THE AUGUST FALLS: FAMILIAR FACES

Once  in a while, in the evenings after a very long day filled with arguments with the bus conductor or the passing insults of an Okada man who always rides his motorcycle recklessly, or the old and young vibrant people on the streets, I would sit on my bed stark naked enjoying the evening breeze that came out of my large window. It did well by illuminating the dark room because my lights were always off even when NEPA decided to be nice. In the evenings, the window brought in the sun rays and the breeze when NEPA did their natural thing; it was one of those things and despite trying to learn how to call it PHCN, we never was able too. It was still the same thing anyways, just worse. During these periods I would stare outside, beyond the people walking about on the busy road and wonder where he could be; that young man I dreamt of months back and how much Dejavu it had brought when I saw him at the corner of where the woman selling fish was at the market one afternoon. His hands were fast as he smiled gaily to the woman he was haggling prices with.
"Madame! You no dey even know customer sha how you go sell this fish wey dey plenty for inside water for 1,000 naira. I be Buhari pikin?"
The woman laughed back
"Oga Isaac no be so you know as he dey now." She had replied with her teeth spread widely exposing her gap tooth.
Isaac that was his name. I did not  know what force had pulled me to where he was as I stared at him in wonder. He stared back  briefly and looked away. He noticed that I was still looking at him and he finally stared at me squarely on the face.
"How may I help you ?'" He had asked.
I've seen you before, I knew you in the world before this world. 
"I'm sorry i mistook you for someone else." I said.
I wonder now, how it would have been imagining if you also knew me.

Back to using my Idle Pen, Been a long silence!

I can't believe its a full year and I have not posted anything on the blog. I am as well surprised as you may be as regards this.

However, I would tag this occurrence to a lot of issues ranging from school activities, laziness, writer's bloc, unseriousness, laziness, creating new projects, music, mood swings, procrastination, but mostly, school and music and my inability to manage time. I would solely blame this on myself.

As it is however, I'm back with stories as well as other events which will be showcased on the blog as well.

If you wish to know what I have been up to during these months, here are pages to go to:
Instagram, Facebook and Twitter : @celeste_earth
Facebook and Instagram: Ariyiike and @theariyiike

I will be publishing new stories. Thank you to all who have mailed me and stated their concerns as to not seeing anything on my blog.

I haven't abandoned it, I have just been a little silent. Welcome to the month of August. The series for this month is titled 'The August Falls.' Bless you!

Taking Turns

The sort of thought that ran in her mind, nobody knew. She would just sit there observing the people talking; the vigorous movement of their lips and the loud guffaws from the mouth of the men and the women alike. She liked watching them from a distance in different scenes, at the bar, at the market, at an event. For days now she has meant to revenge on a girl in class. That one that ran her mouth about something she didn't do but could have done.

"You're a liar! That's how you go about pretending. We know what you are what you do. We know you are nothing but dirt. Slut! Tufia!"

 She spat on her face. She watched her gesticulations and how she squinted her face and how it changed from rage to disgust. 

"Say something na Tamara!"  a classmate had said. She carried her head and her face from the position it was facing before to that of her classmate. She stared at him, started and sighed. She readjusted her school skirt and tucked in in the full glare of people. 

"You don't know what you have just done" she told the girl who had insulted her and walked gently away from the canteen to her class. It was 3minutes before the end of the break time...

Dementia (Before the last)

You would fill that thought in. No you would barge in like thousands of locusts that you are; feasting and singing and churning accurately into your head. They would eat up like langoliers until there is nothing left. 

" you are weird" it said after they had been in silence for months. It echoed in like a resonator. You were unsure whether they were words or some little mutterings you make here and there on tiny nights devoid of sleep. 

"What?" you asked

"Whatever...  it started

... didn't you hear them say whence you were out of hearing? They called you different and opaque classified glorious name for weird. Glorified weird? 

" I do not understand"

"Understand you do not!"

The both of you were panting staring sternly, hardened. 

"Perhaps we can like to enlighten each other".

 It guffawed and clapped your hands. You stare at everyone in the small room filled with robbers waiting on their death toll. They stared back hard at you incessantly.

" what are you looking at?" one of the robbers asked. He was the one everybody knew as the black axe. His red eyes dripping with sweat as he stared straight- stoned at you. 

"Nothing ". You mumbled with a curious smile. 

" you will still die" you continued. 

"What did he just say?" came the perplexed and astonished reply.  

" I will help you fast forward your death" he continued as he bounced closer to you‎

 You were sane in insanity.

Tonight you would be free.

