div>
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<i>"Goodu boy", he said repeatedly, spraying saliva on the dashboard as his tongue wrangled, "You should meeti my daughter, inugho? She's a beautiful fine gal. Ini factu, ka nyeghi my complimentari cardu". With this, he produced a semi-metallic pan for a complimentary card. This must have cost a fortune.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgChgPP7zcCYTUsYehz63e3YHip8Dxi4J39bZ-DUOK9KMx1bGAlCp1S80Pgex-KDMbWOvNZboQ_ekGpRtfcxW4PCJtsZN5F4R1RAc594_FTUUyUHMSwEYNfM2eyMbGM2a-fQunW-OcRONJK/s1600/Dancing+Kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgChgPP7zcCYTUsYehz63e3YHip8Dxi4J39bZ-DUOK9KMx1bGAlCp1S80Pgex-KDMbWOvNZboQ_ekGpRtfcxW4PCJtsZN5F4R1RAc594_FTUUyUHMSwEYNfM2eyMbGM2a-fQunW-OcRONJK/s320/Dancing+Kids.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>We finally got to the venue, of course, at my direction. The party was on. Children were scattered all over the place, disgracing my memories of childhood and humble beginnings ladden with child-like innocence. The man hurriedly produced his wallet, dragged out a couple of notes without counting, and dumped them on my laps. "ThankI you", he screamed and hurried his children out to join the madness. The small can that lay beneath his seat followed his hand as he dug in and out. He sprayed something that smelt like raw alcohol under his pink face-cap. He was excited.</i></div>
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<i>I started the stroll home, about ten notes of one thousand naira in my left pocket. I hurriedly swapped it to the right. My left shoulder was dislocated, so, I wouldn't risk losing my left hip too.</i></div>
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<i>As I walked to the "keke-cyclists'" park, I completely abandoned thoughts of the demon who now lay subdued in my phone.</i></div>
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<i>My mind kept flickering around the children on the dance floor. If these, as they say, 're the future leaders of Nigeria, then, gentlemen, we ain't seen anything yet.</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-83670135863123477522016-06-03T16:56:00.002-07:002016-06-03T16:56:54.996-07:00When I Served My Country (contd...)<i>7.</i><br />
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Time check; 7.07am. Mind check; semi-insane! With no wallet, no money and the fact that I had not even reached home, the demon inside my mobile phone understood that I was about to disobey some ruthless order from hell.</i></div>
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<i>The priest had noticed my confusion and had simply walked away. He, probably had said something about his house just a stone throw away, but, the relationship between my mind and my other physical senses had become too remote for me to have heard him.</i></div>
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<i>I simpl<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">y threw my bag on my head, since one of my shoulders had failed to readjust itself, and strode to the roadside; not having any particular plan in mind.</span></i></div>
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<i><div style="margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
The mild sun increased the temperature beneath the afro-style hair that graced my hair. Most of my colleagues never knew that I was once too broke to barb, so I made a style out of it. I kept strolling until I got right back to Odukpani junction. Of course, I intended to visit the pit that had dislocated my left shoulder while swallowing me. To my surprise, a construction vehicle with the inscription "JB" was romancing the ground smoothly. My heartbeat suddenly increased, probably because I knew I had lost all my earnings.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMvNSYpPI5BQiSrWehxAYw4DSWurb0kOr_cO0v2QqSLtxySxHnKFt4X2QfRbzEnZIl0zs6dAwIBeQ5v_EXgSwTs6gNIZFipoT44O3YSEaheXaJK1MMw9cYIf59URhWMwG2CpCuFZrQ6xtO/s1600/Odukpani.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMvNSYpPI5BQiSrWehxAYw4DSWurb0kOr_cO0v2QqSLtxySxHnKFt4X2QfRbzEnZIl0zs6dAwIBeQ5v_EXgSwTs6gNIZFipoT44O3YSEaheXaJK1MMw9cYIf59URhWMwG2CpCuFZrQ6xtO/s320/Odukpani.jpg" width="179" /></a>Lost in thoughts, face starring at the floor beneath, sweat caressing my small face, I almost didn't hear the loud thud! A petrol tanker had just fallen across the road to Obubra and the explosion produced thick dark flames. It's conductor, I learnt, was stuck within. My thoughts went across the barrier, but my body may not...at least not in two days time.</div>
