ShortStory I Wrong Acceptance

WRONG ACCEPTANCE

       “Ikenna, are you that daft?” Chief Uzoma roared on phone. “Don’t you know when someone doesn’t want to pick your call?”

 

      

  Ikenna, his third child who was in the university, had been intermittently and consistently making effort to reach him since morning all to no avail. He thought it wise to take the apparent disturbing phone calls at this time being 5.00pm just to avert further ‘embarrassments’.

       “If you dare call this line again,” he rode on in a jiffy. “I bet you, you would regret knowing me as your father.” He forcefully landed, quickly cut the call on the chap.

        It was in the previous day being Friday that Chief B. U. Uzoma got the report that the 20-year-old Ikenna was currently living with a female colleague in his school apartment. The undergraduate who was a second year student of Architecture wasn’t aware that such notice had gotten to his father’s desk, thus was so devastated over the abrupt weird attitude being displayed by the 61-year-old Nigerian.

        He had as well tried getting in touch with his darling mum, Ifeoma but her phone was malfunctioning at the moment. She could not take any incoming call owing to the anomaly but Ikenna had assumed that she was equally avoiding him. All these complications had almost resulted to nervous wreck.

       The poor dude was left with no other option than to prepare his baggage towards visiting home. Thank God it was weekend, Saturday precisely, so he had all the time in the world to depart from the campus till the following Monday. The institution was about fifteen kilometres (15km) away from his home and the distance required two transits if the traveller was meant to commute in a public vehicle.

       “My son, living with a woman?” Chief Uzoma soliloquized as he stood alone in his house lounge the moment he cut the call on Ikenna. “Could it be real?” he added, tried to walk round the enclosed arena and never minded that the television sited before him was switched on.

       In a few seconds time, his wife Ifeoma walked in, and smartly observed that all was not well with him. “Honey,” she called as she stood by the door. “What is eating you up?” she tendered, walked to the centre table, took the remote and lowered the TV’s volume to the barest minimum.

        Chief Uzoma hastily turned on hearing the question. Hmm….!” he exclaimed, walked to a seat and sat down. “My dear, don’t mind me.” He urged as he was loosely seated in the multiple-coloured cushion.

        Ifeoma was yet to know that her son was reportedly residing with a lady. Maybe this was the apt moment for her to receive the information from the apparently demoralized father of five.

        She stepped closer to him and sat in the seat sited closely to his. “What did you mean by that?” she enquired. “Isn’t it obvious that you look very disturbed?” She thought aloud, fixing her gaze on his.

        “Disturbed?” he asked rhetorically.

        “Please dear,” she said. “Stop this pretence.”

        “I don’t know what you are talking about.” He said in false pretences.

        “You don’t know what I am talking about?” she echoed.

        “Of course,” quoth Chief Uzoma. “Because, there is nothing wrong with me.” He said, took a breath. “Just that I had a very stressful day.” he contrived hesitantly.

        “A very stressful day?”

        “Yes,” replied the titled chief. “My day was so hectic.”

        “Okay ooh.” She surrendered, raised the TV’s volume with the remote in her right hand.

         Perhaps he was of the view that she need not know about the circumstance, or maybe that wasn’t the right time for disclosure. Whatever the case could be, the fact remained that he would at a time surely let the cat out of the bag.

        When the information filtered in yesterday while he was seated in his private office, Chief B. U. Uzoma thought it was a mere joke or something targeted towards pulling his legs, little did he know that the informant truly meant it.

        “What..?” he exclaimed at the top of his voice while seated when the information via phone call sounded more serious. “Oh, my God…!” he added, stood up.

        “Uncle, this is happening here on campus.” The informant, Okey added. “I wish you are here to see things for yourself.”

        Okey who made the call just to send the notice across, was Chief Uzoma’s nephew. He was begotten by the Chief’s married younger sister and was schooling in the same university with Ikenna, though in a different department.

       Since that previous day the information came to him, he had been psychologically and mentally unstable but till this moment, had never bothered to hear directly from the accused chap, or consider paying him a surprise visit toward ascertaining the genuineness of the notice. Neither had him made up his mind to share the story with his lovely wedded wife, Ifeoma who had ab inito remained his best friend in any matter on ground let alone this very one that concerned their biological son.

        “Lest I forget,” quoth Ifeoma as they were closely seated right in the lounge. “Ikenna has been trying to reach me but my phone is bad.” she disclosed, paused. “Please, has he called you?”

        Chief Uzoma shook his head reluctantly. “No.” he managed to utter.

