Prologue:
The Chronicles of Azuka is an episodic story. It centres on the day-to-day activities of AZUKA, a fictional chatacter.
The chronicles speak the language of nonfiction in a fictional voice.
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Cc: Divepen1, Obinnau.

THE CHRONICLES OF AZUKA.
Episode 1.

…

Azuka loved Guinness. He had ordered six small stouts. The hops and barley mix was enough to make him _"okay"_. If it was not Guinness, then it would be Gulder or Heineken or Goldberg. Nothing more, nothing less.
Azuka did not believe drinking was a sin.
For all he cared, did Christ not turn water to wine in Cana, Galilee?
Tufia… Drinking is not a sin joorr. Azuka however preached moderation. Azuka loved his conscience. It was a cool conscience, not like that of the big-bottomed Bro Brutus whose conscience was so seared with self-righteousness that he had reported Azuka to Most Senior Pastor Prophet(Dr) John Ihejirika, the head preacher and Overseer of Jesus Quick Quick Ministeries. Well, that is a story for another day.

Tonight, however was a special night. Azuka had hit a jackpot with the Ponzi scheme that Sarafa, the perpetually red-eyed, babber had introduced him to. Sarafa's eyes were not red from birth. No. They were made unwhite by street weed and Rothmans cigarette.

Azuka was a steady spanker of big bounties but this was the biggest hit he had ever seen. 1 million bloody naira. Choi!
Azuka had nearly ran mad. The money was white and fresh. He wanted to testify of this great goodness in church but he was afraid of going to hell so he succumbed to conscience and repressed guilt. Azuka loved safety. If there was any reason why he attended church or feared God at all, it was because he did not want to go to hell.

Azuka was scheming how to spend the money. He would not pay tithe. The money was impure. He would however donate to the Church project. The Overseer had instructed the brethren to donate some good money for the church expansion in China. The Jesus Quick Quick ministries was expanding and now it is seeding up in the Orient. Azuka would donate some money to that. He loved the Church. Very much.

Azuka planned on paying Ifeanyi's school fees. She was his babe. Yes, his missus darling, a 300L Sociology student at The University for that matter. He would give her some extra cash also. Oh… Azuka remembered Bruno, the American Ibo boy. He owed Bruno #200,000. He would pay him back too. Bruno had saved Azuka's head from cult boys in Warri. That is a story for another day.

Azuka remembered his parents too. #50,000 would be enough for them. Azuka remembered Calistus, the scientist. Calistus had sold Azuka some drugs that he could not get at Okon's pharmacy. Calistus was the one scientist that knew how to mix the royal blend that made the youths see heaven… a mix of Tramadol, Schnapps, Bitters and Codeine. He owed Calistus about #70,000 worth or something like that sha. He would pay Calistus.

After apportioning cash to many quarters, Azuka was down to 300 grand. That was enough for a big boy. Azuka was wise and righteous. Yes, he was righteous. Azuka knew he would enter heaven. He was sure.
He who is wise is righteous. He ordered one more bottle of Guinness, making seven in total. Seven is the number of perfection.
Seven is the mark of righteousness.

Epilogue: Azuka wants people to mind their business. Azuka believes that the only class of people that can enter heaven are those that mind their business. Blessed are those that mind their business. Azuka is righteous.
Righteous people mind their businesses.

...

Written by:
Pat Ashinze,
For the People, 2018

*THE CHRONICLES OF AZUKA*
_Episode 2_

by: Pat Ashinze.

…

Azuka looked at the time on his phone. It was seven forty-five in the morning. Like a gazelle on heat, Azuka sprang up to his feet, yawned and gave a limb stretch to kill the last blob of sleepiness that might remain in him.
The weather was beauteous and ravishing as sparse banks of silvery white clouds adorned the blueness of the high skies. The sun, itself was fast rising as if it were in a hurry to accomplish an important task.
Heck, he was going to make a goodness out of this day but first, he must pray. No. He would be praying in his heart. He had to go to class. Eight o clock class for that matter. Professor Lukas was no latecomer. God sees the heart. God is considerate.
Azuka serves and believes in a considerate God.

