life

Blog, Creative Essays, Writers

My Past Life by Emmanuel Enaku

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The full moon blazed down on us at its highest intensity as we strode through the forest, our feet making occasional rustling sounds when they crushed down on dried leaves, seeds and twigs, accentuating the thudding sounds of hard soles — that carried weary bodies — matching down on the dry, craggy and coarse track of the evil forest. As we sauntered on, manoeuvring our way through thick forest bushes, each of us had a hand fastened on the handle of a sheathed sword tied to the waist while the other hand held firmly to a blazing local torch, our lips were clamped down hard on the fresh palm blades between them and our eyes darted around, shining with grim alertness as we scanned the spaces around us with pinpoint accuracy. We were warriors and we were trained to remain calm and alert even in unbearable discomfort. There was a sudden wind that blew harshly in the forest, swaying trees and shedding semi-dried leaves and then, a sharp sound pierced briefly into the night. The chirping, buzzing, humming and whirring noises of forest insects that accompanied us all through the journey stopped abruptly. We froze and our muscles tensed and our eyes bulged, assessing the area to catch even the faintest movement or anything that was out of the ordinary. Iyankpor, who was in front leading us, raised his right fist up and we did not move another body part except for our eyes which got even more alert and darted wildly. Everyone’s bodies were shredded of its weariness reflexively and in its place, to enormous levels, was pure and total adrenaline. We stood hard and still like rocks as Iyankpor strained his eyes and ears, marking the position where some strange sounds only he seemed to have heard came from. He turned suddenly, impaling us with hard glistening eyes that reflected the fiery burning torch in his right hand. He threw the torch on the dry ground a distance away from him and it began to burn the leaves around. In the sudden illumination, due to the effect of the burning leaves, we could see him clearly. His shoulders that were always proud had sagged, sweat poured out of his face and muscular body which still had traces of our local tattoo, made with cam wood and white chalk and oh, his eyes! Those eyes — which were always confident, daring and hard, lacked all these qualities now. As he took his palm blades from between his lips and faced us, his expression spewed nothing but unadulterated dread that threw us all into confusion. “Run! Save yourselves! The quest — you must deliver it to the king!” he hissed in an agitated manner. The leadership of Iyankpor was never questioned. He was an efficient brute, clever and powerful with amazing sixth sense and reflexes that made him undefeatable. His feats in the village wrestling arena and combat skills in war were things that almost made us think him a supernatural being but our brute of a leader was not looking anything like what we knew him to be. He looked more like a weak and lost boy in the midst of the blazing, burning fire. The initial rush of adrenaline through our bloodstreams subsided rapidly and we stared at each other with incomprehension. The cloud of fear that showed in our leader’s eyes — now doubled — was reflected in everyone’s eyes as we tried to communicate wordlessly and perhaps, read the other man’s mind because we could not take the palm blades from our lips; the mere evil essence of the terrain we found ourselves creepily dared us to. Iyankpor took out his sword and crutched in one fluid movement. His sharpened sword shone ominously under the dull light of the moon that was partially covered by black clouds and the topaz glow of our torches which burned dimly. His right knee was pinned to the ground and his body was doubled over the left knee. His arms were astride and his face bent to face the ground. There was another strong wind and then, repeated whoosh sounds as the flames of our torches were snuffed out. We flung the extinguished wooden poles away and frantically reached for our swords, our hearts palpitating wildly, loudly enough for the other man to hear. Holding our breath, we strained our ears to pick up any further sound as we returned fully into destruct mode. We could taste the adrenaline on our tongue and our bodies vibrated with anticipation. We heard it, then — a low growl that emanated from somewhere in the shadows. It grew louder until it began to vibrate the ground where we stood and then, it was joined by a deep rasping chuckle that sent shivers down our spines. Suddenly, out of the shadows stepped a hulking figure that was as terrifying as it was strange. It, definitely, wasn’t something fit for the eyes of men and our fear was complete. Iyankpor stood up then and began to approach the beast, his glistening sword trailing a path behind him. His face was screwed with intense hatred and he once again looked every bit of the fearsome warrior whom we accepted and recognized over the years as our leader. We stood disoriented and watched what was happening. However, that creature did not break strides in its approach. Its eyes glowed red and its long claws glinted in the moonlight as it moved confidently giving total disregard to the counter approach of our leader. Instantaneously, it gave a horrible snarl and lunged at its assailant, its unpredictable movement taking us all — with the exception of Iyankpor, of course — totally aback. Quickly, Iyankpor ducked and tumbled, gaining his feet as his legendary reflexes — which made us refer to him as “the cat” — came to the fore. He barely escaped the sharp claws of the horrible creature and the creature crashed to the ground with the effect of its own momentum. That beastly creature did not stay down, though. It gained its feet quickly with an agility that

