Everything started to fall apart on the first day of October when Mum came home from visiting some of her friends and tore the wedding portrait of her and Dad. If you were to ask me what I was doing then, well i was sitting on the couch, telling my junior brother, Danny to stop moving his legs in an odd manner. I heard Mum's tears coming from the bedroom her and Dad shared and it was really loud.
Dad always said that a man's worth depended on how he took care of matters concerning his family. I didn't know what he meant by that or why he said that but on this day, I knew he had lost total control of his family.
It is more than seven days— a week, since I resumed school and began the tedious lifestyle of a desperate teenager trying to cope with the rigorous demands of school life. I am very much aware that I have not written anything lately but I am still lost in thoughts on how I should begin this story or proba
My parents got separated and I was forced to move into my Uncle's house. Uncle Max lives in a different state in Nigeria, close to the state that I used to live in. My journey to Uncle Max’ house was smooth and within a couple of days, I was settled.It was late in the night and the sun had faded away to give the moon an opportunity to shine in the sky when Uncle Max came to my room and woke me up. He was a fair man who was in his early forties. He was single and was yet to start making up any plans for marriage."You need to get ready for school, tomorrow," Uncle Max said, stretching his arms. "I have already found a new school that can fit a person of your standard." He looked round the room at the carelessly flung bags, books and shorts over the chair."What of my elder sister and junior brother? Are they not coming to Enugu?" I asked, grinning."No! They are not coming to Enugu," Uncle Ma
One might start a journey with a footstep, the thrill of an amazing adventure and bearing in mind, whatever he or she may be able to discover at the other end of the road. Life means considerably more than just living and most of the time we get trapped in our daily activities that we forget to realise that our imperfect bodies needs some form of excitement. But Uncle Max did not see life the way I saw it – rather he went to work, came back from work, ate, sleep and then repeat. With a new smile on his face every morning, he always joked about his boss calling him a loner. Something I was not unfamiliar with. A loner is a man who is alone. A man who enjoys avoiding the company of others. As off as it may sound, Uncle Max was a loner. A staunch man who had learnt to see spending time alone in his room as pleasure, oblivious to the fact that he was damaging himself.I formed a faint smile on my face as i thought of the night before, when Uncle Max had a remarkable o
By dawn, Dad, Mum, Christle, Danny and some relatives were already waiting for Uncle Max and I in Dad's apartment in Port-Harcourt. Before a large bowl filled with garden eggs was passed round the gathering, we had washed our hands in a common basin as a sign of unity before inviting God to ensure that the rest of our days go well. Everyone was smiling, including Dad and Mum who were divorced or better still, who felt they were divorced. Legally, it takes usually about four to six months before a divorce is finalized but my parents were resistant on any conversation that ended with them getting back together. Dad proudly told everyone in his workplace that he was a single man if anyone had the boldness to bring up the question of his marriage. On the other hand, Mum had pulled off the ring Dad gave to her when he proposed to her, from her index finger and told me the last time I saw her that she was divorced and married to the man that she was living with even though the man was yet
I dont like when the scorching sun hits my dark skin but there is nothing I can do about it anyway. The heat was a battering ram. I basked in it anyway not minding how hot it grew. The sky was tossing huge balls of sweat, the size of broken buttons forcefully pulled off from shirts. I could feel the rain coming. The soft drizzle hitting my skin like the sound of jazz music soothing my eardrums, like a distorted massage from a beautiful masseuse. The rain had the ability to drown the heat and put me away from the misery I felt as I walked alone to school, but it was as insignificant as following the advice of Uncle Max to stop at the bungalow owned by my classmate's parents. Goodness was a year older. Unlike Clag, he was a nerdy teen who liked to socialize.Being under the heat of the sun and waiting for the rain to fall is like holding a ladybug, the flutter of its shell-like front wings like a small tidal wave— smaller and safer than the tsunami that hit Lituya B
I and Goodness got to school when the school prefect rang the school bell and the assembly was about to begin. Taking Uncle Max's advice was the best thing I did this morning after a long time of avoiding Goodness' house. Listening to Goodness talk about his life in Warri, a boisterous city in Delta State, Nigeria was the start of an epic friendship. A friendship I am hoping would last for a long period of time.The morning assembly was brief. Unlike my former school in Port-Harcourt, my new school did not like wasting time in forcing students to form lines and coordinating some few elects to lead the rest students in hymns before announcing whatever changes the school had made or were making.About three teachers were waiting at the of the school as soon as the time was a minute past eight. According to school policies, it was not right for a student to enter the school premises after the time had passed eight. The prefect given the post to ensure that all the student
Miss Bisi worried about Uncle Max so did I. She did not know how best to approach the situation and tell him how she felt about the way he treated her. She was hoping that after the night that he had rejected her, he would return to his right senses and dial her number, but he seemed keener to spend his free time alone rather than spend it with a woman who was showing him affections he was not used to. In the meantime, although she was afraid of putting all her efforts on Uncle Max, some things were quite different about Uncle Max, at least not in a way that reduced her chances with him. It helped her to know that Uncle Max could still love her one day and probably even ask for her consent to marry him. Miss Bisi was getting older every day and as she marked her thirtieth birthday, she knew she would be expecting a reminder from her mother to get married as soon as possible. There was also another woman who usually paid Uncle Max a
The great Mother Teresa once said, "Let us meet each other with smile, for the smile is the beginning of love." The girl who sells in a small kiosk close to our school has been eye-balling me for weeks and I have been ignoring her too for weeks, hoping in her own time or reason she would consider how inappropriate all her gestures were.The girl who sells with a smiling face in the school canteen is the same girl that sells in a small kiosk. Today, I stared at her and returned her smile back. Trying to follow the wise words of Mother Teresa, I drew a hand of friendship, stretching my hands towards her. She laughed and looked at me not in a class-stalker way, or in hearty-crazy kind of way but in a way that makes me feel so uncomfortable."How are you?" She said."I am fine," I replied then added, "and you?""If I told you that I wasn't really feeling good would you take good care of me?" She asked, not smiling or flashing her eyelids."It depends o
Apart from the fact that British footballer, Ian Wright was born today, there was also something special about the third day of November. It was sunday. The day the “Holy Bible said God rested after creating the world in a period of six days. I try not to imagine the normal seven days I know: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. It is insane if you try to imagine that.I was raised to accept that God rested on the seventh day and it was expected from us(Christians) to go to church on the last day of the week. That was when I was a Christian, still followed Mum to church and ignore Dad's atheist comments. It was not until I was seven did I know that the last day of the week was not sunday but saturday. People who go to church on saturdays are they the ones who are right? And those who go to church on sundays are they the ones who are wrong?It has been more than a year since I last stepped foot on any church. Before you start ju
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