Hello guys,
I'm presently on 14 days quarantine at my work location offshore. I can't leave my room, I can't have guests. Just eat, sleep, watch TV, eat, sleep all day. I've never been this bored all my life.
So I decided to use my time to write anything that comes into my thoughts. One story everyday for 14 days.
I hope you will like my stories.....please enjoy.

Ok.

Day 2; 03/05/2020

Chronicles of Quarantine (Day 2)- CHANGE, BUT NOT APC CHANGE

E no go better for China. At all.
Everything has changed. Life will never be the same, again. New old words have come into everyone’s lexicon. Quarantine, social distancing, lockdown, sanitize, self-isolate, confirmed case, tracking, masks etc. Only a few months ago, I bet most people were not aware or at best, unconsciously aware of these words. Now they have come to stay forever in our minds and tongues. Try going a whole day without using any of those words, I bet you cannot. Even my 3y/o son knows Covid-19 or Covik-1-9 (as your spirit leads you to pronounce).

E no go better for China. Lai Lai.

Everything has remained the same. Life is business as usual for our government. Corruption, greed and overwhelming ineptitude dominate our political landscape, even in these trying times. From a president who appears once in 14 days for 30 minutes to a senator who donates one tuber of yam to a few ‘lucky’ women in his constituency. What about the representative whose idea of a lockdown palliative to his people was a meagre loaf of bread to each family? And governors? Don’t even start yet!! We can dedicate a full paragraph to their crass judgements.

E no go better for China. But they don’t even give a damn!!

Something will change. Hopefully. This global pandemic has exposed the rot in our health system. As if it was hidden before abi? Ok, like our pastors will say, the spirit manifested itself during the deliverance session. I mean the rot manifested itself glaringly during this pandemic. No hiding place, or for lack of better words, no flying space. The elite and the termites are equal now. We are all Nigerians now. No more Nigerian-Canadian or British-Nigerian, at least until international flights resume. Maybe, just maybe, the government will pay more attention to our health system. My mother in Aba will be able to walk into Abia State Teaching Hospital and get quality, affordable healthcare. So help us God. Can I hear a loud AMEN in the house? Na that one our voice dey loud pass!

E no go better for China. Even Trump agrees with me.

Someone has not changed. And He never will. This pandemic has exposed the vanity of our lives. The things we took for granted are now more important than those things we sweated and fretted over. Health, family, love, peace and sleep on one hand. Career, promotion, football, cars and politics on the other. Your choice. We should all be grateful, in a way, for this PAUSE-demic in our lives. So let us enjoy the moment, enjoy the tranquility and uncertainty, enjoy the slow rhythm of life, recharge our batteries. So that when we press PLAY again, we will live differently and gratefully. Eternally subservient to God, to Him who knows all and sees all.

E go better for all of us, even China.

Biggiyke.

Day 3: 04/05/2020

Chronicles of Quarantine (Day 3)- I used to be a goalkeeper

I don’t know when exactly I decided I was going to study engineering. There was no engineer in my family as far as my early memories could recall. So, this was not a case of role modelling or mentorship. While I wasn’t sure of when I made my decision, I was sure of careers that I had zero interests in. My parents were both textile traders with varying degrees of success. During school vacations, I dreaded going to the shop with any one of them. First, we’d have to bring out about 75% of the wares to display, then arrange them in grades or qualities. I preferred my dad’s shop because it was spacious, and we did not have to do much to attract customers. We just sit down, relax and they come to us. Big boys’ business. But my mum’s shop? A different story entirely. Her shop was very compact, and I always felt like I was going to suffocate in the dust. Then the noise, the hustle for customers, the arguments, the prayer sessions, I just didn’t fit in. Every day was a testimony how I survived. But there was a silver lining. Her shop wasn’t all that terrible, lunch time was the climax of my day. There was this Awka woman that sold food in a wheelbarrow. OMG!! I could perceive the aroma of her food from several meters away. My typical combination was rice, plenty beans, fried overripe plantain and 2 or 3 assorted meats to support the ministry. Lunch in my mum’s shop was paradise on earth. Even on the days I went to my dad’s shop, I would trek for 30mins just to go have lunch at my mum’s.

