Creative Writing | TRW Interns

A Story Of Unrequited Love

May 11, 2024 by Moyinoluwa Ogunleye

This is a story of unrequited love between two people, Emeka and Adaobi. In the vibrant city of Lagos, where the streets thrummed with life and the air was thick with the scent of spices and ambition, lived a young man named Emeka. He possessed a quiet strength and a soulful gaze that spoke volumes without uttering a word, his presence commanding attention wherever he went. Emeka was a man who kept himself busy, studying engineering at the university, spending time with friends, and nurturing dreams of a future filled with possibilities. But amidst the chaos of his daily routine, one constant presence lingered in his thoughts like a haunting melody – Adaobi. She was a vision of beauty and grace, her laughter like music to his ears and her smile capable of lighting up even the darkest of nights. They had been friends since childhood, their bond forged through years of shared experiences and mutual understanding. But for Emeka, their friendship was a source of solace and torment. For five long years, Emeka had harboured feelings for Adaobi, feelings that he had kept hidden away, buried deep within his heart. He watched silently as she moved through life gracefully and confidently, her magnetic presence drawing admirers like moths to a flame. And every day, Emeka’s love for her grew stronger, an unspoken truth threatening to consume him whole. How could he explain the depth of his longing for her, the ache that gnawed at his heart each time she treated him like just another friend? How could he convey his resentment whenever she laughed at another man’s jokes, oblivious to the pain it caused him? And how could he articulate the jealousy that simmered beneath the surface whenever she turned her attention elsewhere, leaving him to wonder if he would ever be more than just a friend? But despite the turmoil within him, Emeka would have done anything for Adaobi, his love for her driving him to lengths he never thought possible. He showered her with kindness and affection, hoping against hope that she would one day see him for the man he truly was – the man who had loved her unconditionally, even when she couldn’t. But as much as he tried, Emeka struggled to find the words to express his feelings, his tongue tied by the fear of rejection. He watched helplessly as Adaobi moved through life with careless abandon, oblivious to the storm raging within him. And then there were his desires, the forbidden yearning that consumed his thoughts day and night. He longed to feel Adaobi’s lips on his, to bask in the warmth of her embrace, but he dared not act on his impulses, afraid of ruining the delicate balance of their friendship. But even now, as Emeka sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, the sounds of the city fading into the background, her image lingered in his mind like a haunting refrain. He cursed himself for falling so deeply for her, for allowing his heart to be held captive by someone who could never reciprocate his feelings. But amidst the pain and heartache, there was a glimmer of hope, a tiny spark of possibility that refused to be extinguished. Deep down, Emeka knew that love was a force more powerful than any other, capable of transcending even the greatest of obstacles. And so, with a renewed sense of determination, Emeka made a silent vow to himself – he would find the courage to confess his feelings to Adaobi, to lay his heart bare and risk it all for the chance at true love. For he knew that no matter the outcome, he would rather live with the pain of rejection than spend another day hiding his true feelings from the world. As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a golden glow across the city, Emeka rose from his bed with a newfound sense of purpose. Today would be the day that he would finally lay his heart on the line, to tell Adaobi the truth that had been weighing on his soul for far too long. READ ALSO: Journey Away From Home As he stepped out into the bustling streets of Lagos, his heart pounding with anticipation, Emeka knew that no matter what the future held, he would always carry his love for Adaobi like a burden he could never fully unload. But perhaps, just perhaps, it was a burden worth bearing for the chance at true happiness.

A Simple Guide To Not Working Blindly

April 27, 2024 by Chioma Oparah

While I stood by the corner of the road, I watched as the young man struggled to cross over to the other side. He made a series of attempts but his efforts proved abortive. I mean, If only he had someone to guide him or even a white cane, he wouldn’t have stressed so much with nothing to show for it. On seeing how frustrated he looked after a series of failed attempts, I walked up to him, had a brief friendly conversation to make him feel a bit relaxed and then I held his hand and crossed him to the other side of the road. I didn’t just stop there. Days later, I reached out to him with a surprise package. A white cane, it was. The excitement on his face was second to none. That marked the end to walking blindly. Oftentimes, a lot of online businesses put in so much effort, yet nothing to show for it. Do you know why? No, it’s not “village people” (evil forces). Most times, it’s as a result of working blindly. Working without the use of data can be a fruitless effort. Having an insight of your data helps you to gain a better understanding of your customers. By analyzing data on customer behavior and preferences, you can develop more targeted marketing campaigns, improve customer service, and create products and services that better meet customer needs. So, are you a business owner who is tired of working so hard without results? Worry no more. The hour of sight restoration has come, if only you believe. All you need is TRW Consult data analytics and business intelligence services. This will enable you to gain valuable, data-driven insights about your operations as well as performance to make informed, data-driven management decisions. The sweetest part is that we are very affordable and you wouldn’t have to break a bank for this. Hurry now to our site to gain more insight about our services and remember to contact us afterwards. Let’s hold you by the hand and provide you with all insights required to move your business to the next big level. We are waiting to have a conversation with you.

