KALLIGRAPHY gets new partner

It's funny how your pen stops abruptly when you're asked to write about yourself. You try to sell and at the same time try to avoid the uppity of seemingly over selling. It is a simple job at the surface but starting, it gets a little mundane. 

 I hail from Anambra state, from the popular arts crafting village of Igbo-ukwu. It is referenced in almost all of Nigeria's visual arts books. No pressure. I tend to believe in my quest for being para-normal.

‘The voice of the people is the voice of God’, a popular adage I don't totally agree with. Doubting? Ask Mary Slessor. Ask Martin Luther. Ask Nelson Mandela. For some obvious reasons, I'm the kind of being that believes a radical change is always needed for growth.

I believe society's thinking is usually conformed to the norms that are particularly popular or evident. Challenging it, you're normally tagged a "Radical". No pressure again.

My mentors are sort of. Chimamanda, Soyinka, Achebe, Sissulu, Von Staffenberg, Ayo Sogunro, Chude Jideonwo, Nelson Mandela. They all make me marvel at the nature of their minds, axiomatically beautiful. OK, let me not digress. 

I'm a writer, a social critic who thinks black Africa needs a psychological study really fast to determine if our leaders cannot understand that we are being left behind in the scheme of things. Why our leaders are unflinchingly determined to make sure we continue to be the destination for multitudinous aids and relief, decade after decade. Let me not digress again.

I am the story today, not Africa. I'm a theorized graduate from the University of Benin. My practical demonstration in my field of study is still very much undergraduate. Don't ask me why. In fact "lemme" tell you why. I studied a practical science course in our theory-oriented University. 

Naturally, I tend to be very critical and I try to indulge my mind in the most normal of situation. I have a thing for sociology and somehow I've come to realise I have snobbish tendency. I have come to realise that small talk is an integral part of social nexus and I wonder when I'll stop being part of it. I have a thing for Greek names and unsubtly fascinated by History. Sorry if I have not said some things I ought to have said. Describing myself became harder as I picked up the pen, or less literary, the keyboard.

Let the story begin,

Yours Truly

Izuchukwu Okafor

THE FALL

It was 5PM on Friday. The week has been a tedious one. I had just arrived from classes and was about to relish on the fact that it was weekend. I quickly dashed to the kitchen to heat the left over beans. Beans has been my nutritional diet for a few weeks now. Thereafter, I went to the bathroom.

The water was so refreshing. I felt like sleeping in the bathroom but for the intermittent banging on the bathroom door by my neighbor, Tunde.

“You never finish?” he asked in pidgin. He threatened to continue hitting the door until I leave. Even if I had frequently warned Tunde about his oppressive nature, he wouldn’t listen. He was gifted with biceps and he sometimes allowed those biceps bulge into his peanut shaped head. His head had a long occipital, like that of a calabash turned upside down.

“Wetin dey do you self?” I replied with transient rage. I was out in few minutes and rushed to the room; ignoring the oppressive hostel mate.

I removed the already dried beans from the stove. Dressed up to relax when I noticed I had gotten five missed calls from Nkechi, a sister in the fellowship. I quickly did some little run around to put things in order and then came back to reply Nkechi’s call.

Nkechi was the very description of a complete woman, you know what I mean. She had a set of blue eyes, neatly spaced tooth, pointed nose and light skinned. I started having feelings for her since we were paired as follow-up partner in fellowship. She was just a delicious dish for immoral diet.

I had been a very terrible personality until Nkechi invited me for fellowship. I decided to follow her and since then she has always been my reason for attending any Christian gathering. I started reading my bible to impress her. I even filled my phone with a lot of gospel music, especially those of Don Moen. She loves his song so much.

Quickly, I placed a call back to her. And, as if I expected a miracle to happen; I heard the haunting soft voice that reminded me about the empty account balance. I didn’t know how I successfully managed to maintain a flat airtime in recent times. Maybe Nkechi was the cause. But I liked it. I called her daily. Sometimes twice or three times daily.

I dashed out of my room to ask for airtime among my neighbors or maybe borrow cash from someone. Hah! It was Tunde I saw first. He was in the verandah. He was locking his door and was about to leave.

