Scarcity of Want - A Story

After a long day's labour, i had retired back to the discomfort of a shared one room apartment, somewhere at Ikorodu, one of the outskirt towns of Lagos. With a damaged drainage system, absence of any plumbing systems at all and a stretch of crooked mud road, with time, i came to realise that the only good thing about this apartment was my roommate Dami.

Although we had been previously been acquainted with each other during our Polythecnic days, the relationship between us was very threadbare and skeletal back then. However, since circumstances has bound us together under the yoke of one roof, he has made himself not only a roommate to be desired, but also more of a brother than an almost total stranger.

We were both fresh Ordinary National Diploma graduates of Moshood Abiola Polythecnic. Due to a marked lack of funds to further our education through to the HND level, we had been forced to overtly appreciate the OND degree we had acquired, although right now, the fact that many employers have rejected our applications seems to lend weight to the fact that we must have overestimated the value of such a certificate.

A Night To Forget - A Short Story

It was 9:28pm and the bustling university Campus had fizzled into a quietness known only to graveyards and funerals. Along the deserted sidewalks, the crickets and frogs relished the sound of their own voices, one call by the small animals was replied by another and soon it seemed that a competition had ensued between the insects and the crocking amphibians.

I walked silently, hastily shuffling by a young couple who strolled cozily hand in hand. Somewhere at the back of mind, i could still recall stories of the victims of this parts especially at night. Phones and other valuables had been willingly surrendered by their owners to gun-trotting hoodlums, who wasted no time in stashing their loots and disappearing into nowhere even before their victims could recover from the quivers of having faced death and emerged alive.

Gradually, i approached the second half of the long sidewalk, this side was besmeared by a swamp which housed a mini-forest, the edge of which had been quickly converted into an illegal dump site. Usually, when one got to this section of the road, your hands would instinctively move to preserve the nose from the odious smell of rotting cadavers and household waste.

THE CLOUDS ARE GATHERING -A Story On Love & Misfortune

The clouds are gathering! Now I hear rumbles from within me, quakes of water, warring and warning of an impending downfall. I hear it at night; the kicks and movement of gathered water, threatening to break the membrane of soft cells that holds it at bay, the warnings come at noon, eve and even before daybreaks. It looms like an inevitable gong of impending war, and I dread it; like a child fears the sight of sprinkling blood. I fear the heaviness of the rain, the portals of strong strokes falling rapidly in succession, the eaves and breaths of the sky descending uncontrollably down the earth and the eventual wetness that slumps red earth into slums, and drain the soil of all its dryness. I dread many things and every thing about the rain, but nothing more like the gathered cloud, the terrestrial rumbles from above, rambling through portals and causing shivers, the wind of gathered cloud, splashing in lightening and thundering thunders. But the downpour I now fear threatens from within me and soon it will rain.

It all started with dryness on a valentine day, every downpour begins with one. I woke up with a sudden thirst, a drive and cravings for excitement. The day was young but I felt bored, like my entire existence had been clouded with dryness, and I had been shrink and compressed into an average soul within myself. I was still in bed, gradually rising into consciousness, but I had nothing to look forward to in a day that should have been promising, I couldn’t start wondering why I had lived such an uneventful life but I laid down and sunk deeper into the comforts of my pillow and remembered Sanda, he was the reason for all this negative feelings I was now feeling.

Stephen Sanda! I met him on Facebook on Friday the 13th as he termed it, a day that should have been filled with excitement and fun for him if not for the election that was supposed to be on the 14th. He wanted to throw a party on the night before val but couldn’t due to the planned election, and when the election was postponed, it was too late to start organizing a party so he laid down on his bed that night and decided to open a Facebook account, and the first damsel he would see on the social network was me. At least that was the story he told me, and it was too flattering for me to pass up as a lie or joke.

