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      "body": "![pexels-photo-270815.jpeg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmeS2QraaXUe2nZaRVRSM9V9hdwgvjEXcugEF4WZHmT1A2/pexels-photo-270815.jpeg)\n\nI've set fires to my house and person three times in my life. Honest to heaven, they were all accidental.\n\nLooking at my history, I’m sure that somewhere in the world, I’d have been brought up on charges of arson. They were nothing dramatic, these fires. Especially the third one.\n\nThe second one – it was caused by my love for movies.\n\nI was in my second year in the university. That day, the sun was trying to compete with Hell and I’d just stepped into the building I lived in, away from the blistering heat.\n\nAll I could think of was my most consistent lover, Afang and garri. I walked into my studio apartment and immediately grabbed a plastic food flask, filled it with water, inserted my boiling ring and turned it on. Next, I checked the container for garri.\n\nThere was no garri. What kind of temptation is this, I thought. Fortunately, there was a small kiosk next door, run by Mama Ikenna, a pretty, petite woman who always wore smile and had a tinkling laugh. I dashed out to her place and bought two cups of garri.\n\nOur building was a four-storey; all the apartments were self-contained and it was strictly for ladies. I shared mine with another girl. There was a front lobby, with a reception area and a TV which was constantly on the formerly Hallmark channel. That day, Derailed, a Van Damme movie, was showing.\n\nI’d watched that movie before, and it wasn’t a fantastic movie. Yet, I somehow felt compelled to watch it again that day. I don’t know how long I sat there watching. All I know is that when one of the villains broke a vial of the deadly virus, the small polythene bag of garri fell from my hand.\n\nJust then, I remembered the water I’d set to boil. With a yelp, I picked up my purchase and dashed to my room.\n\nThe first thing that struck me was the door handle. It was hot! By the time I inserted my key in the lock, I could spot wisps of smoke crawling out from the sliver of space underneath the door.\n\nI opened the door and voilà! My room was engulfed in flames. For an interminable moment, I stood there rooted to the spot, a scream trapped in my chest. Then it came. \n\n“Jesus! Help me o! Fiiireeeeee! Somebody help me ooooo.”\n\nOn hearing my shout, the boy who sold provisions in the tiny front store, ran out, stared at me, yelled, “Fire!” and then flew outside.\n\nFrom far away, I heard sounds of doors banging being ripped open and banging shut by the other occupants of the building.\n\nWith nary a thought to my safety, I dashed inside the room, my only thought to save the meagre documental evidence of my education acquired since the age of three. The cane cupboard where I kept my foodstuff was burning fiercely, the greedy flames egged on by palm oil; so was the TV, DVD player and book rack.\n\nUche, the boy out front had returned with buckets of water. Through the heavy smoky haze, I saw him douse the TV and food cupboard. The other bucket followed suit. \nAt this point, a few of my neighbours had gathered outside my door. \n\nSomebody was screaming repeatedly, “God, I’m finished! God help me…I’m finished. My parents will kill me.”\n\nLater, I was told I was the one. \nThen another voice cut in.\n\n“Somebody should remove her from the room. See how she’s shaking. She’s killing herself o! Carry her out of the room. Now!”\n\nHere’s what happened. The water in the food flask had dried. The boiling ring burned through the plastic. Somehow, it’d caught fire. I’d walked in, barefoot. Uche had poured water. I was standing on the wet floor with naked wires and a boiling ring in the water. Waves of electricity were shooting through my body but somehow, in my panic, I was blithely unaware.\n\nTo this day, I don’t know who saved me. I just remember seeing a pair of rubber boots, being covered with a towel and bodily lifted out.\n\nIt was a harrowing experience. But through it, I got to make friends. Those girls, my neighbours, got together without my knowledge, levied themselves and replaced everything that had been destroyed. Some washed my walls, cut the burned edges off my pictures and even bought new copies of books I’d lost.\n\nI was so scared I’d do worse, that I haven’t owned a TV since then – I should reconsider that decision (it’s been fourteen years).\n\nNow, the first fire. It began with my love for books.\n\nI’m a librocubicularist. Don’t ask me what it means – check the dictionary the same way I did when I first heard the word.\n\n![pexels-photo-341515.jpeg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmPp54WhwiSbzswHTSF36HLgUtQacRcJGqMYDqsvye6f9g/pexels-photo-341515.jpeg)\n\nAnyway, I was fourteen years old. Bedtime was 9 p.m. But once my parents went to bed, I’d bring out my torch light or light a candle and read. \n\nThis led to several fights with my parents; Mama was worried about my eyesight and Papa was worried I’d set my bed on fire one day, because I always set the candle on my headboard. \n\nBut obsessed as I am with books,  there was no stopping me. \n\nThat night, the electricity was out. As usual, the candle was by my head and I was reading; a romance novel  it was. At some point while reading, I fell asleep.\n\nThe next thing, I woke up to a cacophony of sounds and smells. Burning wood, plastic and something like….goat meat? I could make out the raised voices – Mama and Papa. The bean from a torchlight now illuminated the room.\n\n“Pour more water!” my father roared. \n\n“I’m pouring!” Mama replied. It sounded like she was crying.\n\nIt took a few seconds for me to become aware. I was coughing, hard. My entire torso was drenched; so was my mattress.\n\n“Nko ayem iwod idem?” Mama shrieked.  “You want to kill yourself enh? How many times have you been told not to read with a candle, in bed?” \n\nEverything happened all at once.\n\nShe lunged for me, her hand outstretched to deliver a destiny-readjusting slap. My father grabbed her around the waist to stop her. I jumped off the bed to escape her hand, tripped and fell. My heart was thumping. \n\n“Don’t beat her, it’s late,” he cried, still holding on to Mum, who was still trying to get at me. Dad really hates when children cry after dark.\n \nIt was then I noticed the headboard. Burnt and black. So was the mattress where my head had been. It was in that moment that as my eyes widened with realisation, my village people struck.\n\nMy love of food will not kill me. Because for reasons unbeknownst to me, in that dire moment, these words came out of my mouth.\n\n“Anie isifuh unnah ebuh? Who is roasting goat meat?”\n\nBoth parents stared at me, stunned. I must have cut quite a sight standing there wet and dishevelled. Dad suddenly let got of Mum. She dove straight for me.\n\nKpaaaa! \n\nThat open-palmed slap connected straight to the mains of my medulla oblongata.\n\n“Goat meat?” she screeched.\n\n“You must be very silly!  Kpaaaa! \n\n“How won’t you think of food first! Slap! \n\n“Your hair is burning and you’re thinking of goat meat!”\n\nKpaaaa! Kpaaaa! Kpaaaa!\n\nMy people, a quarter of my hair had burned. How the fire didn’t get to my face is a miracle I’m still grateful for to this day.\n\nBut my people, talk true. Does burning hair not smell like roasting goat meat?",
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      "body": "We, Oghenerukevwe and I, had just arrived at college. We were excited about everything; the number and diversity of people, the buildings, landscaping and even the very air. We’d worked hard to get to this hallowed place of learning and were looking forward to whatever the future here held for us.\n\nAt least, I was feeling that way until the fifth day on campus. You see, Rukevwe and I had decided that through our clothing, we would represent Nigeria wherever we went. \n\n“It doesn’t have to be the entire outfit,” she’d said on the day we made that decision. “Maybe a kente sweatshirt on a pair of jeans, an Ankara skirt with a T-shirt, you get the picture.”\n\nThat was how we appeared everywhere, and that was how the questions began. We were strolling around the campus on that day, and decided to sit and a bench in the open and have our snacks. A blond girl and her friend sat on another bench across from us. \n\n“Hello, I’m Melanie, from Kentucky. Are you a freshman?” she asked.\n\n“Yes,” Rukevwe replied. “I’m Oghenerukevwe and this is my friend, Anie-immanteAbasi. We’re from Nigeria.”\nWe didn’t have to wait more than two seconds for the predictable response. Their eyes went wide and they burst into laughter. \n\n“Are you kidding?” asked the blond’s dark-haired companion. “Your names are really that long? I couldn’t pronounce that if I tried!”\n\n“But have you tried?” I asked quietly. \n\nShe blushed and mumbled something. Her muttering was interrupted by Melanie from Kentucky.\n\n“Wow! You’re from Nigeria? I met a girl from Uganda once. Maybe you know her,” she said.\n\n“Sure, I know her,” I replied. “Uganda is a small village right next to Nigeria. What’s her name?”\n\n“I don’t recall,” she answered. “So, how did you get to the U.S?”\n\n“I swam here on the backs of my pet tigers, using the WiFi at the tip of my spear for navigation.”\n\nBeside me, Rukevwe began to shake with laughter. It was a competition between the both of us, to see who could come up with the most ridiculous answers to these silly questions we’d been answering all week. It started at the airport, when the custom officer asked her how come she spoke such good English.\n\n“I quickly learned it while standing at the back of the queue,” she’d replied with a straight face.  n\n\n“Get out! For real?” Melanie asked, her eyes agog with wonder. \n\n“That’s nothing,” Rukevwe piped up. “You know there’s just one airport and it’s in South Africa? Last month when I had to go to Ghana, the plane had to fly low and drop me on the top of an iroko tree. Then I climbed down and made my way into Accra.”\n\nTo be continued…",