        “Honey, why are you acting this way?” Ifeoma ranted. “I am talking about your son here.”

        “My son..?” he said, looking into her eyes. “That is not my son.”

        “What…?”

        “You heard me right.”

         Therein, Ikenna walked in with a brief luggage. “Hey mum!” he exclaimed elatedly, stepped towards the couple.

        “Hey, that’s my boy…!” Ifeoma responded on sighting him, hastily stood up.

         She graciously walked to and hugged him enthusiastically.

        “Dad?” the chap called, looking at his father who was still firmly seated.

          Chief Uzoma didn’t respond.

         “Your son is greeting you.” The wife reminded, looking down to him.

         “Mitchew…!” the Chief sighed, stood up and dashed into his matrimonial room.

             To be continued, please!

FDN Nwaozor

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#WisdomTablets (13)

Did You Know That, Life Is Unfair?
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The last time I checked, we were yet to note that life
isn't fair to mankind. Have you ever wondered why
having put in your very best into a certain cause you
are involved, failure would still be the outcome in the
long run? The answer is simple and succinct; life itself
is unfair.

Believe it or not; life was not, has not been, and will
never be, fair. People in most quarters are often of the
notion that life is like mathematics, which gives you
two when you add one to one. On the contrary, life
could give you eleven when one is added to one.

It's noteworthy that, in some circumstances, life would
drill your person in such a manner that you would begin
to wonder if your existence is abhorred  by nature; that
you would inadvertently ponder over the reason you
were created in the first place.

This is why everyone is bound to be a member of a revered
school of thought known as realism. Realism, which does
not withhold facts, teaches mankind how to aptly absorb the
intricacies of life. It makes man to appreciate the content
of life to the fullness. It gives mankind the insight on how to
comprehend that life is never friendly.

It suffices to say that, on the average, a realist doesn't frown
at the hurdles brought by life because he or she has ab initio
acknowledged that life itself is unfair.

At this juncture, I challenge us to be strong enough to handle
whatever experience life, or nature, may bring. All in all, don't
expect to be favoured by life irrespective of the circumstance.
Just endeavour to do your best, exercise a little faith, and leave
the rest for your fate. #ThinkAboutIt

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ShortStory I Effect Of Ignorance

EFFECT OF IGNORANCE

        

       “Tosin.” Ayo called friendly.

       “My Oga.” responded Tosin.

       “Abeg stop this your oga of a thing.” Ayo urged. “My name is Ayo.”

       “But, you are my oga nah.”

       “Oga ko, oga ni.” Ayo disapproved in vernacular.

       “Okay ooh!”

       “Well,” Ayo rode on. “Abi won ask you how we go roll today.” he said, paused. “The route we entered yesterday didn’t make sense at all..” he added.

        Ayo and Tosin operated a commercial L300 bus owned and managed by a transport investor, in the city of Lagos. The former was the driver of the vehicle whilst the latter happened to be the conductor. Therein as they leaned on the front side of the bus in question, at about some minutes past seven O’clock in the morning on a Tuesday, they were as usual discussing how the day’s operation would be as well as the actual route(s) they would be plying.

         The 32-year-old Ayo who was clad in a casual attire had before now strongly registered his disappointment over the route they plied in the previous day being Monday, stating that the revenue generated was very poor compared to their earlier outings; hence, wanted the 25-year-old Tosin to suggest a way forward.

        “Let’s enter Mile-2.” Tosin suggested.

        “From Mile-2 to where?” verified Ayo.

        “Oshodi.”

          They were already at Oshodi, thus were meant to be headed for Mile-2 after loading the bus.

        “Okay,” concurred Ayo. “Make we try nah.”

          In a few seconds time, they drove off. Some minutes on, they were on the ever-busy road situated between the two aforementioned localities.

       “Mile-2 ooh, Mile-2 ooh, Mile-2 ooh!” Tosin resumed duty at the top of his voice as he clinched to the bus’ entry point like a monkey that intended catching banana. “Mile-2 ooo, Mile-2 ooo, Mile-2 ooo!!” he supplemented in a louder mode.

        Intermittently, people kept trouping in while the vehicle was slightly on motion as he (Tosin) kept alerting prospective passengers to patronize the 18-seetter bus that wore yellowish paint as requested by the Lagos transport authority.

        “Everybody hold your change ooh..!” Ayo conscientized as he ebulliently controlled the throttle, letting the passengers realize the compelling need to enter the bus with low denomination (naira) notes.

