​Today, I have decided to write something different from what I actually created this blog for. My aim was to write fictions and poetry but this event which had affected me for two days now, had given me a new direction. 

To be frank, writing to me is the only medicine that could heal many of my problems, by problem; I meant heartbreaks, mood-swings, sadness, frustration and even happiness. At times I write even in sleep which most of you will never believe. 

This event took place one evening. That day, when a lot had happened not to only myself but to everyone as well, the sky was cloudy typical of most middle belts states and they were little stars in the sky with lightning flashing every now and then. The rain that had fell the previous night had some of it in the hollow part of the gutter where toad and cricket hide and playing their wonderful music which could be heard loudly even though the road was busy.

Because of my asthmatic nature, I sneezed every second, as I stood on the row in the mosque where I was praying directly opposite the road.  Once the prayer was rounded up, I didn’t waste a single seconds as I made my way out of the mosque to clear my stuffy nose. After series of what seems not to be helpful, I decided to go home for my inhaler. Because the road was too busy, it took some time before I could cross successfully.

In a split second, a bike came to a halt out of nowhere and two ladies alighted from it. I greeted them but it all seems the problem with them was far greater than the greeting gesture. I walked sluggishly like a vulture beaten by a heavy rain over the night. Each and every step I took felt like they was someone behind my back marking my footsteps. I wanted turning backward but I advised myself it was just my feelings and nothing more. 

For some moments, I could still hear what now seems to be more than just an imagination seems. I was about turning my head sideways when a voice called from behind.
Bro good evening

Which I answered as if I had some unsettled quarrel with her.  Many thoughts ran riot in my clouded head and I thought maybe she could be one those girls who wouldn’t wait for men to talk to them before they start running after them. I endured all her jokes which I wasn’t interested in. when I was about taking the part leading to my house, she began:

Bros please don’t be angry oo; please could you help me with Hundred naira? My mum is in clinic and she is hungry. I swear I had not a single kobo with me! I have been trekking since morning and I would still have to go back. Please help me am ashame of asking other persons here because they know me all.

I became cold at once. A car ran pass us and I saw her face and I discovered I knew her. I have seen them in their house with their mum on one my strolling around to know about the environment. A friend had also told me about them. How their life have been hell since the death of their father. 

To be frank, I had not a single kobo as well in my pocket. And the fact that I hardly come out whenever I was in town made her not to know me.  This event isn’t the first time someone would ask me for money when my pocket was completely empty. This has thought a great lesson. People are dying silently and those around them don’t even know. They are suffering not because they are not doing anything but because what they get out of what they were doing isn’t enough to help them in times of troubles.  

Please any time you move out don’t forget to keep even if its twenty naira in your pocket. You never can tell the soul that that twenty naira could save………

This could be senseless but I know someone out there will make sense out of it.

TRUE STORY     

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