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Of course the devil read my mind. A similar demon made my phone to vibrate. This time, the demon was so powerful, it's entrance shook some glass particles off the broken screen of my phone. This time, the devil himself had sent it and had appended his i</div>
nsignia vis:"...NO EXCUSE SHALL BE ENTERTAINED FOR ABSENCE. LI".</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-44307415773265586292016-06-03T16:48:00.001-07:002016-06-03T16:48:43.610-07:00The Diary of an Idiot<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>The warmth of the evening sun caressed my skin while my shirt lay a stretch away from my reach. Shadows cast by birds floating in the evening sky kept flipping my attention from my thoughts. Grasshoppers dove across the grass like meteors in the late night sky.</i></div>
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<i>I had made it a culture to visit this serene area every evening, sit on the grass and allow my thoughts to take me on a trip. This eve became particularly interesting since the temperature seemed to be lower than usual<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">and the sun seemed to be in a hurry...westward.</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><div style="margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
My gaze stayed fixed on this very beautifully designed piece of rope that lay a few meters away from me. Its perfect camouflage with the green grass coupled with a romantic reflection of the evening sun slowed down my heart beats.</div>
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A lizard quickly dashed across the grass in pursuit of a large brown and yellow grasshopper. As it continued its pursuit almost past the rope, one end of it darted upwards in blinding speed. The move seemed to have crippled the lizard, or rather, grappled it, as the lizard lay struggling to get off its grip. The rope laid still.</div>
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Curiously, i rose slowly, towards the rope. It was a snake! Just before i could comprehend the whole scenario, a hawk descended from the heavens and picked the snake from its comfort. My gaze rose with the successful hunter in excitement, as its meal now fought for its freedom. The lizard, now free, crawled feebly out of sight; so did the hawk, glidding joyfully away with its meal.</div>
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I simply smiled at nature's food chain drama then i stood up and strolled away; picking my shirt from where it lay and wearing it as i walked my way out of the dancing grass.</div>
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The stench of sweat mixed with dirt oozed freely from the shirt of the motorcyclist that conveyed me home. I hurriedly paid him off as we stopped just in front of the "face-me-i-face-you" block of apartments i stayed. My fingers stumbled for my keys in my trousers' pockets.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61Lro_Bglh8DxFygYKkhz3TAsi-yP0T6xUZVwVZKOpT3hYBM4AzWi-aYbBp0XBQ5efa6nYIruw-PGnfvY1YUky-reQ2aUFJqtRwII3aTIzakwTesf7eMf8TjWtIBRLJ6d9lgrvPSTHaEI/s1600/Gunman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61Lro_Bglh8DxFygYKkhz3TAsi-yP0T6xUZVwVZKOpT3hYBM4AzWi-aYbBp0XBQ5efa6nYIruw-PGnfvY1YUky-reQ2aUFJqtRwII3aTIzakwTesf7eMf8TjWtIBRLJ6d9lgrvPSTHaEI/s1600/Gunman.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: justify;">
As i turned to walk towards my room, i saw the hooded figure...i heard the bang of a gun shot. A flash emerged from the pistol he pointed at me. The taste of blood filled my lips...then, darkness followed.</div>
</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-16280096689156424512016-06-03T16:41:00.002-07:002016-06-03T16:41:27.742-07:00Black Tuesday<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>I stayed stuck, even as the heat raved angrily through the windows of my office. The walls screamed as the tempers arose. The devil walked in, yet, i sat still...rocking my chair forth and backward. The blacks i had worn communicated my mood.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>His entourage crawled right behind him. Spirits, clawing through the door blinds as they passed. My spine left is position. My frozen fingers leapt for my Rosary. Heart pounding, soul screaming silently, eyes popping in anticipation, le<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">gs feeble with covered fear, I read the devil's mind.