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Sometimes you want to tell someone that you are really going through difficulties but they tend not to understand or believe you. They place you too high that you wonder if they did not deem it necessary to leave a ladder behind. I remember the Hall 5 RAP CHALLENGE. Prince would have just let me watch from a distance but hell no! He persuaded me to give it a try. I knew full well that my lines were rusty but the difficulty in making them see this made me budge to his plea. What more did you expect? Shey it was in my turn that the microphone went mute; they changed the microphone two times while I was giving the rap thing a shot. Oh! So only me heard myself? With immediate effect, I was announced rejected by the far-from-impressed audience. I cannot remember how I surrendered the microphone to another rapper, but the shame got to my skin when the crowd got all excited at the lyrics the dude spat. The consolation my mind suggested was to chill till the dance section but c’mon after the earlier shameful exit, my balls could not speak for me. For the first time, the flesh refused such ritual. The last resort was to hope there was Miss Bootylicious, somewhere waiting for Mr Capable, at the arrival of evil hours. A sad night it was. A gay party? The girls did not know about the gathering? A voluptuous belle came forth, and by her sides were two trim ladies. There was only one universal donor of the three and so you can imagine the GIDIGBO that was bound to happen just that one secures a pintle-bosom relationship. I feared a broken nose so danced with a group of unsuccessful guys. Rain came and the party was to continue at a distant place. With which money? Gate fee? Where will I tell mummy I went to if something more treacherous than ‘rocking’ happens? Abeg! I had to attempt the Hall 4 destination with feeble knees as though I had one slug too many.

Sometimes you want to win. But most times you are around those that want to be noticed as the front man in a team situation. When you remember certain events that you leave you all choked up, then it is not incorrect to conclude that it is not in all cases that you fail because of lack of preparation. Shebi when I was in my third year, there was this mock trial I voluntarily partook in. After the diligent and dogged preparation, we hit the court room to win the round. But my lead counsel seemingly or best still, obviously had some scores to settle with the lead counsel on the other end. He took the examination-in-chief and in prestissimo, he had delved into the cross-examination I had before then, covered. Expectedly, we could not make a good cross and the accused walked away harmless. The wig on my head was soaking my brain in pronto, my worms were keen on registering their hungry state, my objections were piece of shit, my voice waved like a tuning radio, and yeah my soul knew the winner. I managed to take photos with other participants as the ritual demands; I walked away, talked about the case, blamed the culprits behind my loss, hissed, and bought some cheap food.

Sometimes you want someone to know how much she is loved. You go out of line to establish this. If you love someone, gifts are never a bad idea. Love is sacrifice notwithstanding the state of impoverishes you find yourself in – easier said? So I was going with the legal team for a competition at Lagos State. I told her that I was going to get her something and she said almost immediately, “well it is your money.” Upon our journey back, a purchased a shortbread that questioned my pocket – it was N650. Oh my gosh! Did I wake up with a large appetite? It is true that you should not try to impress a girl so when you are hungry, you eat. But I had just consumed a pack of rice and chicken so… The shortbread must have been surprised when my left hand took  hold of it and the right hand allowed the hot air in the yet moving bus have direct encounter with the well arranged sweetened biscuit. Every chew was with a re-think, an excuse, and an apology to self. Be a man of your words should guide one. I may not be a practitioner but my return from Ife was with her fermented palm wine – lovely that it got her tipsy.

Sometimes you should spare time to look back. This is not the Lot’s wife situation. It is good one reflects on his voyage in life so far. There are unconscious derailments that one might have inculcated or neglected. It is in this examination of self that the embrace of dumped values be carried once more. To think every Sunday was to be spent in the confines of my room; a full session, only two church encounters. Flimsy excuses as to reading over night was the habitual defence but I knew full well that it was self deception. 24 hours reading is first impossible and not a guarantee of a first class.

Sometimes you want to tell people a deep story, a secret, or a topical occurrence. Sometimes you hope that certain things never happened to you. Have you every wished an event was only played on a DVD and not real? Just tonight I was in the bathroom washing every germ that had hatched in every secret part of my body. With vivid reflection, the chagrin of how much I spent on my phone kept putting sores in my chest –  one more deep thought on how impoverishes handcuffed me and reduced me to a dot with adding for extras, the now so obvious rib cage, and fright inducing collar bone, I was sure I would go bananas. So after spending such amount on my dead phone, the punch key wandered to frustration point just when I ordered it to give me the torch light function – it made me grumble, curse inwardly due to the stinking bathroom meant for trolls. But was my suffering not enough? Some feminine voice came behind and with a horrible voice, he managed to sing “I am in love with your body.” This was never going to happen – my fist was all gathered up but on seeing the hefty image up close, my right fist became shy or suffered Parkinson disease. He rubbed my chest and was confessing his love with pidgin English. His four dollar foot long was very ambitious and was awake without reservation, and came with its salient component were scary ripened greenish veins that appeared to have a black belt to its name. I wrestled till there was a hit on the ground. His leg had encountered the soap I had borrowed to bath – I was too frightened and nonplussed that my lips could not sing nunc dimitics to this gay brother. With quick speed and forgotten towel and underpants, I sprinted to my room. What an event it was for me. What an event you just believed. LOL!

                               © OKOCHA OBED



My name is Okocha Obed, you can call me Obeezy. I love to display aesthetics through my ink—I must say writing is my small world. I consider myself a deep writer; I say I am deep because I have discovered that part about myself, even, my fabulous audience share same view. I believe in connecting to all kind of persons as there is always something to learn from everyone. I see myself as an actor; to stay on the stage, I need to think ink. The voice is a reflection of myself and my conscience. I always felt I could be like superman while growing up. It was pretty ridiculous so all I did was dream of being a soldier. It was abortive. So I created a world where I could keep talking about the ills in my community but with other flavours to show I am growing into completeness. keep reading.

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