I wasn’t a social network addict, or a Facebook fan for that matter, I was the type of person that could lie comfortably in bed all day and refuse to go online talk less of replying messages or accepting friend requests on Facebook. But Friday the 13th was different; I decided to go through my Facebook wall, read posts and comments and even reply some messages, then I saw a new request coming in to join the endless stream of requests that I had simply ignored. But Sanda??? I thought the person must have meant to type Sandra and out of curiosity and perplexity I accepted the request and then found out the account belongs to a guy and I was his only Facebook friend. He looked cute though.
‘So your name is Sanda and I am your only friend here. Are you stalking me?’ I wrote on his wall and he replied almost immediately. ‘Yeah bae! Every beauty deserves a stalker.’ I chuckled loudly and replied ‘Well I don’t need sanda as my first stalker. Sanda???’
‘But my name is Sanda! At least that was the name my parent chose for me.’ He messaged me and that was how we started chatting. From random courtesies to personal experiences; we chatted deep into the night and eventually conversed about plans for Val and our lustful Val wishes, but I had none. I was a big time novice without any sexual or lustful experiences, and that was when he started making me feel boring and average, like I’ve lived but never lived, as fun and excitement had simply eluded me.

I had never stayed awake beyond 10pm before Friday the 13th, I may be able to dance but I’ve never tried so I don’t even know if my body can move in rhythms with music, I don’t have any close friend; at least close enough to know the things I had never done, I had never tasted any alcoholic substance, I had never gone to visit a guy; talk less of having a boyfriend or kissing, I had never done anything that was beyond average and I had never confessed all this to anyone apart from Sanda. He seemed close and wild with a seeming sense of understanding and adventure as he began to make me feel like there may be more to me than this me, or there may be more to life than sleeping, waking up and schooling.

I eventually slept off on the chats, but my mind kept pondering on how dry my life had all been and I craved wetness with an intensity that I never knew existed in me.
I was still ruminating on my miseries on valentine day when my phone rang. ‘Hey it’s Sanda, happy Val and how was your night damsel?’ He sounded epicene; I couldn’t place the voice as either masculine or feminine. ‘Did I give you my number?’ I was curious and it was another thing I had never done before; dish out my number to an absolute stranger. ‘Yeah you did! You said you were sleepy and I should call you in the morning.’ Of course I did and I knew I did.
‘But Sanda, who the hell are you?’
‘Your stalker Simi, I thought we established that.’ He sounded so close and familiar and I began to crave him too.
‘Will you be my Val?’ I asked before I knew it.
*****
He drove into my hostel around noon in his black Peugeot, the car was painted black and its glasses were darkly tainted. He was just as dark with mushy moustache; he was tall with a gentle pointed nose and a feminine body frame; slimmed and trimmed like a female model. No wonder he sounded epicene on phone. ‘Yeah I look a lot like my Mother.’ He spoke as I stood and looked at him with apparent amazement.
‘No wonder the mushy moustache, something must stand you out as a man.’ I felt so close and familiar with him and sat comfortably in his car. I didn’t even ask where he was taking me to.
*****
As much as I dread downfall, I cannot deny its striking amazement, the seeming wonder of strokes of water and the wetness the earth would soak up in due time. Bright, dark or murky, rain is not a respecter of time or events and it strikes when it pleases. But life isn’t a stream of coincidences; it is actions that breed reactions and reactions actions. The clouds that now gathered to fall were dense of water, synthesized from my dryness and made to form into concrete strokes of scary drops.

I knew when he drove me into a bar and ordered drinks for me, when he kept pouring the tasty liquid into my glass and I kept drinking, I knew it tasted sweet, sour and itchy and my throat consequently thirst for more. I knew I felt liberated and said things I never thought I could utter, I even flirted with him and it all seemed too easy. He took me to dance and I danced and laughed as if I never existed before that moment, before I lost consciousness I knew I had known fun and it was wild, crazy and exciting but that was all I knew till I woke up in my bed naked and dizzy and Sanda was just gone.

