In the evening, Delaney called the phone that Uncle Max gave me to manage. The phone rang more than three times before I picked up the call.
"Hello," I said. "How can I help you?"
"It is me, Perer. Don't act as if you don't know who I am," Delaney said.
"What do you want? I have made it clear to you that I am not interested in being friends with you again. Don't you understand?"
"I do understand but I have something to say. Can I come over to your uncle's house?"
"No! Don't come over. I am not interested in starting a friendship with you. Please stay where you are and leave me in peace."
I heard a knock on the door. It was brief.
"Who is that?" I yelled.
"Someone," the person behind the door replied.
"What can I do for you?" I asked.
"I have a message for you. A message from someone special."
At that moment, I thought the person on the door was referring to Katy. At that moment, I felt like floating i
Today, I spent more time studying mathematics and it was fun. I discovered something that will live in my mind for a long time.It is funny how you could discover a lot of things in little things that matter. I am very much aware that my interest in math has slowly reduced and has been replaced by a sudden call in the literary world because of my diary but it is beautiful to discover that even in literature, math has its place. Great men like Leonardo Da Vinci, Francis Bacon and Sir Isaac Newton proved this by fusing both fields wonderfully.After reading the book, Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown some days ago, I learnt of the Fibonacci series. A complex but very simple set of numbers that increase progressively by the addition of two preceding numbers. The Fibonacci series can be written in the order 1,1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89 etc. Here you would notice that, before the first 1 is nothing, so we can say nothing + 1=1 and 1+1=2, also 1+2=3, 2+3=5, 3+5=8 and s
My JAMB exam was today, which meant that i was going to take a long bus ride to the other part of the state, Nsukka. There would be students like me, probably secondary students or students who had left secondary school some ago because they were not privileged to gain admission into a reputable university. When I got to the venue of my exam, I saw girls and boys sitting on plastic chairs with their eyes fixed towards the entrance of the exam hall. They were all seriously thinking about the questions that awaited them in the exam hall.For me, JAMB exam was not something to be worried about. Since I spent a good number of hours preparing for the exam, I was confident that I would do pretty well."We don't have enough time in there, just imagine. Only two hours to answer more than one hundred and fifty questions. I hope I did well," a boy of about my age said to his female friend as they passed where I sat."How was the exam?" I asked. "Was it
Today was women's day. The eighth day of March. The day after I wrote my JAMB exam. The day after I left Dorothy because of what she had said to me.I thought of calling Mum today so I could tell her how much I missed her and how much I loved her but I didn't. I couldn't call her and tell her how much I loved her because I felt I didn't love her enough to tell her that.Whenever people composed beautiful words like, a man is only consciously aware of love when he is about to lose someone, they were usually right, but could they also mean that if he is not in a situation of losing someone he may not feel love?The days of creating spaces about love in my mind were far gone. Each passing day as I watch the hairs in my armpit and pubic region multiply, I have come to realize that I am getting closer to adulthood than I had expected. Yet, I was still the same old me - boring.Today, I didn't want to spend most of my time thinking about the many reasons
I spent a great deal time of contemplating whether I should join an agnostic meeting in my neighbourhood or not. Finally, I succumbed to the desires of my mind and attended the meeting.Being a newcomer can be weird sometimes. You see a lot of faces staring at you inquisitively. You see a lot of people talking to each other and looking at your direction as if you are going to figure out what they are saying about you by merely looking back at them.I felt lonely in the meeting until i met someone that didn't look like a Nigerian. He was a Cameroonian."Hey," I greeted the Cameroonian lad I had already concluded as my new friend."Hello," He waved back at me."I thought you were from Nigeria until I had to take a good look at you for more than fifteen minutes.""Cameroon and Nigeria are not that far," the Cameroonian lad replied."A Bakassi border is all there is," I intoned, sounding intelligent for my age."Well,
Remember the girl that I met on saturday during my JAMB exam? Dorothy lived in a two-bedroom apartment with her father on Python street - one of the few streets in Enugu that turned night into day and day into night. During the hours past midnight, just before dawn, cars and motorcycles filled with exhaust fumes accelerated in an unfriendly manner punishing passers-by with pollution and unbearable noise. There was always a row of headlights, always a row of impatient drivers and sometimes, there was always an occasional row of vehicles mounted with headlights at their top, their sirens making the night difficult to pass through. Life in the night was the direct opposite of life in the day. The streets were more calmer in the day. It was as if the Python that caused havoc in the night had gone to bed. It was as if the spirits that circled the streets at night were night watchers and day sleepers. Dorothy told me she always found it hard to sleep at night when I asked her about
The sound of a car crashing a motorcycle felt like the inside of my mind, like hate speeches and noises all combined together to stir me to misery.After Aunty Matilda's text message, I started to feel somehow. My mind turned into a busy, crowded fusion of mocking men and women dressed in garbs."How are you doing? Are you sure that you are ok?" Someone asked me this morning after I had taken my bath. It was Uncle Max."I am fine. Thank you, Uncle Max," I smiled.Inside my mind, I could see a man pushing forward, grimacing as he brushed past an exiting patron who was a little bit older than him, feeling the transfer of dewy sweat from the patron to him, the momentary tangling of their arm hair which he felt could create a bond that could be seen as a form of union. The air clung to the ceiling with a cloudy, obscuring darkness that threw shadows on the face of the man who checked his wristwatch and stared at me. I felt my heartbeat skip a little as I trie
"My name is Mike. I am from Edo State. I am the first child of my parents. I turned seventeen last month, two days after I discovered that my mother was pregnant with a girl child. I was excited when I first heard the news from my father. I had waited so long for the day I would see a new baby in our home. When I was twelve years old, my mother had a miscarriage which made me feel bad because I was not there for her when she was crying for help. I lived with that guilt for a long time until I heard the news of a new baby," Goodness checked the script he was reading then looked at me."That was odd," I drawled."How do I sound?" Goodness asked."Pathetic! You sound like a teenager who is at the verge of exploring puberty."Goodness face shrank."Not too awful though," I added."Do you think I can be able to perform well in the competition?""I don't know the rules of the competition so I can't decide the criteria you will be judged."
Several times, I have ran hysterically through the valley of darkness with hands above my head. I have ran with no sense of direction just survival instincts flooding my mind. Most experts would call me crazy for running with zero destination in mind but sometimes in life, people just run to relieve themselves from stress; to gain freedom from a bondage they can only escape from by running. Also, against most reasonable accounts, people run to be far away from the world and be lost in their own silence.Today, I ran in the morning, just before five O'clock, to escape from my very own imaginations. Each step I took seemed to take me deeper and deeper into the worsening labyrinth of the jungle. I nearly fell down several times as I was torn into pieces by the fear of my own failure. I could feel the hot breath of my wild pursuer, chasing me in circles as I ran endlessly into a barricade of hostile men dressed in military uniform. What was worse, my feet kept getting entan
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