“Tunde my guy”, I said. Forgetting the fact that I had just shouted at him in the bathroom. “Abeg I fit get 200 box for there, I need am badly, I go pay you on Monday”.

He looked with surprise. I had never asked him for anything, let alone after the ‘bathroom-escapade’ we just had some minutes ago. It then dawned on him that this was a serious matter.

“No shaking”. He replied. He opened his wallet and dispensed the cash to me. It was like an amazing grace. I barely appreciated his gesture as I hurried to the opposite store for airtime.

As I approached the shop, I remembered that I owed Mama Nosa, the seller, N200 debt. I quickly diverted. But she saw me. She called but I refused to answer. She called again, this time, with more strength. But then I had already placed my phone in my ears and made as if I was receiving a call. It was a miracle to have avoided Mama Nosa. I had to go to the roadside to buy airtime.

I waited till I got back home before calling Nkechi. I never wanted any form of disturbance. I got home, sat down, loaded the pin and synchronized my voice in preparation for this ‘love call’. I vocally practiced the route I wanted the call to take.

I then dialed the lovely eleven digit. But no response. I dialed again and again. Yet, no response. I had already lost my eagerness when she answered the fourth time. Even in the face of this low eagerness, I still greeted, “Good evening dear”.

“God bless you” came the voice from the other side of the phone.

“Please I want to ask you a favor”; she continued. My heart skipped. Why would she cut in like that, without other necessary pleasantries? Was it money she wanted? Anyway, I told her to go ahead and ask. I knew that as far as it was coming from Nkechi, there would be no other option but to oblige to her request.

“Are you going out tonight”?

“No”. I replied.

“Promise me you will do this favor for me”. She said.

How does not going out tonight help fulfill her request? I wondered.

“Okay, I will”. I promised.

I don’t know how Nkechi did it, but she somehow found a way to my soft spot. My brain was running to and fro, trying to imagine what she would ask. Finally she spoke.

“We are having a deliverance vigil this night and we are to come with someone, anyone. I want you to come with me, remember you promised. It is going to be power packed”.

Nonsense! I felt a rumbling in my stomach, hot sweat on my forehead, cold sensation in my spine, irritation on my buttock.

“No problem” I reluctantly whispered.

I had thought of something more interesting. Was this why I borrowed money to call back? I would have just allowed her call me back instead. I ruminated in disgust.

“The program starts by 8:00 pm, I will be coming to pick you up”. She then hung up.

I dropped the phone slowly in disappointing annoyance. I tried to read and watched as the clock ticked toward 7:45pm.

Finally, I heard the knock at the door. Time to go.

I felt another level of disappointment as I put on my shoes. We finally left for the deliverance.

It was already 8:15PM when we arrived the church. Almost immediately, I was ushered a seat in the front. The very front roll, in front of the pulpit. Just then, sister Nkechi disappeared. I saw her at the back exchanging pleasantries and lining up with the choristers.

I couldn’t imagine being in the front all through the night. Indeed they say ‘love is blind’ but this time I had not only made a blind choice but a stupid one. I quickly found a way to move from the front seat to the back of the church.

After a while, I was in wonderland sleeping when a strong tapping from sister Nkechi brought me back to reality. “I can't believe you are sleeping”. She mentioned.

I manage to look at the big clock in front of the church, it was already 11:35pm. I wanted this cup to pass over me. I was supposed to be in my room sleeping away the stress of the day, instead I am in some deliverance meeting with one Nkechi. Nonsense!

“It is time for the deliverance session” she said looking straight into my eyes. She must have seen the tiredness in the bulging red eyes.

“Please be in the ‘spirit’ and stop looking about”. She quickly added.

A man in his mid-forties stood at the altar. He had a well ironed suit, a pointed shoe and a long red tie. He jerked forward, held the microphone with both hands and was continuously shouting some words that were not understood. They called it tongues. Hmmm!

Suddenly he asked us to line up for impartation. This we all did. In a few minutes I stood behind sister Nkechi. (By the way, what’s this impartation thing?)