Creative Essays, Diaspora Diary., Essays, Writers

Diaspora Diary: Three Words To Sum Up Life.

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  We are in a strange time. A period when a tiny microbe is changing our way of life. We are now left with books, tv, music, the internet and memories. I have a memorable story to share. You know that type of incident that sticks with you for a lifetime. My dream to relocate abroad looked to have come true when I met a young man from my town named Chuks. We met at a friend’s wedding reception during the Christmas celebration. He was visiting from London and I could tell by his dress and accent. We had a couple of dates and attended some other social functions together. We had a lot in common and started seeing each other more and more. We shared jokes, fun times and stories from our life experiences and we both had ambitions to become academics abroad. While he was already doing his master’s while I had plans with my mum to apply once I finish my national youth service. When he wanted to return to his base he asked me to accompany him to Lagos. That was when he surprised me and proposed the night before he boarded a flight back to London. I was already in love or so I believed and accepted on the condition that I will join him in London. Initially, he started giving excuses that the visa process will take a long time. But I shocked him by revealing that I had dual citizenship and needed no visa to migrate to the UK, all I needed to do was renew my passport. I first became suspicious when he started acting funny after I asked for some money to make up my flight ticket. He promised to give me some money but came up with one excuse after the other. I finally told him to forget about the money when my mum made up the balance. I told him I will be coming over during the summer after passing out from NYSC. He was happy— or so I believed —  and promised to refund the money when I come. When I arrived in London that summer I discovered that he was living with a friend instead of in his own flat as he said. Again I shook off my suspicion that something was not adding up. He lied that his flat was undergoing renovation and even arranged a visit to a property his friend was renovating. I was appeased and I became hopeful that we will move back in after some weeks. Weeks turned to months and he came up with a story about an expected insurance payment that was delayed. After some time he asked me to get a loan from my mum which will be repaid once the insurance firm pays in 3 months. I hesitated but I later agreed. After all, it is ‘our house’ and my mum will happily lend it to his future son-in-law. After discussing it with my mum, she raised about four thousand pounds for him. After several months during which he sometimes travelled for ‘school excursion’ and stayed out for days, I summoned the courage to ask him about ‘our flat’. It turned out to be another fairy tale about the complications of the insurance process and all that. By this time I was already pregnant. I informed him about it and he pretended to be excited only to leave the next day without returning for three nights. I couldn’t reach him, I was horrified and confused. To make matters worse on the second day after he left I woke up to discover that his flatmate was also gone. Was this a bad dream? This can’t be happening. It gradually started dawning on me that I could have been used. Pieces of events and stories started flashing back at my mind. Is it over? Could my dream have crumbled so in just a few weeks? Luckily I already had a care job through an old friend in a church rectory. So I was busy and was earning a little but that wasn’t the plan. All subsequent attempts to reach Chuks yielded nothing. Even his friends who I know had no idea of his whereabouts. I was almost devastated. Almost but not completely. Determined to have the baby, I told my mum the whole story. She prayed for me. One of the longest prayers in my life. She then advised me to go into self-isolation for the duration of the pregnancy so that I can focus on safe delivery. I did. I deleted all my social media profiles and maintained contact with only my family and a few close friends. I wasn’t much of a religious person but I started praying more and more. God knows I needed it then. The parish priest was wonderful. He asked me to move into the guest room at the rectory at no cost. His wife always brought hot food during the winter and sometimes she stayed back to help me with cleaning. I had Chioma in June. She weighed almost 4kg but I delivered her like a Hebrew woman. I didn’t even bother to search for her father because that will spoil the joy she brought. When I got a better job with a telecoms company I moved outside London. Today, I am married to a pastor and we are now a family of five. I am also an evangelist with two books to my name. When my mum visited last month we discussed my journey.  She asked if I ever heard from my dubious suitor and I told her that I have never bothered. When she asked why, my reply was, “I have forgiven and forgotten”. She then asked how I was able to move past all the trauma. I looked at her for a long while and then slowly replied. “Mummy, it was my daughter. She brought back life into my being with her cries and smiles. Through two years while living alone