By 1'o clock, classes were already over. It was indeed going to be a free day: a Friday. Azuka decided to walk with Fikayo, (the girl that celebrated her 21st birthday last week in class,) to the hostel. Fikayo was the razzed talk of the guy folk in the class. Azuka knew why. A good man must know things. Azuka is a good man.

Fikayo had a flat backside. And a not so great chestside too. Azuka pitied Fikayo. Puberty was not nice to her. Puberty was angry with while dishing out voluptuousness to the daughters of men.
The guy folk in the class mumbled and laughed in concealed mockery each time Fikayo passed by. Every guy clique had a way of concealing mockery. Azuka was part of the guys.
A good man must laugh with his friends. Every good man must have friends to laugh, cry, talk and philosophise with. Azuka was a good man. Azuka is a good man.

Fikayo was not like Henrietta, the only lady in the class whose curves had enough power and might to stop men in their tracks.
But Fikayo had a great smile and a fine self-esteem voice. Her voice was also a bountiful feast for the ears.
She seemed not to worry about her curve-lessness. Fikayo was flat, yes she indeed was but that smile was her passcode. It was an harmless smile, dimpled by an harmonious dentition and spotless eyes. Azuka liked harmless girls. A good man must like harmless things. Azuka was good. Azuka is good.

Now well, they've reached the hostel joint. Azuka bids Fikayo a good day and joyous weekend ahead. Fikayo reciprocates in a samely manner. _Good day, Zuka baba_.
Fikayo moved onwards to the female hostel. Azuka moves onwards too but tarries for a little while to take a thrifty gaze at Fikayo's backside.
_Chai, Eiyaaah!_, said Azuka to himself in an inaudible whisper.
A good man must have pity. Azuka is good.

Epilogue: Azuka wants guys to stop making jest of and making jokes out of things ladies cannot control.
Azuka wants the brethren to know that females don't select the size of their breasts or buttocks. They don't get to choose it. They grow and assume into the allotted construct of God's omniscient design. Azuka wants the brethren to ask for forgiveness so that they will not go to hell. Azuka wants people to stop mocking the flatness of Fikayo's buttocks and the inconspicuousness of her chest. It is because of mockeries like this that affected persons have had artificial insertions, ignoring and damning the consequences and complications that might ensue.
Azuka wants us to know that girls like Fikayo are not dry or flat.
_They are filled in places we cannot see._

The End.
…

Written by:
Pat Ashinze,
For the People, 2018.

*THE CHRONICLES OF AZUKA*
_Episode 3_

by: Pat Ashinze

It was midnight. The sky was starless and the moon was on a date with darkness.
On ground, the electricity was not running. The atmospheric heat was hellish and hot enough to cook any food if placed outside with the right ingredients, thanks to the hostel generator that has been decrepit and out of function for about three weeks. Heaven knows why.

Azuka was in bed, cupping his mouth with his hands as he choked with wry laughter.
The laughter was stubborn. It came from the anguish that his roommates; Eric, Abefe and Sodiq were passing through.
The anguish was from Azuka. It was intentional and for this, Azuka had slept on the floor to make his intention _equitable_.
The heat was enough uneasiness but the unwholesome flatulence that remorselessly gunned out from Azuka's buttocks was another agonizing augmentation for the room folk.
Eric, the Ajebo Lagosian lamented. _Zuka, ow far nah? This is not fair, nigger. What the… Arrrgh_
Abefe, however took the matter native, rattling off in coarse Yoruba invectives with a tacit Ilorin accent: _Eleribu leleyi faa. Zuka, o ni lakaye faa. Oniso oshi. Omo ale jati jati_
Miraculously, Sodiq was dead. Metaphorically. To both the heat and the unwanted farts. Sodiq's had always slept like a dead body, getting barred from any sensual inteference of any kind.
As long as awareness was concerned, it is only God that wakes Sodiq up.

Azuka feigned a courteous slumber, downpressing his laughter with instinctive dexterity as he rolled and twirled on his big mattress. He endured the hideousness of his own missiles with scatological precision, ensuring that the farts were silent and ample. Azuka was sharp. A sharp man is wise. Azuka is wise.