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      "body": "Thank you for your interesting story.\nYou have realy a good father. Fathers are central to\nthe emotional well-beeing of their children.\nYour father listen to you.\nHe is interested in your interests.\nHe helps you and find the answers to your questions.\n\nGreat article ketimae",
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      "body": "There are those moments in this life when time stands still. I mean, it’s not in slow motion. Just, still. Your belly does a little somersault and suddenly, you have the inordinate wish for the earth to open to a depth of twenty feet and swallow you. Your breath hitches and intense panic blossoms in your chest and…you get the picture.\n\n![pexels-photo-276438.jpeg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmZXhWHJLTYMe8nG55awm4wx2cnV1tpJzrmc3rmVSuf2qD/pexels-photo-276438.jpeg)\n\nThese moments can happen when you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing. Like stealing meat from the pot of stew. Or having an ex post your nudes on the internet. The intensity of the moment varies, depending on what you did. Just like when someone slaps you—the pain is directly proportional to the number of people who witness it. \n\nLike when I missed my period in JSS3 and my best friend Edidiong insisted I was pregnant.\n \n“Impossible!” I’d retorted. “I’ve never had sex.”\n\n“Did Kafe not hug you when you came to school yesterday? You’re pregnant jor.”\n\nSee, my mother was a Biology teacher. I knew that the chances of me ever getting pregnant through an innocent hug shared with a friend, was zero. But the mind…the mind is a funny thing. If you feed it enough material and ask it to believe, it will create its own reality.\n\nAnd so it was that even though I knew the facts, my mind convinced me to doubt. \n\nWhat if? Ah, Mama will kill me! I’ll be excommunicated from the church. Ah! What will people say? My Christian testimony will be ruined. Parents, mothers especially, will use me as an example of bad behaviour. I’d have to drop out of school. My life is over.\n\nThat’s how I started fretting o. I cried and cried; I couldn’t eat for a week. Then the darn period resurfaced. Imagine when I later learned that in the first couple of years, irregular periods are a thing.\n\nAnyway, that let-the-ground-open-up-and-swallow-me was worse the day Mr Timothy caught me and Ekemini in class after school, alone.\n\nYou see, what happened was…I had a crush on Ekemini. One, that when I think back on it today, I want to kick myself ten ways to Sunday. Because he capitalised on my affections and made me copy copious notes for him after school. Now that I think about it, I wonder what he used to do in class when everyone else was taking notes.\n\nBut I was in love with him that time sha. So, I didn’t mind. School had just closed that day. Students hurriedly poured out of their classes at the sound of the closing bell. In no time, our class was empty save for me, Ekemini and two other students—a boy and his girlfriend.\n\nMy Crush was trying to convince me to stay back and copy twenty pages of notes and I was doing small shakara. I even got up and went to one of the numerous windows that lined the wall. I was there looking out at Hall 7, a hostel for medical students, when suddenly, I felt his warm hand on my bum.\n\nNow, I want to lie and say I didn’t like it. But I won’t. For a fifteen year old girl whose closest contact to male sexual expression until then had been one of sexual abuse, this was different. The frisson of pleasure that shot through my frame was undeniable. So was the terror I felt. Like, why did it feel so good? Mum was right. This is how these boys will make you like something and then boom! You’re pregnant.\n\nI was still trying to decide whether to shove his hand away or pretend I didn’t notice it, while enjoying the pleasant feeling, when I heard a loud voice boom behind us.\n\n“Ehen! Look at these children o!”\n\nWe both whipped around at these words. Heaven’s angels and my ancestors! It was our English teacher, Mr Alexander Timothy. My second favourite teacher ever. God, let me just die here. Mbok. Biko. E jo o. Abeg. Please. Kuku kee me.\n\n“So, this is what you do after school when you’re supposed to go home and help your parents, eh? Will you get out of here. NOW!”\n\nHe stood there, holding the door open and pointing outside, his expression part annoyance and part amusement. I don’t know which one embarrassed me the more; I think it was the amusement. Without looking at Ekemini, I scurried out of the class, fast.\n\nThen I remembered that my schoolbag was still inside. I trudged back head bowed, mumbled an inaudible excuse as I walked past Mr Timothy, picked up my bag and dashed out again. I heard the door shut behind me.\n\nDo you know the most painful part of this? The other guy and his bae, who happened to have sat at the back of the class in a corner, had gone unnoticed. They, who were an actual couple, who’d even been kissing, hadn’t been caught. It was innocent me getting touched for the first time. Life is so unfair.\n\nAll the way home, I prayed like I’d never prayed before.\n\n“God please don’t let Mr Timothy tell any other teacher. Especially Mrs M and Mrs U—they’ll tell Mummy and I’ll be dead for sure.”\n\n“God, if you do this for me, I’ll never ask you for anything else in this life.”\n\nI prayed till I fell asleep at night. By morning, I was convinced that my fervent prayers had been answered.\n\nImagine my shock when just before break time, Mr Timothy sent for me. Hay God! All these small small deaths I’m dying like this, are you not tired?\n\nWith hesitant steps and a heart filled with trepidation, I went into the staff room. Mr Timothy’s desk was at the far end of the room. \n\nAs I walked past the Commerce teacher, Mrs Iheanacho’s desk, she looked up from the sheaves of paper on her desk, at me. I felt the accusation in her gaze. Next to her sat Mr Uzo, the Economics teacher, whom we’d nicknamed Seaman’s Aromatic Schnapps on account of his droopy eyes which made him look tipsy. That one gave me a side glance and then quickly looked away.\n\nThe only person who smiled at me on that long, tortuous journey was Mrs Obule, the Literature teacher. She was my most favourite teacher and was ever so nice. Because of her smile, I let myself breathe a little. Maybe none of them knew what I’d done. Maybe I was imagining the mean looks from the other teachers.\n\nI was thinking this, when I arrived at Mr Timothy’s desk. He was marking some scripts, and asked me to wait. After a few minutes he looked up at me. Then he smiled. And shook his head.\n\n“Eketi,” he said. \n\n“Sss…sir?”\n\n“How are you?”\n\n“Fine, sir,” I replied.\n\nLowering his voice, he said, “Look, I don’t want to know what happened in that class yesterday. I understand that you’re young.”\n\nI nodded vigorously like he was saying the most profound thing ever.\n\n“But you’re a beautiful, intelligent and smart enough place yourself above stupid adolescent groping while in secondary school. Act like it. Make better choices. That’s all. You can go back to your class.”\n\nI tell you, I just stood there, unable to process the words. Like, huh?\n\n“I said, you can return to your class.”\n\nMy people, say, “Just like that!”\n\nFor just like that, Olowogbogboro did it. Disaster was averted.\n\nAnd that same day, my crush for Ekemini died. wfter school, he asked me to copy his notes. Again. I’d have loved to oblige but I refused. My baby sister, who was in JSS1, was whining about being hungry and wanted to go home.\nI told him this. Know what he said?\n\n“You’re putting your sister above me? See ehn, if you don’t copy them, you know that pretty girl who lives on our street? I’ll ask her to be my girlfriend. I’ll touch her bum instead.”\n\nI was like:\n![IMG_20171221_010132.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmdJ5aGmZ7DsFYCvuP6zyk4uJt5AuY8KWBvgitgNkDa7ni/IMG_20171221_010132.jpg)\n\nMy heart was about to shatter into a thousand pieces when….cue Mr Timothy’s words. I was above this.\n\nThat was how I picked up my schoolbag, took my sister’s hand and walked out of that classroom, head held high. \nThe End. \n\nP/S\nI’m glad to announce that Ekemini grew up to be a fine gentleman. \nAlso, a few months ago, Mr Timothy found me on Facebook and sent a message saying, “You grew up to be the woman I knew you’d be. I’m proud of you.”\n\nWait. Lemme….arrggggh….someone is spraying onion juice here.",