Blog, Poetry, Writers

If I Were Jesus: A Poem by Chukwuemeka Oluka

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Come to think of it; Jesus was quite humble while on earth If I were Jesus that resurrected from the dead, I would run round the streets of Jerusalem with my disciples I would run shouting, ‘who dey breeeeeet!’ I would walk me like a king before the Jews I would walk with my shoulders high I would walk before Caiaphas, Pilate and Herod If I were Jesus, I won’t ride on a donkey I would ride on their guilt I would rub it on their faces With majesty and power, I would ride If I were Jesus, I would lash out on my disciples They doubted my resurrection story They sold their faith and bought fear Small wonder, they left me lonely at Gethsemane Oh Gethsemane! Many were thy sorrow How can I forget thy torture? How can I forget the pain and anguish? My sweats of blood dotted thy garden Oh Gethsemane! Jerusalem’s Olives Mount Green were thy leaves, green were thy memories Scene of agony, betrayal and arrest Yet Zebedee’s sons found thy garden a sleeping bed If I were Jesus, the chief priests would find unrest The people will find them liars On blasphemy they accused me, The Jews would know the true story If I were Jesus, Would I drink that cup of suffering? If only Zebedee’s wife knew, She wouldn’t dare make the request. How dare me be Jesus, slain The spotless lamb without stain Slain for sin; slain for my gain Jesus Christ is that lamb The Lamb was beaten in gangs On Calvary’s tree, He hangs Jerusalem’s women beheld the pangs Of our dying Jesus on good Friday Now, how good is Good Friday? What is good about the day? Good my sins were washed away Jesus died for my sins This is why I won’t shout, ‘who dey breeeeeet!’ I would reflect on the mystery of salvation All things have become a new edition On Easter, heralds the celebration If I were Jesus, I wouldn’t revenge He forgave me when I was at the edge I am glad, I sing no dirge Jesus died that I may live Heaven is wedded to Earth Man is reconciled to his creator This is why Jesus rose from the dead Halleluiah! This is Easter! Jesus broke the chains of death He destroyed sin forever He rose triumphant from the grave Halleluiah! This is Easter! I adore you, O Jesus, and I praise you By your death, I am born anew By your rising from the dead, you paid my due Halleluiah! This is Easter! How can I celebrate new life at Easter? ‘If I were Jesus’ I will never say again ‘I want to be like Jesus’ I say, instead Wearing a new life in His image

