Beginner’s Luck? I don't Think So

I had just clocked sixteen and all my enthusiasm was coming alive. One of those enthusiasms was my wanting, desperately, to ride a bike. I wanted to be able to do it, because I felt it could be a way to prove I was not just becoming older but also mature and brave, reason being that it seemed a measure and marker of the big boys in vogue then. My craving thus intensified when almost every boy of my age around me had learnt how to ride a motorcycle except me, because I hadn’t had any clear opportunity, and much more my father was afraid. With a personal bike in my father’s possession, I was terribly disappointed when he wouldn’t let learn- so, I could only guess that he was afraid. Therefore, to learn I had to take the bull by the horn and learn by myself and on my own- with his bike though, and definitely in his absence. About a week of planning and expectation of an hour opportunity, the day came. My father had travelled early that morning and had left his bike. I pushed the bike to the house compound, which was without a fencing. By location and construction, the house faced a nearby bush, separated from the compound by an untarred and dusty road, which served as the only linking route of the new community with the major road around.

I started the machine and I felt my heartbeat pick up pace.  My hand on the clutch but not pulling on it, I raised the throttle and a ready noise roared from the engine. This time, my temperature was beginning to regulate, while I was also feeling proud with confidence that I could have a successful first attempt after all. I had no need to worry about balance because riding a bicycle for a couple of times already took care of that. I raised the throttle again and put the bike on the second gear, unaware of the implication. And it seemed my hand was now glued to the raised throttle. As in the movement of lightning, the bike sped across the dusty road and charged into the thicket where different black nylons hung like victims of rope hanging. The hanging nylons had human defeacation neatly packaged in them and they decorated my head that day. As I struggled out of the forbidden land I had been thrown into by my father’s unforgiving bike, I felt like crying but my tears were braver than I was. Double trouble it was for me- I not only had hopeless maggots wriggle on my head, I also bashed my father’s bike. 

A beginner’s luck? No, it doesn’t work for everybody and I am a living example. 

Later that day in the evening, as my youngest sibling (the last born) rushed to welcome father, I heard the little urchin tell him what I did already, and I knew immediately that my time had come.

What do you think the lesson of the story is?

Should we allow the possibility of luck blind our eyes to what skill will achieve? 

Subtle Double Misfortune

 

It is the last day of school and the school compound is already deserted, except for the field where few students gather in group to play and perhaps bid each other farewell. I just don’t know why most of these students are eager to go home. Home that I sometimes wish I never return to, except just to see my mother. Well, most of them are not mature anyway. Spoilt little kids everywhere, especially those urchins in SS1 and SS2.   

Today is the only day left to seal the deal with Sandra and I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I calmly settle down on the concrete seat at the school meeting point at the left angle of the field, patiently waiting for her and for my chance to convince the hottest and brightest girl in the school to be my girlfriend.

The weather today is the perfect one for this occasion. Gentle breeze that caresses the skin, a calmly warm weather that tastes pleasant to the skin, and a bright sky that sheens immaculately.

“Collins.” Sandra called out.

I go to meet her and we saunter down to the tulip tree standing confidently at after the meeting point.

 

“Love isn’t my thing, and I don’t want to do it.” Sandra said. Subtle and timid.

I hold her left hand, squeeze it, and begin to stroke her index finger down to her sleek nail. She seems to enjoy it as the expression is printed on her full lips.

“Damn! I terribly want to kiss and softly bite on those luscious lips.” An unsolicited thought dropped in my mind. I dispose of it immediately.

Sandra had terribly avoided my eyes until this moment. The look in her bright eyeballs gives her away, and I know she is only being difficult with words.

“Sandra,” I begin, looking at a bird navigating the endless sky.

But I deliberately allow my eyes to wander away with the bird. My tactic works.

“Speak up now. Don’t be distracted.” Sandra moans.

I look into her eyes again and purse my lips for a second or two.

“I am also just like you. I don’t want to do love too, but with you I want to do anything and everything.”

I could see the blushing all over her face. And I knew my game was just about to hit.

“Okay. I have heard you, Collins. Actually, I will also…”

She stopped to a voice shouting to her. Segun paced in our direction from the far end of the field but his voice seemed as though he was near.

“Sandra, Sandra. The Physics teacher is waiting for you in the teachers’ room.”

“Ok. Segun. I have to go now. We’ll see some other time.”

