"I often wanted your attention, I often begged for it, I was desperate about having you around. I wanted you. No! I needed you cause I suddenly saw you as an essential in my life. I craved your presence, your scent. I just needed you here.
You only checked up on me on Mondays when it seemed convenient enough for you but come on, how about my mourn days, those days when things didn't seem right and here you are Wright, swinging on to other girls,the ones that didn't want you around. I wished I could hold on to a path, one that didn't have you in it and here I am...."
   Those were the last words of Sarah on her diary as there wasn't a word  to get out of her mouth  cause she was found lying in a pool of blood with a slitted throat. Sarah chose the path where indeed she wouldn't have Wright in it, my Sister committed suicide. 

   Keeping things to ourselves all the time isn't always worth it. There's always someone to talk to. There's always someone to listen. 
  Another thing is that we shouldn't get too familiar with those we have around us and treat them like shit simply because they want to make us feel important cause one day the love would grow weary. Let Love Lead. Value those who need to be valued. Love those in search of love. 


Wright

  Scrubbing the floor wasn’t quite one of my favorite things to do. I had to do it anyway. 
I would wash tons of clothes and the more I washed was actually the more I washed. I just wished I got enough food that could amount to the number of clothes I wash every day.
 “LIFE ISN’T FAIR” she would scream whenever I asked for a little bit of freedom.
I sit at the balcony at every early evening. I see kids running, screaming each others’ names. They’ll sweat so hard and I guess the sweats came from how hard they laughed. I’ll smile. That was freedom. I could actually see freedom and I could smile at freedom. 
I got to know the name of a little girl Betty. She was like the princess of the clan of kids who played and screamed at those early evenings. She was light skinned with really beautiful dark hair. Her waist was quite set for her age. I didn’t know her age but I see the kind of kids she plays with so I could tell her age range even if she seemed to have grown taller and bigger than her peers. 
Betty would run down to her friends most of the time limping with this very beautiful smile on her face and she would show them the new shirt her Daddy got her the previous day. She sometimes came with really good looking chocolates and cakes and share amongst her friends. She was a cheerful giver indeed. No wonder her friends loved her so much.
   I wanted to know more about this Betty girl. She seemed interesting to me. I wanted to know some things like: why does she limp whenever she comes to play with her friends in the evenings? Why is her hair so dark and beautiful, can I possibly get that kind of hair? Why does she have so many chocolates and cakes, doesn’t she have siblings she could actually share them with at home or her parents just pamper her that much? Is it that Betty stole those chocolates and cakes or am I just paranoid that I can’t remember the last time I had something as good as chocolates and cakes?

It was the 18th day of June, for the first time in a long time my foster parents hugged me and this time with a big bowl of chicken. It was my birthday. They actually remembered this time. I was extremely happy but it didn’t stop me from wondering why they were suddenly been nice to me. The only time they were this sweet was the day I was brought from the orphanage, they hugged me and showed me so much care. They loved me like I was all they had but after a while, they finally got all they wanted, their own flesh and blood, their first born child. It was a dream come true to them. God finally heard their cry and I was neglected. I was treated like trash. I was abandoned, forgotten and all. I didn’t say anything about how I was treated because I felt indebted to them. Complaining was one of the behaviours an ingrate would portray and I didn’t want to look like one so I kept mute but here they are, looking all joyous, happy as a clam. 
“We read your diary. We’ve been mean people. We hurt you and we didn’t even know. You would have said something. You would have talked to me. I would have changed. I would have done something. I feel guilty” My mother cried out without control. I felt bitter now because this is suddenly my fault. It was like I was ruining my own birthday. 
At this point I didn’t know if I should hug or console her but my father her husband was doing that already so there wasn’t a way for me to calm her other than to mope at the beautiful shiny tiles which I had scrubbed this morning.