</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7gcfRzpsq6tLCf43iMBah7WA6f-Qr1y_x2HiTcNA7CuZcTt8GB_z1k1dHNGTEUsstM7LtodBJFVfsRG2cBicmi5qNv8cGopb2uvfHMg-uk7HsrAZYca_4cnPfrcEopFvQpzFiUynP-Yl/s1600/Demons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7gcfRzpsq6tLCf43iMBah7WA6f-Qr1y_x2HiTcNA7CuZcTt8GB_z1k1dHNGTEUsstM7LtodBJFVfsRG2cBicmi5qNv8cGopb2uvfHMg-uk7HsrAZYca_4cnPfrcEopFvQpzFiUynP-Yl/s1600/Demons.jpg" /></a>A little demon crawled past his angry master, towards me. I didnt understand what they murmured...but, whatever i was, lacked goodness in it. For as soon as the devil stopped speaking, the demon's fist flew right to my face. I felt claws digging through flesh, blood oozing through injuries.</div>
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But then i survived the war...i hope i did. As soon as i touched the crucifix hanging from my Rosary, i woke!</div>
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The clock on my table ticked 1.47pm. My office shone brightly from the rays of the angry sun. Then, toothless, old, tattered, hungry-looking, yet, bold, the "CLIENT" walked into my office. His shadow blotted the sun's rays from my table. The moment he smiled, i saw a very familiar face...This time, it was no trance. . .the demon that just clawed its way into my trance sat physically before me!</div>
</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-61065653023973274512016-06-03T16:34:00.003-07:002016-06-11T08:18:58.237-07:00Meeting God<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>The warm morning sun chanted the lenten Alleluia, as the Priest strode and occupied his seat after saying the opening prayer. The Mass continued. Two mass servers showed up and took the mandatory bow, then turned and waited for the Lector.</i></div>
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<i>I almost didn't notice her small frame swing from the seat just behind the choir. Tear-drops adorned her beautiful face and she moved, yet, she wore a terrific smile. Carefully, she stood in between the two waiting servers, they all bowed t<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">owards the altar in unison, and turned, towards the lecten.</span></i></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Her slim legs wobbled as she crawled at a quick pace. Her arms were confused as to how best to be positioned. The tears welled up again and dropped visibly as she flipped through the pages of the huge lectionary. She found the reading.</span><span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"> </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">THEN, with a voice as smooth as the Scottish bag.pipe, she intoned the Psalm.</span></div>
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"MAY YOUR LOVE LORD BE UPON US, AS WE PUT OUR TRUST IN YOU".</div>
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My fingers furnished the church with the required accompaniment, the sound of the piano. Tears waited just beneath my eye lids as she sang, smiling. That intonation touched the very depths of my heart...and i knew, that GOD is here!</div>
</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-24935315288081211862016-06-03T16:29:00.002-07:002016-06-03T16:29:58.702-07:00The gods Called Lawyers<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>They have called us names.</i></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><i>Some say we are liars.</i></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><i>We dont even make the statements, we ask them questions. In a desperate attempt to paint up their first lies, they duplicate their inconsistencies in beautiful colours, and spill some on us.</i></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Some have called us a cult.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Oh, well, truly, we are. Afterall cultism denotes a group of people with similar ideologies and beliefs. The bonds of our very fraternity is fastened with the strings of togetherness.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Another group has said "...they are talkatives".</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">"In the beginning was the Word...and without it, nothing was made that was made"; John 1 : 1. Orderly speech is an article of our trade...the same with which we give back lives to the damned of the earth.