Nobody knew the beginning

NIGERIA: THE EAGLE'S PERSPECTIVE

Another week has rolled by and new events have unfolded. Lots of people and event made the news this week. I’m going to start with Senator Buruji Kashamu!!! You dey fear? The fact that Senator Buruji Kashamu said Obasanjo isn’t a surprise. Their rivalry says it all. It should be noted that Kashamu sued Obasanjo on Feb, 6, 2014 for “maliciously and recklessly” publishing a letter titled,” Before it is too late, addressed to former President Goodluck Jonathan in December 2013.I can smell a rat here. After Kashamu claimed that OBJ leveled ‘baseless accusations’ against him that destroyed years of business relationship between them. The question is how baseless were the accusations? Recently, the NDLEA placed Kashamu under house arrest on over him alleged drug-related offences. Also, the US and UK have decided to seek the extradition of Kashamu over drug-related offences. The question is how soon will soon will justice catch up with him? Basically, I think Kashamu dropping charges against OBJ is politically-motivated. He wants to seek for forgiveness from Baba. He knows that OBJ is highly influential and he needs the backing of influential people at this time. It should be recalled that Kashamu and 14 others were arrested in the US in 1998. The truth is if Kashamu truly committed those crimes, no one would stop his extradition. The independence of the judiciary ensures that the other arms of the Government won’t interfere in its operations. F Anyone who errs must be caught brought to book. Kashamu shouldn’t be an exception too.
The National Assembly has been synonymous with bumper pay. Right from the start of democracy in Nigeria, our lawmakers have received bumper salaries and allowances. They virtually receive allowances for every basic needs ranging from house allowance, vehicle allowance, wardrobe allowance etc. The 8th National Assembly was inaugurated last week and their allowances have been announced. They are to get N9 billion jumbo pay. Sounds ridiculous right? In a country where the average
 Nigerian child lives below 2 dollars a day,this highlights how our so-called leaders are insensitive to the penurious state of the Country, I can’t fathom why a lawmaker should be given wardrobe allowance. Were they naked before they were elected? There are lots of destitute people who roam about the streets naked. These needless allowances should be diverted to create shelter, clothing and food for them. Through this medium, the crime rate in the country would reduce drastically. Senate President, Dr. Bukola Saraki recently said the claim that the National Assembly members would  earn ₦8.6 billion as wardrobe allowances was inaccurate and exaggerated. Whatever the case may be, they would be given allowances. It’s high time we got out priorities right in Nigeria.
Hahaha, APC!!! CHANGE……. It is shameful that in the early stages of the APC-controlled Government, the party has been divided by rancour. There is a rumour been spread that all is not well between Senator Bola Tinubu and former Vice-president, Atiku Abubakar over the control of the party. More recently, another divison occurred over the emergence of Dr. Saraki and Honourable Yakubu Dogara as Senate President and Speaker, House of Representatives respectively against the wish of the party. The party had adopted Senator Ahmad Lawan and Honourable Femi Gbajabiamila as its candidates. While Saraki won unopposed, Dogara defeated Gbajabiamila in a fiercely-contested election. It was obvious that PDP lawmakers supported them. It should be recalled that Saraki and Dogara defected from PDP. The bone of contention is that both lawmakers are not faithful to the party. However, it should be noted that the same APC welcomed both men into their party. Members of the APC are paranoid because they think both leaders would favour the PDP. This is a bad start to the new National Assembly and concerted efforts should be made to ensure unity in the upper and lower houses.
“I wish I became Head of State when I was a governor, just a few years as a young man. Now at 72, there is a limit to what I can do.” – Muhammadu Buhari. (Culled from The Punch). These were the words of the President at the 25th Assembly of the Heads of State and Government of the African Union in Johannesburg. The words can be interpreted in various ways. He could be described as weak and ineffective. The opposition party, PDP have released statements portraying Buhari in bad light. However, the Presidency
as said that like good wine, Buhari gets better with age. Whatever the case may be, the president has no excuse not to perform his duties effectively. He canvassed for votes in his old age and got them so he has obligations and responsibilities to attend to. He really has to perform exceptionally well. The Masses have high hopes in him and he cannot afford to let us down. Muhammadu!!! Please don’t fail us.
Finally, Ramadan has started. It is the season in which the Islamic faithfuls abstain from eating, drinking or smoking anything from dawn to sunset, However, this year’s Ramadan coincides with the summer heat in the Middle East where the fast could reach 15 hours a day. It is widely known that the Ramadan fast is one of Islam’s five pillars. The other four include praying five times a day, declaration of faith, alms-giving and the pilgrimage to mecca located in Saudi Arabia. However, it is important to note that this period isn’t the only time for Muslims to be holy. They need to adhere strictly to every Islamic tenet. Above all, I wish every muslim faithful a blissful and hassle-free fasting period.
 
                                                                                     Kunle Okenla

NIGERIA:THE COLUMN ON MY HOME COUNTRY

Hey guys, introducing you to a new angle that will be taking place in this blog.

Asides my writeups, I welcome you to articles on Nigeria.

Above is what it shall be called. Looking forward to awesome months to end the year. Qui! Qui!