On Astrology and Star Gazing

April 9, 2024 by Oluwagbenga Kolawole

Since ancient times, across multiple continents, there has been an eagerness among humans to predict what the future holds. This eagerness is present in many legends and folklore across the world. Divination, astrology, and acromancy of various kinds, many of which have been scientifically proven wrong, were given prominence regarding knotty decisions. This is because humans try so hard to understand the world that they sometimes seek or create new answers for whatever they fail to comprehend. African tribes, like the Yorubas, consult their oracles or read their stars or palms, all in a bid to derive meaning or guidance. Often with the hope that someone out there is listening. As humans, we persistently seek answers to our issues from our present, past, and future. We also seek to attribute meaning to strange phenomena around us. That is why we sometimes seek to give meaning, however illogical, to these happenings. If we look into history and the world around us, there is a lot of evidence. Take a look at the killing of twins in Calabar. They feared that one of the babies might be an evil spirit. Coincidentally, the Yorubas believe that the birth of twins brings wealth. This goes to show how unreliable these things are. Despite this, the belief in astrology perseveres. The art of astrology has persevered from ancient Egypt to Babylon and then Greece. The Chinese, Hindus, Tibetans, and Burmese also had their own varied versions. Of particular interest are the Chinese, who named their own signs after animals. According to their chart, one can be a lion or a chicken. As it was then, it continues today. Western astrology has even replaced the native traditional oracles for most Africans. Although many people would like to feign ignorance about it or even make jesty comments about it, there is still a strong stench of this belief among us. Solid evidence from Times India and Statista has shown that about a quarter of adults worldwide still remotely believe that their fate was determined by whether Saturn was angry or whether Jupiter was hungry. Many people have derailed their life ambitions and relationship dreams either because the rings of Saturn are not ringing or because their intended partner is a Capri-Sun. They also blame their individual shortcomings on their star signs, claiming to be a Taurus or a Cancer—a sure cancer to society, that is. As such, they take their hands off and let dubious signs dictate their lives. Even among students, perhaps it is because of a lack of something to do or the absolutely ridiculous desire to predict the future without expressly working for it. The possibility of turning to star signs, astrology, necromancy, and any other form of metaphysical in times of difficulty is stronger for some people than for others. This is due to differences in background, upbringing and general dissimilarities in character. However, this does not excuse the fact that people need to be more hands-on and decisive when making decisions about their lives. This is prevent them from ruining their own lives(Click here) READ ALSO: NIMASA At 18: A New Ever Revolving Body The field of astrology, stargazing, oracles, superstitions, palm reading, and every other related art is an interesting one, no doubt. There are a lot of intriguing facts and histories behind every lunar circle or planetary body. Many traditional stories and legends about the culture of the people are hidden in them. It is so powerful that it can and has served the functions of culture preservation and transmission from the past to the present and across different continents. But our belief in our stars should not make us believe less in our own ability to inspire and enforce change in our daily lives. Perhaps we are meant to take every day as an adventure and try to live it to the fullest, not seek to attach ridiculous meanings to things happening to us.

