quirky

One night in my Hostel while at Abia State University, one of my protégés came to sleep with me in my room. My room is normally crowded, because everyone wants to be around star boy.😎 He was sleeping like Jonah in the belly of Titus and snoring like an old OX fan; me I couldn’t even grab some shut-eye, why? Our friendly neighborhood “mosquies”. These ones flew in from Germany; they had chainsaw like proboscis (that long thing in their mouth) and they flew with military precision; it was like they knew when I was about to sleep and they attacked anytime my eyes was shutting. To my surprise, they didn’t attack this fellow that was in gear four. Ah-ah! What kind of Ojoro is this one? Why would I suffer like this? Snoring plus mosquito bite?😱😱 Well, I think I have an answer to this. Just like you reject certain food (like close-up and grilled Okra soup), mosquitoes also have their favourite blood types to feed on. They need your blood to develop fertile egg...

I attended Abia state university and I entered with high hopes. I saw American movies and felt those were the norms; the norms I was going to meet in the Nigerian school system—How I thought whatever happened in America applied here was amazing— and Abia state University for that matter? We all know the rude shock our school system gives us; how that we learn with manuals that our lecturers lecturer used and passed down to him like some holy relic; how that we can't  hear the lecturer  because the hall is too full, or that, we  can't possibly pass exams because we can't relate with what they are teaching (which the lecturers don't care about), and have lost all enthusiasm and motivation to even put the effort to read before the exams.  Let's not talk about the dilapidated buildings and lab equipment that make it almost impossible to be a science student, at best what you become is a glorified chemist, mixing things you don't know its use. All these ...

I was sitting, as I watched him sleep as nothing had happened. Earlier he just narrated to me his episodes with women. He smoothly told me with a smile on his face — sometimes a very buoyant grin escaped the side of his face — how he flexed and fiddled with lassies — some discerning, others weren't.   I asked questions, he answered without restrain, without a single iota of remorse, for him it was an odyssey he was worthy of.  He was relishing every moment, as he garnished his tale with his occasional quips, the sound of it released an acerbic emotional concoction. It ebbed my spirit into an abysmal corridor full of thorns and thistles: thoughts — “did I create this monster? Or did I awaken it?” Because I too have had a taste of it, but this time I was both chef and customer. He served and I ate, I served and he ate — we both satiated our appetites in lustful moans and unsettled cravings. We would come back for more. Bit by bit he layered his plan to wh...