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTbUodu-X4oJbsU2q7cU1mVt3gO3y_cbyzPSRXa86SCc4jLvcaxyImF8Rpa5ZmiamFjOQu6DSMejvpWr8x1BEMPOr-rnKItFwB5KWpqUxcZfWrsQAkP95RvUPDlcvPJN6eqNXmM4FDTXy7/s1600/Lawyers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTbUodu-X4oJbsU2q7cU1mVt3gO3y_cbyzPSRXa86SCc4jLvcaxyImF8Rpa5ZmiamFjOQu6DSMejvpWr8x1BEMPOr-rnKItFwB5KWpqUxcZfWrsQAkP95RvUPDlcvPJN6eqNXmM4FDTXy7/s400/Lawyers.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">A larger set has said we argue a lot.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Yes, of course. It is safe to oppress a man who has no knowledge of his rights...but once a man knows his rights, oppressing him becomes waging war against his survival: he would be insane not to scream.</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Some have even printed posters; "Wetin lawyers de do sef?"</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">A rhetorical quest. Just like others; "Why should the heatherns say, where is their God?" Psalm 115 : 3, "Is this not Jesus, son of the carpenter, whose mother is Mary? Where did he get such authority?"...etc... Actually, wetin lawyers no de do?</span></div>
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We walk a dead man into the court room, and resurrect</div>
him. We wipe tears from troubled hearts. We bear the crosses of our perturbed clients, while they sleep in peace, saying, "my lawyer is handling it". These are a reflection of the presence of God on earth 2014 years after the departure of His flesh-form from it.<br />
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We are Governors, Judges, Politicians, lecturers, risk-bearers, survivors. We are, like the soldier ants, everywhere...determined.</div>
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We are little gods patrolling the earth, controlling the affairs of men on behalf of the FINAL LAWYER.</div>
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We, unlike the rest, are not mere mortals.</div>
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WE ARE gods! WE ARE LAWYERS!</div>
</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-72193357193677351992016-06-03T16:23:00.002-07:002016-06-03T16:23:16.690-07:00Nightmares<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>"Misericordiae Domini in aeternum cantarbo...", I began my usual midnight meditation. The cool breeze danced alingo through my window as my soul sunk deeper into the comatose. Then, it began!</i></div>
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<i>The blood kept flowing at a slow pace...then i recall, i had just been hit by "someone from the shadows". I could see figures of hooded men...probably women too. My heart sank deeper. The room was a bit smokey and i was almost choking...yet, my captors strolled around with ease.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghde4W1C0W_BCCR-0u1AmizFYdpHvh6tWtdpf8-pPJ4SLWmq6parietHEuwkEmu4PCLVGtJh0jwI_O7LxD2Anh6Bhlv-Z1Cl2CFbibgpV3O2_7YcnjiSxS9xvAXd_MkVeQPUQ64h1YxDkD/s1600/Nightmares.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghde4W1C0W_BCCR-0u1AmizFYdpHvh6tWtdpf8-pPJ4SLWmq6parietHEuwkEmu4PCLVGtJh0jwI_O7LxD2Anh6Bhlv-Z1Cl2CFbibgpV3O2_7YcnjiSxS9xvAXd_MkVeQPUQ64h1YxDkD/s1600/Nightmares.jpg" /></a><i>My back<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"> ached as i lay face-down on "the sacrificial table". Then the slow chants began...the "misericordia..." re-echoed in my soul. Something was going wrong, it was a different chant. In latin. This ancient war-lords had me captured as sacrifice for the one they called Irek. In horror, i noticed that thy sipped from the basin beneath, as it collected blood from my veins. Life was passing slowly and painfully.</span></i></div>
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Just as I had become hopeful...a taller figure emerged from the inner sanctum. Amidst cheers, he clutched a blade. Fully toothed blades like this were used by ancient warriors to increase the injury created by each thrust. The victim would rarely survive as the wound would take a shapeless form, even where the opportunity to be healed arose. The figure mumbled something in Spanish, "Omerta"...the voices vanished in unison, except the throbbing in my head.</div>
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Then, he lifted the blade, just above my neck. I could barely shout, as my strength had left me. My heartbeat increased its pace. I could taste death even before it came.</div>