Azuka blamed Aunty Bimbo's beans. He knew it was the beans. He remembered buying and eating Aunty Bimbo's beans package late last night before retiring to bed.
He had ordered a full take-away package and long loaf of Jogodo bread. Aunty Bimbo liked Azuka very much. She had dashed him the last two boiled eggs that remained in the saucer also. Azuka was a regular customer. Regular customers deserve tip offs. Azuka was sharp. Azuka was lucky. A sharp man is a lucky man.

But Dr. Charles Okonkwo, The medical practitioner that spoke regularly on Zoe Radio FM had once advised the populace that proteins are indispensably vital for the body. The doctor said inadequate protein can cause Kwashiorkor, something-itis and something-pathy. Azuka loved his health. He did not want to be like Deborah, the bricklayer's 12 year old daughter whose legs and hands looked like chewing sticks and her belly swollen like an inflated tyre on steroids.
He must consume protein. Eggs are proteinous. Beans too. And Isiewu. And kuli. Azuka was lucky to be informed. Lucky men are wise.

It was now 4.am in the morning. Azuka stifled his anus. Enough with the farts. He had to sleep. He had to garner strength. There was a 9.am class in the morning. Prof. Arigbagbowo's class. He had to go. He must sleep. He was already into sleep. But one more proteinous explosion before total somnolence. Just one.
_Toooooooommmmffff_. It was fast but loud this time. Abefe cursed Azuka this time in pidgin english. Azuka was deep in sleep. He heard the curse in his sleep but he was already too tired to reply or do anything. He knew the curse was pidgin and that it came from Abefe, the Ilorin boy with the long tribal marks. Azuka hated the marks. Heck, the person that etched them must have had a poor handwriting.
Tufia… The curse can not do him any harm. Azuka was a good man, a sharp one for that matter. Curses don't catch sharp men.

Epilogue: Azuka wants us to have commonsense. He wants us to eat proteinous food with sense especially when we are going to sleep. Especially when we have roommates that know how to curse and cry. Azuka wants us to be sharp and considerate with flatulence.
Azuka wants us to have mercy on others.
Good people have mercy on others

THE CHRONICLES OF AZUKA
Episode 4

By: Pat Ashinze

It was Saturday. A Saturday that was privileged to be weathered by a clementine atmosphere. Noontime was handing over the baton to eventide.
The school environs were calm and less fussy as compared to the normal five operating days that typically represented the hustle and bustle of a tertiary campus. The male hall of residence - Azuka's hostel, however was agog with liveliness and adrenaline.

Azuka leaned against the doorpost of the hostel entrance, watching his hostel mates preparing football sets on the jaggy field. The sets were five in number and there had to be a tussle between each of them. It was for pleasure mainly - sheer, sweaty and teasing pleasure.
Azuka's phone bleeped. He looked into the screen to read the Universe fact application daily update. Azuka loved being current with information. Good men are wise. Wise men have information. Information is power. Information is knowledge. Azuka was wise. Azuka is good.

The application offered montages and galleries of geographical knowledge that was oblivious to Azuka's infinite memory. Azuka was wowed. So all the hydration that the Sahara desert needed to become a flourishing greenery was just about one-seventieth(1/70th) of the bulk of the Atlantic ocean. Wow. Waoooooh. Facts are good. Good men get facts.
Having had a revealing peek into his loyal android device, he cradled it in a fatherly manner, dusted the backside that looked soiled, locked it and tucked it in into his breast pocket.
The football match was getting tenser. Azuka positioned himself to a more comfortable pose.
Then something made him vent.
“Haba! Which kind goalkeeper be this??! Why is he running away from shots? Why is he blpcking his manhood when a freekick is coming through?? Isn’t it his duty to save shots: come heavy, come soft? Ha ha!, he is even putting the blame on the defenders, when it’s so clear that he has all the faults to answer to! This is just ridiculous!” roared Azuka in jocund delight.

"Oga, sharrap joor!" A voice nearby responded. It was Cletus’s, the hostel jester whose mouth had no remorse or reverence for anybody.
"You just dey talk, dey talk; which wan you sef sabi do? Abi no be you, Azuka?? You wey be sey your legs go dey shake like person wey get seizure on top sey you wan kick ball!! See sef, no be Azuka dem suppose name you. Na Uzoma!!". jeered Cletus, the bad mouthed Calabar boy.

