The light was gone before I could even step inside the siting room and say hello to Miss Bisi. It was replaced by candlelight.
"How was school today?" Miss Bisi asked.
"You know there is nothing special about school. It is the usual stuff of taking home assignments you are not interested in doing."
I wondered if Miss Bisi was paying attention to what I was saying about my school. It is almost a month now since I have lost interest in my classes. Any conversation that involved me going to school was not taking lightly by me. Why is Miss Bisi so interested in my schooling?
"Education is as important as food," Miss Bisi announced after she had served me dinner, "you either eat it and survive or you don't eat it at all and end up dying."
"Well, yes, Miss Bisi. . . About that. ." I fought hard to find the appropriate words to explain my recent dislike for school but found myself simply staring at Miss Bisi.
"Trouble at school?" Miss Bisi su
It had started raining heavily as I walked slowly to meet Dad and only then, did I realize that I had made a terrible mistake I could have avoided. When I am pissed over something that is not worth my useful anger, I normally just move away or pretend as if I am not there, but the damp and drizzle that flooded my mind yesterday did not give me the opportunity to make a reasonable decision before picking up a fight with Uncle Max and leaving his house at an ungodly hour of the night. I should have done better than standing tall and proving my innocence. I should have been much more considerate rather than desperate to see what Uncle Max had in mind. If I really thought that standing up against Uncle Max was my rise to adulthood then I must be a fool. Also, if you really supported me in standing up against my dear Uncle Max then you must be a bigger fool. There is no honor in standing up for what is wrong. Even in the face of danger
You can start a dance with a step, with an incredible movement or with a grand entrance that no one would be able to understand but you. It may seem hard at first to imagine your body will flow to the sound of pleasant music in the air but the farther you go into the song, the easier it becomes. Sometimes you may feel you are not getting it right, that your body is not moving to the rhythm of the beats, that your feet is moving faster than the way you expected. In the end, you have nothing to do other than to appreciate the way you have danced.I started today by dancing crazy. Real crazy! The kind of crazy you know that exists but you don't ever get the opportunity to see it done in the movies or in real life, just in your dreams. Do you understand what I just said?Dad driving back to Port-Harcourt was lovely even though I knew that my stay would not be long because I had to go back to Enugu soon. My WAEC exams were fast approaching and my first paper was going to be
The night air had grown warmer than normal. A sudden wind had risen and had departed as soon as it came. I saw a woman lit a cigarette and prepare to close her shop; the iron door made a disturbing sound as she jammed it close to the wall and again she cursed as she experienced another failed attempt to lock the iron door with a padlock. Everything had changed a little from the last time I was here, I mused. I was a little disappointed when Dad came out from the barbing saloon and told me we were going somewhere special because I had hoped we would just jump into his car and head back home, as peaceful as we had came."How is the weather?" Dad asked half-aloud."It is coming clean," I replied sharply.Dad got in the car, turned on the car engine and backed it into the driveway."Where are we going?" I asked as we stopped."Somewhere special, Perer. You ask too much questions."I watched as Dad got out of the car. He held the rear door
It was midnight. I flushed warm with anger as I watched Dad turn to another street. Where was Dad taking all of us to? Was he driving us to our deaths? Why didn't Stacy and Rita say something about the road getting lonelier? Why is all of them quiet? I asked myself those questions as I started to feel I was bothering them. Yes! I was a foreign body. I was not supposed to be in their midst, following them to an unknown place at midnight. I was trying desperately to concentrate, to understand why Dad was driving at midnight when he should be with Mum or Sarah, sleeping. My entire body felt weak so did my soul. The two important elements of my existence were both focused on a single point, taking a rest. But how could I sleep when I wasn't sure of where Dad was taking me to? I know we ought to trust our parents. I know we ought to obey everything that they say irrespective of how hard it may be to accept. I trust Dad and I believe he won't do anything to hurt me but I wasn't comfortabl
I heard the persistent sound of a church bell ringing in my head after my first agnostic meeting with Dad, Rita and Stacy. The bell rang almost non-stop as if the owner who had ordered it to invade my privacy knew more about me than I did. But who was the owner? God? It couldn't be the man with a white beard because I have already made it clear to him in a unique form that I was not interested in associating myself with people who believed in him or thought he was real. It is not sensible or logical to put faith in anything you are not certain of and could be dangerous. Man created god, god may not have created man. Honestly, there is no generally accepted way to prove or disprove God so I wonder why people still believed in him. Exactly! So why do people believe in a god since it cannot be proven true or false? Why put faith? Why put faith in something you are not even sure exists?I have never seen a Christian's face turn as many shades of red as when they are confronted wi