The Illusion of Choice

April 9, 2024 by Oluwagbenga Kolawole

Man’s fate has been predetermined, and his path has been preordained: to have a vision in unfavorable conditions and to pursue unlimited ends with limited means. He is given the illusion of choice. Like being blindfolded and handed a torch in a dense maze, like a puppet being controlled by a higher hand, like a character in a play acting out an already written script, he is made to ‘choose’. And these choices are not easy choices; they are, in fact, sacrifices. Of a thousand quite similar stories, this is one that indicates the difficulty of man’s choices and how his sacrifices only serve to increase the pain in his heart. In a land far away, there was a boy—a bright young lad. Among his peers, he excelled. In academics, sports, and every other activity, he had no equal. All this was thanks to the iron rod training he received from his father. His father, who had also been bright as a kid, his father, who was given a scholarship to one of the best schools in the country, was a happy-go-lucky chap. Well, at least he was, until he impregnated the boy’s mother, the product of which was the boy himself. Since then, he has developed a morose outlook on life. The father had trained the boy in the harsh ways of life, forcing him to adopt a very strict lifestyle. He once told the boy that living with one’s parents meant living under subsidized conditions. So he had to get his priorities straight and focus on his ambitions. Life is harsher; suffering his constant, he would yell at the boy while flogging him for the tiniest of his mistakes. And surely, the boy became a cold, ambitious young man. Sometimes the father wondered if he didn’t deny the boy the joys of childhood. But he would often brush away this thought. The boy has to make sacrifices for a successful adulthood. He must not end up like me, with a dead-end job and four mouths to feed, he would tell himself. He has to make better choices. The boy was admitted to the university on a fully paid scholarship, of course. It was on the university campus that he met the girl. The girl whose beauty illuminated his gloomy life, whose beautiful smile sent butterflies through his stomach, whose voice made his heart skip. It was at this moment that he tripped and fell in love. The feeling was mutual, and the connection was instantaneous. It was not a matter of choice; they both had no control over it. She was not an engineering student like he was; she was in mass communication. They saw each other more frequently over the next couple of days; anyone would think they were headed towards happiness ever after. But fate had other plans. The boy was not as politically inclined as the girl was. She was more open-minded. She was often in the company of older and politically active male colleagues. The boy went home on a break after the session ended. After the usual scrutiny of the boy’s transcript, the father was surprised to see the boy spending more time with his phone and not on his books or in his automechanic friend’s workshop, where the boy would sometimes go to get his hands busy. The father’s heart dropped when he discovered that the cause of this change in behavior was a woman. The father was dissatisfied, and he let the boy know. He told the boy the story of his own misdemeanor, the story of his own poor choices. The boy was losing sight of his goal. The girl was manipulating him. Why was he talking to her in the first place? Doesn’t he know that when he becomes successful, he will have the luxury of picking his choice of women? After all, women are trophies and symbols of success. Rich men marry beautiful women, while the poor men get whoever’s not taken by the rich men. The words of the father stuck with the boy. When the boy got back to school, he started examining the girl more closely. He started finding fault in everything she did. And soon, cracks started to appear in their relationship. She wasn’t being ambitious enough with her studies; she was flirting with other men, he thought to himself. Things came to a head when the students protested against the military junta in their country. He distanced himself from it. She called him a weakling and then asked him to choose between her and his career, or the future of the nation and his own selfish interests, as she had put it. Of course, he chose his books. It was a very painful decision to let her go, but he convinced himself that it was for the greater good. He made the choice. The girl was arrested while protesting, and she became a national symbol of rebellion. The Junta was later toppled, and democracy took its place. He went on to establish his own engineering company, which later grew and became a multinational. At some point, he was among the richest men in the world. The girl also did fine. She won a Nobel Peace Prize for her humanitarian and activist efforts, which spread beyond her own country throughout her continent. Decades later, married with his own kids, and watching her spread her wings in her activism career, her voice echoing on his TV, reminding him of his cowardice. His heart felt hollow and empty. No amount of money or career accomplishment could fill the void she left in his heart. As the boy played with his own son that night, the innocence in the kid’s eyes tore his heart apart. This is a story, like many others, a tale too familiar, of how one can’t eat one’s cake and have it, of the choices people make for their ambitions. If only man did not want so much, then maybe he would … Read more