So, I wasn’t going to be a trader. Case closed. I also wasn’t going to be a footballer or any kind of baller. My parents made sure of that, partly. Our lives as children revolved around school and home. There was no extracurricular activity on our schedule. While other children were playing and running about the street, we were upstairs either having our siesta or having our after-school lessons or watching other children from the balcony. I did not kick a football till maybe I was like 7 years old. By the time I started going downstairs to play with my peers, my bones had already formed and locked up. I was the stiffest guy on earth. I was a pathetic footballer. I remember clearly the embarrassment I faced daily when we had to divide ourselves into teams to play football. When the captains were selecting their team, I was usually the last to be selected. It was so bad that most teams preferred to play with one boy less, than to select me in their team. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t dribble, I couldn’t tackle, I couldn’t keep. Nobody passed to me. I could spend the entire game without touching the ball. I was in the team, but I was not in the game.

One fateful day, the regular goalkeeper didn’t show up, so I was asked to keep. Oh boy!! Less than 5 minutes into the game, I had conceded 5 goals. I was determined to redeem my image and I vowed to save the next shot that came my way, whatever it would take, even if I had to die saving the shot. And yes, the shot came, and yes, I saved the shot with all that I had in me, and my team was super proud of me. My first save. Infact, the first save ever in the history of my family and generation and ancestors. I felt like Peter Rufai. And then, I felt a sharp pain on my arm when I threw the ball. I had fractured my arm while making the save of the millennium. Then I remembered that when I stopped the ball, I heard a sound like, KPAKAM, but I had thought it somebody was playing Skiibii’s sensima, o connect. Unfortunately, it was not Skiibii, it was my left arm.

The pain that followed after the adrenaline had stopped flowing through my veins was unimaginable. I cried like my arm was fractured. Of course, my arm was fractured na. What am I even writing sef? Sadly, that injury abruptly ended my blossoming goalkeeping career. I never recovered fully from that career ending fracture; the team doctor advised that I should look for another career. Who knows? Perhaps, I’d have been Real Madrid goalkeeper by now, chilling somewhere on a Spanish beach, with sexy mamacitas on half bikinis winking at me. But here I am, on quarantine, with my old boring black Dell laptop winking at me.

https://unmediocre56273284./2020/05/04/chronicles-of-quarantine-day-3-i-dont-like-what-i-hate-part-1/

Day 4: 05/05/2020

Chronicles of Quarantine (Day 4) – Mr Loverboy

I was speaking and chatting with my wife for almost a year before I met her in person. Back then, there was no Whatsapp and Facebook was not so common. We used to chat with Yahoo Messenger then and MTN free midnight calls was our only way of hearing each other’s voice. Shout out to MTN for saving lives since 1923. Her voice was so sweet and angelic. You know how young girls used to form British accent when a guy is toasting them. Anyways, distance was a huge barrier; I was somewhere in the south while she was in the north. I was always inviting her to come visit me and she was always declining my offer and telling me to come visit her instead if I was serious. Hmm. Me, enter road begin go North because of babe? Abeg, if she no go come, make she forget am na. I guess we never really thought anything serious was going to come out of our chats and calls. We were basically just fun company to each other. You know, the usual How was you day? Have you eaten? How was your night? etc.

Then I was posted to Katsina state for my NYSC. I think she was probably the third person I called after my parents to inform about my posting to Katsina. If this was not destiny or providence, then I don’t know what else to call it. She was one major reason why I didn’t make any efforts to apply for redeployment. As far as Katsina was, I was going to be much closer to this girl that I have never met. Infact, throughout our chats for almost one year, she sent only one picture to me. But that was enough to arouse my curiosity and excitement. She was slim, and if you know me well, I like slim. She was fair, I like them yellow in color. She was not short. So, going by pictures alone, she had 60/100 already.