MAY SAY ( OBLIVION)

Myidlepen had been really idle now for months and finally, I remembered it while meditating. I may say that this May may be a beautiful one after all with new write ups and writing techniques. Here's a little something for May and you.

"Are you in it now? In that world"

"What world?"

"The little world that forms specks of lights before your very eyes"

"You dream again don't  you?"

"How do you define a dream when right now we are not real and our real selves have been enclosed in this body, this mortality"

"What body?"

"Your body"

"My body?"

"Our body"

"I do not understand."

"Oh its only you that do not. I do"

"Why?"

"Because I am your mind and you're a mortal" 

"Shut up"

" I would... Only if you desire for me to kill myself"

"But you cannot die without me dying first"

"And then we would be immortals"

"Shut up"

This time he said it loudly in the board meeting and all eyes flashed at him in anger, in surprise, in wonder, and in confusion.

"Did you just demand that the CEO should shut it?" The assistant asked with cold stoned eyes.

He stared in disbelief and excitement

"Yes I just did" he replied

There was silence again and the members stared at his mouth, eyes, face. He listened to himself in horror. It couldn't have been his mouth but it transformed into a smile and then a frown and then a pause. His forehead sweating he stood and said

"Yes. I said it because I do not see sense in what he is saying. I do not believe this plan would work and I do not understand why we do not focus on one thing rather you make us focus on so many things that we do not focus anymore... We just float"

" You float eh?" The CEO said as he sat up and all 10 fingers touched the table.

"Again?"

"What again?"

"I do not agree with what you just did but I concur"

" Seriously... Not right now"

" I understand. You have been promoted"

Into what? The imaginary immortality being code land?"

"What does that mean?"

"I should be asking you... You're the mind"

"Oh... I mean you have been promoted"

"Shut up"

"I thought about what you said and I realized how true it is. For that you would be my chief Adviser". The CEO said.

He smiled. He just did get promoted in the real world...  and the other.

Imagine a world of endless opportunities and greater prospects...

...There you have it.

THE PERFECT COINCIDENCE

I would not have expected so much as to say that I would be 419ed into a conversation I had felt had existed long before we met on that Saturday. My eyes had blurred with despair and disappointment when I encountered the mass of people that had arrived at the expected venue that morning; the 7:30 morning. I saw the eyes stare at me from my front, back and side eyes. ‘ Oh! A lady with a guitar’. But my eyes and facial expressions may have failed me, because I remembered looking at the mirror when I was once angry and my face had been emotionless. My disinterest and non-commitment to comply with their ‘play for me’ might not have been noticed. But this was not what had really bothered me enough to create a lingering memory in my head. It was you with the glasses that came looking scared, holding a capo, like the one I had once bought. It was spoiled in the same manner as mine had spoiled and you looked unto my capo as if your life depended on it. You might have cried eventually if I had said No because you were to me but a stranger requesting to make use of my capo which will be given back in a few minute. I had resigned to the fact that I would be compelled to give you a resounding No because my greatest fear was not because I did not know you, it was because I did not remember faces. Your face might melt away immediately you left.” ‘I saw you with Dotun; please can I have your capo? Okay let me give you my phone so I can call my number when I am done” You said to assure my dumbfounded, perplexed and extremely wondering face or my intended dumbfounded, perplexed and extremely wondering face. I softened a little. ‘Of course I knew who Dotun was! He was the guy I had met last semester and had seen him only once’. I also think I remember seeing you, with that same glasses and same haircut. You were seated beside me. You were with Dotun. Although you were taller and more outspoken, I remembered you had chased me away with your ever domineering quietness and I had shrunk to my thoughts. And there you were all talking at the phase of a want; the capo. I must confess I was shocked that you also sing, with your entire introverted prowess you could afford music and strangely, perhaps, have a great voice. You called me soon enough and thanked me relaying your ordeal and that you do not think you were chosen. You told me you were going because Dotun was waiting for you and I wondered aloud ‘is Dotun here too?’ You did not wait to reply, you trotted off without forgetting to have my number.  After we had spoken on the phone for countless number of times, you were still able to maintain my surprise. You were friendlier and conversed better than the person I had met earlier who had been rather cold.’ How little things change so many things I had thought. But you would surprise me even more when you told me of a Dotun I never formed an acquaintance with. Your Dotun was not my Dotun and I had been talking to a stranger who I thought was familiar. But you were really a stranger and that was the first time I would meet you. You were not the quiet guy I had met the other day, you were someone else. But in all of your strangeness, we connected. I felt I had known you longer than that Saturday. You were the friendly stranger; the perfect coincidence. Happy belated valentine.