Journey Away From Home

April 9, 2024 by Oluwagbenga Kolawole

Dele slouched on his seat. He put his head between his head between his knees and stretched. Even in the tight spaces of the bus, his height allowed him this luxury. The journey has been quite stressful, the driver just seemed to look for every bump and hole to run into. The continuous groan and agitation of the passengers didn’t seem to bother him; the man just kept swerving his rickety bus the way he liked. Also, he kept bringing in new passengers, farmers with their produce, traders on their way to the market, mothers with their offspring, noisy garage thugs, every Tom, Dick and Harry on the road. The bus was smelly and noisy, the odour of the sweat and goods of the passengers is beyond words. He knew he shouldn’t have boarded this moving hell. But he had spent hours waving down the Ibadan-bound buses and this was the only one that stopped; the others were filled up. In a bid to get to his uncle’s house before ten o’clock, Dele decided to board this one. He disregarded the unkempt appearance of the driver, his blood shot eyes and the trace of alcohol in his breath . But his younger sister, Vero, was not going to let her suspicions be buried. “Don’t enter this bus, he looks like a kidnapper” But he had played down her fears. The bus swerved wildly to the right again. Dele raised his head. This time the driver was trying to avoid an head on collision with an oncoming lorry that was also trying to overtake another car. The rest of the passengers screamed and cursed and continued with their chattering. Dele leaned back on his seat and looked out , they were already at Olodo, a few more minutes, they will be in Apata. He went back to his thoughts. He started reminiscing about home. READ ALSO: The Rejected Stone Became The Most Celebrated He remembered, the lazy days he spent strolling the neighborhood with his sisters. He remembered the cheerful Saturdays and the bright Sunday mornings. He remembered the laughter and the joy. All that changed when his uncle called to tell him that the premier university has resumed and it was time for freshermen’ registration, that was a week ago. He remembered how Tutu cried when she was told that her big brother would be leaving soon, she refused to let him out of her sight, everywhere he went, she tagged along. Dele sighed. A tired smile spread across his face as he stared out the window of the bus. This is a journey he has to embark on alone. He felt rather lonely. The woman beside him tapped him back to reality. Dele scanned her. She was a middle-aged woman with three kids on her lap and luggages she refused to put in the back of the bus. He had been the one carrying it for her since the journey started. “What?” “Your money?” “Oh” He dipped his hand into his pockets and gave her a thousand naira note. She proceeded to collect the fare from the passengers around her before passing it to the driver. Dele wondered why people are like that, collecting money from the rest of the passengers before giving it to the driver . He shrugged as the woman gave him his change. He sighed and he put his head on the seat before him, drifting into an uneasy sleep this time. By the time he woke up, the sun had fully risen . He looked around and saw the jostling and buzzing around him. The other passengers were already alighting . He scrambled down to get his bags. The noise and crowd around Apata was unfamiliar to him. He felt out of place. He glanced at his watch and his heart skipped a beat. It was already 11 am. His uncle would have gone to work . He would have to trek to his uncle’s office. Dele sighed wearily. He had a very long day ahead. His journey was just beginning, but he was determined.

Matriculation Day

April 9, 2024March 23, 2024 by Oluwagbenga Kolawole

Ade got up from the bed wearily. Today was his matriculation ceremony at the prestigious University of Westman. Yesterday had been pretty rough. The notorious elements of his hall wailed and screamed unsavory things at each other all through the night. The fact that it was Valentine didn’t help; there was heavy music and chaos right into the night. Decorum is to some people what peace is to the Taliban. It was despicable. But none of that mattered this morning as he was feeling rather motivated. He had gone from one hostel to the other with some of his friends, indicating his interest in receiving ‘item 7’ from prospective matriculants like himself. He wouldn’t be bringing any, but he would expect some. He looked around the room, surprised that his roommates were not around. He shrugged, picked up his towel, and headed to the bathroom. When he returned, he saw Ustaz, a friend of one of his roommates, unpacking his ironed matriculation gown. The latter looked surprised to see him. “Guy, the matriculation ceremony is 9 o’clock. Are you not going?” Ade glanced at his watch. 8:30 AM! He was surprised; he hurriedly picked on some casual clothes, grabbed his gown, and rushed out. Today is the cruise. He smiled to himself as he waved down a cab. Little did he know about what fate had in store for him. When he alighted from the taxi at the venue, a woman rushed over to his side and pinned a ribbon to his gown as she said some prayers. Ade was pleasantly surprised. He thought the school had arranged this special welcome for the matriculants. He was shocked when the woman asked him for money for “the blessing.” Owo adura, she said. He parted grudgingly with two hundred naira. But fate was just warming up. As Ade entered the compound, he saw a rather long queue of matriculants like himself waiting to enter the hall. He was impressed by the amount of energy these guys had put into looking impressive. The boys rolled around in their carefully pressed suits and sleek sneakers. The girls looked even more glamorous as they glided around in elaborate costumes and makeup. Bling, bling. Despite the news of impending strike action by the lecturers, none of the students seemed to care. Only some students, like him, looked unfashionable in their dresses. As Abraham Lincoln rightly said, you fit the craze if you reason too much. They all waited in line for two hours, with the line crawling slowly and the sun smiling rather unkindly. The heat was detestable. Then he heard people trooping out of the hall en masse; the ceremony was over. He felt dejected, but he was the one who woke up late. People dispersed to take pictures around the hall with their family, friends, new friends, and coursemates. He tried calling some people he knew but realized he knew no one. He was just a reserved guy who was lonely in this crowd. He looked around at the boys running around with the girls; even a day after Valentine, he was still oppressed. He knew he looked even more ridiculous in his matriculation gown. Ade decided to take a picture so as to have something to souvenir when he got home. To show his family. He approached a photographer, and after agreeing to the price and snapping the picture, the latter printed the photo. Ade then dipped his hand casually into his pockets to bring out his fees. Then fate struck a rather impressive blow. The void in his pockets was astonishing. He decided to see with his eyes because seeing is believing. He pulled out his pockets, and alas, nothing was in them. His last one thousand naira note! By then, he was already racing; his heart was racing, and beads of sweat lined his forehead. The photographer looked at him rather dubiously. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to deck this kid without being charged with assault. READ ALSO: Symptoms and Antidotes for giving up Just then, a random lady inviting him to her fellowship walked up to him and paid on his behalf. She had noticed his frantic actions and knew the poor guy had nothing in his pockets. Ade was extremely relieved. He made up his mind to pay her back in full and to keep going to her fellowship. The photographer handed her the picture and left. He was downcast and a little bit depressed but heavily relieved. The lady, whose name he later knew to be Sara, smiled. “Welcome to Westman,” she said cheerily. He smiled weakly and said: “Thanks”