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My assailant struck...I witnessed the blade descend at lightening speed, then, the back of my head touched the cold floor first. My body went limp...</div>
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<i style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">. . .</i></div>
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My Liber Usualis latin prayer book fell off from my clutch as I tried to raise my body from the floor. My head now throbbed. Then, i remembered my Father's warning while i was yet a little boy; "Dont sleep while we pray, you will see Satan"...I guess he was right; I slept while praying, fell off from my bed and had a nightmare.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-85330803594175324632016-06-03T16:11:00.003-07:002016-06-03T16:11:47.955-07:00The Day Christ Died<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>One of the very few things i loved about my childhood was the ability to defy orders. Dad had been a carpenter who rarely spent time at home. Of course, his colleague, Joseph, a very tall masculine figure, did same. Big Joe, we called him, had learned humility from his birth. He rarely screamed, not even at his very young wife. You could pass the vicinity without noticing movements in the busy apartment. Their Son had been severally accused of introducing idol worship and proclaiming himself as God...a terrible crime, if you must ask me.</i></div>
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<i>The anthill provided perfect cover for me and my sneaky activities. It was one of the numerous that could easily be spotted in Calvary. I had hurried to the deserted part of town, where thieves and thise who died violently, were buried. Today, we would call it "STADIUM", since it also served as an execution ground for the Jews and Romans.</i></div>
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<i>Suddenly, the boo from the crowd got nearer. I could even decipher distinct voices. My shadow showed the time at about midday. The heat of the sun confirmed it. Then, I realised that I was hiding on a crucifixion territory. Soon, soldiers appeared, so did the criminals; one of which was the Son of Big Joe.</i></div>
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<i>I had defied orders, Dad's, and sneaked to Golgotha, having heard that it was about to experience the most memorable event in the history of mankind. Certainly, with what i saw, it was.</i></div>
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<i>Joseph's wife, Mary, who was still mourning the death of Big Joe a couple of festivals earlier, was stuck in the heart of another sorrowful event. Her Son, hmmmm, could now barely see. His eyes were almost covered out of consistent blows. A crown, of thorns, rested on his now shapeless head, causing blood to design his body like Da Vinci's painting of Sorrow. His deathbed, a wooden cross, sat unsquarely on his right shoulder. My dad's eyes flashed around, a lot of metres away from the party. Of course, the whole town was here!</i></div>
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<i>Some defied the whips of soldiers to touch Him. Others fought the soldiers, even, just to dip a finger in his blood. The passageway left another crowd; those who had fainted, trying to touch him.</i></div>
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<i>Then, i saw clearly, Joseph's son, as the brought him closer. What could he have done? I wondered. This style of execution was rrely used anymore. Even animals understood how painful and humiliating it had become. I also noticed two other men, carrying lighter crosses. They attracted less attention.</i></div>
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<i>The heat of the sun had dried up some blood and served as the glue which attached His clothing to his dehumanised body. While i imagined how they would get them off him, a soldier kicked the cross, its carrier crumbled under it and blood began its journey again out of the multiple exits in his body. Another soldier hurriedly held His hand-woven Versace robe...did i say Versace? Maybe it was. They had a brief discussion. Certainly, they needed the robe, not in pieces. Hold on, how would they get it in full?</i></div>