Everything seemed normal and my skin felt cold as if I had just bathed. I stood and managed myself into the bathroom and found the clothes I wore yester night soaked inside a bucket with detergent. I tried to clean up but I was already cleaned except my mouth that still seriously smelled of alcohol. So I brushed and decided to call Sanda but I was shocked to death by what I heard. ‘The number you are trying to call does not exist, please check…’ I hung up and tried again and again but the result was the same so I decided to check him on Facebook and leave him a message but the account does not exist and even the chat history was gone. Now I was confident it was all a dream, but I was torn between what part was reality and was part was the dream, because Sanda seemed so real and how did I wake up naked on my bed on Sunday the 15th. Maybe I had just dreamed the whole thing throughout valentine. But what about the soaked cloth in the bathroom, the smell of alcohol in my mouth, and the number saved as Sanda on my phone. This must be madness, I need a psychologist.
******
Every day I wake up with a thought of Sanda, and then I had no thought of him at all because he had existed neither in my dream nor in my reality, because Stephen Sanda does not exist anywhere. I took up my average life of sleeping, waking up and schooling till the semester was over and I went back home to my parents. Mum called me into her room on my third day at home. ‘Jennifer, when was the last time you saw your period? She asked mildly as if I may be afraid to answer but I was simply perplexed. My mother had never spoken about period or no period with me since I was 10.
‘Huh? My period?’
‘Yes, your menstruation!’ now her voice was slightly raised and I wondered what for?
‘I’m even on my period right now. What’s the question about period for mummy?’ I was getting curios too.
‘Have you started having sex?’ Sex? I had never heard my mother uttered that word, at least not with such bareness.
‘Mum, I’m still a virgin. What’s up with all this questions?’
‘You are pregnant Jennifer. I’m your mother; don’t dare lie to me again.’
‘Pregnant!!!’ I shouted. I meant it as a question but my word was emphatic. I wished I could just fall down and faint but that was another thing I had never done.
******
It was four months and yet my period came every month and stopped the month my Mum discovered I was pregnant. Stephen Sanda was gone, or he never existed but he was present within me and I bear the testimony of his existence. The clouds gathered and yet shall soon fall, but there are consequences for every downfall, for the earth will have to soak up the waters and prepare for germinations. No one will believe my story, not even the Sanda within me and so earth shall be dry again and the memory of the gathered clouds and the downfall will fade in expectance of another. Maybe I’ve dreamt it all and I dread nothing, not even the impending rain.
.

Written by: Phemi D'apoet

The Tale of a Day Dreamer

I happened to be at a GT Bank branch somewhere in Yaba today. My original intention was to go retrieve my ATM card which i had requested for since last year.
From the entrance to the bank, everyone was asking me if i had done my 'BVN' registration (Bank verification number). From the security personnel to the cleaners and then the customer care representatives, cashiers, just about everyone, even some customers sef. I just kept nodding and smiling 'yes' to each of them, luckily for me, i had been tricked by one of them late last year into spending a good chunk of my time doing that registration.

I was able to collect the 'ATM' and upon getting to the point where i would change my pin, the system 'busted' me. Surprisingly my BVN number could not be found anywhere in their records, i had to go and re-register. A mere glance at the lengthy stretch of people on the 'BVN' registration queue sent me into an immediate state of melancholy.

My take on Unilag Babes and Their Love For Materialism

Of recent, i have had a sizeable number of fresh male undergraduates ask me about my take on building an emotional relationship with a Unilag girl. It seemed they were all scared of the negative presentation of Unilag girls as materialistic gold diggers and extravagant spendthrifts.

I keep telling them that it is definitely not so, i know there are some Ladies who Money controls the steering wheel of their lives. These are the ones who rides in any car, not minding who is driving, the ones who eat at any Cafeteria, without bothering about the source of the Money, i know there are the gluttons who think of Men as fools and Mumu's who are easily deceived and exploited. These category of Babes are the career thieves, they are a no no.