The man in front, whom I later learnt was Pastor John, placed his hands on the lady in front of the queue and whoosh… I saw her on the floor in a flash. (Was that the impartation?) I was scared.

In a short while, the whole congregation was in commotion. All the persons that had been touched by the man-in-front were either shouting or crying. Some others were rolling and carrying out all manner of stereotypy behavior.

Before it got to my turn, I pulled my shoes and waited. Everyone pulled theirs too. It was now sister Nkechi’s turn. As the man of God breath on her, she fell like a tree. Seriously?

Hmmm, it was my now turn. I hope the power in this man does not make me break my head. A cold feeling went down through my spine. I was literally shaking on both feet. This was my first ‘impartation’ service. Whatever that means!

I watched as the man of God breath on me. But I didn’t move a muscle. That same breathing had sent a guy with a clean, white and maybe starched shirt rolling and shouting through to the back of the church.

Another shower of fear fell on me. Why was I not rolling? Am I a saint already? Is there not a demon in me? Or is the demon too big to respond to a common breathing? I wondered.

The man too looked surprised!

He laid his hand on me shouting at the top of the mic “Barisskamadaadevus”. I never knew what that meant. But it didn’t matter. All I wanted was that I find a way to reduce the attention I was already drawing from the congregation. Yet nothing happened. I remained standing.

The third time, he laid his hands on me and pushed me backward. I staggered a little and remained standing. Was I supposed to fall?

With disbelief and surprise, he told the ushers standing close to bring me to the altar.

The whole church was now a little organized with just only two girls laying on the ground and rolling as if something terrible happened to their loved ones. Everyone watched me in awe. It was as if I was the only one in recent times to have resisted THE FALL.

The pastor removed his suit and after some prayer and esoteric blasting, he declared I was possessed with seven strong demon. Just like that? My mouth was wide opened. Well I guess, that must be it, because I knew that something had made me not fall. But seven demons were too much now!

He then prescribed to the hearing of the whole church and also to sister Nkechi’s hearing that I needed a mandatory three days seclusion prayer and fasting.

Before I knew it I was escorted by four men to a prayer detention room. Where I spent the whole of Saturday and Sunday. I was kept there hungry, thirsty and tired. I wished I had never resisted the man’s so called ‘anointing’. I was finally released on Monday evening.

This all happened because I refused to take the fall. Now, I lost sister Nkechi’s attention because she now thinks I am or was possess.

I learnt a lesson though, that, anytime anyone lays hands on me, whether an evangelist, a teacher, a chorister, or even a lecturer; I must jerk, fall, shout, roll on the ground, cry, vomit, hiss, laugh or run. Yes, it is either I run or take THE FALL.

By WISDOM SHEDRACH

Wisdom is a 500 level Pharmacy student, University of Benin.

WHO KILLED CHRISTMAS?

This title was borrowed. Osaigbovo Ighodaro, a fellow pen pusher, had used same for one of his piece. Yours sincerely had looked for a perfect title but found none. Perfect titles reflect the piece. ‘Unknown to a many writers, titles often turn out to be grim albatrosses. Firstly because, most readers only read titles and move on to other things. Hence your headline ought to represent your story. Woe betide, if your title, which is your signpost, is hanging upside down (your error) or is read upside down (the reader’s error)’.

‘Whosoever is at fault, the writer is doomed because it comes crashing on him. The conjectures of your title could be stretched far and wide in any direction that suits the reader. (Some people have their imagination for breakfast)’. Hence this piece doesn’t in any way means that Christmas celebration is dead. Now that we have read the above explanation, let’s move forward.

Christmas is upon us again. Holiday is at hand. Students smile, civil servants too. Business men are not spared from the joy that rings the spirit. Their sales doubles and sometimes triples. Churches organize harvests, they call it harvests of thanksgiving. Everyone is in a rush. Prices of goods increase. Transport fares too. Yet no one complains. The season never goes along without coming along with its thrills. The grim. The multifaceted gluttony. The laughter. The dance. All these; in the name of Christmas.