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      "body": "There are those moments in this life when time stands still. I mean, it’s not in slow motion. Just, still. Your belly does a little somersault and suddenly, you have the inordinate wish for the earth to open to a depth of twenty feet and swallow you. Your breath hitches and intense panic blossoms in your chest and…you get the picture.\n\n![pexels-photo-276438.jpeg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmZXhWHJLTYMe8nG55awm4wx2cnV1tpJzrmc3rmVSuf2qD/pexels-photo-276438.jpeg)\n\nThese moments can happen when you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing. Like stealing meat from the pot of stew. Or having an ex post your nudes on the internet. The intensity of the moment varies, depending on what you did. Just like when someone slaps you—the pain is directly proportional to the number of people who witness it. \n\nLike when I missed my period in JSS3 and my best friend Edidiong insisted I was pregnant.\n \n“Impossible!” I’d retorted. “I’ve never had sex.”\n\n“Did Kafe not hug you when you came to school yesterday? You’re pregnant jor.”\n\nSee, my mother was a Biology teacher. I knew that the chances of me ever getting pregnant through an innocent hug shared with a friend, was zero. But the mind…the mind is a funny thing. If you feed it enough material and ask it to believe, it will create its own reality.\n\nAnd so it was that even though I knew the facts, my mind convinced me to doubt. \n\nWhat if? Ah, Mama will kill me! I’ll be excommunicated from the church. Ah! What will people say? My Christian testimony will be ruined. Parents, mothers especially, will use me as an example of bad behaviour. I’d have to drop out of school. My life is over.\n\nThat’s how I started fretting o. I cried and cried; I couldn’t eat for a week. Then the darn period resurfaced. Imagine when I later learned that in the first couple of years, irregular periods are a thing.\n\nAnyway, that let-the-ground-open-up-and-swallow-me was worse the day Mr Timothy caught me and Ekemini in class after school, alone.\n\nYou see, what happened was…I had a crush on Ekemini. One, that when I think back on it today, I want to kick myself ten ways to Sunday. Because he capitalised on my affections and made me copy copious notes for him after school. Now that I think about it, I wonder what he used to do in class when everyone else was taking notes.\n\nBut I was in love with him that time sha. So, I didn’t mind. School had just closed that day. Students hurriedly poured out of their classes at the sound of the closing bell. In no time, our class was empty save for me, Ekemini and two other students—a boy and his girlfriend.\n\nMy Crush was trying to convince me to stay back and copy twenty pages of notes and I was doing small shakara. I even got up and went to one of the numerous windows that lined the wall. I was there looking out at Hall 7, a hostel for medical students, when suddenly, I felt his warm hand on my bum.\n\nNow, I want to lie and say I didn’t like it. But I won’t. For a fifteen year old girl whose closest contact to male sexual expression until then had been one of sexual abuse, this was different. The frisson of pleasure that shot through my frame was undeniable. So was the terror I felt. Like, why did it feel so good? Mum was right. This is how these boys will make you like something and then boom! You’re pregnant.\n\nI was still trying to decide whether to shove his hand away or pretend I didn’t notice it, while enjoying the pleasant feeling, when I heard a loud voice boom behind us.\n\n“Ehen! Look at these children o!”\n\nWe both whipped around at these words. Heaven’s angels and my ancestors! It was our English teacher, Mr Alexander Timothy. My second favourite teacher ever. God, let me just die here. Mbok. Biko. E jo o. Abeg. Please. Kuku kee me.\n\n“So, this is what you do after school when you’re supposed to go home and help your parents, eh? Will you get out of here. NOW!”\n\nHe stood there, holding the door open and pointing outside, his expression part annoyance and part amusement. I don’t know which one embarrassed me the more; I think it was the amusement. Without looking at Ekemini, I scurried out of the class, fast.\n\nThen I remembered that my schoolbag was still inside. I trudged back head bowed, mumbled an inaudible excuse as I walked past Mr Timothy, picked up my bag and dashed out again. I heard the door shut behind me.\n\nDo you know the most painful part of this? The other guy and his bae, who happened to have sat at the back of the class in a corner, had gone unnoticed. They, who were an actual couple, who’d even been kissing, hadn’t been caught. It was innocent me getting touched for the first time. Life is so unfair.\n\nAll the way home, I prayed like I’d never prayed before.\n\n“God please don’t let Mr Timothy tell any other teacher. Especially Mrs M and Mrs U—they’ll tell Mummy and I’ll be dead for sure.”\n\n“God, if you do this for me, I’ll never ask you for anything else in this life.”\n\nI prayed till I fell asleep at night. By morning, I was convinced that my fervent prayers had been answered.\n\nImagine my shock when just before break time, Mr Timothy sent for me. Hay God! All these small small deaths I’m dying like this, are you not tired?\n\nWith hesitant steps and a heart filled with trepidation, I went into the staff room. Mr Timothy’s desk was at the far end of the room. \n\nAs I walked past the Commerce teacher, Mrs Iheanacho’s desk, she looked up from the sheaves of paper on her desk, at me. I felt the accusation in her gaze. Next to her sat Mr Uzo, the Economics teacher, whom we’d nicknamed Seaman’s Aromatic Schnapps on account of his droopy eyes which made him look tipsy. That one gave me a side glance and then quickly looked away.\n\nThe only person who smiled at me on that long, tortuous journey was Mrs Obule, the Literature teacher. She was my most favourite teacher and was ever so nice. Because of her smile, I let myself breathe a little. Maybe none of them knew what I’d done. Maybe I was imagining the mean looks from the other teachers.\n\nI was thinking this, when I arrived at Mr Timothy’s desk. He was marking some scripts, and asked me to wait. After a few minutes he looked up at me. Then he smiled. And shook his head.\n\n“Eketi,” he said. \n\n“Sss…sir?”\n\n“How are you?”\n\n“Fine, sir,” I replied.\n\nLowering his voice, he said, “Look, I don’t want to know what happened in that class yesterday. I understand that you’re young.”\n\nI nodded vigorously like he was saying the most profound thing ever.\n\n“But you’re a beautiful, intelligent and smart enough place yourself above stupid adolescent groping while in secondary school. Act like it. Make better choices. That’s all. You can go back to your class.”\n\nI tell you, I just stood there, unable to process the words. Like, huh?\n\n“I said, you can return to your class.”\n\nMy people, say, “Just like that!”\n\nFor just like that, Olowogbogboro did it. Disaster was averted.\n\nAnd that same day, my crush for Ekemini died. wfter school, he asked me to copy his notes. Again. I’d have loved to oblige but I refused. My baby sister, who was in JSS1, was whining about being hungry and wanted to go home.\nI told him this. Know what he said?\n\n“You’re putting your sister above me? See ehn, if you don’t copy them, you know that pretty girl who lives on our street? I’ll ask her to be my girlfriend. I’ll touch her bum instead.”\n\nI was like:\n![IMG_20171221_010132.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmdJ5aGmZ7DsFYCvuP6zyk4uJt5AuY8KWBvgitgNkDa7ni/IMG_20171221_010132.jpg)\n\nMy heart was about to shatter into a thousand pieces when….cue Mr Timothy’s words. I was above this.\n\nThat was how I picked up my schoolbag, took my sister’s hand and walked out of that classroom, head held high. \nThe End. \n\nP/S\nI’m glad to announce that Ekemini grew up to be a fine gentleman. \nAlso, a few months ago, Mr Timothy found me on Facebook and sent a message saying, “You grew up to be the woman I knew you’d be. I’m proud of you.”\n\nWait. Lemme….arrggggh….someone is spraying onion juice here.",