Different Shades of Blur - Obirin Abiye

Old age does not save one from punches. That was something he could have thought of before he decided to go settling issues that was not any of his business. The fist tightened, fingers embracing themselves; bracing up for the wonderment that was about to happen. The man watched with fascination as the fist landed on his cheeks, he felt its tingling after-effects. His eyes bulged out involuntarily. Could it be that he was imagining things? His mind would not give way to thinking one thought. It raced in different directions. Another hit brought him back to life. He staggered backwards and he was able to understand that he had just been hit on the face. Not once but twice and that was that. Pathetic. He could do nothing as far as his body was concerned. It had lost all its youthfulness embedded with impatience. It was the young man's time now but he had disrespected him. "Ah! Agbalagba!" the young lady had said. "Baba!" She later remembered his face as the man who used to praise her. She did not understand a single word from his several chants which he titled "oriki". "This is how we praise you in your home" he would say. She did not understand the movements of his mouth quivering in strange tones embalmed in strange words. She just smiled and pretended to understand. He would tell her stories of the old. One story caught her attention. She never forgot the song he sang about oluronbi. She immediately learned it. "Olukaluku jeje ewure ewure ewure Olukaluku jeje aguntan aguntan aguntan Oluronbi jeje omo re omo re apon bi epo". His hands and body moving simultaneously to the song that came out of his mouth. She did not understand why Oluronbi would have to give back his daughter to the god Iroko. "Iroko join join!" It was later she realized that Oluronbi had made a foolish mistake by promising to sacrifice what was given to him rather than other things of which she assumed, he deeply regretted. When he made a not so funny face, she laughed as hard as possible. She was grateful to him, but she did not feel he needed to stress himself that much. And after sixteen years she did not like the way her eyes welcomed Baba; the man who came once in a while to their house. The bright-eyed peacemaker. She would have expected that her eyes smile along with her but her face decided to abandon her today; in fact all of her body. She ran towards Baba who had already lost his balance again. This was an urban setting where there was little or no regard for an elder. At least he should not have wanted to make peace with two "Agberos". They were as crazy as louts should be. His eyes stared intently at hers. He remembered her, quite alright. She was the little girl he once knew. He murmured his blessings to her and ordered that she left him alone. She moved a bit backwards and watched in horror as the man metamorphoses into a yeti; a thing alternating spirituality and the physical realm. His long fingers and long teeth shined in the sun. And all smoke bellowed from his head. He made a movement which she could not fathom. It was a walk or a run of some sort which he made towards the two louts. His body vibrated on the floor and people who were once spectators where seen running for dear life. The young lady stood amazed. He tore the two men apart, in peace and in pieces. Their body parts were seen sprawling in the air as Baba stared at the already petrified young lady, panting and staring. Baba was tired of the disrespect he had received in the world. He looked round to see people running to safety screaming "Iwin! Iwin! " . He drew near to her and said his last oriki to her and disappeared into thin air; nothingness. She never stopped staring.

Different Shades of Blur (The Dress Code)

I cannot recall the day, week, month or year I started to hate choir uniforms. Always ensuring that they wore a color on black; pink on black, yellow on black, blue on black, black on black, white on black, green on black, all shades of colors on black, black, Back!. I would in turn wonder what would happen if they perhaps wore dinner outfits and looked tidy. It would be an everyday sunday breakfast event with God( since church services are held in the mornings) The berets, the ties and the shoes. I wondered if they got bored with the traditional choir gown adorned with such beauty so that uniformity becomes beautiful. Yet another suit and an unequal distribution of ironed and un-ironed dresses. A mishmash of emotions I'd say. I wondered if wearing traditional wears almost every week would kill, or what do I know? Restrictions, Restrictions, rules? Or the intense eye service and unwillingness on the part of some choristers. Would I love to join the choir? Of course Yes! Would I want to wear the same cloth with every other choir member? Okay I change my mind NO. Restrictions, restrictions from expressing self. But we are all different. So why do we have to dress the same? I remember a band wouldn't wear the same colors, but then something beautiful. I don't want to get bored while staring at a chorister's dress, or give a disgusted look at the site of their wears. Then I ask myself this question. Does christianity have to be this way? Different shades of blue on faded black or bright black. It kills me! When I have to admire the dresses of the outside world and yet wonder why the family would wish to stick to antique thoughts. And skirts! oh skirts! Why cant we wear gowns to save our souls even if most churches believe in trousers not being biblical. Peace untold peace. It all balls down to this, I believe, God is happiest when you do things from the heart and dress in a way befitting to see and be in the presence of a king. And then I wonder whether this is how one would dress if one wants to see a king and especially when it has to do with celebrations. It cannot kill to be different. Perhaps experiences of untold heat emerging from over-sized choir shirts and long skirts have repelled me from embarking into such activities. Then I ask another question - is it scriptural to dress this way? And then it puts me off, dressing simultaneously like school children who wish to try something new and dress casually but responsibly with a sense of fashion to class. I never liked school uniforms. I doubt if my dislike for choir uniforms will toll down a bit it either. But then, does being a christian and a chorister in the vineyard of God makes us dress shabbily and forget that God himself is fashionable? Yet we would dress our best for outside events. Things dedicated for God are beautiful. There is perfection is simplicity.