Friends re-unite. They tell stories about January till now. They polish the stories to suit the audience. Everyone laugh at the ingenuity of happenstance. They forget things do not happen just like that; there are always two sides to a story. Yet they chose to be gullible. It is a joyful gullibility. To the less privilege, Christmas brings bliss and happiness, love and care. There is show of love, real love. Orphanage homes are jam-packed. Prison houses are congested, this time not with inmates but with kind hearted persons.

In the spirit of Christmas, many hold God responsible for their successes. They give appreciation to Him for not allowing the ‘ember’ months see their end. These appreciation goes into churches in form of envelopes, as offerings. Some other times, they visit the pastor to empty their loaded car trunk. Some send cards. Many others give testimonies of victory and salvation from accidents, salvation from theft and from sicknesses. Different types of salvation testimony is given but we often do not hear salvation from sin.

All in the spirit of Christmas, God is praised. He is praised by the pastors and members alike. The drunkards and the harlots are not exempted. Politicians also sing praises for one reason or the other. They join the troops that flock churches. Some deceive the pastors. While some pastors willingly take part in the loot. That is, looting the looters. All in the name of Christmas. The drunkards thank him for continuous life. God gives all life but not for evil. The drunkard never knows that he is on a short leash. The harlots still praise him but no one knows what for. Maybe for life. Or for good health. They express false praise instead of genuine repentance. Little wonder the literary icon, Sam Omatseye crooned “Even deserved praise must be restrained hence it sounds like designed praise”. These societal cancers praise God too much that we know it doesn’t comes from their heart. It is a designed praise. Designed to heal their consciences.

Christmas has also been a pain for some. It has divided homes. It has deflowered virgins. Some ladies use the frill and thrills of the season to sell themselves cheap. Either for a lap of flavored chicken or an expense paid visit to the cinema. Ladies make unnecessary visits during Christmas. Hence they get unnecessary pains too.

And to our National figures, Dasuki would have joined in the praise song if not for Buhari. Dopkesi would have led the National mass choir if not for Dasuki. These persons will have no songs on their lips. They have made others weep. The wives of the soldiers killed in the fight against terror, the ravaged villages, the parents of the missing Chibok girls, the Chibok girls; these are all in a sorrowful state because these two and many others yet to be named decided to abuse and misuse public funds. “Pleasure that is obtained by unreasonable and unsuitable cost” says Samuel Johnson, “Must always end in pain”. They have had their pleasure, now is time for the pain. These persons killed Christmas, the Christmas in North east.

Listen. Those who instead of using the purpose of this celebration to draw closer to the celebrant but ran farther in their taste for concupiscence. The ladies who offer their bodies as a smelling sacrifice wholly and acceptable unto vain men. The men who frequently hold meetings with alcoholic beverages. The politicians who use this season to utilize looted funds as donations to orphanage homes. The governors who decide to cut the minimum wage of its workers. The president who decides to retrench 2,000 civil servants. The pastors who refuse to rebuke the politicians in his church for wrong doing. The parents who send their daughters abroad for prostitution, so they could enjoy a better Christmas, a better dead Christmas. These ones are the murderers of Christmas. They killed Christmas.

(Quote in first two paragraphs was culled from HARDBALL, The Nation newspaper.)

DO IT YOURSELF

Do you suspect any female for your failure? Do you have any reserved feeling about the way a girl looks at you, in a terrifying manner? Does she look at you with the very bright white of her eyes? Scaring you to death? Away with those witches already. Today’s lesson is aimed on catching them red handed.

Enough with those lengthy processes religious men subject our conscience to. Bring white candle, bring white fowl and bring white cow; nonsense! All those ‘white’ nonsense would end today. This is a one step process to catching a witch yourself. Don’t be surprised, some of those religious men use this method. They hide it from you because they can’t afford to eat their foods without meat. But KALLIGRAPHY refuses to tow the same path with those Hippocrates.

Just in case you don’t know who a witch is. Let me give you a colloquial meaning of the word; a witch is someone, anyone, a male or a female; who may not only fly at night but also disturb your sleep and progress, whatever progress. (Don’t mind what oxford tells you, I don’t think the writer or editor of oxford has met a witch before, if he has, he would know that a witch could also be a male, nonsense!). Their modus operandi; holding meetings at night discussing your success. They plan to constantly make you immobile. Both physically and otherwise. That definition may sound too complex. But manage it.