Three weeks in camp was a breeze, we kept in touch. I was posted to a village somewhere close to Buhari’s village. If I had known that he would be president someday, maybe I would have looked for Zahra or any of his daughters or nieces. If those ones were not available, I would have just looked for any girl whose surname is Buhari and married her. Anyways, I digress. After camp, I sorted my PPA and settled in. During the Christmas break, a few months later, instead of travelling home to visit my parents as any normal, well brought up child would, I changed direction to Jos, because of woman. You see what we go through for them. But they won’t understand.

Finally, on 21st December 2007 at about 2.30pm on a hot dry harmattan afternoon in Jos, my cousin escorted me to meet my stranger friend for the first time. And there she was, under a mango tree, wearing very dark sunglasses, a purple top and blue jeans. While we were approaching her, my cousin was already pinching me and saying, “IK meeeen, she fine o. How this fine girl take like you with your big head and pimple face?” I wasn’t even listening to the fool. Me that I was being very careful while trying to cross the road before a car will knock me down in front of the love of my life. What will the newspapers write? “Young man hit by a car while looking at a babe?”
The first few minutes were kind of awkward. I think my cousin did most of the talking while I did most of the looking. After all, na me she find come. If you like, run your mouth till tomorrow afternoon. When you finish, I go carry my babe go. I was very shy. Who born me? Who me? Where am I formed that this beautiful girl will be my girlfriend? We spent like an hour together before she left. And when she boarded a bike and left, I told my cousin that I had found my future wife. He laughed and touched my neck to check that I was not having fever. Yes, I had fever, but it was not malaria or typhoid. I was in love, hot love. The type that DBanj calls Mo gbono feli feli. Whatever it would take, I was going to make her mine, forever. So help me God.

And so, it came to pass that on the 5th year and 4 full moons and 14 sunsets after that day, on the 5th of May 2013, I married the girl that I met under a mango tree. As we celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary today, I look back at all the memories and stories that we have shared the past 12+ years. It is not a small something at all. I loved you from that moment and I will forever love you.

Not even one comment

Nice write up bro...
Like the dictions and tones.
The writing style is on point.
M enjoying.

nidax4real:
Nice write up bro...
Like the dictions and tones.
The writing style is on point.
M enjoying.

Thanks.

Day 5: 06/05/2020

Chronicles of Quarantine (Day 5) – Show me your friends……. (Part 1)

Friends, what can we do without them? They are like extended handshakes, your hand is paining you but if you remove your hand, you have nothing to hold on to. Who is a best friend? Can one have more than one best friend? What about circle of friends? If one of the friends in the circle becomes an enemy tomorrow, does that make the remaining friends a square of friends? At what point does acquaintance end and friendship start? Can an enemy become a friend tomorrow like when a player changes club? Is friendship equal to loyalty? Who coined the word, “frenemies”? Is that even a word? Does it make sense? Can a friend be an enemy at the same time? Or are we too blind to know the difference?

Friends can make or mar you. The influence of parents over a child wanes as the child evolves from a cocooned life into a social being. Schools are the second influential factors in a child’s life with teachers and classmates shaping the thought process of the child. Even at such a tender age, a child already has the tendency to prefer a person/group of persons over others. There are potentially two reason why we make friends; because the person is like us or we want to be like the person. Therefore, friendship can be mutual or dependent. Your choice of friendship depends on your mental needs at any time. For example, when you are in a new environment, you can choose to make friends with someone also new as you are or with someone who knows the system already and can be of help to you. Your choice depends on your immediate needs at that time.