I put my hands akimbo as I watch Sandra and Segun sauntered away from the field area, and the only thing I feel is disgust. Disgust for Master Mikel-the Physics teacher-, popularly called MM, and for Segun the most idiotic boy who has turned himself to a slavish messenger for him. Now, this is the second time these two devil-faced partners would frustrate my effort to hash things out with Sandra, who I consider the most beautiful girl in the entire Krystals College.

I start to think what the, hands folded around my chest.

“One doesn’t get lucky with one’s desire, when people like Segun and MM are the jinx to success”

I know I may not see Sandra again after today because she will be going to Scotland. And I will be going to Ijebu, on my father’s rickety bike, to live with grandpa.

 

I can’t cry, but I dare not laugh for my situation is a dilemma.

 

 

Wisdom from A Dying Fire

He lay still on his sickbed, almost lifeless. I guessed he must have used all of his last energy to raise his hand, and his squint eyes peered the league of friends that gathered around him. 

"Debayo, where is Debayo?" His frail and dying voice commanded silence. The silence seemed like a moment of last respect for a national veteran; maybe that was his end and his friends, somehow knowing that, just had to give it to him. 

"I'm here father." I said as I made my way through the circle. It was even strange what sort of circus his was. I wondered if he had been part of a confraternity, as most faces there were strange except for the two men that stood closest to him. I remember one very well, his name is Williams. My father would always call him Willo. The other was not as frequent in our house, but I remember he was called Brokan. 

My father's hand was different now, and his veins looked tired of performing their primary function. 

"Father, you called for me," 

"Debayo, " he said, seeming to struggle with his tongue "look at this faces..." 

He coughed. 

"They are not just my friends they are my whole body, each a part of my makeup ."

Those were his last words. 

I'm 23 today, and I think I understand what father said. 

Only I understand, the wisdom from the heart of a dying fire. 

Rest in peace, OH FATHER. 

I see your trail in the sky every night. 

A day I'd never forget

 I still cringe deep to my stomach whenever I remember my very first trip to Lagos. It was during the last holiday that I got an invitation from my cousin - Adama- to come spend the holiday with her in the prestigious City of Lagos. Adama was about my age and the last born in a family of 5 and her father was my father's younger brother, and they lived in the Mainland in Lagos. 

My dad could have decided to take me on the journey but he would be traveling just a day to journey. Knowing that I could get a bit of trouble navigating my way through, I decided to map out how the itinerary of the journey would be. From Oshodi, I'd take a bus to Mile 12, then another one to Yaba, and from there another one to Mainland. I'd wait for Adama and my uncle at the major bus stop, where the bus would drop me. 

A night to my journey, I had been very nervous that I would finally be going to Lagos after what seemed like a lifetime of waiting to see the city I've heard much more about than any other in Nigeria. I'd even be right to say I'd heard more about Lagos than I heard about Nigeria. 

Exactly 7 in the morning, I was seated in a commercial bus en route to Lagos. And at about 4hours later, we already reached the outskirts of Lagos. The roads from Akure to Lagos had been very rough, and the way our jalopy and rickety bus sped over the pot hole made sure that our bones and muscles were jerked to tiredness. By the time we reached Oshodi, I was really famished and getting what to eat was the only thing that appealed to me at this point. I got a wrap of popcorn from one of the hawkers that crammed the road at Oshodi and I descended on it almost immediately. 

In less than three hours, I was at the Bala bus stop in Mainland and was waiting for Adama and my uncle. I had been lucky to escape some crazy traffic congestions in the always busy street. 

No less than five minutes of waiting, I had been approached by more than three people who came to beg. 

As suddenly as he had come, a man, who seemed also like a beggar, had grabbed my bag and was making away through the crowd of people that was thronging to and fro. I gave a chase and caught up with him in no time. Pulling his clothe from behind, I dragged him toward me and what happened next was totally unpredictable. 

I suddenly discovered that my eyes began to turn red and I couldn't see even a ray of sunlight. Then, I felt a wetness all over my body and I smelled like rotten egg. 

I was thunderstruck by the rapid event of things that I couldn't even move a muscle. All I knew was that a huge crowd now surrounded me because of the deafening noise I heard around. 

There I stood till I felt an hand pull me up, it was my uncle. 

I had never felt so embarrassed in my life.