I got an assignment in a class I’m taking at work; publish something on your medium account. I couldn’t imagine writing anything from scratch, and I hate shabby work so I didn’t want to take the available route of dropping a random paragraph. Anyways, I went through my drive and found things I had written when I still considered myself a writer in the order of Achebe and Adichie (lol, its the audacity for me). It took me back to a different point in my mind and life that made me smile with nostalgia, but it also made me a bit sad to think the truth in words from 2013/14 remained mostly true even today. Without further ado (apology for the much ado) and all the strength it took not to make changes that reflect my growth, here is the unedited piece as published in my school’s term letter;
TOMORROW (?)
While I was deep in sleep, dreaming about the fight at school yesterday, a hip hop song started playing in the background. It took me a few minutes to realise it was my alarm. I woke up grudgingly and looked at my phone screen; it was 5:45am. I went through my normal morning routine of getting ready for school. Dressed in the navy blue skirt, sleeveless white shirt and grey jacket of my school uniform, I moved down for breakfast but barely ate the bowl of cereal in front of me.
My sister, Jordan, was still depressed. She had been like that for months. She hardly talked anymore and even when she did, it was only in monosyllables. The riots affected us all but it affected her the most. I cannot imagine how she felt having to watch those men on the streets hack her best friend to pieces. It puzzled me that a nation so ‘God-fearing’ could be so inhuman. I would have liked to hug her before leaving but she would not have liked that, instead I just squeezed her shoulders and walked out of the kitchen with the image of the blankness in her eyes and the thin line of her bruised lips on my mind.
In the compound, Adamu, our gateman, was arguing with Daddy’s P.A., James, about the football match between Barcelona and Real Madrid. Adamu was rooted in his belief that the referee was partial and favoured Real Madrid but James was even more unyielding in saying that Messi’s goals had nothing to do with luck. Daddy came out of the house wearing that air of his that commanded respect. He exchanged pleasantries with James, they got into the car and I followed suit.
The journey to school was long and a little uncomfortable. As we drove further away from the GRA, we saw rugged, rough, pothole-ridden and dusty paths which contractors classify as roads. At Iliya Road, I saw the dusty sign informing the public that “Adam and Adams” was constructing the road. I thought of the three other companies the contract had been awarded to previously. The money must have gone into various places except the road itself. I did not want to think of how many lives had been lost on the roads. Daddy had probably been thinking of the same thing because he said, “Many of the thieves in Nigerian prisons are far better than these politicians. The imprisoned thieves stole property and sometimes took lives but these politicians; they slowly kill the whole nation.” I smiled at the wisdom in his words and he winked at me; the closeness between us was something we always enjoyed.
At Asaba junction, the usual beggars swarmed all over the cars stopped by the traffic lights. I noticed that there were more children today. Some of the beggars came to our car and Papa wound down his window to give them a 100 Naira note. Some of the children were so young; they should have been in school. Our state received one billion Naira last year for the building and rehabilitation of schools yet not a child had benefited. I noticed one of the beggars, a boy about my age staring down at me but before I got offended, I realised he was staring at my “Grace Springs College ‘’ badge with a look of envy and sadness. I had to look away because I could not stand it.
The school day passed by in a blur today and the boring periods were even harder to bear since Abiola, whom I had secretly admired for three years, was absent. At break time, I caught snatches of a conversation between some SS3 students. Apparently, a lot of students were dying to get miles away from Nigeria. One of them swore in her annoying high-pitched voice, “God forbid that my father would say I will study in this yeye country.” I know what my father would say in a moment like this, “If everyone wants to run, who will stay and rebuild the nation?” At 9:30 pm the NTA news was showing on TV. They were broadcasting the centenary awards dinner; the visual quality was poor so we switched to AIT. As name after name was called to receive the awards, I read the news on the scroll bar; Boko Haram massacre, fraud case, kidnappers demanding 500million Naira ransom… I wish I knew what was there to celebrate because at that moment millions were starving, soldiers and civilians were being killed in the North-East and a corrupt politician was wiring millions into a foreign account. I stood up from the sofa and walked to my room. Lying on my bed, I inhaled deeply hoping tomorrow would be better, but more than that, hoping that there would indeed be a tomorrow.
Judith Hassan, SS2 Chad
Doing this assignment reminds me why I liked to write in the first place, so maybe I will publish some more, old and new thoughts. Hopefully someday I will come back to these and ….