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      "body": "@@ -138,16 +138,17 @@\n sity.%E2%80%9D%0A%0A\n+%0A\n This was\n",
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      "body": "Hi! I am a robot. I just upvoted you! I found similar content that readers might be interested in:\nhttps://ketimae.wordpress.com/2018/07/23/if-you-dont-broaden-your-horizon-who-will/",
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      "body": "“Ordinarily, you should be a housemaid somewhere in Lagos. Your parents must have really worked hard to be able to send you to the university.”\n\nThis was said to me by a friend’s roommate, in my second year in the university. We weren’t fighting at the time or anything; she was making what she believed to be a statement of fact.\n\nI’ve not forgotten those words. I was so hurt and at the same time, stunned by her arrogant ignorance and meanness. I’m from Akwa Ibom and if you’re familiar with the tribal narrative, as far as the rest of the country knows, people from my state are only good as security men and housemaids.\n\nIt’s like those days on Yahoo messenger, before I met any actual Americans. Each time I chatted with one, I heard something stupid. Questions like, “How does it feel like, living on trees? Where did you learn to speak/write such good English?”\n\nWhen I was applying to universities for admission, one of the things my parents were very emphatic about was choosing an institution that was nowhere near home. My mother talked about Jos; my father preferred that I attend his alma mater, the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. Well, I wanted to go further, somewhere there were no relatives. I didn’t want anyone looking over my shoulder and report to my parents. This was my chance at freedom.\n\nWell, I finally got the admission to attend the UNN, just like my father had hoped.\n\n“I know you’d have preferred to stay close to home,” my father said to me. “But I want you to go out there. I need you to go to someplace else and learn about their culture, their people, and their language. It’ll make you see things differently. If you stay home, you’re going to be narrow-minded and I don’t want that.”\n\nEven though I badly wanted to prove myself as an adult at the age of seventeen, what a huge part of me really wanted was to stay home and attend a nearby university. I didn’t understand what my father meant by going out there and learning new things. Especially after I arrived in Enugu and almost died from homesickness.\n\nYou know, this country is riddled with falsehoods when it comes to tribal narratives. Many of us were preconditioned or taught to see people from other tribes in a certain way. If we’re not checked, we go through life believing those lies. Igbo people like money; as if the rest of us are allergic and contented. Argue with the people from all the tribes looting the national treasury. Yoruba people are untidy and know very little about personal hygiene. Hausa people are all bloodthirsty.\n\nSo, imagine the misconceptions with which I left home. Coupled with the fact that I’d had a few bad experiences with some people from those other tribes I’d heard bad things about. After eight years in Enugu, I knew better. When I was leaving for Kano, so many people back home lamented.\n\nAfter a year in Kano, I learned so many things—my social studies lessons in primary school had been very inadequate.\n\nFor instance, I was stunned to find out that not every northerner speaks or is Hausa and that there are over fifty languages in Kaduna state. I learned about Plateau state and my closest friend in law school, who was Yoruba, was one of the neatest persons I know. I learned that yes, there may be attributes that are common in certain tribes but by no means peculiar to them. Meaning, they’re just human things. \n\nI also experienced tribalism on a much larger scale than I had in Enugu. \n\nA bus conductor once asked me, “Why I no dey speak am for Hausa? I sure say I be Nigerian?”\n\nI asked him why he didn’t speak Ibibio; if he was Nigerian. I was constantly mistaken for an Igbo girl because of my light skin; being called ‘nyamiri’ became something I stopped protesting. Because even when I said I am from Akwa Ibom, they’d reply that we’re all the same. Their prejudices were no different from the ones I my previously held.\n\nI wish that more Nigerians would take up the practice of travelling to and living in different places in this country and be open-minded when they reach those new places. It’d broaden our horizons and help us be less hateful and bitter towards strangers. But more than that, I wish that within our immediate environment, we’d stop clustering ourselves according to tribes and be more inclusive. \n\nIn doing this, there are invaluable lessons to be learned about ourselves and others.",
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      "body": "I read this hilarious thread on Twitter, written by one Ukhanki. I was finding it a little hard to believe, until some guys in the replies affirmed that it is true.\n\nBut seriously. How are you gonna treat someone badly and then act all surprised when they leave you? \n\n*\n\nMen Handle Breakups Badly. \nYou be like, \"Your clothes still here. You gonna come get them?\"\n\nShe like, \"Nah, throw them away.\"\n\nYou just sit there ready to vomit; that was your last play. 😂😂😂😂\n\n![IMG_20180622_004827.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmU8QAeXhXT8Cdz2pD9CceQNysQRPGJW1j3K98NDvNznej/IMG_20180622_004827.jpg)\n\nNothing sadder than realizing she's finally done with your bullshit. Not even your mom's food will cheer you up. All those guys she said were just friends circle your girl like those zombies from The Walking Dead when they find out she's single again.\n\nYou be like, \"Are you really done with me? I'm a changed man. I even started recycling. I know I cheated 38 times but give me another shot. Don't give up on us.\"\n\nAnd she be like, \"Nah.\"\n\nSaddest is when she blocked your number so you text her from you mom's phone asking questions.\n\nAre you really done with my son?\"\n\nYou been watching her timeline for 12 hours straight no activity then she posts \"😋.\n\nNext thing you know you on your 5th SIM card of the week because she blocked the other 4 numbers texting her, \"just checking if you're okay.\"\n\nHeartbreak is a madness, man. My boy started going on long walks in the dark no direction nor destination, he just needed to walk all the time. \n\nYou flirt with other girls on the TL to get her jealous then text her, she's like, \"Go talk to your new girl.\"\n\nNow you’re forced to kill the new girl just to show your ex she matters more.\n\n“Are you going to come to my place to collect your things /should I come to yours? I really don’t mind.”\n\nShe doesnt reply for hours and you just wanna double text her like, “hey, you there?”\n\nYou want her back so bad, you wanna tell her she left the back of her earring at your place.\n\nShe’ll unfollow you on instagram but you don’t want to return the favour even though she’s on private.\n\nAll of a sudden, couples make you sick but deep down, that’s what you want.\n\nWhen she drops a fire snap captioned “date night🙊💕”.. You’re not even tired but you just want to sleep instantly.\n\nThe passenger seat snap is the worst like who’s the driver boo?\n\n\"Maybe that's her brothers arm on snapchat. When did he get a sleeve tattoo?\"\n\nThose self comforting lies.\n\nOne minute you're texting your ex to see if she's ok.... now suddenly you can't see her WhatsApp picture.\n\nCome to the timeline to ask, \"Are the whatsapp servers down?\"\n\nYou be asking stupid shit like, \"How's your mother? She still got that pain in her back or is she okay now?\"\n\nYou start to like the awkward silences when you call her just to hear her breathe.\n\nHer: “Do you have anything else to say?”\n\nYou: “Hold on, I’m just thinking of something.”\n\nThen the convo somehow always lead to a fight.\n\nYou: \"So, have you slept with him yet .Did you give him head?\"\n\nYou: \"Where you cheating on me with him?\" \n\nHer: \"Why you asking this?\"\n\nYou: \"I just wanna know.\" \n\nHer: \"Why, though?\"\n\nYou: \"No reason. Just tell me, man.\"\n\nHer: \"Yes I...\"\n\nHim: *hangs up*\n\n\"My little brother misses you and he wants to know when you're coming round again?\"\n\n\"My mum wants to know where her favourite daughter in law is nowadays? She misses you haha\". 