Unfinished story

Unfinished story

We are encouraged to dream and aspire. The idea being that we can reach any height, our eyes are set upon. All we need is; to ask, and surely – we shall be given. Strengthened by those beliefs, Obi wakes every day eager to claim his rightful status as a wordsmith.

Why can’t he? After all, he is a certified descendant of Uche; a legendary Ntu villager; immortalized in the minds of his people for his magnetizing storytelling ability. It is said that Uche’s son once enchanted the king with a story, and he froze in awe for five minutes after the story ended. In war times; Uche’s great-grandchildren had a double task; one was to fight the enemy, and two was to motivate fellow warriors with victory tales of their predecessors.

Conceived in the age of Windows and Macintosh, Obi carried upon himself the burden to keep Uche’s legendary alive. Tales by the moonlight was for a time long gone; today tales are told on the pages of a book. Whoever endeavored to be a storyteller, will have to write it.

Obi’s father became a merchant in the city, contrary to the family tradition. But “who can criticize him”? His mother asked anyone curious about her son’s deviation. He was not expected to continue, or to survive on the family’s tradition of oral storytelling. The art was on the decline. With the arrival of books, computers and the overall advancement in technology, the need for diversification could not be overemphasized. Re-establishing as a trader; was rather a pragmatic move to avert a tragic ending; that the greatest storytellers – could not tell the story of the twenty-first century.

The wave of change reached everywhere in Ntu village. Ilu; the local dialect; was being replaced with English. For story lovers, English stories were increasingly becoming attractive. Unfortunately, it was sacrilegious to perform storytelling in any language other than the local Ilu dialect. Not that it will be an easy feat anyway.

In reality, the English language came to stay; and it brought with it a casket; in which the local dialect will be buried. Like pharaohs of Egypt, Kings of Nubia, and Emperors of the East – the dying dialect will be buried with all of its creations, among them; the art of storytelling.

Obi never questioned his father’s divergence, but he felt the need to sustain the family tradition. Innovation was vital if he must succeed. The solution he articulated was; a composition of Ntu stories delivered in a foreign language; but in such a measured manner, that the original message and its intricacies are not altered. If his ancestors were great storytellers, then Obi – born in an age of books and computer, have one crucial task; and that is to be a “great writer”.




In and evitable

In and evitable

The dilemma of listening to people’s complaint is that; you are either obliged to assist or in the least share their predicament (somehow).

An acquaintance told me he doesn’t visit bars anymore. Why? A drinking-mate formed the habit of complaining to him about his wife. At first, he wasn’t sure if it was the influence of shots flying back and forth? A chemical reaction of sound and liquid can sure cause some hallucination. Such reaction could be behind the bitter man’s lamentation.

He decided to avoid the bar. A library he concluded; would give him the serenity he sought. He was mistaken. A woman found the map to his study table. Perhaps it was his social disposition that attracted people to him. Nevertheless, the woman wanted to talk. He had assumed that far end of the library was the deep end of quietness, apparently for this woman; it was a less strict corner where hush gossip was possible.

Okay, “let’s talk”, he said. “You were saying something”? He asked, hoping for a brief “forget about it” reply. Again he was mistaken. She went into this tirade about her husband; she had helped him become what he is, she picked him from the devil’s jaw, and personally flew him to heaven. She was his: mother, sister, brother, and uncle. Including grandmother.

Okay, “I now know why I am not a renowned writer”, he thought aloud; “I have been wasting my time with the wrong hobby”, insisted my bewildered acquaintance. His true calling was to be a Councillor or rather a listener! A spouse complaint listener – to be precise. There was urgent need to create that title if it was inexistent?

Momentarily he was carried away, he fantasized about his new establishment. Nothing is more exciting than the prospect of great career change – but then it hit him; “my wife!” What was she saying about him? What are her accusations? What was he being persecuted for? If everybody else complained about their partner, why would he be an exception? He was asking me how to approach his wife. He wanted it from the horse’s mouth.

My humble opinion was; talk to your wife if you really want to, but sometimes, sincere conversations are better left alone.


Another form of Eerie

Another form of Eerie

Halloween increases in popularity every year. This year, one million more people are expected to celebrate it. As the tradition increases in popularity, so does the languages associated with it. Horror-filled words like, Eerie, haunted, bludgeon, gushed and even mansion (usually desirable), all turns frightening.

As the month of October ends with its abnormal festivities, a different kind of horrors begins; the countdown to the New Year.

The assertion that any event that heralds a new year, not to mention the Christmas before that, should be viewed with scepticism; is ridiculous outright. On the other, if such suggestion is considered on specific situational basis; it starts to add up. For example; what if you have started the year with a certain ambitious resolution? What if you made huge commitment to a partner, or your business? What if your career was in line?

A friend called me three nights ago. At first I thought he was intoxicated. What are the weekends for right? Awkwardly though, brother was sober. Just that sometimes anxiousness can present a sane person as “deranged”. All these months, he has procrastinated executing important tasks. Certainly human mind can be tricky. In complacency, his mind got beclouded by the notion that the sun does set – only as an assurance for tomorrow. He assumed that the uninterrupted cycle of the sun and moon have gotten time frozen in place.

His rude awakening came on the last day of October. As he drank his last in celebration of Halloween (which he knows nothing about anyway), he remembered something; he had bought a franchise, which its permanent extension depended on an agreed number of sales. If! Only he had done a bit of marketing as planned. If only he had created that website, consulted that dealer, designed those packages, his goal could have been achieved with ease. Unfortunately he relied on “tomorrow”.