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<i>The man screamed. Cried. The soldier kept dragging the robe out...until the process was complete! When i saw His skin, I vomitted! Torn from whips and the strip, some parts of it exposed bones and ligaments in His body. The Man fainted.</i></div>
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<i>His limp body was dragged unto his deathbed, the cross. Little wonder this man loved making miniature crosses whenever he visited my dad's carpentry shop. Joe had cautioned Him against it, yet, He mysteriously called the process "The making of the Messiah's deathbed". That, was a prophecy; HE WAS THE MESSIAH!</i></div>
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<i>A soldier, dressed in execution robes, armed with a hammer and a nail, probably longer than the 6 inch nails in dad's workshop, squatted beside his right hand. Wait! What was he doing? They used to tie the criminals to the cross! This man was about to be nailed. While i kept considering what he was about doing, the executioner placed the tip of the monster nail between the two tendons on the Man's right arm, just beneath where the outstretched palms ended. He received cheers from the watching crowd. I saw him raise the hammer and strike!</i></div>
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<i>Blood flew from the wound. As the executioner aimed his weapon for another strike, i fainted!</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfGlZ60stIP4qWrzCTDzOuvOxI8LHfuQ4ayR7v_i5zcwC2-DgcTilGA2E-Pr9uHnFvvANThvau8zWyMCD7SbX0Nn_ai6YPvINqH2KNnElh7A9aZlrXPMZG7MTydifHHlidE8QDqQwNzQ_/s1600/Xt..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfGlZ60stIP4qWrzCTDzOuvOxI8LHfuQ4ayR7v_i5zcwC2-DgcTilGA2E-Pr9uHnFvvANThvau8zWyMCD7SbX0Nn_ai6YPvINqH2KNnElh7A9aZlrXPMZG7MTydifHHlidE8QDqQwNzQ_/s1600/Xt..jpg" /></a><i>"Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani", Joe's Son screamed. This scream brought me out of my coma. I had laid unnoticed for hours behind the anthill. Everyone watched this Man who had said He is immortal.</i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Suddenly, time was altered! Darkness had come earlier than usual. In fear, i hurried out, defying the wind. I ran to the temple. On getting there, my friend, Alban Arimathea, son of another Joseph, hid behind a giant desk...so, i joined him. The wind seemed to have arms, as it stripped the temple bare of all clothings. I heard earthquakes outside and i heard humming sounds...daddy later said, it was from the graveyard behind the temple grounds...the resurrection of the righteous!</span></span></i></div>
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<i>Anxious to see the process of crucifixion to the end, i ran out of the temple, bck to my hiding place...this time, with Alban. I later learnt his father had provided his grave for Joe's son to be laid.</i></div>
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<i>The soldiers defied the wind and waited, so did I and Alban. Then, the anthill crumbled and i found myself facing a crowd of onlookers. Some ran away, thinking we were ghosts, but my dad did not. The Man on the cross coughed their attention away from me, mumbled something and dropped His head to the other side. That day, i witnessed the death of the Messiah!</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I am an i~Witness.</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-5795291434880023732016-06-03T16:03:00.001-07:002016-06-03T16:03:19.448-07:00In Memory of Chibok's Damsels<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px; text-align: justify;">
<i>The warm Chibok breeze caressed my skin. Earlier today, Mahmud, my classmate, had made a comment I considered silly. "Your skin is stainless", he said. My mind simply flickered around his statement and the WAEC examinations ahead of me. From childhood, my big brother had fed me with a doctrine that if one passes this examination, one could conquer the world! I was at the verge of conquering the world, I thought. With this, my face brightened and i peered back into Osei Yaw Ababio's authored Chemistry textbook that was sprawled before me.</i></div>
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<i>"Shh shh, did you hear that?", Ladi whispered from her bed. Ladi had come from a rich home. She had seen a lot on the television, the news. On our return from a suspension that had been placed by the government, she gave us a brief of why we had to stay that long at home. Terrorists had promised to disrupt the examinations. Well...I heard our Governor over my father's handheld transistor radio insisting that all the children are safe from violence. It was on this backdrop that the suspension was lifted and the examinations were to be conducted.</i></div>