The Last of the precious Jewels

I was on my way back from a very boring lecture one hot afternoon, the absence of cabs and the consequent presence of a very long queue, the length of a railway line at the Cab park, meant i had to be an unwilling beneficiary of the sun's courtesy.

Midway through my 10 minutes trek, i realised that i even had a pair of sun shades in my bag, i hissed in annoyance and retrieved it from my back pack. I was about to wear it when suddenly the sound of my phone's ring tone broke through like a hunter whistling for his stray dog to come back to him.

I grabbed for my pockets and after seconds of frantically groping for the phone, i finally retrieved it, flipped the cover open and punched the receive button. 'Hello' a soothing female voice sauntered through the phone speakers, i replied carefully with a 'hi' and then a long minute of silence followed. I thought to myself, 'Well, if this stranger had so much airtime and wished to waste some on me, then i'm game', however, as the seconds ticked by, the whole scenario started to have an eerie aura about it, so i decided to mumble softly into the mouthpiece the words 'please who is this, i do not have your number on my phone and do not seem to know you either', my question was replied by another moment of silence, followed by a very loud sigh of by the person at the other end. From experience, that was a sigh of relief, an expression of someone who had

Many Dudes Out There Thinks A Cap On Their Heads And Scary Tattoos On Their Skins Qualifies Them To be Called Bad Boys, But Who Is Truly A Bad Boy?

"...What is a bad boy? He's a rebel without a cause, a cool dude in a motorcycle jacket, a real-life Huckleberry Finn who wants to take you on a wild river ride to adventure. He's wounded, moody, misunderstood-a dreamer, a seducer, a daredevil. He is a man of mystery and a fascinating paradox. He's both a lost little boy and a man with a dark side. He breaks your heart with his wicked ways, but whether he's a wanton wolf or a dangerous desperado, he makes you long to rescue him from his pain. He's hurtful cruel, or simply careless and self absorbed, but you can't resist jumping on his motorcycle and roaring off into the steamy night with him. And once you've given him your heart forever... he's gone with the wind! He is someone who sets off throbbing sexual and aggressive passions within you. Because he's aloof and elusive, you get caught up in the challenge and excitement of the chase-though he's not always someone you'd really want even if you did capture him. A bad boy may tell you he's generally right. He's a frog you hope to turn into a fairy-tale prince with the magic of your kiss..."

Excerpt from "Bad Boys" by Carol Lieberman and Lisa Collier

My encounter with a Lagos Agbero

Ojueleba!, Ojuelegba!!, Ojuelegba!!! the bus conductor screamed. We stood there under the bridge at Ikeja and watched him wail feverishly, with spittle and foam flying from his mouth to all directions within a 120° range. At first he was sitting at the edge of the middle seat of the bus, with his knees extending outside of the open doors of the Bus. When he saw that the prospective passengers were all standing, unimpressed by his shouting skills, he notched it up a bit, this time, he was standing on the edge of the bus, with one hand holding on to the upper frame and the other waving frantically and beckoning on the by-standers to come into his bus. This time around, some of them began to contemplate boarding the bus to the detriment of the other conductors who were also trying to woo them into their own buses in very rather coarse voices.

In Lagos, people do not just board buses. Firstly, they want to see the street skills of the conductor and the ability of the driver to maneuver through the permanent traffic gridlocks and get them to their destinations quicker than other drivers could. In Lagos, everything was a competition, a constant dog-eat-dog scenario. Even little things like purchasing food on the street corner, required a high level of manoeuvres, a very loud voice and even some pushing and shoving. Once in a while, if one was unlucky and contended with one of the more crazy Agberos, you may end up with a fist forgotten in your face. Other times, you may be the one shouting down the face of an innocent looking street boy, whichever way, it was all a constant battle to survive.