Potiphar’s Perspective

April 6, 2024March 14, 2024 by Oluwagbenga Kolawole

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He struggled to find space among the crowd of smelly, sweaty peasants, all of whom had left their fields to petition the new governor. Potiphar’s case was no different from theirs. He was once a highly regarded personality throughout the kingdom of Egypt, but had been reduced to the lowest class in the Egyptian social strata. He sighed wearily as he bent and weaved through the crowd to avoid being detected by one of his former juniors and servants. If only he could get to see Joseph. He sighed wearily as memories of the past years rushed through his brain. Life was pretty decent for Potiphar in his early years. He was born into a middle-class Egyptian family—not entirely middle-class, but not upper-class either; say, upper-middle class. Growing up, he had enjoyed the little affluence that came with his father’s position as a government official. And, after his father, Potiphar Snr’s, death, the duty fell upon him as the oldest son to consolidate his father’s estate. He did the best any ordinary male in his position would do. He assumed his deceased father’s position in the Egyptian palace. With his average business knowledge and a little bit of luck, Potiphar was able to increase his father’s lands, slaves, and material wealth. He then tied the knot with Tika, the lady from the house of Ashthankhatuk, whom his late father had arranged for him to strengthen their family’s social status. This final decision would come back to haunt him. Potiphar shivered at this recollection. Among the many slaves he bought at the beginning of his wealth was a lanky lad who called his name Joseph. At first sight, the kid did not look cut out for fieldwork. But the slave merchant was a very persuasive fellow. “He’ll grow into it. Don’t they all?” Given that the lad was good-looking and not very expensive, he bought him with the thought of figuring out his purpose later. And from that moment on, the kid singled himself out from the rest of the slaves. For starters, he was not as depressed or morose-looking as the other slaves. Even when his future was uncertain in the slave merchant’s stall, he had that glint in his eyes and a confident chip on his shoulders. He was the most cheerful slave Potiphar had ever seen. The lad also had some natural people skills; leadership came easily to him. The lad, Joseph, excelled in everything and became Potiphar’s right-hand man. As a result of Joseph’s brilliance, Potiphar moved him away from fieldwork and put him in charge of the day-to-day affairs of his house. But in order to give him a proper Egyptian education and style, Potiphar enrolled him with the best mathematicians, astrologers, philosophers, and other teachers in various disciplines. Given how naturally talented Joseph is, his results were superb. Soon enough, he began to confound his Egyptian tutors with his wit. The numbers in Potiphar’s businesses, which Joseph managed, began skyrocketing. Potiphar’s net worth bloomed; he received promotions upon promotions and became more respectable in the royal court. A new problem soon arose for Potiphar in the form of his wife, Tike. Even before he married her, he had always heard stories of her hot flings with other men. But he dismissed the rumors as slanderous and baseless claims. He always thought to himself, Who wouldn’t be jealous of him for having such a beautiful wife? He adored her, and he made sure everyone knew. However, with successes in his businesses and responsibilities in the royal court, he grew less intimate with her. He had hoped she would understand. But Tika always stubbornly nagged him for more intimacy and affection. She had grown jealous of Joseph and frequently accused Potiphar of spending more time with his slave than his wife. Potiphar dismissed her words, but they stuck with him, which was why when he came back home later that day to find Joseph tied down and Tika accusing him (Joseph) of trying to rape her, he angrily ordered him to be put in one of the cruelest prisons in the country, the Pharaoh’s jail. Potiphar was jolted back into reality by the noise that greeted the arrival of the royal governor’s procession. He craned his neck to get a good view of the governor while praying silently under his breath to all the Egyptian gods that the governor would see him too. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he recalled how faithfully and diligently Joseph served him and how he didn’t trust him enough to believe his story when Tika accused him of attempting to rape her. Potiphar recalled all the misfortunes that befell him as soon as Joseph left the house: how his barns burned down, how he was disgraced in the royal court, how Tika left him, taking a significant portion of his wealth with her, and how he was reduced to a mere commoner. He couldn’t control himself anymore, and he broke into sobs, wailing Joseph’s name with the rest of the crowd. Just then, Joseph turned and looked in his direction. He smiled. Potiphar smiled. He knew his troubles were over.

