A Long Walk To The Newspaper Stand
"Things are not getting better."
"We shall soon die."
"Soon die? We are already dead. We are not living. Is this life?"
"What made us vote this heartless man into power?"
The two men at the newspaper stand close to Ebotrans bus terminal went on talking without pausing. Sometimes, in between their chat, I searched for a soul: the soul responsible for transporting people from their homes to a newspaper stand, only to end up engaging in discussions that lead one no way.
Abakaliki city, just like every other city in Nigeria is going through hell. Did I write that? The city is going through hell but no one cares. Perhaps, everyone is too busy trying not to care by looking for ways to eat.
The money already marked out for buying food can never be used to get papers. Never! The money is meant to do its work of buying the things the holder wishes. Thus, the money can never get a paper. No one eats newspapers. My City men journey from various walks of life to this crowded newspaper stand to get the gist of the day.
What has the president said? Are the Niger Delta Avengers still blowing up the pipelines? Holy shit! How could that young boy end his life because of recession?
These men gather here everyday to discuss wide on national affairs.
I woke around nine o'clock in the morning, brushed, took my bathe, and left the house without eating. There was no food. There was no money. I decided to trek.
Walking through the walls of Abakaliki taught me that this world has mouth, nose, hand, legs and every other thing that can be possessed.
The hands drew me farther into the streets without destination; the legs kicked me harder at my butts like: keep moving! The teeth gave me a bite in the tummy that for once, I knew the value of death. There was nothing I could do. I was trekking to the nearby bank to check my account balance. My mother had called to inform me that she deposited some amounts of money into my account.
I couldn't cry when I checked my balance and found out that it was still same old amount. I moved to the newspaper stand and engaged in the discussion with fellow countrymen, waiting patiently till when I would leave to go withdraw that money of mine and go take a very good care of myself.
Because you didn't care dear to ask how many miles I trekked to that place. No need telling you. Well, I didn't just trek, I ran, but in the end, my effort got me nothing and we are still waiting. Waiting. Waiting for all the people that believe in a God to talk to their Messiahs for a miracle.
Until then...
The journey continues.
"We shall soon die."
"Soon die? We are already dead. We are not living. Is this life?"
"What made us vote this heartless man into power?"
The two men at the newspaper stand close to Ebotrans bus terminal went on talking without pausing. Sometimes, in between their chat, I searched for a soul: the soul responsible for transporting people from their homes to a newspaper stand, only to end up engaging in discussions that lead one no way.
Abakaliki city, just like every other city in Nigeria is going through hell. Did I write that? The city is going through hell but no one cares. Perhaps, everyone is too busy trying not to care by looking for ways to eat.
The money already marked out for buying food can never be used to get papers. Never! The money is meant to do its work of buying the things the holder wishes. Thus, the money can never get a paper. No one eats newspapers. My City men journey from various walks of life to this crowded newspaper stand to get the gist of the day.
What has the president said? Are the Niger Delta Avengers still blowing up the pipelines? Holy shit! How could that young boy end his life because of recession?
These men gather here everyday to discuss wide on national affairs.
I woke around nine o'clock in the morning, brushed, took my bathe, and left the house without eating. There was no food. There was no money. I decided to trek.
Walking through the walls of Abakaliki taught me that this world has mouth, nose, hand, legs and every other thing that can be possessed.
The hands drew me farther into the streets without destination; the legs kicked me harder at my butts like: keep moving! The teeth gave me a bite in the tummy that for once, I knew the value of death. There was nothing I could do. I was trekking to the nearby bank to check my account balance. My mother had called to inform me that she deposited some amounts of money into my account.
I couldn't cry when I checked my balance and found out that it was still same old amount. I moved to the newspaper stand and engaged in the discussion with fellow countrymen, waiting patiently till when I would leave to go withdraw that money of mine and go take a very good care of myself.
Because you didn't care dear to ask how many miles I trekked to that place. No need telling you. Well, I didn't just trek, I ran, but in the end, my effort got me nothing and we are still waiting. Waiting. Waiting for all the people that believe in a God to talk to their Messiahs for a miracle.
Until then...
The journey continues.
inner reflections of a trekker.
ReplyDeleteConstance, the reflection ain't just here.
DeleteFell sick after. Lol.