Consequently, no one ever made spontaneous decisions, a single mistake like entering into the bus of the wrong driver could leave you stranded for hours in Lagos traffic, a daring driver on the other hand would leave your heart in your mouth, but with some luck take you to your destination safely and in record time.

Once the conductor noticed an improvement in the body language of those who were meant to be his passengers, he suddenly jumped down from the static bus and began screaming at the top of his voice. I watched him intently and with every shout, his eyes bulged and even seemed as if they were going to pop out of their sockets. The Driver joined in on the impolite appeal for passengers to come into the bus, experience and impatience mixed to lend his voice a sort of street appeal. Yes! This was the Man we had all been waiting for. Suddenly as if on cue, we all ran to secure a seat in the bus. I was lucky to get a seat by the window, this was the spot were most people wished they could sit, considering that the ventilation and comfort was better there. At this point, the conductor began shouting their normal slogan 'hold your change o'. Anyways, for anyone who had lived in Lagos for three months or more, this slogan meant nothing to us, it was just an empty threat that we were all used to.

Once all the seats in the bus were fully packed, then the Agberos would step in.
One of them had been sipping a bottle of local gin at a corner all this while, however his timing was perfect as the last drop of gin disappeared immediately the last person shoved his way through others into the bus.

'Owo mi da?' (where is my money?) the Agbero demanded in a rather low but sinister tone, our bus conductor screamed 'O'rie o'pe' (you are mad) in reply, he seemed outraged by his predator's unexpected politeness, they were all used to loud bickers and cursing that any form of politeness or courtesy was interpreted as weakness and therefore greeted with harshness and rudeness.

Unknowingly to us, the Agbero who had just emerged from a baptism of gin, was actually under a false pretext of mildness. The Alcohol was gradually taking it's toll, it calmed his nerve, but increased his tendency for physical aggression. It was like the concept of opportunity cost which we were taught in secondary school economics class. To the Agbero, Violence was the preferred choice and lousiness the alternative forgone.

Swiftly he dived for the collar of the conductor's shirt and dragged him off the slowly moving bus, impulsively, the conductor returned the favour with a heavy punch to the left eye of the Agbero who screamed out in pain and started cursing in rapid Yoruba, as if he had rehearsed the rhetoric for such a day as this.
Slowly, everyone alighted from the bus and formed a semi-circle around the combatants.

It was almost an unwritten law in the streets of Lagos that anyone caught fighting should not be separated, to even make it worse, we all seemed to have had a boring day and unanimously agreed in our minds that we could use a little cheering up.

The Agbero threw a rather weak jab at the conductor who jerked his his backwards as the fist stopped inches away from his face, then he began bouncing first on his right foot and then on his left like one who was engrossed in a ritual dance and suddenly like a flash of lightning, he produced a quick blow to the bridge of the nose of the Agbero, who was shamelessly flaunting his black eye. The latest attempt by our conductor hero drew some blood and a section of the already polarised audience cheered him on.

Suddenly, an evil smile flashed across the black lips of the Agbero. The punches from the opposition seemed to have suddenly triggered the recall of a very important information from the depths of his brain.

Everyone watched on as he ceremoniously dipped his hands in his pockets and brandished a strange looking round object comprising of leaves, feathers and other unknown items, all bound together with a red strip of cloth. At this point, the Agbero grimaced at the conductor who stood and watched him in confusion. He brought the strange looking object to his mouth and started chanting incantations, at this point,all eyes were on him as we watched to see what new twist this story would take. After about 30 seconds of ranting into his charm, by the time he stopped, we all looked the other way just to find our hero conductor, outstretched on the floor, his hands flailing helplessly and unable to move both lower limbs.

A siren wailed nearby and the crowd quickly disappeared into no where. They were all street boys, i muttered to myself, they should know how to sort themselves out.

The Siren wailed past our bus stop and we all returned to wait for another bus, one whose conductor willingly handed over the N50 note demanded by the Agbero.

