₦airaland Forum

Naijaguy123:
Typical ibo man. He died developing other people’s land . This is a man considered one of the best ever brain in African literature, yet he took the rich brain to develop and help Americans. Even in his old age he should have returned to his home state of Anambra . Imagine having a brain like this in an eastern university but he choose to work for the white man until his death .

This is a man that graduated from University of Ibadan but contributed nothing even in his later years to university of Ibadan, he forgot home completely.
He went from one oyinbo university to another and died in oyinbo university. A white man will work the world over but he will retire home in other to serve his people with the remaining part of his years.

how d f wud he giv a f... working in a country that never worked. If he was here he won't have achieved as he did. The likes of Chukwuemeka Ike that stayed back and even became a registrar in a university are barely whispered and you just stay here and be talking anyhow.

Dope!



https://www.nairaland.com/5142388/straight-rotund-18

Paaa!! Paaa!! I could hear the train whistliing while I navigated through the traffic jam and crossed to the right side of the road and continued my short walk home. Today at the studio was great. My feet had increased in their bounce, so I walked with a steady slow stride with the right foot coming miniseconds after the left.
One would wonder if I was listening to music through an invisible headphones and it wasn't too far from the truth, I was humming lead sound of one of the beats we made earlier.
There was a crowd ahead and its not unusual for people to wait for the train to chug and rumble by before they proceed to cross the rail line. But, when I observed that some of them were running towards me. I knew something was off. I slowed my pace, I didn't know what was happening yet, except that on the faces of those who where approaching me was fear, and an urgency to disappear. On the rail line about 60 feet ahead was an unmoving red truck on which was inscribed 'do not load me and do not buy my diesel' the blaring whistle of the train was nearer as the flange squealing sounds of it's wheels were heard as clear as light showers of rain on an iron roof.
My first instinct was to retrace my steps to a safer distance. But, thinking I was too far to be hurt from the train's impact with the truck. I whipped out my phone, tapped on the the camera icon and held it few inches from my face ready to capture while closing the gap to about 30 feet and anticipating the train ramming into the truck.
Few minutes had passed now but nothing had happened yet. The train was still blaring but was at a safe distance away, just as I kept my phone back in my pocket, a group of aggressive looking men materialised and started destroying the highlights, side mirrors of the truck few insulted and assaulted the driver and tried pulling the driver off his sit.
No sooner had the train chugged along after the truck had been pushed off it's line, did all the onlookers disperse. No one was hurt but the crazy thing was that the driver refused to leave his truck when it had become obvious that his truck was going to be rammed into or why the hooligans destroyed parts of his truck and beat him.

My alarm did not go off that morning. When I stirred awake and checked the clock, it was 40 mins later than I usually wake, my phone was stolen a few days ago and I had to rely on this small boxlike clock to wake me.
In order to beat the traffic and get to work as fast as possible, I skipped breakfast, washed my mouth, had a quick bath and rushed out of the house to the garage where I boarded a Danfo bus to Ikeja.
I was lucky to have caught a bus that was almost full but somewhat unfortunate not because I sat on the last sit or that I did not get the window seat, but because I had to squeeze myself in between two chubby passengers; a lady in a flowery Ankara gown and a man who was looking through the window and mopping his large sweaty face with a dirty looking white handkerchief in a faded grey suit; the suit looked undersized maybe because it was still buttoned. Within a few minutes, the few empty seats were occupied and we rolled off.
Initially, there was nothing. Nothing was spectacular, had I got the window seat, I would have become a busy spectator looking out of the window which I am very fond of but that day it was most needed to help suppress my impatience with our slow sloth's kind of transition and I would not have bothered looking around in the
bus.
In front of me, on the next seat was a being. If she was an angel or a mermaid I do not know. she was like no one or nothing I had ever imagined or seen in comics or on the television. Her skin was as smooth as a pearl. She was spotless. Fair and glowing like garnet held under a fluorescent light. She had her charcoal black hair held in a bunch and wore a striped white shirt. She pulled her face out from her phone and looked to her right thoughtfully with a smile playing at the corner of her face which made her dimple more prominent then her phone beeped and she went back to been absorbed by it. Involuntarily, I pushed my back off from the backrest of our leather covered metal chair and gazed on her phone, she was chatting with someone on facebook. Okay, for her to be on facebook she must be a human in some way I thought and just in time to witness my arrest, her black and flaming tiger eyes rested on me and my world disappeared I felt my internal organs burn, my mind numb and soul elevate and look at us as a third person. Suddenly everything returned to normal my soul came back into me, my mind not too sure I was still confused had she looked at me? she busy was typing on her phone. the only evidence of the fire that burned within me was the sweats that were pouring over my face it was so much that the chubby man who sat next to me pushed the window to let in more air.
I should get her number I thought when I had regained my stamina on the ground after been blown away. But, there was a problem she was older at least seven years older than I was. I celebrated my 19th birthday a few months ago. how do I get this lady to give me her phone number? I mean I could not get most girls my age to give me their digits talk more of this lady THE SECRET WAS HOW TO START. My mind provided a lot of hypotheses and experimented then to ascertain if they were fail-proof. When I was concluded and successfully made up my mind to START she stretched her hand to collect her balance from one the passengers in front of her. I saw a ring. I saw a ring on her finger what the ... she was already... she was married that was a wedding ring. Now that was a problem and my best lines would not hold water it was already a failure from the onset. I withdrew my face from looking at her hand but caught the sinewy man whose head was almost pushing through the roof of the bus whisper in her ear and she laughed.
Could that be her husband? Could he be her husband? Had he been the one talking to her all the while I thought it was some facebook friend or something. I took me a while to come up with a finer way to get her number and would save me from him if he was to react over me asking for his wife's number.
"Second Gate Wa oo driver" I called. As soon as the driver pulled to a stop, I made my way to the door and proudly carried out my finer plan. "I will add you on facebook" I cooed and jumped off the bus. "I couldn't stay to see her reaction but I think I heard more than two persons laugh. I sang her name which I had crammed off her phone so I would not forget. by the time I borrowed a phone on which logged in onto facebook, I wasn't too sure about her name anymore.

real nice. your story would bring lots of readers. keep it coming

Now following. The story promises a wonderful ride. Kindly continue

This tori sweet pass the yam when I just cook