Blog, Poetry, Writers

Celebrating New Life: A Poem by Solomon Ekoja

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Tick after tick Three decades beckoned Like spider webs Woven with spurned promises Around the scripture ceiling Of Matthew: 1:21 On came the anthem From river Jordan With sounds of an acapella baptism Till the spirits solo Echoed within the wilderness Forty days and forty night Fasting all along Like a lonely iroko On an icy oasis From stone to bread Through the pinnacle jump Temptations came calling Till the written word Knocked off the tempters plot It’s Good Friday But nothing seemed good Coz heaven’s filled with tears For a broken communion With the earth bound Son At Gethsemane Flowers became thorns With each groaning stroke From the saviours side Came bloodlike sweats Like athletes Running across an Olympic track Hell quaked in jubilation When thirty pieces of silver Sealed the transaction For the final sacrifice Like a mighty hurricane Came soldiers in droves Guided by a foes kiss To seize the Messiah Who was the true Light That lightens the world Lash after lash Sicknesses flew Wounds after bruise Transgressions gave way Till mortal man condemned the eternal creator Sent from the Father Heaven’s silent At man’s ignorance For substituting Barabbas With the Lord from heaven On the cross hung my sin Like a prisoner Awaiting the firing squad On Lagos island Should’ve been my death But mercy said no It’s Sabbath But Sabbath smelt foul Without the crucified Christ From tent to tent Animals’ necks kissed knives To atone for sin Already paid for in full By the Sinless one Early Easter Sunday morning Maidens went to anoint The precious body Of their buried Lord Alas! The tombs empty With tears like a river The Angel quipped for joy He is risen Alleluia! Jesus is risen To give us life For new life to come Strike the firework of bad character To knock out sin He that stole, steal no more He that fought, fight no more He that lusted, lust no more He that lied, lie no more He that fornicated, fornicate no more He that coveted, covet no more He that strove, strive no more She that envied, envy no more She that cursed, curse no more She that seduced, seduce no more She that slandered, slander no more She that gossiped, gossip no more She that brawled, brawl no more She that nagged, nag no more For the malicious, shun malice For the Unforgiving, learn to forgive For the hater, learn to love For the drunkard, drink no more For the backbiter, backbite no more For the angry, be angry no more For the jealous, rejoice with others Care for the sick Help the helpless Visit the bereaved Give to the needy Clothe the naked Shelter the homeless Pray for others Then Believe on Jesus’ resurrection And new life will spring forth Like a golden hibiscus Emerging from a fertile humus Under the charming smile From heavens sun.

Blog, Reverie

From death to life.

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Today’s sermon reminds me of the resurrection. It is one I will live to remember because The Rt. Rev. John Masanao Watanabe practically rose from death to life.