“We also read about the little girl you like, Betty. She died two days ago” my father said with so much sadness in his voice. I put my head up, I was confused but now I get why I didn’t see her play with her friends. No wonder her friends ate no chocolates and cakes yesterday. 
My father continued speaking but this time with so much anger. “Her father raped her to death. He was caught but it was too late because your Betty had already died and there was nothing anyone could do rather than to bury her. The perfect excuse her father could give for doing what he did was that his wife was always busy and never had time for him and of course he poisoned the mind of little Betty with good gifts to keep her shut” 
On hearing this, I lost efficiency.  My knees became feeble. Probably this was a bittersweet birthday to me. Just when my parents remembered my birthday, I got the news of the death of my little friend I never met. Oh, her dark hair I worried about. Those beautiful smiles she gave all the time. Those limping legs were actually because of her father. The beautiful shirts he got her and chocolates, the cakes were all a scam to keep her shut. What has this world turned into?
I made a vow in my heart this time to always speak up when things aren’t right. I would say how I feel. If I’m in bondage and I see someone who can actually help me, I was sure keeping mute isn’t something I was going to do. My poor Betty. My beautiful poor Betty. I was sure to dedicate this day to my beautiful Betty, the friend I never spoke with, to all those who never spoke about how hurt they were and to those in bondage who are scared to speak up. Never would our rights to say how we feel be infringed upon. There is always someone to help and there is always someone to talk to. Don’t keep mute and continue suffering. We can all speak up and speak up quick enough.



UNVEIL THE MASK

There was a time in my life I read and I never got an understanding of what I read. I tried. I wanted to know things but it seemed things didn’t want to know me. 
My books and I weren’t quite friendly with each other. We always had a way of hating on ourselves. Years passed, I cried because no matter how I loved to know, I just did not know anything. I got tired of being compared to those that knew what they were doing and that kept me from being close to them. I felt some sort of quiet marginalization. I just wanted to be alone.
I realized I wanted to know things, I was inspired but the level of energy I put in wanting to know wasn’t much. I wasn’t doing so much work. Studying was debilitating and I wondered how some persons could sit for hours to study. My question was “How did they always do it?” I got to the conclusion that my village people were after me. But really, what did I do to this village people I thought. Why dem dae rush me? But my thoughts weren’t right. I was actually lazy.
On a fateful afternoon, I made a decision. I refused to aspire for 100% and do just 10%. Now I wanted people to call me a bookist, a bookologist or even a bookola. I put in efforts, so much of it. I loved to read, all of the time now. Grades started getting high. I moved from F’s to D’s. That was a great improvement for me. That wasn’t much satisfactory though but I loved the feeling I was getting that from doing so much, I could actually get a lot done. Now I wanted to do more, like much more. I was proud of myself at this point. I read harder, I worked harder, my passion for studying increased. I was like someone on drugs. I wanted more of this improvement. I wanted to be an addict of this improvement and it made me crave for the better. 
Here I moved from a D student to a C student. I started counting my B’s and A’s. Wow. It seemed too glorious for me. It was like magic. A miracle I would call it. It was the time of my life, a time I just want to always have.
Thing is, we really wouldn’t have much done if we aren’t doing much. Nothing ever happens if all we have are aspirations and have nothing done. We all have to sit up. We have to keep keeping on. Let’s keep our dreams alive by doing.


The Transit

 We were so close to the extent that I thought even goodbye couldn’t separate us.
 All my life, everything I did she was there.
Whenever I cried, she was my pillow. When I fell, she always held me up. That’s my Momma I’m talking about….The lady who has always got my back right from the onset.
One day, I got back home with silence everywhere. Silence was so loud that I could hear the beating of my heart and my huddled thoughts. Fear gripped me at the sound of my ring tone, I picked up the phone and here I am: at the hospital where my Momma is. 
I saw my Momma crying and I cried along side when she had told me of the worst stage her cancer had gotten. I was so full of hope because I believed Doctors had the solution to things like this, they always have a way of saving lives. All they have to do is mix a blue and red chemical or press a mighty syringe on the buttocks or arms of their patients and boom everyone is fine. A great level of hope I had on Doctors and same hope I had on the ones moving to and fro the hospital I had my Momma in.
My Momma told me it was time. I really didn’t know what time it was she was talking about because it wasn’t time for our usual evening prayers we have before going to bed neither was it time for us to pray for dinner since there was no food on our table here. It wasn’t also time for me to go to school nor time for her to hit her work place and besides it was 7pm and neither of us go to school or the office at 7pm. She got me really confused at the time she meant.
She kissed my hands and whispered “I LOVE YOU” with her eyes shut and there and then she was taken from me. 
C’mon, I didn’t see any Doctor mixing any blue and red chemicals amounting to yellow been poured on her, no mighty syringe pierced behind her. It dawned on me she was gone. I finally got a hint of the time she was talking about. I understood the time now. My mystique about Doctors seemed to be a waste of my time. I felt deluded. But what could I do? I was just a 14 year old who got herself a goodbye. It was my first goodbye and same time my first heartbreak.


Elaweremi Ebiotu

Wright

UNVEIL THE MASK

The Transit

MY FIRST…

Life