😂😂😂😂😂\n\nYou be having a time of your life but then your ex will post \"😀\" or \"🙈💕😻\" at 3:25am and everything starts moving in slow motion.\n\nFirst you see her friends dancing on IG stories getting ready, then she drops a fire picture on IG, then drunk semi sexual post. Then \"😀\"\n\nNow you find yourself texting \"My pillows still smell of you lol.”\n“I found your headscarf by the way. You want me me to drop it? Or should I post it?” 😂😂😂😂\n\nYour friends start roasting you about her and you play it cool like \"MISUNU, WHAT YA’LL TALKING ABOUT, I WASNT EVEN INTO HER LIKE THAT LOOOOL.\"\n\n![IMG_20180628_103718.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmToCdXW315S3cC1EWT6jm2jGmV7ZoHud5qAeXgh4yHcxs/IMG_20180628_103718.jpg)\n\nThese times you were already thinking about your kids names.\n\nYou call her up with her favourite track on the background hoping it'll trigger the good memories of you two...and she goes, “What's that noise?” 😭😭😭😭😭😭\n\nYou know when you had a special name for her like, \"How's my pixie. ..\"\n\nHer: \"Huh! Who's that? Don't you know my name anymore?\"\n\nYou sweating now. You send her that little selfie of her being cute with the flower filter & she goes \"DELETE THAT NOW WTF U DOING DELETE IT NOW\" 😭😭😭\n\nYou ask her about her favorite restaurant you used to take her to.\n\nShe goes, \"Nah, that's a kid's place. Don't even go there no more. Why, wassup?\"\n\nYou haven't been to church in years but you know she believes in God so you're like, \"I went to church last week you know.\"\n\nHer: \"OK...and?\"\n\nBeing ignored is still the worst feeling in the world though. You see her online and 3 days later she still hasn't replied. You start making excuses for her and why she hasn't replied. Maybe she lost her phone or she's died for a bit.\n\nWhen she finally replies to you after 13 weeks with a one word answer and your soul restores to factory settings. You gotta block your ex off all social networks.\n\nWhen she blocks you, so you have to type her name into Google chrome just to see how her life is going.\n\nYou just want a car to hit you so she can feel sorry for you and take you back. \n\n![IMG_20180221_135707.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmczZUCBDUe1GVXwRqu7vndL99EejpLFRGgFjVPmbUDjVS/IMG_20180221_135707.jpg)\n\nWho can a man really talk too when his heart is broken? No damn body. Now your boys try to cheer you up and take you to the club and hook up up with the baddest girls. Guess what , you’ll probably drive back to your ex's house alone and sleep in the car outside her house.",
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      "body": "Yesterday, I tweeted that I tend to find myself in the most dramatic situations. \nApparently, the Fates were listening.\n\nFirst of all, I need a car. For ages, I’ve been asking my friends and family to pull their resources together and buy me one. Don’t even try to judge me or ask me why I’m not buying it for myself. I can’t afford one yet 😭.\n\nI need a car because I’m getting tired of all the drama that happens when I use public transportation.\n\n![pexels-photo-590059.jpeg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmTEHZaYhRfJeWSshQW4KifGyXUDLczd1MBcVX8dRn1unm/pexels-photo-590059.jpeg)\n\nOne time, I boarded a cab and sat in front and the driver said my skin looked so delicious, he felt like eating it. On another occasion, a guy was toasting a girl at the back of the bus I’d boarded. I was sitting in front of them.\n\nThe girl became uncomfortable with his persistence and said, “Please leave me alone. I’ve told you no. Now you’re scaring me.”\n\nI forgot to pretend I wasn’t listening to their conversation and laughed aloud when she said that. That bros, in anger and embarrassment, almost slapped me back to the Ming Dynasty in ancient China.\n\n![IMG_20180120_231528.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmUeyy69dSWPUVs5mWS6oVcqXfbAQRMRAHLf3kCqYhuJra/IMG_20180120_231528.jpg)\n\nHow can I forget the time I missed out on marrying Mr Right?\n\nIt was back in the day when I was still wearing low-cut hair. I’d just left my favourite restaurant with a full belly and a good mood. I boarded a cab; there was a man at the back. He gave me this very good look and then spoke.\n\n“Hey, dear. Good afternoon.”\n\n“Good afternoon,” I replied, frowning at the endearment.\n\n“You’re so beautiful, I have to say.”\n\nIn my head, I was like, “No, you don’t have to say nada. You can choose to clam up, so I can have a light doze and let this garri and Afang soup digest properly.”\n\nInstead, I smiled and muttered a distracted ‘Thank you.’\n\n“You look so gentle,” he went on. In fact, I like your kind of person….fair and gentle. I would’ve loved to date someone like you. But….” \n\nHe shrugged and waited for me to take the bait.\n\nShebi there was food in my stomach? There was no chance that I could get annoyed. I struggled with my curiosity for a second and bit that lure.\n\n“But, what? I asked.\n\n“But you’ve got a low-cut. I don’t like women cutting their hair, especially those that permanently carry low-cut. A woman should have long hair. You shouldn’t cut your hair. I would’ve been attracted to you now, and even asked you out, but for this hair.”\n\nAh! See how I lost my future husband.\n\nBut I’m not sure any of that compares to today’s drama. I was heading home from the aerobics club this morning. I had on a baseball cap and my headphones, even though I wasn’t listening to any music. It reduces the noise and helps me think better.\n\nI hailed a cab and got in the back. There was a lady in the front passenger’s seat. Five minutes later, we picked up an elderly gentleman. Not long after, we picked up another gentleman. He was singing as he entered. I gave him a cursory glance; he was young and looked to be in his thirties. I returned my gaze to my phone.\n\nAs soon as the car started off, he stopped singing and tried to get my attention. The side window was down, so I knew he didn’t want me to roll it down. I still had my headphones, was reading something on my phone and humming a tune. So I pretended I didn’t hear him.\n\n“Excuse me,” he said. I didn’t answer.\n\nIn my peripheral vision, I saw him hesitate, and then say, “Excuse me. Sister….”\n\nI didn’t answer.\n\nThe older gentleman piped up. “She can’t hear you. She’s had that thing over her ears and has been singing since I entered the car.”\n\nAt that point, the young man clapped his hand three times, like a gossip about to unleash some hot gist.\n\n“Ah! Women can pretend!”\n\nMy ears perked up.\n\n“You’re right,” the older man agreed.\n\nIn my mind, I’m like, ‘Papa, who asked you?’\n\nThe young man went on. “Chai! Women eh, fear them! See this girl o! After eating my money in Port Harcourt, she’s now pretending like she does not know me.”\n\nThe woman in the front seat sat up, intrigued.\n\nMe, I’m like…..Hollup…hollup niccur. Say what?\n\n![meme1560173425.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmbd4qSyN7S3uAB7Hd71vS8WcqPWpRVcyYUJc8gd1u1Sed/meme1560173425.jpg)\n\nAs if he’d heard me, he repeated himself.\n\n“I knew this girl in Port Harcourt o! We met and befriend ourselves. Then she ate my money and disappeared. Now she’s doing as if she doesn’t know me.”\n\nAh, I almost gave up my pretence o! Me ke? Port Harcourt? How? When? I mean, I’ve been mistaken for someone else a couple of times. But as a chop-hit-and-run babe? This was new.\n\nUnable to restrain himself anymore, Young Man reached across Older Gentleman and tapped me.\n\n“Madam, excuse me!”\n\nI couldn’t feign any longer. I pushed back one side of the headphone away from my left ear.\n\n“Yes?”\n\n“Do you know me?” he asked.\n\n“No, sorry, I don’t. Should I?”\n\n“You mean you don’t know me from Port Harcourt? You and me that know ourselves in PH?”\n\nI said, “No, I don’t know you. You’ve got me mixed up with someone else.”\n\nThen I put back the headphone. I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t buying my story. When I told the driver I was stopping at the junction, he asked the other man the name of the stop and nodded his head. Like he was going to come back and find me.\n\nI had to put my phone’s camera in selfie mode and hold it up so I could see behind me and make sure he didn’t follow me home.\n\nWhat’s the essence of this story?\n\nDear Look-alike in Port Harcourt, please, I beg you in the name of all that’s holy, stop scamming men o! I won’t take the rap for your bad deeds.\n\nDear family and friends, buy me a darn car! How long do y’all want me to continue telling these kinds of stories?",
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      "body": "Hi! I am a robot. I just upvoted you! I found similar content that readers might be interested in:\nhttps://ketimae.wordpress.com/2014/01/05/where-miracles-happen/",