Written by Onyeoziri Favour
Email: favouronyeoziri@gmail.com

Diary of a Side Chick - Another Valentine Story.

Tolu was a successful music artiste and promoter. Due to his string of successes, he always had new and upcoming artistes knocking on his door everyday, they wished to benefit from his wizardry skills in teleporting artistes and their works from the dark dungeon of oblivion to the limelight.

Tolu was no new victim to beautiful women and their bizarre belief that everyman could be controlled with sex, therefore every other day, he had to withstand the numerous advances by upcoming female artistes to grant them audience in his bedroom, however, he never fell for their coyness. After all, he was not one to mix business with pleasure. For him, money was the only legal means for the exchange of value, moreover, he had a very beautiful girlfriend whom he not only adored, but had pledged to be faithful to.

Mary! the Manager screamed, the

Rebounding in Relationships: The Exodus

The castigations, reprimands and stinging reproaches from friends
resurfaced. "Endeavour to resuscitate the bonds between you two before
the affection hits diminishing returns", a friend quipped. "Why have
you resorted to retracting to your former unyielding self?" another
retorted. "You have turned distastefully recalcitrant", fumed another
colleague. Sunday, a friend who resides in the vicinity, rather
suggested "you could revive the relationship by making it discreet".
"You will end up being a reverend father given this your rigid heart",
Harry hilariously noted. "I have warned you for the umpteenth time to
go for another girl if the former relationship cannot be fixed. Do you
want to languish in solitude?", Bode seethed. "Your naivety with
handling women might adversely impede your chances of building a
lasting relationship", Emmanuel, a co-worker flayed. All these and
many more were scathing remarks that sickened me. I became ambivalent.
I still found it difficult

How I Spent My Val - Akangbe Oladayo

"I swear if na me ehn, na Tosin I go carry go Rita Lori today"
"Guy calm, I get reason, na Shade I dey carry go flex today"
"Sammy come hear wetin this he-goat dey tell me, ehn say no be that ehn babe wey be like Kim K ehn dey carry go flex today wey be Val"
"Chris!! Shey ò yà wéré? Who u wan come carry go?"
"Na Shade ehn wan carry go"
"Guys see, Tosin go wan dey form meek and gentle, na she fine pass among their two but na Shade go fit drop Puna today. I no fit let anybody dull me today o!!"
"Eeeehn!!! BaDolee!!! Baddest nigga!!!! This guy dey calculate scatter. CHOP KNUCKLE!! CHOP KNUCKLE!!"

That's how I started my day on the 14th day of February 2014. It was mid afternoon when we had this conversation. In about 45 minutes we had gone to withdraw cash from the ATM, had our baths, gotten dressed and were ready to move out. My ride or die niggas Jaiye and Sammy were on hand today. Valentine yì mà rôcký!!

Shey you're gonna be my baby mama?

The term Baby mama is fast gaining grounds in the Nigerian entertainment and public sectors, so i heard to take time off to investigate this trend and its meaning.

                                                ★★★
  
We were all course-mates until one day Kemi just emerged with a gradually protruding tummy. What happened to you? Is it a tumor or are you just overfed? These questions kept running through our minds and even some more daring folks went ahead to ask Kemi. Anyway, someone like me would never bother to ask, i would rather prefer to turn them over in my mind and keep my opinions to myself, Kemi's tongue lashing was not what any sane person would willingly ask for.

                                                 ★★★

We were all seated under

Have you ever found yourself sitting comfortably in the 'friend zone'?

WHY???

“He asked me to marry him!” so you will tell me. You would have meant it as a question but I know you never miss the emphasis, every time you ask me such questions. Maybe it’s your way of continuously making me responsible for all your decisions since our first year in the university, or your way of keeping me involved in your life, your choices, your decisions, anything and everything you ever have to do, even the ones you know I have no interest.

