I hate school! I hate school as much as I hate playing basketball in the rain!
I knew what to expect from my first day at school. The bullies, the almost filled school bus with teens around my age talking about their wonderful holidays and the teacher who cared about me. But things were about to change sooner than I thought. It was as if a divine order had been placed in my life and no matter what I tried to do, I can't erase it. Escaping my fate was worse than running away from a drone that has been designed to kill me.
I sat down in the only empty seat in my class, which was right in front of my neighbour's son, Clag. After asking a few persons some questions, I discovered that Clag had been promoted to our class. I didn't understand that at first until Clag told me how he had a 95% average last term and the school authority felt it was best he skipped the class he was about to enter and join our final year class.
"I am going to be your classmate from henceforth. So you can't be too far away from me," Clag said and I had to agree that he was right.
With options for different Universities coming my way and a chance to actually prove to Dad and Mum that I could actually be the best in my class again, I had to be way more serious considering the competition I had now in form of Clag.
"Where will you be spending most of your time at?" I asked Clag.
"In the library," Clag said.
"Can I join you?" I asked.
"Only if you allow me to spend a good amount of time with you."
"Why are you so interested in spending a lot of time with me?"
"Can't you see that I have no friends. I am the odd one in this school and no one likes to spend time with nerdy kids."
A year ago, I found out that all a nerd had to do if he wanted to fit in with dumb teens in school is to help them with assignments and classwork. From the look of things, it was clear to me that Clag wasn't doing either of them.
"I am a nerd too," I said to Clag.
"So you are like me?"
"Kind of but not too nerdy nerd like you. I have a few people that I could call friends but it is easy to say that they are sticking with me because I help them with schoolworks."
"Those are not real friends," Clag said. "They are parasites."
I had no choice but to agree with Clag that he was right. I guess all my life I have allowed people to use me a lot without making a noise. Maybe I am too soft on people or too kind on people, I don't know. Clag was a nerdy guy but he was a nice guy too and here I was, chasing the only real friend I had and still bearing in mind what happened some days ago with my soccer boots that he took from me.
I guess I have been confused most of the time in my life and I have not been able to make good decisions that would guarantee the prosperous future that I have always dreamt of.
True, I was at the top of my class. One of the brightest science students in my class but everything was about to change after my first day at school— the day I really spoke to Clag for the first time in my life.
And the diary of my life I was planning on writing actually changed to a mini autobiography of some sort, without my consent, and all I could do was watch until the whole story that I had never planned for, changed the way I view life.
Everything started to fall apart on the first day of October when Mum came home from visiting some of her friends and tore the wedding portrait of her and Dad. If you were to ask me what I was doing then, well i was sitting on the couch, telling my junior brother, Danny to stop moving his legs in an odd manner. I heard Mum's tears coming from the bedroom her and Dad shared and it was really loud.Dad always said that a man's worth depended on how he took care of matters concerning his family. I didn't know what he meant by that or why he said that but on this day, I knew he had lost total control of his family.It is more than seven days— a week, since I resumed school and began the tedious lifestyle of a desperate teenager trying to cope with the rigorous demands of school life. I am very much aware that I have not written anything lately but I am still lost in thoughts on how I should begin this story or proba
My parents got separated and I was forced to move into my Uncle's house. Uncle Max lives in a different state in Nigeria, close to the state that I used to live in. My journey to Uncle Max’ house was smooth and within a couple of days, I was settled.It was late in the night and the sun had faded away to give the moon an opportunity to shine in the sky when Uncle Max came to my room and woke me up. He was a fair man who was in his early forties. He was single and was yet to start making up any plans for marriage."You need to get ready for school, tomorrow," Uncle Max said, stretching his arms. "I have already found a new school that can fit a person of your standard." He looked round the room at the carelessly flung bags, books and shorts over the chair."What of my elder sister and junior brother? Are they not coming to Enugu?" I asked, grinning."No! They are not coming to Enugu," Uncle Ma