Blood Ties

May 1, 2024March 14, 2024 by Oluwagbenga Kolawole

Perhaps a deeper understanding of the titular phrase will be achieved if its biological significance is examined, starting from the heart and the veins, the blood and its ties. The heart is an ever-throbbing turbine, a powerhouse of chaos of various emotions beating wildly to circle out the life juice, the blood, through a network of veins and arteries stretched out and intertwined. Intricately designed like a spider’s web. In that same vein, pun definitely intended, humans exist as part of a whole, a tiny thread as part of a yarn, a single living cell as part of a living organism, and we are drawn in towards the cesspool of throbbing society. As much as we all crave to be alone, no human is designed to exist in isolation. Just as a single drop of blood does not serve its purpose by being isolated but rather by being coordinated through the veins and arteries, so does the mapped-out path of life. In the early beginnings of civilization, the early man migrated across the world and settled wherever he pleased. He formed a community with people he shared blood with either by marriage or by birth. Soon, more individuals, including outsiders, joined him, and the small community began to expand. His descendants had the choice to stay or to migrate—to establish their own communities—and this way, like roots tapping out, civilization emerged. His blood is carried far and wide. This underscores the fact that since all men have been proven historically to have descended from one man, we are all connected. Though the link might prove stronger depending on our direct ancestors, It is thus not strange for people from a certain geographical location to be easily spotted wherever they go. This is because they carry sociocultural, psychological, and physical traits that scream where they come from in their blood. A very good instance is in the area of genetics. All humans have DNA,whicht makes us all so uniquely different and similar at the same time. We have inherited specific traits from our forebears that mark us out. Certain physical and psychological features, strengths and defects, gifts, or curses, as we sometimes choose to call them, And here, we see the cruel hand of fate. Children are made to bear the consequences of the decisions of their parents, as seen in the case of sickle cell anemia patients, or betteryetl, victims. When two people who are carriers of the illness come together, the children suffer for it. They live their lives knowing their life juice, their blood, is poisoned. There are certain things over which love does not triumph. As the blessings are shared, so are the curses. The ripple effects of the achievements and failures of our ancestors spill over into our heads. Innocent children are put under unnecessary pressure to live up to the standards set by their forefathers to prove that these gifts run in their blood and that they are not bastards. The bloodline we share confers on us impossible responsibilities to fulfill. Duties to our families, to our friends, to our neighbors, and to our society at large. Our blood ties tie us down like a goat is bound, with little space to roam and explore. So we spend every day of our finite lives, whether we like it or not, trying to live up to these duties because this is the lens through which society is programmed to see us. “Isn’t he the son of Prof….?” As we make our way through this dense maze, in this foggy haze, bearing unsolicited gifts of which we cannot voluntarily dispose, trying to figure out a pattern of which we did not choose to be a part, we realize that we are not alone, for as we are bound to the ones who have gone before, we are bound to the ones who come after. And we know we are walking on blood. The blood of those we have met and those we have not. The blood of those who have gone before and those who will inevitably come after us. Each drop has a different story. Maybe we are not really meant to understand it, but that is what life is: a puzzle, a question whose solution is constantly staring us in the face. Perhaps death, and only death, might one day do justice.