Do you suspect Sonia for the sudden profuse sweating that you had immediately PHCN ceased power? Are you having a feeling that Jessica could be the cause of your carryover after you did not read? Do you think Vivian is the cause of your ulcer even if you ate once in three days? Then, this is a sure way of knowing the truth.

Follow these steps and you will have no problem after now. Trust me. It works. But please, ensure you follow all these steps completely. It is simple and easy.

Step One: Borrow N5, 000 from a friend. Even if have more than half a million in the bank, don’t take it. Just borrow 5K from a friend. You have to borrow all 5K from one friend. That is, don’t borrow 2K from James and then 3K from David. It won’t work. Borrow 5K from a friend, all at once. This friend must be a male.

Step Two: Smile at Jessica, Beatrice, Sonia or whoever the girl you are suspecting. Give her a broad smile and tell her these words “Would you please spare 5 minutes of your time”? Don’t worry, any reasonable suspected witch would listen. Remember, use exactly those words as they are written.

Step Three: Convince her to have lunch with you the next day. Now this step is very important as she must accept. Persons who have used this process always complain that this step is the most difficult. But just try to make her follow you. Smile for her. Tell her lies. Tell her truth. Confuse her soul. Deceive her spirit. Open your 32 teeth. Whatever you do, just make sure she accept your offer.

Step Four: That same day evening; take some money from the cash you borrowed, buy MTN and Airtel recharge card. N500 worth each. Then, in case you lied to her in step three, pray for forgiveness; trust me this step is necessary for the step 10 to be very effective. The recharge card must be bought that same day evening. Don’t postpone else the whole process would loss its efficacy.

At the restaurant the next day

Step Five: Buy her a plate of rice. Make sure the price of the plate of rice does not exceed N2, 000. If it exceeds, you will have to start from step one again to get a good result. I would advise you go before hand to know the price of the plate of rice. Let the waiter take the balance of the food if the price does not round up to N2, 000. In order to be more accurate just give the waiter the N2, 000 cash and say; “Give me a plate of rice and keep change.” Hope you are smart enough to understand that. It takes smartness to catch a witch, so, just trust me and keep to the plan.

Step Six: Use another N1, 500 to buy meats and ice cream. How you decide to do this is absolutely your business. Many persons buy meat N1, 000 (a chicken lap) and Ice cream N500. And another has done it the other way around and they both got the same result. But ensure you adhere to step five correctly.

Warning: Nothing solid should pass through your lips in this restaurant. Don’t take meat, rice or ice creams; I don’t think you want her to transfer the witch to your food. So, stay out of food. If you must take anything, buy a bottle or sachet water; whatever suits you. But I prefer you buy sachet water, the one they sell N10; so you don’t spend too much.

Smile at her and make sure she smiles at you. To get accurate result smile all through this process. By this time any suspected witch would want to appreciate your kind gesture. Don’t be moved by her antics. It is a trick. Don’t rush the reply. Just smile and reply softly; “No problem”.

Step Seven: This is the most tedious part. Stay cool and start counting silently from one to hundred. Don’t let your lips move when you are doing this except you want to get her scared. Count until she finishes. If you run out of figures, recite the alphabets backwards, that is, from Z to A silently. If you don’t know it, learn it; it would make you look busy. Trust me it is part of the process. When she does finish, take her outside, give her one of the recharge card. You must give her the airtime outside. Give her only one of the card depending on the line she uses. Call a cab and tell the cab man to drop her at her house. Pay the cab man with the remaining N500; tell him to keep change too. This is also very essential.

Step Eight: Now trek to your room. Ensure you do this under the hot sun. If the sun is not in its full strength, go back inside the restaurant and wait; continue drinking your sachet water or counting until the sun return to power. Once the sun is hot, start trekking to your room. Don’t take a bus or a cab, just trek to your house. Good.