One might start a journey with a footstep, the thrill of an amazing adventure and bearing in mind, whatever he or she may be able to discover at the other end of the road. Life means considerably more than just living and most of the time we get trapped in our daily activities that we forget to realise that our imperfect bodies needs some form of excitement. But Uncle Max did not see life the way I saw it – rather he went to work, came back from work, ate, sleep and then repeat. With a new smile on his face every morning, he always joked about his boss calling him a loner. Something I was not unfamiliar with. A loner is a man who is alone. A man who enjoys avoiding the company of others. As off as it may sound, Uncle Max was a loner. A staunch man who had learnt to see spending time alone in his room as pleasure, oblivious to the fact that he was damaging himself.I formed a faint smile on my face as i thought of the night before, when Uncle Max had a remarkable o
By dawn, Dad, Mum, Christle, Danny and some relatives were already waiting for Uncle Max and I in Dad's apartment in Port-Harcourt. Before a large bowl filled with garden eggs was passed round the gathering, we had washed our hands in a common basin as a sign of unity before inviting God to ensure that the rest of our days go well. Everyone was smiling, including Dad and Mum who were divorced or better still, who felt they were divorced. Legally, it takes usually about four to six months before a divorce is finalized but my parents were resistant on any conversation that ended with them getting back together. Dad proudly told everyone in his workplace that he was a single man if anyone had the boldness to bring up the question of his marriage. On the other hand, Mum had pulled off the ring Dad gave to her when he proposed to her, from her index finger and told me the last time I saw her that she was divorced and married to the man that she was living with even though the man was yet
I dont like when the scorching sun hits my dark skin but there is nothing I can do about it anyway. The heat was a battering ram. I basked in it anyway not minding how hot it grew. The sky was tossing huge balls of sweat, the size of broken buttons forcefully pulled off from shirts. I could feel the rain coming. The soft drizzle hitting my skin like the sound of jazz music soothing my eardrums, like a distorted massage from a beautiful masseuse. The rain had the ability to drown the heat and put me away from the misery I felt as I walked alone to school, but it was as insignificant as following the advice of Uncle Max to stop at the bungalow owned by my classmate's parents. Goodness was a year older. Unlike Clag, he was a nerdy teen who liked to socialize.Being under the heat of the sun and waiting for the rain to fall is like holding a ladybug, the flutter of its shell-like front wings like a small tidal wave— smaller and safer than the tsunami that hit Lituya B
I and Goodness got to school when the school prefect rang the school bell and the assembly was about to begin. Taking Uncle Max's advice was the best thing I did this morning after a long time of avoiding Goodness' house. Listening to Goodness talk about his life in Warri, a boisterous city in Delta State, Nigeria was the start of an epic friendship. A friendship I am hoping would last for a long period of time.The morning assembly was brief. Unlike my former school in Port-Harcourt, my new school did not like wasting time in forcing students to form lines and coordinating some few elects to lead the rest students in hymns before announcing whatever changes the school had made or were making.About three teachers were waiting at the of the school as soon as the time was a minute past eight. According to school policies, it was not right for a student to enter the school premises after the time had passed eight. The prefect given the post to ensure that all the student
Miss Bisi worried about Uncle Max so did I. She did not know how best to approach the situation and tell him how she felt about the way he treated her. She was hoping that after the night that he had rejected her, he would return to his right senses and dial her number, but he seemed keener to spend his free time alone rather than spend it with a woman who was showing him affections he was not used to. In the meantime, although she was afraid of putting all her efforts on Uncle Max, some things were quite different about Uncle Max, at least not in a way that reduced her chances with him. It helped her to know that Uncle Max could still love her one day and probably even ask for her consent to marry him. Miss Bisi was getting older every day and as she marked her thirtieth birthday, she knew she would be expecting a reminder from her mother to get married as soon as possible. There was also another woman who usually paid Uncle Max a
The great Mother Teresa once said, "Let us meet each other with smile, for the smile is the beginning of love." The girl who sells in a small kiosk close to our school has been eye-balling me for weeks and I have been ignoring her too for weeks, hoping in her own time or reason she would consider how inappropriate all her gestures were.The girl who sells with a smiling face in the school canteen is the same girl that sells in a small kiosk. Today, I stared at her and returned her smile back. Trying to follow the wise words of Mother Teresa, I drew a hand of friendship, stretching my hands towards her. She laughed and looked at me not in a class-stalker way, or in hearty-crazy kind of way but in a way that makes me feel so uncomfortable."How are you?" She said."I am fine," I replied then added, "and you?""If I told you that I wasn't really feeling good would you take good care of me?" She asked, not smiling or flashing her eyelids."It depends o