THE CONVOY

​ CHRISTMAS WAHALA Papa has done it again. I hate this annual cycle that keeps recurring for over fifteen years of my awareness. Why do we have to rush against the hustle and bustle of the town just a few hours before Christmas? Everyone is rushing to kill their chicken, grind their pepper, buy fried rice ingredients and so many other last minutes preparation. We have still not gotten drinks and that’s the major part of all this I hate the most because Papa doesn’t drink regular Maltina. We had to search the ends of the market and every other corner for Malta Guinness. And speaking from experience, I know all depots and stores we will visit will announce to us that they’ve run out and also berate us for not buying before now. They should be used to seeing our faces by then if only the attendants worked long term.  Mama wanted to try out the new meat seller that everyone made a rave about this year. She walked briskly ahead while I grabbed the black  Bagco  sack in my hand...

​ I think this is the first time of addressing my readers. I am really grateful for the clicks and interest in this hobby of mine.  At the beginning of this year, I promised myself I was going to make a post once every month. We started well, but then, June happened and I slipped. Since then, I lost all interest. A day ago, I thought to myself to make one last post this year and yes, I will! Once again, I do not take your love for granted and this is to many more writing pieces from me! Thanks for being part of this convoy of mine! With love,  Ikeolu’

I stroll the paths through which I used to play as a kid, they no longer smelt of baby powder and sweets. Instead, the grasses have gotten so full and I wondered if I missed my way. Standing outside the house, I look in awe at the emptiness on the street. These places were always filled with kids, balls, and noises. But now, the echo of a pin drop will be as loud as barrels falling on cold tar road. There is a group page where they all meet and on par, I joined. It was all empty except for threads of old news, spam, and awoof . At times, they discuss a thing or two, chattering happily, I guess. Most were gossips and I didn't take interest in that. Instead, I scroll through their pictures and all I see are happy smiles on empty faces. My name was mentioned a few times, I could have answered but the conversation was always long over before I found it. And even then, I have no desire to. Stepping outside, I hear questions, "where have you been?", " you just ...

When they have questions, people ask a lot of, "why not do this?", "what are you waiting for?" No one cares to know what you actually want.                            ... This goes on and on. I can feel my brain about to explode in discomfort. Yes, I know I have the 'potential,' but I do not have an interest. Questions I have to ask are, "why do you dismiss my feelings?", " why do you ignore that my desire truly matters?" The answer I feel is that you'd rather I drown in discomfort as long as I did what you wanted. You keep imposing your beliefs and invalidating my wants, my pains, my dreams. And here I am again, working under duress from the pressure of what you think is best for me. I seal my lips, I do not fight, I cower, I suffer in silence, I do not contest. After which, you smile, you radiate, you boast of pride you have of me.

For every evil you do, it's an eye for an eye For every shortcoming you make, it's a tooth for a tooth Now there are no more eyes and far lesser teeth to take Do you disagree?  Why then do we live and not see the evil that lies in our hearts and minds? Why then is the truth bitter for us to chew?

UNITY, THEY SAY. Did I not journey through foes I can’t unsee? Swimming across discord, a great sea Did I not listen to the sounds of war? Sorrow streaming deep against my oar Did I not lay my eyes down as children starved? Saying this, their sight in my mind remains carved  Did I not feel the cries of people deep in my bones? Same reason I ignore the sound of battle horns Did I not smell decaying corpses as I fled? Ghostly faces, lifeless pictures inscribed in my head Did I not taste the bitter tears? As they trickled down, peeling my fears Do I not now cherish the days of harmony? With family, days as sweet as honey Gidi gidi bụ ugwu – unity is strength  Whispers my soul as I close my eyes in death

I AM HURT I must admit, I am hurt Like a little bird, I'd rather not tut But I guess it's the symbol you hold I feel it deep in my neck, like a stuck stalk If pain wasn't a solid factor, I'd rather not talk I am not that alive neither do I exude bravery Now, I am scared or would I say wary? That you have now become the bullies that you preach against.