Remember the time you told me, or rather asked me that you want to date him, and I know you knew that I’ll consent to it, you knew I’ll be objective and considerate, you knew that it’ll shorten the time we’ve been used to spending together every day under the shades around my hostel, and you knew that your relationship with him might even threaten our friendship. Yet you asked me anyway, in the consciousness of my knowledge,

AS PROMISED, TODAY WE BRING YOU, LOVE SEX AND MONEY, A THRILLING TALE OF YOUTHFUL ROMANCE BY THE TALENTED - AKANGBE OLADAYO. PART 2

It was exactly one week from my rendezvous with..........what was that girls name again? Can't remember now. We had done it in the office and she had screamed my name. It felt so good I wanted to ask for more. It was a very unforgettable quickie for me. Best I ever had. But that was one week ago and I had invited Anu over to my house today. I will make sure we have sex today, we've been dating for almost a year now and she was giving me one crappy line about marriage and virtue and virginity. Who cares? Men don't even want to marry virgins again. Or she doesn't know? Aaah she did not "jasi" sef. I just want to help her ni, lemme help her and cut it now so she will be free, she is doing anyhow anyhow. Shiooor. Let her come first. Worst worst, Spanish fly ló má sè isè yén.
I had told her to buy a bucket of grilled chicken and ice cream.
That ice cream is what will make the work faster sef. Just watch daddy Chris work.
I was at the door immediately she knocked. I opened the door to see my pretty girlfriend looking more beautiful than I remembered. Casual clothes, white teeth and a pretty face. I hugged her first then kissed her as I ushered her in.
"I'm pretty famished, where is the food abeg"

LOVE SEX AND MONEY, A THRILLING TALE OF YOUTHFUL ROMANCE BY THE TALENTED - AKANGBE OLADAYO. PART 1

"Jesus Christ!!! Chris!!!! We didn't use a condom!!!!
              *                                    *                                     *
I couldn't go out, I couldn't eat, I couldn't think, I couldn't go home. It was like life had ended for me, what am I saying? It has already ended. Hiv positive??? What else is there to live for? My life as I knew it was over. I would never be seen as a normal person. The stigma was unthinkable. I can't eat in public, the shop owner would chase me, the whole school would have known by now. And I was the president, they might even impeach me or something. Chai!!! Just One night o. One single girl. One time. Na so person dey take catch am? But I used a condom now. My mind just kept reeling with questions, what ifs and had I knowns. It was now four days after I heard the news, four days of no food and no contact with the outside world. After the news I came home straight and locked myself in, my phone rang for the first two days from calls and then the battery ran out, no food had entered my mouth not to talk of having my bath. I looked sick and ageing. The Aids was very fast. It was already destroying my immune system. So its Aids that will be the thing that will kill me. Chai!!!
Nobody had come to see me in my house off campus. Maybe they had heard, nobody will ever want to be in contact with me again. I might have to withdraw from school or even defer my admission till all the people I know graduate. Maybe even change my name too. I closed my eyes as tears flowed from my eyes like cascades in a waterfall, my heart  ached as

THE LUSTY MEMOIRS OF A TEENAGE BOY

Truly I had been reading this particular book for about three days now, it was so voluminous and didn’t seem to have any end in sight. I sat on my bed with all my attention fixed on the novel, as if it were a necessary textbook recommended for one of my forthcoming examination. This was the third time I was preparing for my West African Senior Secondary School Examination, the other two times, I had failed with relative ease, my result was so shocking that  even my parents were ashamed of presenting it to my uncle who worked at Yaba College of Technology (YABATECH) for admission there, and infarct when they got over their shock and shame, and finally presented it to him, he swore with both God and man that if I had scored at least an ‘E’ grade in maths, he would have easily eased me into the system; my parents shook their heads in dismay, they all knew my uncle; he was a master at manufacturing excuses.

Following my string of failures, my results and indeed myself had started to become a family disgrace of sorts, women in the neighbourhood had started pointing at me while expressing their disgust in low tones, Fathers began to ban their Children from moving with me.