Different Shades of Blur Open Up the Door (The Muse wants in)

She inspired me to begin a little story; that woman in her 80's singing beautifully and standing there youthfully. I watched her as she sang with all of what she had; calmly,steadily, beautifully. In her christian voice she looked pristine, without blemish. Without any care in the world. "Open up the door" she sang with her eyes bright beaming with happiness. I feared that she might fall, she looked so fragile, too fragile to be doing anything in particular. But there she was, the rarest of the rare Nigerian Woman. I imagined her being the Choir Mistress at a very young age. I imagined her being a newly recruited choir member who wanted to be away from loneliness. I imagined her experiences. I couldn't go too far for I could not picture totally her experiences. It was massive, like the world itself, like space. Vast in every way immeasurable Perhaps a lot of happiness in her life, maybe a lot more sadness. One thing was sure, she was not willing to let time tell on her. She inspired me as she sang "oh Happy Dayl" along with the choir. Only her was whom I could see and that was immortality to me. Such youthfulness in an old body. She clapped with grace, such poise in her walking I could not fathom; without a hand to help her, without walking sticks. She was almost perfect and that was beyond beautiful. She inspired me, she inspired my thinking. That was God manifesting his glory in her life. Death would by no means be her end. For she has cheated Death and life immeasurably. Oh Happy day! I found her. What could I tell. She was a one in forever. I hope not to forget her. She was one of the blessings I had received in church; I didn't leave empty handed after all. 29th of November 2014, 3:30am. The muse.

Different Shades of Blur - This is Me. (The Denial of The Obvious)

Emotion is human and it is a weakling. Tunde would never have thought he could cry when he was rejected from the employment office. People change, don't they? He was also able to maintain his stance as he walked rather absurdly, rather fast to the bus stop. "This is Tunde! This is Tunde... Comport yourself, you were not like this and you will never be like this". His voice told him silently, almost in a whisper, as if trying to sympathize with him. His voice was shaky too. It didn't blurt out the courage it was insinuating. Yes it was Tunde, the guy who had been the King of women in the University. Counting women like money, they flocked around him and he was, as they said, a "cheerful giver". By this time, his eyes were red, like a smoker who had just finished four wraps of Marijuana. His mouth quivering as if they were unhappy with the redness of his eyes. By the time he entered his room, they were tear-stained. Who told you a man doesn't cry? Tunde took his credentials and dropped it carefully on the bed like an egg. He sat on the bare floor and wept out all his unhappiness, hopes, disappointments. Several thoughts came into his mind, those thoughts had a way of entering into his head. Yes... This is Tunde, it could not have been anyone else.

Different Shades of Blur (The Fiery Tale).

Hi everyone, its a new month and a long time away from you... I must admit, I have missed everyone. October opens with bouts of sarcasm, love, happiness, sober reflections, and of course whatever feelings you would call it. And so I'd be writing with the Title " Different Shades of Blur" for this month and the remaining months. Happy October beginnings and endings.




    " And you my love have gone
      Into my deepest of moods alone
      And have taken me out
      of the deep abyss which i
      Gave a name - Depression."  


  My sleep was not distorted, in fact I did not sleep at all. I watched as it all happened, all I could do was watch. I did not know how to move, I did not know whether screaming could help with the thousands of waning echoes I heard. I watched as people ran in their hundreds and I stood there, only being pushed from time to time by girls afraid of death, afraid of being afraid, dying in fear. I stood watching, like in a trance, petrified, frozen deep within my spines. I watched as some flew from the third floor, I watched a stampede. I watched the girl screaming in the loudest of tones,loud as it were, her voice was drowned in the fearful ecstasy. She was trampled upon severally and she screamed helplessly, continuously. There was no camaraderie this time, everyman was for himself. "Fire! Fire! Fire!" became the anthem of the wee hours as people scurried like rats out of the hostel. And there I still was confused, my brains were not working fine this time. I could not tell why. I closed my eyes and my nose opened up to the smell of the smoke. The walls of the hostel as if afraid too, shuddered in heat and bruised my skin. "I dunno! I dunno" my silence spoke in my petrified state, tears welled up in my eyes. It could have been the fire. It could have been the emotions that I denied. The emotions that told the truth. I did not also want to die. Death could be painless, could be the end of a beginning or the beginning of an end. Perhaps the beginning of beginnings. But I was not up for such philosophies. I did not want to die. I could not move. Only my eyes moved, observing every bit of everything. I watched from the corridor gates Sodeinde boys running with all enthusiasm. It was a romantic site. They ran with all their heart, with all of their ego hidden. They ran to save them; the ones they will never get to date. They ran with the innocence of love; like a lover running to save his love from the cold grip of death. They ran in their hundreds into the hostel. They ran to save them; the ones who had a crush on them, the ones who broke their hearts, the ones whose heart they thought they had broken which turned out to be a lie, the ones who would insult them at their back. They ran to save the ones who would say "I can never date a Unilag boy". But there was nothing wrong with being a Unilag boy; there was everything wrong with being flawless in this part of the world. They ran into a law that had prohibited boys from entering girls hostels and broke into it. They broke the law and their lovers received them in a warm embrace, with full gratitude as the fire was gradually being quenched. I heard the wailing again, but with a tear stained smile. It sounded more like the cooing of doves. I closed my eyes and fell to the ground. I did not know why I had done that, I only woke up the next day on the sickly hospital bed. It was 3am.