Step Nine: Get to your room, lock the door and stand in the middle. Then pick up your phone, call this alleged witch, ask her about her journey home. Then hang up. Don’t worry you are almost there. Any suspected witch would rain blessings and appreciation on you. But as I initially said, don’t get too emotional about it, it is a trick. Just smile and reply “No problem”.

Now, to the most powerful step;

Step Ten: Kneel down, raise your two hands up and recite this; “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil for thou art with me, Amen.”

That’s all. Yes, it is that simple.

Now, as show of appreciation, scratch the other recharge card and send me the pin. Send it to my inbox. Don’t worry, I use two SIM cards, if she uses MTN send me the Airtel and if she uses Airtel send me the MTN. Have a witch free life.

Ezekiel Efeobhokhan is a freelance journalist and a blogger. 

IT IS WELL

It all seems quiet now. Night classes are over. Exams are ended. Friends slap each other. They heave a sigh of relief. The materials; both snapped and photocopied are deleted. The nights are no longer sleepless. Year four finally gone.

We heard a lot about this behemoth; ‘It had 12 courses’. ‘It was the hardest’. ‘You must read every day’. ‘You would create more enemies’. ‘You may not remember to eat or brush or bath’. Blah blah blah! All of those nonsense filled our ears. But thank God its holidays now. No more nonsense.

But this semester was different. It was different for Kosi. So also for Amarachi. Both gave reasons why it wasn’t just another semester but a one filled with the proofs of a divine power. It was really a semester of many reputations.

Its experience brought smiles and grieve. Laughter and wailing. It brought difficulty with ease. To some, the session brought them closer to their dreams. They could smell the title added to their names; ‘Pharmacist This’ and ‘Pharmacist That’. They loved the profession.

To others it drove them farther. They feared they would fail. Hence they could hardly smile. They disowned laughter and sent it on exile. They resorted to grief, loneliness and seclusion; trying very hard to find hope in the quietude of their personality. Hence their quietness was a cloak for their fear. They thought being quiet naturally induces one with brilliance and intelligence. But they forgot Emeka, the ring leader. His whisper is like thunder bolt. He comments to everyone; both to students and lecturers alike. But he is good at what he does.

This semester has taught a lot of lessons. To David, the black, the one that flocks around Fegor. Yes, that David. The semester taught him a renowned phenomenon. According to him, “When there is ink, there is hope”. That is, never stop writing. To him, the three hours meant for examination was a moment for creativity. Adding that the supreme commandment of passing any exams is; “Never submit a blank sheet”. What else is the meaning of ‘attempt all question’?

We spent the nights in daytime. That is, there was no difference between the AM and the PM. But sleep was a common enemy. It created fear in some. Some shouted out of sleep; screaming with the highest level of ‘scarity’ (If such word exist). But, could we actually cheat sleep?

Many had their ears permanently wired to pop music---shakiti bobo. They sacrificed wraps of chewing gums. Sachets of coffee and Nescafe were not spared either, all in a bid to scare our slumber. For some it worked. But for others? It was a shame. They had to resort to snoring.

In this semester, some rose to more relevance; Benjamin and the psychedelic Courage. Others made new friends. A few found love; Isaac and Sonia. Yes, that Isaac. Ehidiamen’s friend. The tall, dark, handsome and square shouldered one. Yes that one. He found love. Only those who read and meditate in the pharmacy library would notice. He found Sonia; the library secretary. Hence I decided to start reading in the library. I thought, since the library helped Isaac, it may also …

Lastly, the semester revealed the intent of some colleagues; how bad their thoughts was toward us. The stomach of some lecturers were not spared. We knew the ones that loved us and the ones that pretended.

Now that exams are over, all we have is hope. Hope and faith. One day, we will all have a beautiful prefix to our name. That’s the picture that keeps us going. The pharmacist picture; when we are going to be our lecturers colleagues. God help us all.

KALLIGRAPHY says ‘It is well’.