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      "body": "Itam Junction was noisy and teeming with the usual morning crown going to and fro on the four roads that led to it. Men and women hurrying off to work, mingled with street hustlers and roadside hawkers, who called out their wares and prices in very loud voices. A woman dressed in iro and buba, her head-tie perched precariously on her head, looked left and right before crossing the road to board a bus under the pedestrian bridge. She took a few steps and was accosted by a young boy selling rechargeable lamps. \n\n“Auntie, buy rechargeable lantern here,” the teenager said, shoving one in her face. She hissed and violently brushed his arm aside, muttering an expletive. The boy stumbled back and fell against a man standing behind him. \n\n![kiosk.jpeg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmbFY6DR64nD98aFVCodTCQajnUHGw3XhVw1wKTTjpvADi/kiosk.jpeg)\n\n“Unam ikot! Se nte afo aka a. Idiot. Watch where you’re going,” the man barked, shoving him forward. The boy righted himself, gave a cheeky grin and without an apology, moved on to another spot, shouting the prices of his wares as he went. \n\nAcross the road, in a little kiosk set back from the road, sat Asandia. Right elbow on her knee, her palm supported her chin as she stared out unseeingly. The kiosk, fashioned out of a shipping container, was well situated and stocked with inexpensive items like handkerchiefs, roasted groundnuts, water in transparent sachets, soft drinks, airtime recharge cards, stationery and a few other knickknacks. No matter what time of the day it was, she always had customers. \n\nThis week however, business had been very slow. It was Wednesday and with the exception of two packets of biscuits and three sachets of water which totalled a hundred and thirty naira, she’d sold almost nothing. This isn’t good at all, she thought. Her brow furrowed with worry as she thought of Zachariah. A new school term was beginning the next week. Since he was moving to a new class, she’d promised to get him a new pair of shoes and a Spiderman school bag.  \nHe was so gracious and understanding, her boy. Last term, he’d still worn his tired old pair of shoes, held together with twine and gum.\n\n“Mummy, I’ve told you not to worry. I am not one of the popular children in school. So no one will notice whether my shoes are new or not.” \n\nHis words comforted her, but she hoped business would improve. She did not wish to break her word to him.\nFor the umpteenth time, Asandia wished Zach’s father was with them. Perhaps, things would’ve been better. \n\n“I don’t have any savings. You may even have to get a job. What are we going to do?” he’d wailed, holding his head in his hands. That day, he’d returned home with stooped shoulders, a sad expression and a pink slip. His company was downsizing. \n\n“Don’t worry, my darling. You’ll find something soon, as will I. There are jobs everywhere in this city.”\n\nI was too optimistic, Asandia thought. Their hopes had been chipped away at the end of every day they’d both returned without finding employment. Things were tough, no one was hiring. In her case, it seemed that even the most menial of jobs these days required years of experience and no one wanted to hire a university drop out whose only job experience was being a stay-at-home- mother. They looked at her thin resumé and tried not to sneer.  \n\nIn one of the offices, a kind secretary called her aside and said, “Sister, you know how our country is. Paper is important. Go home, find small jobs and build your CV.”\n\nThen Abbey, her husband’s friend had paid them a visit. He’d grinned, that toothy, infectious grin of his and said he had good news. There was an opening on an oil rig off the shores of Ibeno. No job experience needed and it would be perfect for Ubon. They’d stared at each other, afraid to hope but their hearts awash with joy. Who would have thought it? Her husband was going to be an employee of an oil company. She’d heard those boys on the rig were paid a lot of money.\n\n“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ll miss me,” he said, chucking her under the chin. His eyes were twinkling again and his shoulders didn’t droop anymore.\n\n“You know I will. As soon as they permit you to leave, come home.” He’d gone off to Port Harcourt, accompanied by her tears and good wishes. \n\nA wry smile flitted across her face as she remembered the day he’d returned after being away for a month. Zach had been so happy to see his father. They’d gone for ice cream at Big Bites on Aka Road, and then had a family dinner at Oliver Twist. \n\nThen he’d gone off again. With each going away, his return had stretched out longer. Their schedule had changed, he said. He no longer had two weeks on and two weeks off. He would be home for a week at the end of the month. How was Zach doing? \n\n“My phone fell into the ocean while I went up to the deck for a smoke,” he’d said, after one frantic week went by and she couldn’t reach him on the phone. “I had to put my sim card in my colleague’s phone.”\n\nThough she wondered why he hadn’t done so on the very day of the accident, she asked no questions. Not even when the calls became less frequent, the money began to come in trickles and her friend Felicia wouldn’t stop talking about those rig boys, as she called them, and their wild lifestyle.\n\n“I’m even surprised he came home three months in a row,” she said, smacking her lips, with the relish of someone who’d just finished consuming a plate of hot catfish peppersoup.\n\n“Those boys? I know them nah. Don’t I have them in my family? Once they reach Bonny, kiss them goodbye. Men! Money and women will not kill them. Ah!” \n\nEvery week Felicia came by, she always had a new story about some relative of hers who worked offshore. Asandia began to avoid her. Her hands were already full, trying to hide this new development from her sweet boy. If it weren’t for him, she wasn’t sure she would have minded so much, this new person Ubon had become. \n\nOne day, she ran into Abbey at a supermarket, his wife hanging on to his arm and smiling up into his face. Her heart had twisted with what she later deciphered to be jealousy. She thought of walking away, afraid to air her troubles and confirm her fears. It was the reason she’d refused to call him all these months, to ask after her husband.\nBut her feet wouldn’t move. Seconds later, he became aware of her presence. He nodded at her and she said hello to the both of them. It’s been a while. How are the children? How is Zach? They hmmed and ahhed, before he smilingly shooed his wife off to another aisle. \n\n“The last time I saw him, he was living somewhere on Bonny Island,” he said, in answer to Asandia’s unspoken question. \nShe stared at his lips which were firmed and eyes that held pity and something else. \n\n“Is he living alone?” she asked, unaware that she was holding her breath. \n\n“Of cours….”\n\n“Don’t lie to me, Abbey,” she said, breathless. “When you saw him, was he living there alone?”\n\n“Nn….no,” Abbey replied on a sigh, looking everywhere else but her face.\n \nAsandia’s heart sank as the breath whooshed out of her lungs. Her fears were now real, not some monsters in the dark that tormented her at night, when she held her pillow and wept. \n\n“See, I’m sorry, Asandia. If I’d known Ubon was that kind of man, I wouldn’t have told him about that job. I didn’t know my friend. I never imagined he’d be easily swayed by money. And women.”\n\n“We didn’t know,” she said softly and walked past him, out of the supermarket. Imagine that! Instead of coming home to raise his son, he’d gone off to gallivant with other women. Ah, my God will judge him, she prayed for the thousandth time. \n\n“Madam, do you have recharge card?” someone asked, drawing Asandia out of her reverie. \n\n“Ah, customer,” she greeted with a winsome smile. “Which network do you want?”\nThe woman thought for a moment and said, “GLO, hundred naira.”  \n\n“I get am,” Asandia replied, as she riffled through the fanny pack around her waist and fished a stack of cards, held together by a rubber band. The woman collected it, rummaged through her bag, brought out a thousand naira note and held it out to Asandia.\n\n“Ah. Please ma, do you have two hundred or five hundred naira? I don’t have change. I haven’t sold anything since morning,” Asandia said. \n\n“I don’t have,” the customer replied, a moue of displeasure forming at her lips. That said, she bent her head and began to type in the numbers on the voucher into her phone.\n\n“Madam, hold on!” Asandia exclaimed. “I say I don’t have any change to give you.”