Being a student of The English Language

Sometimes I would question myself about the course I chose. Could it be the baritone voice of Azumurana that did it? Or the ever confused teaching of Daramola?. Maybe it's the sincerity and craziness oozing out of Alimi's lips or the secret loudness in the voice of Aribisala. Maduabuchi in his silent almost whispering voice would say King Oedipus had to do what he did. Whereas the novel of ideas lecturer(wonder why his name never sticks to my head) aha! Patrick Oloko! would in a permanent smile wink sarcastically at students in class. Anyaokwu adjusting his glasses and his usual "that's just the wayridiz" would keep reminding us of China Achebe's beautiful book; Things Fall Apart. Maybe Afolayan and her jovial drama self or maybe the Adeoye, Anyagbua and Shodipe would have preferred teaching another course rather than Language, Phonetics or Drama. Is it the beautiful essay lecturer with a Ghananian intonation or Adedeji the ever confused lecturer? Could it be the cool character of Austin Nwagbara? Or the constant reminder we get to add a title to their names; Professor, Doctor, Chief... Is it the strange looking glasses of Pearce or the uncertain nature of Sir Kofoworola. Or maybe the beauty of the students in class. The inquisitive Tobi or the quiet Samuels. Maybe it is the little beautiful eyes of Rahman the class rep or the general mischief makers. Could it be my newly discovered male cliques?Patrick, Kunle, Taiwo, David, Joseph, Funbi?. Patrick's hustle-bad boy/ innocent beneath all that camouflage look? Funbi's big round poking eyeballs?, David's beautiful gap tooth?, Kunle's smile leaving one breathless? Joseph's dark beautiful skin? Or Taiwo's pink lips?. Could it be Ruth and Seun with their unending cravings for cake and music? Or Cynthia's oppressive boobs Frontal Protuberance I might add or Emmanuel's intimidating shortness. Maybe its Uzomma's "I'm not even here" look or Ifeoma's constant pulling of my hair. Perhaps its Kunbi and Deji, crazy in their strange ways. Could it be Giwa with her troublesome character or Ayobami's tightening hugs?. Oh maybe its laura's voice. Perhaps its Tosan's gesticulations and the "really" words. Innocent's ever present shades makes me wonder whether it has a life of its own. Could it be the silent ones in class or the two class representatives of English Education? I may not ever get to know, I'm pretty sure some people might get upset if their names are not here, let me assure you that I recognise you, I just have a problem with names. I guess that's what the department has turned me into. And for some reasons I may never know why I chose English Arts even though Adedun can decide to peep from his glasses, telling me how he can see me lying through my nose. Alright, Alright. In the end, (oh its ending now) I am a student of The English Language because of my personal interest and because you all have made it worthwhile. Big ups to God for being so nice. Muah!

Being a student of The English Language

Sometimes I would question myself about the course I chose. Could it be the baritone voice of Azumurana that did it? Or the ever confused teaching of Daramola?. Maybe it's the sincerity and craziness oozing out of Alimi's lips or the secret loudness in the voice of Aribisala. Maduabuchi in his silent almost whispering voice would say King Oedipus had to do what he did. Whereas the novel of ideas lecturer(wonder why his name never sticks to my head) aha! Patrick Oloko! would in a permanent smile wink sarcastically at students in class. Anyaokwu adjusting his glasses and his usual "that's just the wayridiz" would keep reminding us of China Achebe's beautiful book; Things Fall Apart. Maybe Afolayan and her jovial drama self or maybe the Adeoye, Anyagbua and Shodipe would have preferred teaching another course rather than Language, Phonetics or Drama. Is it the beautiful essay lecturer with a Ghananian intonation or Adeoye the ever confused lecturer? Could it be the cool character of Austin Nwagbara? Or the constant reminder we get to add a title to their names; Professor, Doctor, Chief... Is it the strange looking glasses of Pearce or the uncertain nature of Sir Kofoworola. Or maybe the beauty of the students in class. The inquisitive Tobi or the quiet Samuels. Maybe it is the little beautiful eyes of Rahman the class rep or the general mischief makers. Could it be my newly discovered male cliques?Patrick, Kunle, Taiwo, David, Joseph, Funbi?. Patrick's hustle-bad boy/ innocent beneath all that camouflage look? Funbi's big round poking eyeballs?, David's beautiful gap tooth?, Kunle's smile leaving one breathless? Joseph's dark beautiful skin? Or Taiwo's pink lips?. Could it be Ruth and Seun with their unending cravings for cake and music? Or Cynthia's oppressive boobs or Emmanuel's intimidating shortness. Maybe its Uzomma's "I'm not even here" look or Ifeoma's constant pulling of my hair. Perhaps its Kunbi and Deji, crazy in their strange ways. Could it be Giwa with her troublesome character or Ayobami's tightening hugs?. Oh maybe its laura's voice. Could it be the silent ones in class or the two class representatives of English Education. I may not ever get to know, I'm pretty sure some people might get upset if their names are not here, let me assure you that I recognise you, I just have a problem with names. I guess that's what the department has turned me into. And for some reasons I may never know why I chose English Arts even though Adedun can decide to peep from his glasses, telling me how he can see me lying through my nose. Alright, Alright. In the end, (oh its ending now) I am a student of The English Language because of my personal interest and because you all have made it worthwhile. Big ups to God for being so nice. Muah!