I have had a lot of friends over the years, all having different impacts in my life. I have a friend that heavily influenced my choice of career. If I had not met him, perhaps I would have been a teacher or a lecturer now. He changed my thought process and exposed me to the industry that I find myself in now. I also have a friend that tried his best to teach me how to smoke weed a.k.a. igbo. The first time I reluctantly agreed to try it after many years of pressure was also the last time. I was told that I woke up in the middle of the night and opened the door, it was raining heavily that night. I looked outside, came back inside and then I asked my roommate if he brought in my left leg before the rain started because I left it outside. He asked if I meant my shoe or slippers. I said no. I mean my left leg. My guy was not understanding. Then I sat down and started crying. Someone had stolen my left leg. How will I ever walk again with only one leg remaining. After a few minutes, I was told that I slept off again. When I woke up the following morning, I didn’t believe the story. Mr Weed is still my friend, despite that experience. But I cannot take anything that produces smoke from him.
It pays to have a diverse circle of friends. Your life would be boring if you had only pastors and bookworms in your circle. On the other hand, if all your friends were lawyers, your name might not be found in the book of life on judgement day. I was able to graduate from school because I had a “bad boy” among my circle of friends. During our final year, we were having a class with our HOD when he sneezed violently. And I whispered, “Sir, don’t give us SARS o.” That was about 2 years after the SARS epidemic. I was sitting at the back row, with my “bad boy” friend (let’s call him BB) because even though I was not necessarily bad, I liked people to think I was bad. It was easier to get the babes if you are bad or act bad. But I was a good boy, for the records.

Anyway, Mr. HOD heard my whisper. He stopped the class and asked who said that. Everyone turned towards the backrow. The good boys and girls wanted to point at me, but one wicked look from BB and they faced front. Our HOD threatened fire and brimstone that day. But the fear of BB was the beginning of wisdom. By that time, if I remember clearly, I don piss for trouser already. Mr. HOD said if the class didn’t produce the culprit, none of us would pass his course that year. That meant none of us would be graduating that year. Then he stormed out of the class. I wanted to stand up and report myself, maybe I might be forgiven. But BB held me down. Immediately, HOD left the class, pandemonium everywhere!! BB got up slowly, winked at another “bad boy” (BB2) and pointed to the door. BB2 went to the door and stood like a bouncer. BB walked to front of the class and made his own threat. He said he would not stop anyone from going to the HOD to report me, and he would also not stop the person from graduating. But one thing he was certain about was that he would find out who reported and make the person a cripple. You could hear a pin drop in the class.

To be continued tomorrow……

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Them BB na real niggas...
Making somebody to be a cripple
Nice write up.. Friends are essential part of our social lives.

Just stumbled upon this...and I have had so grins already. I like your style - simple, entertaining and engaging.

nidax4real:
Them BB na real niggas...
Making somebody to be a cripple
Nice write up.. Friends are essential part of our social lives.

Thanks.

Ohibenemma:
Just stumbled upon this...and I have had so grins already. I like your style - simple, entertaining and engaging.

Thanks. Boredom can bring out something hidden in you

.

biggiyke:

Thanks. Boredom can bring out something hidden in you

Yea, it's really in you!

Day 7: 08/05/2020

Chronicles of Quarantine (Day 7) – Show me your friends……. (Part 2)