TRAILERS OF TROUBLES

I want to tell you a story. A story of grace and miracle. It carries with it the proof of the existence of a Divine Power. Without this divine Power, yours sincerely would have been six feet under. Lost and forgotten. But God kept me. So there; I once visited my cousin. After the enjoyable time we spent together, it was time to take my leave. She accompanied me to the point where I had to cross the road to continue my journey home. And after doing all the necessary checks on the road, I bade her farewell and made to cross the road.

A truck from nowhere emerged from the adjoining route and was headed towards me. It was the shout from my cousin that drew my attention. Somehow, a force pushed me across the road. I escaped death by the tooth. As usual, the truck driver moved on, without a word. He was driving on the wrong side. The one they call ‘one way’. That was the reason I didn’t notice him.

This same force recently came to the rescue of Ibukun Laughter. The lone survivor of the fatal road accident that claimed the lives of eight students. The force saved her from the trailer monsters that almost sniffed out her life. It seems she was rightly named ‘Laughter’. Instead of crying, for her, it was laughter. Her name was the stem for her triumph over death. No wonder Rick Riordan author of The Lightening Thief crooned “Names have power”. Maybe he had also felt the effect names could bring on a situation.

Heavy duties vehicles may be useful yet at the same time terrible. But the recklessness of the drivers of these vehicles are supreme. No one can beat the state of the art carelessness wielded by these drivers. They somehow have a perverted fulfilment in driving at the wrong side of the road. This warped form of satisfaction recently led to the death of some students.

These truck drivers divert at ease and make careless decisions when they drive. They are like the politicians who surrounded the President Jonathan regime. They were neither here nor there. Today in PDP and before sunset in APC. They were peripatetic political prostitutes. They seemed to be lost and most times were truly lost. They were ignorant of the lyrics of Patrick Rothfuss, “We understand how dangerous a mask can be; we all become what we pretend to be”. Pretense may be a smart virtue in politics. But when ignorance meets pretense, it is an emergency.

Among these truck drivers, not all are bad. Some still drive the road with remorse and a level of soberness. While others drive with drunkenness and recklessness. But whether with soberness or altered minds, they tend to have a knack for driving on wrong lanes. Meanwhile, only a handful of them are experienced, while a large chunk are just test driving; they are young, green horned and foolish. They express this foolishness at the expense of lives. Mostly young talented ones.

The most recent of their casualties are the dead students of OOU. These students had decided to take rest for the semester. But they got a different rest. Instead of a short refreshing rest, it was an eternal rest. Rest that engineered pain and more pain. Reports had it that majority of the dead were just in their beginning years. They were yet to experience the jingles and the highlights of the tertiary institution. They were nipped in the bud.

But how can we stop this menace? Menace that has been with us from ages past. How can we eradicate our roads from these catastrophic trailer drivers? It seems these drivers have always been anti-student. Some years back, they had killed a very good friend of mine on her way from Lagos to write her POST UTME. The trailer had collided with the driver on neck breaking speed. Smashing everyone to death except one. The survivor was also a friend. She is now happily married and never always want to remember her sad experience. It was still another case of a psychotic ‘one way’ drive.

Another sad experience, was that of a youth corper, who almost lost his legs to these road vampires. Still a head on collision and another case of a ‘one-way’ drive. But we do have road safety officers. They are supposed to be the custodian of our roads. Why would they only mount road blocks in the city disturbing our commercial busses for documents that may have no significant effect? There seem to be a lot of ‘whys’ to the incidence of trailers and their loads of troubles. Whatever be the cause of this perverted road use, it must be stopped. The government must ensure alternative route are created by construction companies when our roads are being repaired. Road officials must ensure that whenever there is a need for motorists to share a lane they must not drive above a certain speed limit.

Now that the change the people sought for is here. We need the change to reflect in our transport sector. “The type of change” says Gilbert Alasa “that would not tolerate the barefaced abuse of people’s right to life”. We need our roads to be safe. Safe for students to ply.

May the soul of those students rest in peace. Amen. May God deliver us from these trailers of troubles. Amen. And lastly, to those politicians who decided to loot the treasury instead of repairing our roads, may you reap bountifully the terrible effects of bad roads. Amen… Can I hear a louder ‘AMEN’?
Ezekiel Efeobhokhan
400 level Pharmacy.