Being a student of The English Language

Sometimes I would question myself about the course I chose. Could it be the baritone voice of Azumurana that did it? Or the ever confused teaching of Daramola?. Maybe it's the sincerity and craziness oozing out of Alimi's lips or the secret loudness in the voice of Aribisala. Maduabuchi in his silent almost whispering voice would say King Oedipus had to do what he did. Whereas the novel of ideas lecturer(wonder why his name never sticks to my head) aha! Patrick Oloko! would in a permanent smile wink sarcastically at students in class. Anyaokwu adjusting his glasses and his usual "that's just the wayridiz" would keep reminding us of China Achebe's beautiful book; Things Fall Apart. Maybe Afolayan and her jovial drama self or maybe the Adeoye, Anyagbua and Shodipe would have preferred teaching another course rather than Language, Phonetics or Drama. Is it the beautiful essay lecturer with a Ghananian intonation or Adeoye the ever confused lecturer? Could it be the cool character of Austin Nwagbara? Or the constant reminder we get to add a title to their names; Professor, Doctor, Chief... Is it the strange looking glasses of Pearce or the uncertain nature of Sir Kofoworola. Or maybe the beauty of the students in class. The inquisitive Tobi or the quiet Samuels. Maybe it is the little beautiful eyes of Rahman the class rep or the general mischief makers. Could it be my newly discovered male cliques?Patrick, Kunle, Taiwo, David, Joseph, Funbi?. Patrick's hustle-bad boy/ innocent beneath all that camouflage look? Funbi's big round poking eyeballs?, David's beautiful gap tooth?, Kunle's smile leaving one breathless? Joseph's dark beautiful skin? Or Taiwo's pink lips?. Could it be Ruth and Seun with their unending cravings for cake and music? Or Cynthia's oppressive boobs or Emmanuel's intimidating shortness. Maybe its Uzomma's "I'm not even here" look or Ifeoma's constant pulling of my hair. Perhaps its Kunbi and Deji, crazy in their strange ways. Could it be Giwa with her troublesome character or Ayobami's tightening hugs?. Oh maybe its laura's voice. Could it be the silent ones in class or the two class representatives of English Education. I may not ever get to know, I'm pretty sure some people might get upset if their names are not here, let me assure you that I recognise you, I just have a problem with names. I guess that's what the department has turned me into. And for some reasons I may never know why I chose English Arts even though Adedun can decide to peep from his glasses, telling me how he can see me lying through my nose. Alright, Alright. In the end, (oh its ending now) I am a student of The English Language because of my personal interest and because you all have made it worthwhile. Big ups to God for being so nice. Muah!

