(This is the commencement of a Story about Ola George a young Nigerian whose Identity and hope seems crushed by the prevailing situation of his Country. You just like him might be a youth whose heart is searching for answers,and whose struggles seem never ending,yet the Spirit within each Nigerian gets you up and going,hoping for the best most times,while expecting the Worst at other times. Read on and Enjoy the Catharsis effect the story produces, there will be one Chapter daily,so be sure to check for it.)
CHAPTER ONE
Sweat broke anew on his skin,as tears rolled down his eyes. A mice sped to and fro doing its thing, while the mosquitoes acted their scripts on his body as well. He is a tired young Man,frustrated by his Nation and his condition in life. At times Ola wondered why he wasn’t born into an affluent family.
Time crawled on as the Generator sound from the neighbour’s compound disobeyed the law of decorum at such late hour in the midnight.
*What can I do the young man asked himself..He rolled the dice of his imagination and it took him back to over 7 years ago when he almost committed suicide,Life wasn’t half as unbearable then though,but he hadn’t always been a happy person. His unanswered question most times is always about why his father died before he was born. *He walked slowly to the edge of the Bridge that day and he could feel that urge not to and adrenaline rush at the same time. Life was fading away as his vision blurred with the fading Sun,nothing flowed through his mind,except water forcing its way through his mouth and nose. Fading away*.
“‘How could he? Who is he’? Is he still Alive? Please someone should rush to go and call Police”.
* Of all his sensory organs at that moment his Ears were alive. It felt as though he was listening to a radio drama and in the theatre of his Mind he was the only audience,actor,with those around him being the Studio attendant*.
”Thank God he is still alive,I dived in and got to him within 4 minute”. ”Any form of ID”? another whose accent revealed his tribe as Hausa asked. ”Let us check his pocket” the Fisherman Saviour suggested. And automatically,he began to loose the young man belt and shoes at the same time. His ID says “Ola George” the Fisherman spoke in vernacular English,”a Yoruba I think”. ”He is your tribe Idowu”, squealed the laughing fisherman. “Ehn Ehn,if he is my tribe nko,what is my business’? ‘This Nigeria is bad we know but when there’s life there’s hope’,I’ve never seen a reason to end the life myself’,because as long as Garri exist the money to buy it will come no matter the Price”. Hassan the fisherman name laughed again, then said “well many people have the way they solve problems’ ,this guy is young,fine and looks learned I wonder why he made such attempt” he concluded solemnly. *The time was about 7pm and I could hear a lot of voices beginning to gather as the residing onlookers narrated the event to arriving ones who commented,criticised,argued and sympathised each accordingly. Over head the arriving vehicles sped on the third mainland bridge,with drivers stressed from Work and probably rushing to meet further hold up ahead*.
Another Mosquito bit Ola into consciousness,and the sharp pain made him epilepsy back to the moment. He arose and went to the bathroom,as another chain of pressing thought seeped into his head and took shape in his ever active sharp Imagination.
D.A Fortunes. Blog 