Category: fiction, creative writing,
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Tell me about that miner
He’s lived in Nigeria. The source of many of the scary stories he told us. I’ve always wondered what took him there. He’s never told us where he was from and why he had come to this remote part of the country. All we knew was that he was our class teacher, very dedicated, and…
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The road to Damascus -page 16
I take my diary today, staring at blank pages which stare back at me. I know not what to write. Been a mixture of emotions of late. Sad one moment, lonely the next…feeling a bit lucky, not knowing for what …then feeling guilty, regrets and sorrow….and now lack of appetite for even food that I…
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The road to Damascus -page 15
Been thinking a lot of late. Twice I have tried to help old friends. Turned out a bad idea. As if the two incidents have connived to remind me to choose myself and my happiness first and foremost, above everyone. I run into this old childhood friend. She was broke, had to drop out of…
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The Road to Damascus -page 14
The semester was over. Naturally, I should go home. But I feel at my age, I should be doing something productive with my life instead of going home to sit and stare at the empty walls of my parents’ house. Besides, I have very few friends there. By friends, I don’t mean very close friends.…
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The drums are awake
“The drums are now awakeI’m forced to pause eating and listenInspiration has hit the rhythmFire will talk to our earswhile little children shake their waiststurning to see the little budsthat’s yet to fully develop…” I pause, thinking back at the scenario that inspired the poem. Didn’t know how to capture that part where the old…
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The road to Damascus -page 13
Finally we are done with our term papers. Semester 1 has ended. I head to the department to print and submit my work at the general office. We’ve already submitted the soft copies via the lecturers’ emails. There is a printing press uphill where printing is very cheap. It’s where many of us head for…
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The Road to Damascus -page 12
Impatience. My weakness. And that tough evil weed keep popping up in my backyard. I know they’ll germinate again, like knowing robbers are coming to your house, and yet there’s nothing that can be done to stop them. The ideal thing when beginning a new relationship is to begin quietly, and let things develop at…
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Such is life
My people hardly traveled. Those who did were few. And everyone knew them. Because they were usually the multilinguals in the village who brought news, songs and tales of other lands to our uncultured, ignorant, naive ears. Back then many things were communal. My dad was building his first house. And many men in the…
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The road to Damascus -page 11
Seems not everyone appreciates the truth. And when people are unappreciative of the truth you tell them, you begin to wonder if you need to revise your approach, or perhaps you’re not in touch with the times if you’re still honest. I have recently decided to fake my identity, and so far, so good. When…
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The meeting
He said his illness and what he had gone through as a result were so terrible that his prayer to God was that not even his worse enemy would go through such humiliation. I glanced at him and the other man who had now taken a broom and was sweeping the dusty yard converted into…
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The road to Damascus -page 10
Make-up is a constant reminder that perfection is temporary. And that the true self always comes with imperfections. Against my will, a storm is rising. Bent on finding my weakness. She’s told me she’s visiting. To stay at my end for a few days. How do I explain to her that things have changed? I’m…
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The road to Damascus -page 9
I now understand why rich people live in quiet neighborhoods and the masses live in noisy environments. To be rich, one has to think. And a noisy environment isn’t conducive to quality critical thinking that brings progress. A story should have a beginning, a middle and an end where everything ties up neatly together. But…
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The road to Damascus -page 8
It’s Friday night. Tired of being indoors with annoying roommates so I step outside to catch some fresh air, and suddenly remember the little park on the campus of a university behind my hostel. Lovers and benches. Singles like me are certainly not welcome into such spaces, yet I impose myself. In a far corner…
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Temptations awakening
I decide to not knock on his door before going to church. I shouldn’t be the one to always remind him to go to church. He’s an adult. And he knows the route to church. I hear him on the phone in his room. Perhaps talking to another of his many girls. I wonder what…
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The road to Damascus -page 7
Finally, I get to campus. And just as I predicted, our presentation was a disaster. I think of great football teams. They don’t win every match they play. But the good and bad days add to the collection of memories that unite them, and serve as reservoirs of hope and lessons for the future. After…
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Jérusalem
Can’t remember who died. But what I do remember clearly was that it was a big funeral that brought many of our relatives in neighboring Togo to our village. The ceremony extended from dusk to dawn. Even the generator that powered the mics and lamps all night became hoarse. The funeral grounds was the only…
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The road to Damascus -page 6
So many things on my mind this morning. We have a presentation, and my group is poorly prepared. I am thinking of all the things that could go wrong, and psyching myself for them. My group members had other assignments and couldn’t give their all to this one. Lectures starts at 9am. It’s 8:30 and…
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Temporary escape
The tourist site we were to visit was changed at the last minute, a day before the D-day. Naturally, our youth leader was furious. He was making the final announcements in church on Sunday afternoon when suddenly the changed destination was mentioned by a woman in the congregation, confirmed by the mother of the assistant…
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The sign
I couldn’t wait to get home, to showcase my new cooking skills, the various local foods of diverse African nationalities my travels had made me discover, and the genres of African music we were not used to hearing in our country. I have always thought a home should be a place of love, where family…
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The road to Damascus -page 5
I used to attend one of the top senior high schools in the country. Everything there was unlike its reputation. Many teachers were mostly absent from their post, and whenever they showed up in class, half of their teaching hours were dedicated to sharing jokes that had nothing to do with the lesson at hand.…
Diary of a Wanderer 