THIS THNG...THIS THING

To begin these series of idle thoughts, I read a certain letter written to me by a friend about imagining if falling in love was capable of killing people. Love like HIV/AIDS or Cancer would kill slowly until full blown, leading to an untimely demise. Or worse, killing almost immediately like Ebola or a terrible poison. I pondered on this imagination for a while, and came to the conclusion that half the world, if not all, would have died from this terrible disease called Love. I let my mind run through several other imaginations. For instance, every social media would tell everyone to beware of the deadly disease called Love. I imagined people going everyday to a Brainwashing Center to have their brain washed from any symptoms of love. I imagined people dying from cardiac arrests caused by love. People with love symptoms would immediately be quarantined. I imagined people finding a means to erase every single memory of the person they love. I imagined how the heart would stop immediately it noticed that it was opening up for some 'human'. In a bid to shake it off, it would stop beating, making the person convulse perhaps, shake uncontrollably perhaps, and eventually, die. But don't people who fall in love die everyday? The heart sometimes misses a beat especially when one is with that special person. It is better this way, I thought. Love would have amounted to being a terrible disease. And so, these series of thoughts lead me to a story; my muse was and is God in addition to this letter written by my friend, they walked me to this story... "If love fit kill person, everybody go don die finish" A normal human setting as we have it. This place captured the hearts and souls of those who went there. It was Ibadan. The love disease had spread to every nook and corner of the world in less than a week. Everyone was dying every single minute. That morning Joseph watched his parents slumber on the floor after they had kissed. He could hear the echo in his own voice as he kept on screaming their names. The floor in the house seemed too moist and his face blurred. He had lost them. The people to whom he owed it all. He started to run. He ran as fast as he could because that was the only thing that came to his mind to do. In his confused state, he ran without stopping, without thinking, without looking back and reconsidering. If at all there was something to consider. Could it be?... He blotted out this thought. Thoughts, they said, would lead to more thoughts, and more thoughts would lead to love, and love, instant death. It was unfair. The world was never fair anyway. He had to stop schooling because of this. Maybe if the Universities had not been shut down for multiple deaths he would have continued. He had felt he was safe, but there was no more safety. Safety had become a big risk. He kept on running, running as fast as his legs could carry him. And as he ran, he saw people slumbering. There were thousands and countless continuous wails, and an instant silence after the wails all going into his head. He could hear them, then he could hear them no more. Every minute a person wailed, they died off. He decided to shut himself from all of this... From all of these things. His legs suddenly stopped, and his face was signified by a surprise. He stopped only when he saw her. The girl to whom he had written so many poems, but did not have the courage to give them to her. The girl who had charmed his very soul of existence. The girl who had given him a kiss that sent him into bouts of strange feelings. A feeling that he had never felt before. A feeling he could never ever fathom. A feeling he could never explain. He called it this thing... This thing. It was a thing, it was a beautiful thing. It was a beautiful feeling. He saw her, the girl he loved. She stood right outside her house which was a few kilometres from his with a sad face. He walked slowly towards her, his hand reaching desperately for her face. He touched her cheeks and stared at her sad eyes. It lingered for almost eternity. "I love you so much", he confessed. Something he had never confessed to her. All this time he had been too shy to say it. All this time, it had been "this thing". He felt his heart tearing away from his chest, and he kissed her the second time. The last time. He went on his knees and smiled at her. He died smiling.

THE TALE OF THE SINGLE STAR

   
   

       There was nothing to be said as she watched the stars smear the sky like a beautiful painting. she waited until they appeared in their countless numbers, the moon smiling at her surprised look. It had been a long time since she had seen the stars fill the sky,such a long time. She had lost account of time. Too busy was she with her earthly activities that she had forgotten who she had been and the stars shining brightly above reminded her of her past. She cherished it, wished for it again, to lay at its bosom, to grasp it and this night, unlike any other night wished she could lay under the watchful eyes of the stars. On the chair where she rested, the stars entertained her eyes forming different shapes and sizes. She would laugh when she mistake satellites for big stars...It reminded her of her childhood and how she had said in her little mind that it was her star. Or when she had imagined a big house in the full moon with Jesus in it. Such innocence, she had missed that feeling. The smiling moon stayed firm telling her of its unchangeable state despite countless pressure. She wept after this silent talk, how greatly she had changed and laughed again when a shooting star came across. Then a star tired of standing in the skies fell down. It fell very fast. It fell deep down, it fell beyond imagination into an endless deep abyss.

THE LITTLE MEMORY BOOK

    During the times I entered airplanes, I had wished to be in it with a friend or perhaps see one. it would just be as fun if  I could make one in it. I was unlucky because I had to sit beside older people who were most times usually quiet. I noticed another thing too. People kept to themselves, trying to pretend like rich people who did not enjoy the company of strangers. Although, I loved staring at the sky, I preferred staring at it when I was on the ground. This sort of misty nothingness became boring to me. I had missed the road transports. I could see so many things and even make new friends. People in the bus were usually very friendly. I also had the chance to stop and eat at strange looking restaurants and keep looking out to make sure the bus had not left. I had missed the times where there would be no time to stop to eat anything and your mind will create 'imageries' of food. Other times you might keep your eyes open, sleep and wake up to the reality that one was still inside the bus. So as I carried my luggage, I did a silent prayer hoping perhaps I found someone worth the flight. The old man had sat beside me reading a newspaper. I concluded my luck was useless this time. I watched carefully as each passenger looked for his seat. As the young man approached the next seat beside me, I hoped he had come to stay. After walking forward a bit with a rather confused face, he finally sat beside me. As i stared painfully at the seats in front of me, I tried to figure out how to talk to him. The old man who had wanted to start a conversation with me could not because we both knew there was nothing to say to each other. The time difference was too glaring and obviously both generations would have a different taste. Finally, the cold from the air conditioner incited a speech from me. 'Are you cold?' I asked the young man. The forty minutes left became a memorable one. A memory which he was unaware that he had created. Sitting in the middle, I chatted long and hard with him. After the flight, i concluded that prayers were always being answered. He became a chapter in my memory book.