Something funny happened yesterday afternoon, and I want to share it with you.
So I visited Kenechukwu, my friend, a chemist that sells drugs just across my street.
We gisted for a while, then Kenechukwu begged me to help him look after his shop, so he will go and ease himself.
I obliged.
I don't know whether he went to sacrifice his Preek there, because I know that normal urinating should not exceed 5 minutes, but this young man spent more than an hour there.

I was in the shop when they rushed this girl, who was bleeding severely into the chemist's shop, they said she had an accident.
Omo, I came confused... I didn't know what to do.
I called Kenechukwu more than 15 times and was refused to pick up. up
Just had to do something.
I used a white rope to tie the spot, that was bleeding and used my belt to tie her head.
Just when I was looking for Paracetamol to give to this girl, at least, to relieve the pain.

Kenechukwu appeared, I almost landed a slap on the i.diot, but then I was a bit relieved that he was back.
Little did I know, that Kenechukwu was even more useless than I was, he was just jumping and sweating like a homeless and motherless antelope, wandering in the evil forest

Angrily, I collected Kenechi's phone and called his Oga, who rushed immediately and came.
LOL

The Oga was even worst, the young man has taken more than 7 green bottles and was excessively drunk, and he doesn't even know the color of his slippers.
Wahala everywhere!!!

Guyyyy!!.... This girl was losing blood o

We had to call Oga's wife, who climbed keke immediately and came too.
As expected, the slay queen herself was confused.

It was now the three-month-old child, she brought along with her, that entered his father's shop and administered drugs to this injured girl.


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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?

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