        “Mile-2 ooo, Mile-2 ooo, Mile-2 ooo!” Tosin proceeded with alacrity. “Mile-2 ooh, Mile-2 ooh, Mile-2 ooh!!” he reiterated.

         The exclamation continued unabated till the vehicle got filled to the conductor’s delight.

        “Everybody hold your change oooh…” Ayo echoed as the tradition demanded.

          For those who were already in the bus when the first message came from the driver, that was meant to serve as a reminder.

         “Everybody hold your change.” he repeated after some seconds. “We no get change oooh!!” 

          Having gotten the required number of passengers, the vehicle zoomed off, and headed towards its destination. Owing to traffic jam and what have you, it had to move slow and steady. What matters most was that it would surely arrive at Mile-2 as requested by its passengers.

        “O boy,” Ayo called his assistant who was still standing by the door. “Abeg begin to collect my moni.” He urged.

         Tosin was not too steady in the job, so he (the driver) needed to continue reminding him of how it was being done.

       “No wahala.” replied the ever-vibrant Tosin.

         Few seconds later, unfortunately, the vehicle broke down to everyone’s utmost surprise. “What could be the problem?” one of the male passengers thought aloud.

        “Na wa ooh!” exclaimed a woman who sat beside the man.      

          It seemed the fuel had dried up, and they were so careless enough that they didn’t bother opening the bus’s bonnet let alone checking the fuel tank before commencing the day’s outing.

       It was about 8.00am. It wasn’t news that an average passenger on the busy Lagos road was impatient, thus could not afford to experience any bit of delay while headed for his/her working place, especially the employees who were more time conscious.

        Each occupant in the bus individually stepped out, hoping that the plight would be fixed soonest or to be transferred to another vehicle plying the route. Ayo and Tosin equally stepped out, and the latter hurriedly went to the bus’ booth, picked a fuel gallon and headed for a nearby filling station.

        Minutes on, the bus was refueled, hence, regained its energy. Consequently, the pathetically-looking passengers were conscientized to resume their respective seats.

        Within a twinkle of an eye, Ayo reignited the engine and changed the gear immediately. “Abeg, start dey collect moni.” He reminded his assistant.

        “Abeg,” Tosin told the passengers in accordance with the directive issued by the boss. “Make everybody hold he hundred naira for hand.” He enjoined in pidgin.

         On hearing the instruction, everyone quickly exposed the naira notes within his or her reach. Without wasting much time, Tosin began to collect the notes from each of them, starting from those seated at the row sited beside the driver.

         He was shock to his bone barrow when he got to the turn of a young lady seated very close to him; the said lady who seemed to be in her early twenties handed a thousand naira note over to him.

        “Wetin be this?” Tosin queried.

        “Which question be that?” the lady replied in a more unfriendly mood.

        “Shebi we tell una say make una hold una change?” the driver interrupted.

         She got infuriated by the query. “So if I don’t have change, I should not go to where I want to go?”

        “Which kai temptation be this?” quoth Tosin. “You for tell me say you no get change the time wey you enter motor.”

        “Abeg-abeg-abeg,” she boiled. “I don’t have time to argue with a common conductor like you.”

        “Nawa ooh..?” exclaimed Tosin. “We never reach that side nah.” He said, trying to inform the lady that she was overreacting.

         Rather than calming down, acknowledging the submissiveness of the conductor as well as the fact that she was faulty, the seeming troublesome lady became hotter thereby continue to call Tosin names such as tout, nonentity, and so on. Nevertheless, the abused person never got offended; instead he chose to laugh over the scenario.

         Having been intensely pissed off by the rate of the abuses, Ayo hastily cleared to the roadside and applied the brakes. “Come let me tell you,” he said, facing the abusive lady while still seated in his seat. “The young man you are calling all sorts of names is a fourth year student of Medicine and Surgery in the University of Ibadan, UI.” He informed.

         On receiving the information, the passengers unanimously shook their heads in amazement. They – particularly the lady – looked at Tosin in silent awe. The lady melted in a jiffy and inadvertently began to weep as she tenderly fixed her gaze on Tosin’s who was seated by the door-side.

         Ayo was also a graduate. He studied engineering in one of the universities in the West, Nigeria. Due to unemployment palaver, he chose to settle for his current occupation which he had been into for over two years now. Tosin who hailed from a poor home usually assisted him whenever he had a semester break.

         Funnily enough, the abusive lady who had now ostensibly embraced repentance was seeking for admission in the aforesaid institution (U.I) to study Marketing and her chances of securing admission was far-fetched.

        

    

FDN Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri

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