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<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYm826PG9_9oafBWy0rDcD8jYPKbxdg4ho4Iz-gJGoEOKnnSW7AgOZqaCe6XibJYKIXAb7EhovygVfUfMv7u7ehDZsS1oQ_3hh2QYsWfZ5-kzlZR1vQiB-WcRK_iiG-IPptX2zqzj2Dxl_/s1600/Chibok.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYm826PG9_9oafBWy0rDcD8jYPKbxdg4ho4Iz-gJGoEOKnnSW7AgOZqaCe6XibJYKIXAb7EhovygVfUfMv7u7ehDZsS1oQ_3hh2QYsWfZ5-kzlZR1vQiB-WcRK_iiG-IPptX2zqzj2Dxl_/s320/Chibok.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></div>
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<i>I peered through the window beside my bed. Ahhhhh! Houses burning? People screaming and running. At this point, my sweat buds broke lose and in no time, my lace nightgown was damp with sweat.</i></div>
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<i>Suddenly, gunshots filled the air. A security man gave a sigh of death and fell heavily on the wooden bench he sat on. The school gate was opened wide. Vehicles drove in...trucks and pick-ups actually. Through the vehicles' headlamp, i could see a man's figure. Fully clad with bullets and a finger clutching a gun I only saw with Rambo and Terminator in American movies, the man motioned in the vehicles.</i></div>
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<i>Gbraaaam!!! The door to my room came crashing. My heart skipped uncountable beats. Lights filled the room, so, I could barely see faces. "Where are the boys?", a hoarse voice demanded. "Learn to read signposts, its a girls' school you are in!"...Ladi answered in her usual saucy manner. The lights were reduced so we could see some faces. The last I heard from Ladi was a scream of terror, as one of our assailants squeezed her throat, sniffing life out of her, and flung her lifeless body on the floor just beneath my feet. That, too, was the last I saw of Chibok. I fainted!</i></div>
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<i>I awoke about an hour later amidst several other girls in a truck dangling through the rough roads beneath. Then I realised we had been kidnapped. What had happened to the security our government promised us? Where are our soldiers? Where were we being transported to? What was our fate? We kept questioning ourselves.</i></div>
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<i>One thing was sure, our government had failed us. We had been sold out on the platter of politics. "So help us Allah", I whispered amidst my sorrow and took a second look at my 15 year old skin. Mahmud was wrong, at least for now. Marks of torture from being dragged into the truck caused several unfriendly designs on my skin.</i></div>
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<i>Whenever, whoever and however you get to read this, please, tell me parents I love them...and beg our government to SAVE US!</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I am an i~Witness.</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-31605030589707319372016-06-03T15:25:00.003-07:002016-06-03T16:57:33.759-07:00When I Served My Country (contd...)<i>6.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaLvSm1-4hQ1Mag1JXjX6VGUl3ScFY4N8frru1WQTDfCYjEYNdNEiwLe8D8wt8POwyJuC4g-UJRQsuEBnUdLPF4UhS-HEMbTZONMOha5tosqRKYirsOUXqcD-EPRtP6o-Yg5ShZZJytB0Z/s1600/Candle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaLvSm1-4hQ1Mag1JXjX6VGUl3ScFY4N8frru1WQTDfCYjEYNdNEiwLe8D8wt8POwyJuC4g-UJRQsuEBnUdLPF4UhS-HEMbTZONMOha5tosqRKYirsOUXqcD-EPRtP6o-Yg5ShZZJytB0Z/s1600/Candle.jpg" /></a><span lang="EN-GB"><i>The light flickered with the
wind and got absorbed by the candle string. The man in white suttan strode to
me in the semi-darkness. “Get ready for morning Mass”, he said with a toothy
smile.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>The hunters had noticed the
glowing rosary on my neck and hurried my fainted lump out of the pit to a
nearby Catholic church.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>My attempt to rise with my left
shoulder as a pivot failed; it was dislocated. The sharpness of the pain that
followed caressed all the nerve roots in my feeble body. The priest noticed my
pain and hurried to help me up. I practically limped to the front row and sat.