Blog, Essays, Writers

Three Things I Wish I Knew Earlier In Life by Bolaji Alade

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  Just as I was about to pen down my thoughts regarding the title, Nigeria at 60: Hope or despair? By examining the nation’s journey so far, where we are at present and what the future holds, I decided to first remove the beam in my own eyes to see specks blurring Nigeria’s vision and hampering her growth.  And with the benefit of hindsight, I identified three fundamental things: had I known earlier in life might have made a tremendous difference in my past, how the knowledge of it now guides my present and its immense value for the future.  First, I wish I knew early enough that to remain relevant, one cannot afford to slack.  As a teenager, I wasn’t sure of many things, but I was certain of being at the top of my class. That was the least of my worry. I knew the first position belonged to either me or Joshua, my bosom friend—which is still a win for me. We rotate who occupies the first position but never was there a tie. Perhaps more interesting is that my school never misses an opportunity to celebrate excellence. The first three students after the continuous assessment (CA) and also examination receives warm handshake from the director principal. Always a moment to look forward to.   Until Jss2 third term. I did well in the CA, or so I thought. And, as usual, was eager for another handshake. But I got a rude shock that fateful Monday I missed out on the ‘first three’. Even the blind would read the disappointment written all over me. But the worse was yet to happen. I Walked at Usain Bolt’s speed to my class to avoid any sympathetic consolation. I was still settling down when I saw a classmate approaching me. Oh, “she must need help with her assignment…” I muttered to myself.   Alas! I was wrong. Although she needed help with her assignment, she wasn’t approaching me. She gently passed me by and sought help from Timmy, whose seat is behind mine. Well, Timmy is the new guy who took my place at the top spot—Timmy came first, Ola came second, and Joshua clinched the third position.   And then I realized unwavering outstanding performances can only sustain my (academic) relevance.  This lesson is now my greatest motivation in pursuit of excellence. I understand experientially that excellence is a journey and not a destination. And with this mindset, I’m excited about future challenges.  In addition, if I could turn back the hands of time, I wish I realized earlier the benefits of investing one’s time in his or her dreams.  Young lads are full of energy and I, in fact, had a double portion of this energy misdirected. I loved everything about football; kicking the round leather, reading about it in the dailies, passionate arguments and comparison of teams and favourite players. My loyalty for Chelsea is only rivaled by my love for Didier Drogba. Yet I knew I wanted to be a learned silk someday and not a football star.  While in the boarding house, after the assembly, I had a fixed routine. I’ll lean towards the wall of the physics laboratory beside my classroom to eavesdrop on sport news aired on the radio of a lab attendant. I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Sometimes, the teacher as  punishment for coming late to class would have me stand up for few minutes, but that didn’t matter.  Looking back now, I could only wish I did better. Impressively, I have grown to understand that time is precious and irretrievable. Therefore, my typical day is not without a To-do list that captures my career goals, personal development, and service to humanity. At the risk of being immodest, I can now differentiate the wheat of dreams from the tares of distractions and invest my time solely in the former. As for the future, since we will also measure it in time, maximizing it I believe should guarantee a bright future.  Last, if I knew then that failure is a feedback and not a summation of an individual’s capability as I Know now, I would have reacted differently to failures.   I loathe failure. I guess everybody does. I so much hate it that whenever I failed at something, it was always hard to forgive myself. Thus, when the debate team I led to  Southwest zonal debate competition couldn’t make it to the finals, it broke me.  We had put in the best preparation any defending champion would and even some more. I personally had spent quality time, which sometimes ate deep into my sacred reading time, yet there I was on the stage before hundreds of students and brilliant judges stuttering. I knew I made little sense and zero applause at the end of my speech validated that. Sadly, my teammates didn’t perform any better. For this, I branded myself a colossal failure.  However, now I understand that failure is a feedback mechanism through which we can assess our past actions or inactions and make a choice to either improve or chart a fresh course that will ensure success. In hindsight, I realized we failed because our debating style was out of trend. Not because we were not enough, we just needed to have approached it differently.  Since I realized this golden truth, whenever I fail at an activity, contest or anything, I engage in sober reflection geared towards identifying what I could have done better to achieve my target and never think too lightly of my capabilities. This lesson I’m going to journey into the future with holding so dearly.    As an aside, Nigeria has so much to learn from an honest evaluation of the past 60 years of which the least she can do is not repeat the mistakes that threaten our unity and faith, peace and progress.   In conclusion, learning is a Continuum. There will always be something that if we knew earlier would have better informed our decision. Hence, it is only wise that when we come to knowledge of these things; we treasure and apply them.   Bolaji Alade is a 400 Level law student of the University of Ibadan with a keen interest in International Criminal Law, Journalism and Media & Entertainment Law.  He can be reached through mobolajijames23@gmail.com        

Blog, Reverie

Nature Never Hurries.

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Many of us are often too caught up in the hustle and bustle of life to stop for a moment and appreciate life itself. Take a break, stop for a moment and go on a date with nature. It may not take away all your troubles but you can be certain it won’t add to it.

Opinion Articles, Writers

Online, Offline And Real-life Realities by Chukwuemeka Oluka.