A Good Day

May 1, 2024March 8, 2024 by Oluwagbenga Kolawole

Today just has to be a good day, Derick thought to himself as he left the room of his on-campus hostel. It was a cold Tuesday morning, and compared to other days, he felt pretty good. Today is one of those days when the sun just doesn’t seem eager to pop up from behind the clouds. The sky had a dark, moody feeling, and no big clouds existed. But it seemed like it would rain, as the breeze was uncomfortably chilling. It was the perfect weather to stay under the blanket. He did not meet a lot of people on the way. The birds on the tree on the way to his faculty seemed to have taken the hint. There was no loud chattering or singing today. He could hear the crushing of dry leaves under his feet as he walked through the boulevard. Sometimes, he wished he had that kind of luxury—to be free—like a bird. He was going through a difficult phase. One of those phases where you feel life raising you up, smacking you down, and trampling on you. The lectures kept getting more intense (and he was even on his way to another one). He was running out of his monthly allowance, and his dad had told him to hustle through the month’s remaining eighteen days. He was also having issues with admission officers, fellowship guys, and all the shit he had committed himself to. He felt sick. As he crossed the large parking lot of his faculty, he saw some bushy-tailed rodents scrambling around the area. The weather had become more intense, and he didn’t know which one to regret more: his decision to wear a checkered shirt on a black Chinos trouser or his decision to even go to his lecture at all. He had decided to obey his dad’s instruction to not wear black all the time like before. The gentlemanly look he had gone for had seen him choose the trousers that kept squeezing his groins. His poor balls!! But then he retained his cold, uninvolved persona even in this gentlemanly outfit. He wore a nose mask, even though it was no longer compulsory. With the massive flu epidemic subsiding, the mask became an accessory for completing his bad-boy look. He just didn’t have time for people trying to read his facial expressions. He looked around when he approached the October 22 Lecture Theater for signs of his coursemates. He saw some girls about 80 meters away from him; 20 meters from the hall, four of them were chattering excitedly. They seemed to be heading for the theater too. He didn’t know whether they were his coursemates because he barely knew any of them. He took in a really cold one and sighed tiredly. The terracotta bust in front of the hall looked darker than usual. He yawned slowly as he sauntered towards the hall. He had barely slept for days. He nearly fell as he stumbled on a tree root sticking out of the many nearby trees. He cursed. He was now crossing the pavement and about to enter the hall. His loud cursing must have attracted the girls, and they all stopped and looked at him. Fuck it, he thought, I’m not good at this. One of the ladies seemed to recognize him, though, Nonye. He was alarmed. She gasped, faced the girls, and pointed at him. “That’s the guy. That’s Derick,” she said excitedly. The other three girls gave him a long stare and turned back to her, confused. Derick also took the moment to scan the girls. He froze. In the middle, a few feet from him, was Titi, the girl he had been chatting with anonymously; the other two girls he didn’t know, though. He had seen her during one of the orientations. Slender, light skin, sweet voice. She was like a ray of sunshine. She also had this refreshing appeal about her. He had investigated her and found out who she was. She was Titi Williams. He had gotten her number from the departmental group chat and had been talking to her for four months. She had been trying to find out who he was personally, but he had simply told her he was a coursemate and that he had gotten her number from the class group. Sometimes, he wondered if he wasn’t extremely lucky that she didn’t block him because of that. But she had been nice, though. Heat ran down his face. “Hi,” he waved shyly and glided into the safety of the hall. He could hear Nonye telling them how he was the popular “Derick, the shadow man” and how awesome his critiques and reviews of the student government have been. His cover was gone now. Felix could fish him out and roast him. He had sworn on different occasions to make life hell for whoever the dumbass was that kept poking at his administration. Press ethics could no longer protect him, and he felt Felix might finally get the chance to make good on his threats. It was his own doing. It’s just a slight letup. Despite his elaborate measures, the whole campus is about to learn. He could hear their collective gasps as he walked towards the far side of the hall so that he wouldn’t bump into those chatterers again. Titi felt a strange aura around the guy Nonye told them was Derick. She had seen him from afar when he kept pulling at his trousers. The look in his eyes was familiar. The energy and quiet way he interacted when he came closer were even more familiar. She turned and looked at him as he virtually ran into the hall. Just then, she saw the nasty old lady professor climb the podium. She scrambled hurriedly into the hall.