Azuka replied back earnestly.
"Cletus! What was that for? All I did was give a sincere criticism! So, why would you mock me like shit?! Is it a crime for a man not to know how to play? Besides, as you can see, I am a good football analyst! I watch football and make concise assertions. So, just leave me alone!!"

"Shioor, yeye guy! Ball, you no fit play. Tennis? Network not available!.. Even the software games sef, na humiliation you dey always bring come home. You are a totally boring loser... Abi you don forget dat day wey you score own goal abi shey na home goal, kon dey jubilate till referee tell you sey na 2nd half una dey play, sey una teams don shift sides. He he, Werey guy!!"
This time, everyone in the common room busted out in frantic, irrepressible laughter.

For a few seconds, Azuka was speechless. The mockery had pierced his mental marrows. True, he had score a own/home goal but it was out of ignorance not negligence. He had used some codeine on that day though but notwithstanding, it was totally a mistake. Azuka had forgotten that it was second-half time and that the goalposts would have switched concurrently also. Arrrgh. A bad day it was indeed. Now, Cletus was scratching old wounds with his uncircumcised tongue. Cletus had the usual habit of making Azuka look miserable and stupid before others. Azuka remembered how Cletus had once mocked Azuka's scoreboard marks in public; amongst a plenitude of girls for that matter, saying that:

Wow

Episode 4 continued.

...

saying that: _Azuka's scoreboard mark was a scientific proof that evolution could go back in reverse._
Damn it! It was maddening and debilitating. It was impolitic and undignifying. Azuka's was liquefied on that day - throughout the week to be sincere.

But this time, he must say something. He must do something. The mockery was becoming too heavy and too frequent for him to reciprocate with ignominious silence. He was not taking defeat. Good men fight for their peace. Azuka must fight. With words. No blows or traumatic measures intended. For justness' sake, Cletus was twice his size and build.
Good men fight battles they can win. Azuka was wise.

Deepened and fidgeted by fury, Azuka launched an organic rant at the top of his mildly baritone voice –
_“I swear, Cletus! You will pay for this!! You think sey you fit talk anyhow bah. You think sey na your mouth sabi yanga pass abi?? Nobody messes with me. …You wretched, inconsiderate, shapeless and uncivilised swine! By the way, Cletus. _Just make sure you marry an intelligent and virtuous woman because, truth be told - no good child deserves to partake in inheriting your filthy genes._

… Like rapture come down, there was a deafening silence on the entire field. Azuka had said something new. Something destructive and superseding. Azuka had trashed Cletus, the bad mouth. The field had girls to testify to. Everybody guffawed and laughed so hard. This was the top of it. Cletus had being buried alive, by Azuka's tongue.

That day, that fateful and clementine Saturday; Azuka won the rights to the hostel's respected persons list. Cletus never said something outlandish anymore. Not to Azuka. Not to anyone anymore.
Like Christ's last words in Golgotha _It was finished._

Epilogue: Azuka wants us to know that it is okay to scream back at the world when we feel oppressed and molested. Azuka wants us to know that silence is not always golden. Azuka wants us to tease and joke with sense. Azuka wants us to know that
_The world is for the Outspoken._

Written by:
Pat Ashinze,
For The People, 2018.

*THE CHRONICLES OF AZUKA*
_Episode 5_

by: Pat Ashinze

Several times, every year, Azuka would journey downtown from his University campus to visit his half-uncle, Prof. Nwibe Marcus, a billionaire and nationwide recognised clinical psychologist at Nobleman's university whose research articles, theses and journals on mental health had illumined a lot of obscurities concerning psychiatric affairs and had discarded many myths and hideous rumours on the said subject.
Truth be told, Professor Marcus was an achiever, even by achiever standards.
Having graduated second-class upper in Psychology at the age of 23, he had a jolly smooth sail throughout the postgraduate fields, spanking a professorial appointment at the tender age of 34.
His interest in the perambulations, the congeniality between the mind and body and the seemingly interesting infrequence of human behaviour drove him to focus his compass on Clinical psychology and it luckily paid off for him.
He would be 40 in a few days time and lo, he had already had the world reclining at his feet. Fine, he was a single father of 3 lovely boys having being widowed six years back following an uterine aneurysm that took away his dearly beloved Sandra away. But still, he stood, alive and well. Bless God. Bless Willpower.