\n\n“Then go and find it,” the customer snapped. What kind of nonsense was this? What a terrible businesswoman this one \nwas. \n\n“There’s no one to ask from and I can’t leave my shop unattended,” Asandia replied, narrowed eyes and flared nostrils betraying her irritation. “Please, let me have my card back.”\n\n“But why won’t you go and look for change?” the other woman demanded, her voice now a few decibels higher. “What kind of business are you running, that you don’t have change for customers?” With her tongue, she kissed her teeth to produce a hissing sound, to show her annoyance.\n\n“Madam, I can’t leave my shop to find nine hundred naira, because of a small hundred-naira recharge card. If you had at least five hundred naira, I would’ve considered it.\" \n\nThe woman glared at Asandia for a few seconds and then threw the recharge card on the ground and hissed with disdain.. “Take your stupid card,” she spat, angry. “Common change you don’t have and you’re selling?” \n\n“Please-o, carry your wahala away from my shop,” Asandia said. “You mustn’t buy from me. She returned to her seat, while the customer said a few choice words and stomped off, huffing.\n\nThis one must have been sent by evil forces to ruin my good fortune, Asandia thought. Who had she offended? She looked to the sky and muttered a prayer. \n\n“Please Lord, I need a miracle. Zach must not begin the new term without new school shoes and bag.” \n\n_______________________\n\n![naija bus stop1.jpeg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmSsJ6yaJdbMp2oohHfncSuM9V3o8pP1qn2LWVZtmgFL5U/naija%20bus%20stop1.jpeg)\n\nDusk approached and brought with it, hundreds of passengers who converged at Itam Junction. They jostled and shoved each other as they waited for the long buses that would ferry them to their different destinations. The roundabout which had a raised grassy platform with a short statue in the middle, was now occupied by a man who held a microphone and had gathered quite an audience, apart from those queuing for the buses. He spoke of the miracles awaiting his listeners. \n\n“I am a prophet sent by God to bring you revelation and liberation,” he bellowed into the microphone. Some paid rapt attention while others looked on, partly amused and partly curious. \n\n“I say God is going to catapult someone to another level today,” the prophet yelled, his sharp eyes scanning the faces of those in the roadside congregation who stood closest to him. “I say, my God is going to takes someone to an unexpected level today,” he shouted again. “Can somebody hear me?” The crowd gave a collective affirmative.\n\n“I say, the Lord is about to bless some people!” he repeated. \n\nHe jumped in excitement and walked to the left side of the makeshift pulpit. The wire that connected the microphone to a single box speaker that was placed behind the statue grew taut, forcing him to return to his former position in the middle of the roundabout.\n\n“Brothers and sisters, I, Prophet Dominion is telling you that the Lord is about to begin the deliverance of his children.” \nHe paused to pull out handkerchief from the left back pocket of his trouser and wiped his sweaty face with it.\n\n“You. Yes, brother, you!” he suddenly yelled, pointing at a young man that stood about three rows from the front. The fellow pointed at himself to be certain he was the one. \n\n“Yes, son. Come up here, my brother,” said Prophet Dominion. \n\nThe man, nondescript in appearance, made his way through the body of onlookers who willingly parted for him to go through, curious and eager to see why he’d been chosen. He got on to the roundabout. The Prophet turned to him and nodded, wiping sweat from his face again.\n\n“Brother, do you know why I called you up here?” asked the Dominion, intently gazing at the man’s face.\n\n“No, prophet,” the man replied, shaking his head.\n\n“I called you out because God has come to liberate you,” he said, placing one hand in the man’s shoulder. “I hear it whispered in my ear “Overseas….overseas….” It’s like you’ve been praying for the oppoortunity to go abroad and God is saying that he has answered your prayers. I’m hearing a name like Kelechi….Kelechi…..overseas.” He wiped his face again. “Young man, what is your name?” \n\nThe man, wearing a stunned expression, said, “Kelechi. Sir, my name is Kelechi.” \nSome of the onlookers oohed and ahhed with surprised. A few laughed at what they were convinced was chicanery and began to taunt the prophet. He ignored them all, his attention wholly on Kelechi.\n\n“You will go overseas,” he said. “That is what I’m hearing and that is what God wants me to tell you. You’re going abroad. Go and prepare yourself.”\n\nHe dismissed the man, who walked back to his position on the queue, his hands outstretched to the sky and his lips moving in thanksgiving. Another person was called out of the crowd, this time, a woman.\n\n________________________\n\nAsandia looked at her son who was wolfing down the yam porridge she’d kept for him in the blue and cream plastic food flask. He usually came straight to the kiosk after lessons and would help her out until they packed up and went home.\n\n“Don’t gulp down your food like that,” she gently chided. She always spoke proper English whenever she chose to communicate in that language and considered it a thing of pride that though she hadn’t made it past her second year in the university, she could boast of being well-spoken.\n\n“Sorry mum,” he replied with a full mouth, a crooked smile on his face as she threw him a mock glare for speaking with food in his mouth. He swallowed, running his tongue around his mouth to catch stray morsels. Carefully, he scraped off the broth at the bottom of the flask and greedily licked the spoon until it was shiny.\n\n“Why don’t you rinse it and drink the water?” his mother asked, amused. He laughed and went to the cooler to get a sachet of water.\n\n“Mummy, you haven’t even sold water today,” he said, eyeing the full cooler before closing it.\n\n“You noticed?” she asked sarcastically. He looked at her askance and she sighed.\n\n“I’ve only made hundred and thirty naira since morning,” she said, cradling her jaw in her right palm.\n\nZach looked at his mother and wished he had super powers. He would use his abilities to make plenty money and stop her from worrying so. He knew the new term that was starting next week was on her mind. He thought how wonderful it would be if he could get a new schoolbag and a new pair of shoes. But neither of that was worth his mother’s peace of mind. His mind briefly went to his father. No matter how good his mother said the man was, Zach wasn’t stupid. He knew he’d abandoned them. His fantasy of shaming the man if he ever chose to return, filled his mind, and assuaged some of his anger.\n\n“Mummy, kufuna idem mfo,” he said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulders. “Don’t worry yourself. I can manage the bag and shoes until the money comes.” \n\n“Abasi akan! God forbid!” his mother exclaimed, circling her hand over her head and throwing it behind her back, just like their neighbour Ezinne often did when she was showing her dislike for something. “You won’t wear those tattered shoes to school as long as I’m alive. Just pray for a miracle.” \n\nZach didn't catch the last words, as her voice was swallowed up in the loud boom which came from Prophet Dominion’s loudspeaker.\n\n_________________________\n\n\n“As I round up, I want to give all of you a chance to partake of the heavenly blessings, just like the brothers and sisters that I have liberated here today,” the prophet said. His shirt, soaked with perspiration, was slowly drying in the evening breeze and he raised his face up, savouring the caress of the cool, evening breeze. Stuffing the damp handkerchief in his pocket, he scanned the faces of his audience and thought how easily they’d accepted his message. \n\nThis was the moment he enjoyed the most, when he knew that even the sceptics among them was ready to believe. They were ready to be saved and to pay the price for that salvation. Soon he would make a call for seeds to be sown and freewill offerings to be given. It never ceased to amaze him how desperate people were for signs and wonders. A little smile lifted the corners of his lips, masking the dark guile underneath. He raised the microphone to his mouth and continued with the show. \n\n“All I want you to do is, if you have a white handkerchief, bring it out. I am going to pray on it and anything you want, God is going to pass through that handkerchief and give it to you,” he intoned. “Today, as you sow your seed and bring forward your offerings, poverty will end in your life. Every sickness will disappear from your body. You will never lack agaaaain!” Each declaration was accompanied by a thunderous amen from the crowd.\n“Bring out your handkerchiefs and let me pray over them.\" All around people dug into their bags and pockets, looking for that piece of fabric.