Dear diary, long time no see. I'm sorry for not always honoring your invitations for the past three months. It now seems like we are tearing apart, but never will we.

I don't know whether to blame this on Tessy and her crew, that have taken advantage of this addiction I'm fighting to draw us apart, or whether to blame it on the exams I was preparing for or even the recent money quest that swallowed me.

In all, I think I would rather blame it on bababulu; Nigerians by-force's next president, whether he is voted or not. I also pray that the same God that has always been our strength will continually strengthen us because the next eight years go still tough.

Dear diary, as you know, my humble name remains Chukwu Ebuka Fulfill, and just like I did three years, I want to reinstate the full meaning of my name, "EBUKA," in the form of an Acronym.
Please, bear in mind this might be lengthy.

E_=Stands for
Emotionless: Dear diary, to be very much honest, all these emotions I show are not from the depth of my heart.
All those emotional and suicidal kind of posts I make is from a relaxed mind.
I laughed so hard; the other day, a girl asked me what I was counting down every day on my WhatsApp status
In her words, "Ebuka, what's going on? I hope you're not planning to jakpa and leave me on earth
EMI? Me

If only this girl knew that I posted that "Day 25 Successful" just immediately after collecting the 2nd round from this my new Ibibio neighbor's girlfriend, she would have looked for water and sprinkled it on her head so that she can concentrate.


Forget all this rubbish; in reality, the SORRY I say is out of compulsion; the THANK YOU, I say because of courtesy, the Rest in Peace I say because some people said that dead people should be respected, and I only pity to get pitied when it's my turn. Just like we know, no one knows tomorrow.

Dear diary, it will interest you to know that
-I have never cried at a burial, not even by mistake.
-I have never smiled at a wedding or child's dedication.
And Lastly, I have never genuinely wished anybody well in life.


Make everybody carry their cross... I have always carried mine.
The "B" in Ebuka stands for
Betrayal: I have never made it public, but I expect anyone with insight to sense the wickedness all over my face and mind the things they share with me.
The only reason I'm not evil is that I didn't grow up in a village where massive witchcraft is practiced. If I were, sorry, it would have been over for many peeps.


You have a challenge you are passing through, and instead of constantly reading the book of lamentations while praying for a speedy miracle from God, you tell Ebuka.
I expect you to share your career prospects only with brilliant minds like Sam Adeyemi, but some people dey get mind share am with me.
After attaining that great feat, instead of rejoicing in your heart and probably listening to Nathaniel Bassey's praise medley in gratitude to God, you gist Chukwu Ebuka.

If anything happens later, you will shout, "World is Cruel."
Just dey play!
Tell this your son to stop looking at me like that.
I'm only saying what other people are afraid of saying.

I will continue and round up the remaining letters "UKA" tomorrow.

THIS SCHOOL IS AFTER MY LIFE!

My name is Chukwu Ebuka, and I am studying chemical engineering at one of Nigeria's most prestigious Universities. And of course, you know what would come with being in a "Prestigious" institution: costs, money, and expenses.

And bruh. It hasn’t been funny at all! It's been a struggle. A real damn struggle.

Coming from an average Nigerian home where I got just what I wanted No addition! No subtraction. Where a little enjoyment was seen as a waste of resources and where I lived a normal life, I should have opted for a more suitable school. When I say suitable, I mean cheaper. Not this one that is sucking up the whole being in me and messing with my mental health. Bills here, bills there, bills up, bills down—just bills everywhere.

Applying to this institution at first was a huge mistake. I shouldn’t have. I knew this school was beyond me. My parents knew it was going to be tough financially. And I have, at some point, pleaded with them to rethink this choice of University for me. But they, especially my mom, strongly objected.

Scene I
My mom: (With a firm voice) NO! Ebuka, you are applying for and must study at Bowen. That is final!

My dad said, Yes, Bowen, or you find yourself another sponsor.

Me: (With a pleading voice) Daddy, nau! But this school is super expensive. Like, who doesn’t know Bowen? The cost of tuition, textbooks, and accommodation there is outrageous. Can we afford it?

My mom: Ebukaaaaaaaa." Get admission first. Get it first. Do your part, write, and pass your jamb with a high score, then leave our part for us. If our God could deliver Jonah from the belly of the great fish, tell me what is too hard for him.

Me: But Mummy...

My mom: Shut up! Do your part!

Me: (Hisses inwardly) and angrily leaves the sitting room.



If I didn’t know my parents too well, I would just, like you, think that my parents wanted a top-quality and premium education for me. Because Bowen was just that school.

Staff, equipment, environment, library, learning facilities—everything is perfect in a school. If wishes were horses, everyone would definitely wish this for their wards. Anyone who had a child in Bowen was viewed as being almost on the verge of attaining a chieftaincy title. This is why my mom was all about it. She wants to brag! She wants to show off. Nothing else. I tell you, nothing else.

Scene 2
Act 1
(I was just strolling around my street one Thursday afternoon, and I met this woman that sells dry fish close to my mom’s store.)

Woman: (With a cheerful face and chatter) Ah! Ebuka, it's been a while. How’re you?

Me: I’m good, ma. How’s business, ma?

Woman: Very fine. I heard you got admission to Bowen.

Me: (A bit surprised.) (I just got this admission less than 12 hours ago.) Erhmmm. Yes, ma. Yes, ma.

Woman: What course?

Me: Chemical Engineering ma.

Woman: Ah, Nice course; congrats. Bowen University, of all places Your people really raised hand o Mr. Bowen! Ah!

Me: (Sheepishly smiling)

Woman: Congrats once more.

Me: (with a confident tone) Thank you, ma.

Scene 2 (Act 2)
I continue strolling while wondering how this woman got to know about this premature development. Then, I meet another random girl who lives right across my street.

Girl: (with a hailing tone): Mr. Bowen! Mr. Bowen!! Mr. Bowen!!!

Me: Wahala.

Girl: Which one is Wahala? Nothing concern you with Wahala. Nah, rich kid, you be nah

Me: (Laughing): No dey whine me, ma.

Girl: Whine who? Whine celebrity. Whine the trendiest gist in town. Ah!

Congrats o. I wish to be like you when I grow up.

Me: Ah ah! Easy with the whines, please (Chuckles). Thank you.

Girl: You are worthy of the whines, my dear.

(He resumes hailing and zooms off.) Mr. Bowen! Mr. Bowen!!

Scene 2 (Act 3)
Me: (Inwardly Mustering) Trendiest gist? Me? Trendiest gist. What kind of woman is this? What kind of mother is this, for goodness’ sake? What if this admission is reversed? What if I receive a message that reads, "Dear Chukwu Ebuka, we hope this message meets you well? Please do not take this to heart. With deep apologies, condolences, and sadness, we wish to notify you that the "Supposed admission" we offered you was a mistake. It was meant for so and so, but our faulty server mistook that name for yours. We are deeply sorry for all the inconvenience and appreciate your interest in our institution. Better luck next time.

Like, what if? What will this woman do? Will she start telling all these people about the latest development? Where will she hide her face when people discover that the NEWS is false? What will she do?

*

*

Just as I was thinking aloud, I met another person. This time, a mentally unstable man, known by everyone around my street, was dressed in his usual dirty attire, with his dirty dread. Today anyway, he tied this red handkerchief around his forehead and wore two dirty hand glows and a bangle around his wrist.

Mad man: (He passes across me.) Then he returns again, backward: Are you, not the Bowen boy? He scratches his head intensely. Ehn! Are you, not the Bowen boy?

Me: (Startled!) Ah, even craze man? Mummy, what is this?

Check out episode 2 on my blog
https://www.arealproblemkid.com/