All form of rebellions starts from somewhere whether it is accepting the friendly voice that advices you to go and steal from your friend or the cunning voice that tells you to jump from a cliff.For me, three years ago was the beginning. It was my first time of standing in the side of God in front of Dad. It was also the day I felt learnt how to boil hot water without burning my fingers. I can't really remember whether the rain was falling at that point or whether it had stopped falling but I know that everywhere was cold. Not the kind of cold that has to deal with hard feelings but the kind of cold you would associate with the weather because of the rain. Dad had just came back from work and he was not in a real good mood because he kept on complaining about a board meeting that did not end well. Mum on the other hand was in the kitchen trying to prepare tea for Danny.Although I tried my hardest to make Dad feel better, he just couldn't follow my flow. He was
This is the last day of the month and what is the best way to end the month than to express myself freely. I have read a lot of stories where people try to spread the message of God in a distinct way. Stories that were designed to touch the hearts of weak men and make them feel they owe God something. Even though they are written in a twisted fashion just like the story I am about to tell, I can still smell a lot of lies in it. Are you ready?A young painter came to a restaurant in the middle of the city one evening to have a meal. The owner who was an old man in his early seventies decided to lure the painter into a conversation with him only to find out that the young painter was trying to save some money for his dying mother so she could be able to come to the city and be treated properly by a trained medical practitioner in order for her to stand a chance of surviving. The young painter had a father, a wife and two young
Perhaps I was feeling differently because today was the first day of the month. Perhaps I was feeling weightless because my WAEC exams were starting soon. Perhaps I was tired of thinking too much about God. I really don't know what was wrong with my mind.Today, I decided to take a look at a magazine in Dad's house. I think the magazine belongs to Sarah because it was a Christian magazine. As we all know, Dad is an agnostic so am I.Inside the magazine was an article written by a Mormon who had spent months in Puerto Rico and a state in the United States of America called Washington. I was hoping to write a long entry today detailing my expectations for the new month but I am too tired because of tomorrow's trip. Dad, Stacy, Rita and I are going to a special place in town and I am overjoyed with the thoughts of meeting new people. I will leave you with the article of Elder Wyatt Martin.Here is what he wrote in the article:My name is Elder Ma
Chibuzor Victor Obih was born in the southern part of Nigeria. Delta State to be precise. His writing includes essays, poetry and short stories. He likes to play soccer, read, study and above all, write. He is currently a fourth year student of a renowned public university in Nigeria. The University of Port-Harcourt is where he is pursuing a bachelor's degree in Mechanical Engineering. Perer Ford: Diary of a Stranger is his second book and his second attempt to explore the beautiful world of a novelist. To stay connected with him and his works, you can follow him on Instagram using the account name, Chibuzor Victor Obih or follow him on Facebook using the account name, Author Chibuzor Victor Obih.
The pathway to heaven is rough. The streets are not tarred. The bells are not ringing. Where is God?Apart from the sound of the water dripping from the tap in the bathroom, I couldn't hear anything. I couldn't even hear my heart beating inside my chest."This is going to be my last attempt," I said to myself.I tried to turn around as I felt the impact of the drug I took. I tried to move my limbs but I couldn't. I closed my eyes and saw myself dying. It was terrible. Then, suddenly, I saw Jesus Christ looking down at me. His feet, white as snow. His hair, colorful as gold. He took my arm and told me to get up."I will give you another chance, Perer," he said."Why?" I asked, confused."Because you deserve it."I didn't know what else to say. I just stood there, shocked. I stood in front of the son of God I had condemned most of my life and I couldn't say anything. All I could think about was my book. The diary I had writt
"The first time I have ever thought of killing myself was in Port-Harcourt. I wanted to make my death quick. Less painful! I wanted to pass any sharp thing through my body and bleed till I was dead. I didn't realize how painful it was until I grew older," I said to the therapist."Where were your parents when you were going through all of this?" The therapist asked."What can I say about my parents," I said, thinking. "Dad stayed with us until he divorced Mum some months ago. Then I was sent to live with my uncle here as if I was the cause of their divorce. Dad was always thinking about life. He constantly joked about God. For your information, Dad hates God. I don't know the exact reason why he hates God, I only know he hates God. Anytime someone mentions the name of God, he gets pissed.""Do you think your Dad's hatred for God is the reason why you hate God too?""I don't think so," I swallowed hard. "My case is different from Dad. I only want answers t