As for Azuka, visiting Prof. Marcus was not because of the intelligentsia or literati or of something related to academic clerisy. No. Azuka visited Prof. Marcus frequently to escape the reality of his woes at the University environs. First, his grades were highly anaemic, his girlfriend Ifeanyi had ported away with Bertrand the Abuja moneybag whose face knew no smile or laughter, his brain was frequently fried thanks to incessant alcoholism, occasional weed puffs and _science studentship_ as the streets called it. And then for the food also. Chicken being a gold standard with beverages and strong wines.

Howbeit though, the epicenter of Azuka's fugitive visits was for the homely safety that radiated all over Prof's house. It was enough adhesive and attractant for Azuka. Azuka had access. The guards never halted or froze him for clearance or whatnot. They knew him well enough .Azuka was lucky. Azuka was good. Good men are lucky.

Dang! Prof. Marcus was not just an academic genius, he was enviably wealthy as well. Borne as the last child of nine spawns, that was also sired from the least favourite wife for that matter, Prof. Marcus's father had willed him a hackneyed wasteland, some ignoble cash and a jalopy Mercedes car at the very moment of demise oblivious to the knowledge that the very filthy land was incalculably deposited with crude copper and columbite minerals.
The land would have been derelict as an asset until fortune gave Professor Marcus an ambrosial smile when American expatriates came over to Nigeria for wanderlust and work - only to discover that the said wasteland was an heavily pregnant mine that had suffered abandon and disuse. He was a research fellow back then at Nobleman's university and thusly, a lifelong, breakthrough deal was struck - this was how he became a Forbes' magazine interviewee.
God is funny. Very funny indeed.

Come to talk of Marcus's house, it was descriptively a mini-Eden. It was situated on a twelve-acred landmass which was about a stone throw from the suburbs.
Painted in royal white like the beard of the biblical sages: the portable-sized edifice was built in an avant-garde form.
Fenced all over in a medium-sized, gothic-fashioned barricade style, the seven-roomed bungalow had a well groomed lawn that could almost compete with an average football field, a man-made stream, some flowers that were definitely not Nigerian in origin, a few sculptures, vintage galleries, spiral structures, a grand piano, a bar and little kaleidoscopes of colored glasses that adorned the window of the professor's study (which Azuka had no access to). The air of the house in its egyptian-perfumed entirety itself reeked of the fact that it belonged to an owner with great intellect and modest choices. It was plainly civilized luxury.

Yet still, despite the money, the fame, the vast knowledge, the influence, the big connections to fat heads and the glamour, The Prof had chosen to embrace a humble, solemnly private and plain life. He did not remarry. No one could be like Sandra. No one. The boys would have the society as their mother. Azuka knew this. The boys were still young. Henry, the eldest was just 9. Azuka wanted to counter and counsel Prof but what is the opinion of a poor man when the rich is burping and deciding. Maybe at another time. Not now. Azuka was wise. Wise men keep quiet and listen to reason. Family apart, wise men mind their business and leave all to God.
Heck, he was worth 500 million dollars. US dollars for that matter. Not Zimbabwean or Liberian. US Obodo Oyibo dollars. Azuka knew the worth. A good man must know things. Azuka was wise.

Azuka never boasted of knowing or being related to his half-uncle. Not to anyone. Not for the familiarity nor for the money or elitist status. As far as Azuka was concerned, he was not entitled to Prof. Marcus's money. Azuka was poor and reckless but he was not foolish. The rich do not owe the poor anything. Azuka was wise. Wise men are not leeches. Wise men reduce and diminish their sense of entitlement. Azuka is wise. Wise men are good.

Epilogue: Azuka wants us to know that the rich also cry. He wants us to reduce our sense of entitlement and if possible, make them inexistent. He wants us to know that the wealthy do not owe the poor any dime, that choice is all that matters.
Most of all, Azuka wants us to know that everything is a product of time and chance so nobody has a right to be arrogant.

Written by:
Pat Ashinze,
For The People, 2018

Ccc: Obinnau, DivePen1, Mynd44, Lalasticlala
FP, pls

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