Friday Evening

Friday evening.

Everybody loved Fridays, but hardly as much as students did. Friday evenings in Uniport were used mainly for social agenda, though a few geeks turned theirs into suicidal attempts to literally read words out of books and into heads. Businesses recorded peak moments too, clubs, pharmacists, boutiques, beer parlors and transporters.

Taxi drivers were the major secret keepers of the night; they knew the girls who were off to their homes, and those that were off to the homes of men. They always preferred female passengers too, boys always under-priced and were usually in annoying overcrowded groups, all wanting to squeeze into the poor taxi. No way! They’d stick with the babes!

In Pritaso Villa, room F40, sprawled in different positions were Eze, Jonathan and Bayo. They were pretty much doing nothing, save for Jonathan’s occasional punching of phone keys.

“This is so boring! You guys just know how to have the perfect Friday!” Jonathan said to no one in particular.

Silence greeted his comment. He grunted.

“Omo! This is dulling sha! Today na Friday o! Choi! Konfam, we be dulling men!” Bayo finally said. “I sure say Eze dey sleep! Trypanosomiasis pikin!”

Jonathan chuckled. “Sleeping beauty! This young man has slept away the better part of his youth…”

“Fools! I’ve been awake jor! Bayo, you just wan show say your papa na vet abi? He specializes in dirty pigs right? And this Jo, Mr. Blogger! Blogging or tweeting rubbish every time! E no worse pass sleeping? 30,000 tweets, only 50 followers! Ode!” Eze hissed, still in his lying position.

“Why you dey dey lie down like rug na? Make we find parole.” Bayo offered. He got up and headed towards the rack at the far wall of the room.

“FYI, just so you know, I’ve got more followers than that, even celebrities follow me…” Jonathan tried to defend himself.

“Hehehe! Celebrities ko! Dare only followed you because he thought you were someone else, as for Blackface, he’s not a celebrity o, no dull yourself.” Eze lashed again.

Bayo laughed. “He’s right Jo. I even doubt that the real Blackface owns that handle. He might not know how to tweet.”

Jonathan smiled. “Ehhn! I hear. All these don’t faze me.” He said, twisting his head as if singing.

Eze hissed. “Fag!”

Bayo had been searching for something but seemed to still miss it.

“Who has seen the 1000 naira I left here?” he asked.

Eze sat up on the bed. “Em..er..was it yours?”

Jonathan giggled. “Frostbite got your tongue?”

Eze looked at Jonathan with something like disgust on his face. “Dude, like seriously? Frostbite? Tongue? Is it not for toes only?”

“Nope! It is as correct as good driving. And I’ve got poetic license anyway. Don’t be hating now…”

“Because you blog?” Bayo laughed hard. “Does Senator Patrick have a license too? Dame? Let me guess, issued by the same poetry office? Or the Queen? Ha and ha! Please! Abeg Eze jare where the money dey?”

“I’m really sorry man. I had just heard that there was this urgent book we were to pay for, about 5 marks at stake. I just had to use it. I’ll get it back for you tomorrow!” Eze looked sorry.

“Damn! You don forget say I dey your department too? So make I dash you foolish virgin my own 5 marks abi? E no make sense na. How you go just carry my bar go drop for kini without consulting me or anything? Bayo was quite angry.

“Calm down na! It happened so fast I swear. I usually won’t do that you know. Those department people are just thieves. I’m just as angry as you are!”

“I’m a thousand naira angrier actually!”

Jonathan giggled, causing Eze to giggle too. Eventually Bayo’s anger softened and he smiled.

Eze tried to repair damage. “Sorry bro, I’ll get it back for you tomorrow.”

“Hope you realize tomorrow is Saturday?” Bayo said.

“Er..Em..Erm…Nope! But hey, it’s not like I’m moving out…” Eze laughed.

“Enough of the i-love-you-too! Fags! What are we doing here? It’s Friday evening!” Jonathan cut in.

There was the sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Chris walked in, with a shinning looking girl behind him. Maybe the evening was going to be interesting after all.

The Place I

I really did not want to go out to eat, the mood was foul because Rotimi had just broken the camel's back. I can't narrate what happened to anyone, but if you look into my eyes, you would see. You would see not just what happened, but tales of a thousand nights.

Back to my story! I walked quietly through the very long distance to famed restaurant. I wanted to eat efo and amala. That was because I had barely had any of that while away at school. The queue was long, undeterred I was. I paid for the overpriced food whilst regretting my decision not to drive to "white house" on the mainland. Oh well, man must chop.

I sat down quietly, trying to figure out why I had fixed my nails whilst judging the man sitting on the next table who had ordered a mountain of rice, spaghetti, fish, asun,snails and salad.

Quietly I sat when a fine-bobo with no pimple came to say "I think I've seen you before".

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One Year Baby!

It  started off as my rebound. Blogging, I mean. Lol. I didn't think I would ever become a blogger, again. *enough of my mushy mushy over-practiced Oscar-award-winning-thank-you-speech*

Ok, so in 20 days, it will be one year since my first post. I wanna say thank you to everyone who has clicked the "ournairastory" link and smiled. Thank you, thank you!

But wait though, I have heard a thousand stories I could have replicated as some sort of fiction, but I did not because people's lives are "people's lives"! However public, they definitely need some privacy. Long and short, what I'm trying to say is that it's not easy to think of entirely fictional stories without adding some "real" flavors, *phew*, but I guess I tried.

If you by chance see your reflection in the mirror of my stories, I sincerely apologize and hope the inconvenience is not repeated in future.

So so, dear visitor, I am grateful for your following and I hope we enjoy many more years to come.

Thank you once again, and remember, "It's not the critic who counts..."

Long Walk To Freedom

Starry nights, dark skies

Black and white, mist

Soft music, stranger,

Strange land, strange you.

Steps towards the road,

To oblivion you take,

Wondering over if you would,

By choice or fate return.

Turn left, turn right,

Go straight, halt.

Halt if not clear on direction,

Take no step in the dark.

For the walk to freedom,

Is a marathon,

A race,

And a war.