For days, I have been pondering about the meaning of my life and I can tell you that I haven't been gripped by the fear of it even if it is the slightest bit of it. Have you ever been scared of dying and as well feel you are not afraid of living? Only two days did I hear a preacher speak of eternal life and it resounded in my ears for as long as I could remember. It was the first time a person read a bit of my mind without knowing me. Do you think I am slowly turning to God?For so long I have dreamt of Clag and Danny. And for so long I have demanded an answer as to why I was brought to this life, but yet, there haven't been any answers. For some reasons, I reckon, I am but only a roaming lifeless mustard seed enclosed in a showcase and packaged in a nylon called life. To prove my point, think of an empty space with an empty sack lying downwards. Can you imagine that?I left home today to visit Goodness. A newness of
"Thank you for coming today," the therapist said. "I was afraid you wouldn't come because of the way you sounded when you left my office the other day.""Can we continue from where we stopped. As you can see, I am already getting tired of this introductions.""I understand. I understand, Perer."The therapist turned my file to the next page."I thought I would never say this about you but you are an incredibly smart person. You deserve a good life.""Almost everyone does," I replied."Some, more than others. Those who set goals, work very hard, stay out of trouble and complete their education deserve a better life.""Can we get on with this, ma? I am trying hard not to freeze to death.""Are you cold?""No! But I am freezing yo death inside of me.""Give me time."I watched as the woman looked at my file, raised it up, turned it over and placed it back on
"Seven children?" Miss Bisi repeated. "I am sorry, you want us to have seven children.""Yes!" Uncle Max smiled."And you mustn't apologize all the time. It is permitted for couples to share diverse opinions on children. As long as there is love, there is unity.""And you want us to have peace in a home filled with seven children?"Uncle Max didn't mind having lots of children even if it was a dozen because he had spent most of his whole life being alone. The fact that Miss Bisi wanted less than seven kids was not going to change his mind."I was thinking," I interrupted, "with the rate of inflation going on in Nigeria and with the way jobs are getting fewer, how are you guys going to raise seven children in an unstable mixed economy?""God will provide," Uncle Max smiled."Yes! God will provide," Miss Bisi added, supporting his statement. "What is on my mind is not giving birth but being referred to as a married woman. I want people to start
"I want to help you, Perer," the therapist said. "We agreed to meet two days ago. Why did you delay?""I can't answer that, ma. And you can't help me. I am already a lost cause who is swimming on the surface of the earth. My time will come and I will soon die.""I understand," the therapist wrote something down on a book. "Any memories of your childhood you might want to share with me? Since the conversation about the people you care about last time did not lead us anywhere, I thought it would be best if you tell me about your childhood.""There is nothing to talk about in my childhood. It was a moment that has passed. It can't come back again even if I want it to."“Are you happy with the way your life is right now, Perer?”"Happiness is a subjective question, ma. It can mean a lot to a lot of people. Some people are in a relationship not because they are happy about it but because th
My day started almost in a haste. It started with the early morning sun shining in a rush before the rain started falling slowly from the sky. The rain fell like fine sifted unwanted powder thrown from above. I was still in Enugu and I was still at Uncle Max's house, acting with utmost perfection as if everything was alright with me. Not for one single time did Uncle Max wonder if my silence was a new found habit or if it was a cage I had deeply fallen into. The lack of communication that started between us two weeks ago was still growing everyday as if it had an unquenchable hunger that needed to be settled. The lack of communication bothered me as I counted the number of days remaining for the year to end. One hundred and fifty two days!"Miss Bisi is coming today," Uncle Max said as he served me a plate of rice and stew. "She has been asking questions about you and I have been finding lies to tell her. What is really wrong with you, Perer?"I felt my jaw drop but I
I did not talk. I could not talk as I sat on the white plastic chair. The therapist repeated the question, and again, instead of a response, all she got from me was a bland dying stare."Perer, relax. I want you to relax. I hope the plastic chair is comfortable?""Relaxation is not something that I fancy these days. Say what you want to say. I will answer as much as I can answer.""Alright," the therapist wore her glasses. "Perer, it may interest you to be informed that I have read your file over and over again and I still don't understand what your problem is. You said you are not suicidal but yet you are depressed. Do you care to explain what you mean by that statement? I will give you time to think about my question while I go through your file. I have decided to not charge you because I admire your courage to seek help. It is not common for young people of your age to admit they are suicidal. They see it as a crime!"I inhaled softly as I climbed into