\n\n“If you don’t have, please hurry now and go buy one. I will give you two minutes before I begin to pray,” he said, prancing from one side of the circle to the other.\n\nThere was a sudden scramble as those without handkerchiefs made a mad dash to the shops that lined the sides of the streets, eager not to miss their miracles. In the midst of the shoving mass, bags and pockets were relieved of wallets and purses, and light, wandering fingers filched mobile phones. \nAsandia, still musing on her conversation with her son, looked up saw a throng of people headed to her kiosk. Wondering what the matter was, she got up and stepped outside structure.\n\n“Madam abeg you get white hankashif?” the first person to arrive at her shop asked, her tone urgent.\n\n“I get,” she replied and went back in to unhook the packet of white, cotton squares from the hanger she’d hung them. \n\nShe pulled out one and handed it to the lady. Others had arrived and all clamoured for the hankies. Surprised, she gave them out while her son collected the money. As soon as that pack was sold out, she brought out the extra three packets in the jute bag by the water cooler, that acted as a store. In between each customer, she was able to piece together through bits and pieces of conversation that her wares were being bought for miracles.\n\nWhen her five packets of handkerchiefs finished, she apologized to the latecomers and directed them to the other shops down the road. Some people stopped to buy soft drinks and drinking water. In ten minutes, her goods had greatly reduced. When the crowd dwindled, she looked at her son in amazement and they both burst into joyous laughter, astonished at the sudden windfall.\n\n“Mummy, God really does answer prayers,” Zach said, his smile wide.\n\n“He surely does,” his mother concurred, still dazed. Then she leapt up and danced a little jig of thanksgiving. \n\n“I wish that prophet will come back for the rest of the week.”\n\n“I wish he would,” she concurred. “You know what? Let me go and see the prophet too. How can I sell hankies for others to receive their miracles and I won’t receive my own? Watch the store, I’m coming.” \n\nFrom her handbag, she pulled out an old kerchief from her handbag, its colour now off-white. It would have to do. Slowly, pushing through the throng of people, she made her way to the roundabout and using her small body, wound through the crowd, saying amen to each of the prayers as she went. When she finally got the front, Asandia raised her hand, and waved her hanky like everyone else. \n\nDominion, who’d been walking around, turned towards Asandia. The second she saw his face, she froze, hand up, the white square waving in the air.\n\n“I say, every sign of poverty in your life, I command it to dieeeeee!” he shouted, looking at his victims.\n\n“Ameeeen!” the crowd thundered.\n\n“Every enemy fighting against you, I command them to die!”\n\n“Amen!”\n\n“Every principali….” \n\nIt was in that moment that Dominion's eyes locked on Asandia's and he was momentarily electrocuted. He stared in open-mouthed shock, hoping she was an apparition. The crowd, already in a frenzy, gave a loud amen to the unfinished prayer.\n\nAsandia shook herself out of her trance-like state and stared hard at the man in front of her. “Ubon, so you’re now a prophet?” she croaked, her mouth strangely dry. He didn’t hear her question, but he’d read her lips. Fear lanced through his tall, lithe frame. \nIt didn’t take long for the crowd to notice the prophet’s sudden silence. Murmurs of concern and curiosity went up.\n\n“Ubon, I said, are you now a prophet?” Asandia shouted, anger and bitterness giving strength and volume to her words. \n\nThe man beside her heard what she’d said. Eyes wide with interest, he asked, “Madam, you sabi am?” \n\nAsandia hissed and glared. “Yes, I know him. He's my husband. He ran away two years ago and left me and my son,” she spat, her narrowed eyes reading the unconcealed guilt on his face. “He's no prophet. He's a liar.”\nWithin seconds, her angry words were carried from mouth to mouth and spread through the crowd.  The prophet was a fake! \n\nSensing danger, Ubon edged towards the less crowded side of the roundabout, his shifty eyes seeking an escape route. Those who now knew the truth raised an outcry and surged forward, their eyes on the bag beside the prophet which contained their hard-earned money, which had moments before, been sowed and offered. \n\nSuddenly, the buses many of them had been waiting for, began to arrive. Pandemonium broke out as many people dashed for the buses, while others were intent on retrieving their money from Dominion. Men and women, shoved and pushed each other, inflicting and receiving all kinds of injuries. \n\n![BRT-Bus.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmTKehJW4rUF877adRvBtv9RMDkk9jpW32E1j3cqBRYX2F/BRT-Bus.jpg)\n\nIn the mêlée, Asandia gave a loud cry, pointing at the roundabout. Those whose eyes followed the direction of her arm cried out in alarm.  \n\nProphet Dominion and the offering bag had disappeared.",
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      "body": "Congratulations @ketimae! You have completed some achievement on Steemit and have been rewarded with new badge(s) :\n\n[![](https://steemitimages.com/70x80/http://steemitboard.com/notifications/firstcommented.png)](http://steemitboard.com/@ketimae) You got a First Reply\n\nClick on any badge to view your own Board of Honor on SteemitBoard.\nFor more information about SteemitBoard, click [here](https://steemit.com/@steemitboard)\n\nIf you no longer want to receive notifications, reply to this comment with the word `STOP`\n\n> Upvote this notification to help all Steemit users. Learn why [here](https://steemit.com/steemitboard/@steemitboard/http-i-cubeupload-com-7ciqeo-png)!",
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      "author": "akintunde",
      "body": "I hope to make more posts about it and possibly, I will make one about how it can be bought. ",
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      "body": "Unfortunately, I'm not in Lagos. How does on learn more about it and buy?",
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      "body": "![love story.jpeg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmP5xbxi16Mm9d7NpNo62hXJzSF7BVzcsV1X2eiwxHbJQ4/love%20story.jpeg)\n\nMy name is Idara, I am 30 years old and my friends and family think I’m badly in need of an intervention. Because another valentine is here and I’m still unmarried and happily so. My friends say I should hang out more; my mother says I should attend every church activity.\n\nIt’s not that I don’t want to fall in love and have a man I can call mine. Like nearly every girl out there, I’ve dreamed of meeting my Prince Charming in a romantic way. Like, tripping in the middle of the street and falling into the strong, muscled arms of a perfect gentleman. I was young and silly and reading a lot of Mills and Boon. So I kept falling down whenever I was in the vicinity of any good-looking man I came across. That was until I sprained my ankle one day. That brought an end to my tripping days.  \n\nThen I thought it wouldn’t be bad if I met him in the most mundane of circumstances, like falling for that popular tongue-blasting, bible-quoting brother in the prayer wing at church. But all the handsome brothers in church either seemed to be engaged or in a relationship. Sometimes, to several sisters at once. \n\nSo when my friend Belema showed up at my house that afternoon and asked me accompany her to yet another of those night prayer meetings, I wasn’t inclined to go with her. \n\n“Idara, trust me, you’ll like this one,” she urged, trying to convince me to abandon the movie and beauty sleep I was looking forward to. “This particular pastor can see things very well. Once he looks at you, he will tell you everything about your life. I’m sure he’ll see a husband for you.”\n\nI baulked at yet another marriage crusade. But after ten minutes of going back and forth, I agreed to go with her. \nWhen we arrived at the church the din was almost imaginable. All the musical instruments warred with one another for relevance and everyone was belting out the choruses at the top of their voices. I found a corner and sat down, quietly observing everything. \n\n“You look like you don’t want to be here,” a voice said beside me. \n\nI turned my head to see the owner; a young, good-looking fellow, probably in his early thirties. He was smiling and for a second, I was distracted by the dimple in his left cheek and the gap in his teeth.\n\n“You’re correct,” I replied. \n\n“Me too. My aunt dragged me here. She says the prophet will prophesy a wife into my life.”\n\nHere the story begins….",
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