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In a pre-digital era, my teacher told me pigeons and telegraphs were the means available for communication. Today, keyboards and computers have turned things around immensely. Living a digital life has made a self-supporting life a huge reality. It has also unleashed myriads of issues that have altered the collective sense of reality. I spend a great deal of my day online, and the type of life I’m living today would not have been possible, say 20 years ago. My identity is undeniably intertwined with my digital presence. While a negative presence has proven to have adverse effects, a positive digital presence has significantly benefitted my life. In this essay, I shall discuss how my digital presence has influenced my life in reality, while suggesting ways of optimizing life both online and offline. First things first; what does digital presence connote for a person? One’s ‘digital presence’ or ‘online presence’ is the collective existence of an individual, found online via searches. An individual’s online presence can come via his or her website, social media channels, online publications, memberships to associations listed online, and so on [1]. The impact of an individual having a digital presence is hugely positive. And this is only a taste of what the internet, and technological breakthroughs in general, provides. Positive Impacts… There is almost no area in which digital technology and connectivity have not impacted my life. It has become like oxygen, utterly essential to my daily routine. I have more flexibility and can work from home. My reading culture has exploded exponentially too. I have been able to be connected to the largest library ever — the internet. From e-books to blockbuster novels; all can be downloaded just by a tap of the keyboard. Everything I read online presents an opportunity to learn a new thing and explore new frontiers of ideas. My digital presence has also made me traverse geographical coordinates, making friends in the process — close friends with whom I communicate frequently. We have never met in person nor spoken over the phone. With the digital presence which internet connectivity provides, I can more easily keep in regular contact with friends in distant places. I can now maintain a relationship with that ‘babe,’ and I can take it to a deep and interactive nature if I want, via social media. Keeping a family messaging group chat openly with my parents and siblings on WhatsApp, I certainly remain very connected. No day passes without some communication amongst us despite our dispersed locations. Though this interaction does not replace phone calls and visits but complements them. Much as the Covid-19 pandemic has presented the world with a new normal, revolutionizing the way we travel and transact our daily routines, my digital devices and smartphone have enabled me to participate in many events and webinars organized in different countries without having to travel to them. Being a registered Engineer and member of our professional body, I can attend seminars and Engineering Assemblies from the comfort of my room, all thanks to the Zoom App. I have also participated in various online courses. The Negatives… While there are incredible benefits digital presence provides, I have become a victim of its negative effects. For instance, I’ve lost count of the number of times I have received requests for urgent 2k (N2,000). Some don’t hesitate to brandish their bank account numbers in the process. I always shudder because I have had an intense battle with interview frustrations and finding a decent and steady job; yet, a few have the erroneous conception that I was doing well already and maybe working in an oil company. Sadly, this is a result of how I have portrayed myself in WhatsApp statuses alongside Instagram and Facebook posts. Unknown to me, I have presented myself in the way I’d like to be seen, without knowing that it was somewhat deceptive. Much as Real-time chat and messenger apps have helped me connect with people, the habit of placing a phone call across and talking about things in a meaningful way is gradually being eroded. Inadvertently, I have gotten so used to my mobile phone that it’s somewhat challenging for me to interact physically with others for some length of time. Little wonder I barely look at people in the eye these days when I am speaking to them. This is all because I have become accustomed to real-time interactions over the internet, so much so that maintaining eye contact when talking to people physically, becomes problematic. I’ve also become addicted to typing and writing in short words. Meanwhile, I am worried that Facebook and Twitter are making me fall for the increasing social anxieties present in society today. Yet, I realize that social media is as destructive as they are potentially beneficial in their acceleration of communications, but I rarely seem to get a break. This development may have propelled veteran Nigerian actor, Yul Edochie to say in a tweet; ‘Many youths are under a lot of pressure these days. Sadly, it’s not the pressure to achieve; but the pressure to look like they are achieving. And social media is largely responsible for it. [2]’ Sincerely, I cannot agree more, because I am already a victim of this reality. As a result of my digitally-mediated lifestyle, I now suffer from a serious behavioural addiction that makes it pretty much impossible to pay attention to my spiritual life. I seemingly lack the discipline not to look at messenger apps or monitor the cryptocurrency graph before bed and first thing upon waking. I cringe at how many emails, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter notifications I already have waiting for me to attend to. Regrettably, the need to keep up takes away from my time in ways that I forget to pray and meditate. Another bad effect of my digital presence is that I spend huge hours in front of a computer screen and mobile (phone) screen either communicating, writing, or searching for information. The consequence for me physically is