In no time, shadows of worshippers sneaked up from behind me. Nobody dared join
me on the front row. I felt like a man to be exhorcised…maybe I was.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnNMHoNZMW2-E-s0geTf7IEZCv-4l6asOpTH5Kjs9R04HHs27Ow_E-Q4vW9qPPnAUUVjEp7IhjJ15fgG89bX9qinleXIK_RToLw0EmAzbYRmWZ8rLE0WjZ7AfmIEpmwonrzUDMxRkqlLO/s1600/Cath+Ch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnNMHoNZMW2-E-s0geTf7IEZCv-4l6asOpTH5Kjs9R04HHs27Ow_E-Q4vW9qPPnAUUVjEp7IhjJ15fgG89bX9qinleXIK_RToLw0EmAzbYRmWZ8rLE0WjZ7AfmIEpmwonrzUDMxRkqlLO/s320/Cath+Ch.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-GB"><i>“In Nomine Patris, et filio et
spiritu sancto…”, the priest began in perfect Latin. That language has a way of
compelling serenity…and hunger. You dare use it during a fast, then, you might
lose your congregation. I just wish the priest understood how hungry I already
was.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>“Dominus vobiscum”, Mass had
come to an end…I had slept throughout and nobody bugged me. When the
congregation had fizzled out, the priest re-emerged from the vestry and walked
towards me, smiling as he strode. I touched my pockets, they had been emptied
by God-knows-who. No wallet. My wrist strap and time piece had gone astray too.
The screen of my Nokia C7 had been shattered, during the fall, I guess. I kept
starring at it until the priest sat beside me. That feeling of being followed
by a demon returned as he place a hand on my shoulder.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>Of course, I was right. As soon
as he started speaking, the demon flew into my mobile phone and it beeped…”Your
presence is required for general CDS at your PPA, by 10am. Stiff penalties
would follow your absence. CLO.”</i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103385421363893118.post-51951868217477461702016-06-03T15:19:00.000-07:002016-06-03T15:19:41.696-07:00When I Served My Country (contd...)5.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>The chill breeze of midnight air
caressed my flesh. My eyelids rose reluctantly, giving the boys beneath a faint
view of total darkness. With my spine leaned on an electric pole, it was easy
to decipher that I was in the wrong place. I pulled my mobile phone, flipped
the screen and met the horror I had once feared; it was 1:42am, and I had dozed
off by the roadside in Odukpani junction!</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>I rose in the confusion as if to
take a decision. The once busy road had turned to a graveyard. Memories of
zombies and wild animals crept surreptitiously through my clouded mind.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>I could recall, faintly, that a
bus conductor had told me to wait for the next bus…I guess I was still waiting
when sleep visited. My khaki trousers covered my lower being from the cold. I
looked around and found a companion. Oh, it was a huge log of wood, I noticed
as I walked closer. Smart enough, I formed a second log beside the original one
and cuddled the cold wood like a newly purchased teddy. As I turned, my small
diary tickled my buttocks from my hind pockets.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>Just as sleep took another
stroll around my eyelids, two lights shone from behind my sleeping companion.
Hoarse voices followed them. I fumbled around for my NYSC Identity card, and
found it on my neck. Unfortunately, before I could get it unhung, a whistle
went off. Footsteps sneaked up to me from all directions. I quietly arose;
hands in the air in an “I surrender” fashion. This didn’t help because dogs
don’t understand these signals. I stood face to face with two hunters,
struggling to call off their hunting dogs. I lifted my now weightless bag and
vanished as far as my feeble feet could carry me.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>As fast as I thought I was, the
pack growled right behind me. Just as I was about giving up something went
wrong: the ground beneath my feet had given way and I floated mid-air for about
14.52 seconds. Then followed a loud thud, then two others…the dark vision
became a semi-trance, and I passed out.</i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0