Mr HOD did not come for classes for the rest of the semester. Every time I passed him on the corridor, my heart always missed a beat. But BB kept assuring me that no one would dare report me. The consensus among us was that it was impossible for him to fail ALL his students in the same course. It would be a moral dilemma for him and not a few eyebrows would be raised regarding his competency both as a lecturer and a Head of Department. And true to BB’s prediction, there was no cause for alarm when the results of the exams were released. Those who were supposed to pass, passed. The regular team that were expected to fail, failed. Anybody wey fail that course, na for him pocket o. Make nobody try blame me for him misfortune.
Therefore, it would be safe to suggest that I graduated from school without any delay because I had a friend who was ‘bad’. Imagine if all my friends were ‘good’. Maybe I would have dropped out in my final year and become a writer, writing motivational books like, “How to Shut Up When The Boss is Talking” or “Mind Your Business if You Want to Remain in Business” and selling them in traffic along Ikorodu road in Lagos. Do you think I would have become a successful writer? Like Chimamanda Adichie? I know my enemies will say impossible but true friends will have no choice but to encourage me.
Yes, that is what friends do, or are supposed to do. Encourage, motivate, uplift, support, push, drive and more. Friendship, like marriage, is work. True test of friendship is not when it is all rosy. There will be challenges, there will be misunderstandings, heck, there will even be fights! But true friends will always find a way to maneuver through the prides and emotions and come out stronger than before. We don’t need many friends to navigate through life. Experience shows that the more friends we have, the higher our chances of having ‘frenemies’. That is why a wise Chinese man once said, “保持你 的朋友 和敌人之间的 距离”.
To Mr Weed, I know you will read this, thank you for showing me what it feels like to be high. But no thanks, I prefer my low life. To Mr BB, I know that I have not kept in touch as much as I should. Afterall, you literally gave me my life back. I will buy you a G-Wagon one day. Thank you for being ‘bad’.

Guys pls be nice na

Nice job

Ohibenemma:
Nice job

thanks

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Nice update.

.....

12/05/2020
Chronicles of Quarantine (Day 11) – Everyday Superheroes

When I was younger, I used to think that fathers were always right. I saw my daddy as second only to God, maybe even higher than God because I could see, touch and hear him. My father could do no harm in my eyes. He was smarter than my teachers, he was stronger than Hulk Hogan, he was more handsome than Michael Jackson and of course, he was richer than MKO Abiola. I remember us as children comparing our fathers. “My daddy is stronger than your daddy”, I’d say. “My daddy will beat your daddy and your mummy together”, the other boy would reply. “My daddy will beat your daddy and your mummy and all your sisters and everybody in your village, including your king” would be my reply. That’s how the fight usually starts. Now I look at my children and I hope and pray that they don’t use me to brag because me, I cannot come and go and kill myself for anybody.

My father always made things happen. He was my superhero. In my final year in secondary school, I was among the last to register for WAEC’s SSCE. After several messages home without any response, I came back home angry, with the entitlement mentality of a typical, spoilt Nigerian child. I had to register for my exams, and I didn’t want to hear any excuse. My parents tried to calm me down, but I wasn’t hearing any. My father promised to get me the money before the end of the week. Reluctantly, I went back to school the next morning, fuming. True to his words, I got the money about 3 days later and I was able to register for the exams. I didn’t come back home again until I had finished my papers and my father kept sending me money to ensure I was comfortable.

Weeks or months later (can’t really remember), I finally came back home. The following morning when I woke up, I greeted my parents, grabbed a bucket, and went downstairs to wash my father’s car, I didn’t see it parked in the usual spot it had always been parked since time immemorial. I ran upstairs to ask my father why the car was not downstairs. But he was in the bathroom, I think (again, not so sure). So, I went to ask my mother who was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. She turned, looked at me, shook her head and looked away. Then, she dropped the bombshell, my father had sold his beloved Peugeot 504 Special Edition (SE) so that I could register for WAEC and complete my secondary education. Even till today, words cannot describe the feeling of guilt that washed over me that moment. My father loved his car. You could never see my father’s car dirty. He could wash his car twice a day. For him to sell that car, it could only be for his child’s need, not even his need would make him even think of that. That was my father, that was a super-dad.

The tables have turned, and Obi is no more a boy. I am now a father. And I can understand the sacrifices that a father goes through every day. On a lighter note, I look at my children and I look at my car. I pray I never have to make such a decision (inserts smiley). May God continue to protect and deliver fathers from temptations that they cannot pass, amen. Let somebody shout Hallelujah!!
To all fathers out there, keep the dreams alive, stay strong and save for the rainy day.

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I love this... Super dad Father!