In this agitated state of his, I was incapable of making any suggestion. Not to add salt to an injury, his articulation needed some straightening before anyone can help. To be clear, yoga is not my specialty. I know however, that taking a deep breath helps with the nerves and blood circulation. It was after some rounds of deep breathing and stretching, that we began to brain storm. The solution was that he will have to put Christmas in focus. Demands are generally high at this time. His target is still attainable, of course not without an efficient strategy and hard work.

Now that everything is calm and on track, I reminiscence and wonder about the Irony; that the tomorrow a man waited for so long, finally was on the horizon; but rather than bring him harvest – it filled him with eerie nightmare.



Banned imagination

A music player with an earphone, or a book; I thought those where compulsory essentials for people traveling more than thirty minutes every day, by train. It takes me about an hour to work, and like everyone else I read or listen to something.

Although I’m not sure of its exalting elements, I don’t hesitate to self-aggrandize whenever possible about my daily one hour trip to work. Just when my ego reached it’s zenith, I began to meet co-workers who travel more than one hour. Then I met another who covered an hour and thirty minutes worth of distance. My ego trip completely crashed after I met a colleague whose route consumes an incredible two hours and thirty minutes.

Commuting for two hours every day? Seriously a book or a music player won’t be enough. There has to be something else. Out of curiosity, I asked my colleague how he utilizes ‘a two hours of train ride’ to work – every day. His reply was “nothing”. Emotionless and unaffected by my excitement, he went about his business. I stood for few minutes pondering what kind of man travels for two hours on the train, just sitting there – and doing nothing!

Sometimes people make passive comments that are seemingly trivial and insignificant, but then you look back and are bewildered by the substance of it.

Now that I have more questions than answers, only one means exists by which I can ascertain; how a person can commute for two hours on the train, and not be bored into one act or the other. The next day, I was ready to find out. Just before I jumped on the train, I made sure to put beyond reach my music player, lest I fall for temptation. I will busy myself doing just one thing, and that is – nothing.

Experience they say is the best teacher? True. I now know what my friend was doing on the train; he was using his imagination. As awkward as it sounds, thinking consumes time, and it can be rewarding. For the whole trip I touched nothing, looked at noting “deliberately”. I just sat there doing nothing, or so it seemed? In actuality I was thinking. I thought about stuff people could do on the train to save time.


Laundry! Instead of washing every night at home, I can use my free time on the train to wash, on-the-go. As big as the train is, how come there is no washing machine? One has to improvise sometimes. With the good-old bucket, a gallon of water and soap, I can happily do my laundry on the train.

Is it possible to bring a treadmill, or some weights? Morning exercise; an hour of working-out in the train will certainly serve me some packs.

A television is vital for live update. Instead of a laptop I can carry a TV. Of course I will apologize for all inconveniences brought upon bewildered strangers co-traveling with me.

How about a grill? Rather than standing in the corner of the train, munching some cheap sandwich for breakfast, I can grill some meat seating down. The train will have to undergo minor modification; put a round chair and replace the cooler on top with a vent.

My misconception that spare time is reserved exclusively for music and books is debunked. My once limited sense was freed. Any suggestion that our imagination be banned from roaming wild is henceforth totally preposterous.


That passion will always be waiting

That passion will always be waiting

Nine long years! This is unbelievable! It is just amazing. After nine years I have come full circle to what was once and will always be my true avocation; writing!

Imagine this:

Recently I started to consider blogging. Just to be clear there was no angelic visitation; it wasn’t a sudden flash of light or any supernatural occurrence like that either. In my opinion; it is not a prerequisite to have a degree in-order to write. You don’t have to be that genius whose massive head is constantly erupting with content and ideas, in order to feel like writing. It is possible to be an ordinary Joe or Stan and still have strong urge to write something.

I know WordPress is the place where bloggers meet, so it was the first blogging website I wanted to check out. What started out as a routine registration turned out to be a big surprise? For some reason my registration was not conducting smoothly — “the email was already in use”. What? “Wait a minute”, by who? Was it possible for two people to have same email addresses? In seconds those questions race through my alarmed senses. Seriously how was I to recall that I have opened an account with this awesome site nine years ago?

With no time to waste further, I went into recovery mode. My next paramount task was to remember my old passwords. Fortunately one of the passwords worked, and once again I was able to see my page, the first words that caught my attention was my first, and my only post; “Hello World”. Filled with floating nostalgia at the moment I went “wow!” then I patted my 8 months computer gently (as though it was responsible for keeping this future alive).

Well that’s it, the story ends here. Nevertheless I continue to ponder the possibility – that a passion for an art once developed, never dies? Certainly only genuine interest in writing will take a person full circle and back to a topic that began nine years earlier.

By now my once lost memories were starting to drip back; so now I remember it was my first year in college, that I started this blog with the hope of filling it with articles. Since then nine years have passed just like that, and with it the stories I wanted to tell at the time. Folks I can’t be blamed right? After all between writing academic/research papers, stressing to graduate from college, and setting up a life after college; you too would probably forget about some “insignificant” webpage.

For your take away – it doesn’t matter how you bumped into this article today, but I can imagine that you are enjoying your love of reading and writing, no? Okay! Maybe not at this very moment alright? Still I dare to point to a hobby within your soul, an interest that is not currently at the center of your focus, just waiting for the right moment. Always be on the lookout because one day it will emerge. For some reason we humans always have things work out for us in a way that we supposed unlikely, that hobby you grew up thinking about and developing emotions for will one day surprise you, it will always be waiting.