Opinion Articles, Writers

The Very Things That Make Us Human by Abdulrazaq Ariwoola

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The birth of the internet has revolutionized the world in many ways. In couple of decades, what was thought impossible centuries ago became possible, and humanity entered a new era that would for centuries to come be relevant. There is hardly anyone who hasn’t been touched by the hands of the internet, albeit the economic conditions that might hinder their access. It is the new normal, and the coming of the internet has forced the creation of a dual personae; a physical, and a digital one. Like every other person privileged to have considerable amount of access to the digital world, I have benefited immensely from its presence, and likewise, I have been on the wrong side of it. Through the digital world, tasks which oftentimes take weeks to execute are completed under hours, saving one the time, and energy that would have been otherwise expended on doing them physically. Most importantly, the digital world has aided in relationship sustenance. Rather than wait out the long absence of a beloved one, a quick tap on a phone or a click on a laptop could transport a person miles away, and land one at the front of the desk of the other person. Not without its flaws, my active digital presence has made me lose time that would have been better spent doing other things. It is a world that draws one in, and leaves no option of immediate return possible. While pending work compiles, one might be giggling to memes on twitter or funny skits on Instagram; all elements of the digital world meant to keep you within its grasp. And therein lies the greatest danger, which without caution, robs one of a time that never stops counting. However, there are more to the digital world than these aforementioned benefits and ills. Some days ago, prominent Nigerian writer, Chimamanda Adichie went all out in laying bare the issues plaguing the world today. The distrust is so pervasive and it is hurting the very fabric upon which our societies are built. It is no surprise then to see people divulging information that should have rather been kept private, calling out people and trying to justify their actions regardless of whether it is right or wrong. In the digital world, a friend this second could be an enemy in the next. The digital world gives freedom to explore without limit, express opinions without boundaries, and maintain an identity mile apart from who you are as a person. There is in the digital world the notion that perfection is the only attribute that passes, and where one’s vulnerability surfaces, the human criticism emerges. With little to zero policing of what should be acceptable, everyone has become a King in their own right, attacking viciously any opinion that counters theirs. Alas, we have forgotten what it means to be human. The consequences are damning and far-reaching, more than many would come to terms with. Little by little, the human nexus that connects us all is being lost and replaced by the terms of the digital world which accepts nothing but perfection. The freedom of expression and relation which ought to come naturally in the digital world is now restricted. People are more scared of being criticized and people who lack the very things they preach have become the judge and jury constituents of the digital world. ‘Savagery’ is the order of the day without recourse to what impact such harsh expression might have on the person. It is a mad man’s world. It is however difficult to separate the digital world from human affairs. In fact, it is the vehicle that drives the continued propulsion of the human species. However, the consequences would be graver going forward if a recourse isn’t made to reevaluating the sustenance of pure human relationship. In the digital world we find company but in the physical world we find love; love without criticism or judgement. One not aimed at exposing vulnerabilities but rather understanding and appreciating the dynamism of being human. The first step in the right direction would be to limit the use. As espoused earlier, major parts of our lives are now concentrated in the digital world, leaving little space to appreciate the physical self. Families rarely spend time with each other, substituting that with texts and phone calls that might do not nothing but widen the gap. However, the digital and physical presence could complement each other; where it would suffice to meet physically, a digital option should not be adopted. More physical interaction should be encouraged and humanity should prevail. Further, there should be the imposition of legal penalties on hate speech and the propeller of such speeches. False accusations on digital platforms should be treated with seriousness and those found guilty should be duly prosecuted. Things that constitute hate speech should be clearly defined and made public for widespread awareness. Other activities that would help reduce number of hours spent online should be encouraged too. Community activities should be promoted and incentives should be provided to drive participation. In conclusion, social interaction between people now takes a different dimension than it used to. When the internet was still a soothsaying, there were much acceptance and respect for everyone. Its coming however is continuously reshaping how relate with each other, and since it would be practically impossible to scrap the digital world, we should explore ways through which gaps could be bridged and there would be more acceptance of the differences that make us unique as humans.   Abdulrasaq Ariwoola is currently a 400 level law student at the University of Lagos. He has interests in creative writing and has previously published one of his short stories on The Kalahari Review. He can be reached via abdulrasaqariwoola@gmail.com

Opinion Articles, Writers

My Online Life by Johnson Onyedikachi.

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Under that burning heat in June, I sat on the last seat on the bus Literally steaming, Bursting at the seams with impatience, As the internet crawled slower With each passing minute We rode into a no-network area And I wondered when she Would get my text… It was our desperate love In the shaky hands of the internet! Once, I saw an article about the remaining parts of the Earth that are still a bit more analog — by this I mean that there are very few or no mobile masts in the locales therein listed — and the question I had on the tip of my tongue was: Are there people living in those places? Despite sufficient evidences that there are such people, terrene as much as I, who do not have and have never had any access to the modern comforts the digital space has to offer, I shudder at the thought of such primitive life. Sometimes, in my wild manner of reasoning, I have thought of the internet, which of course is one of the numerous results of conscious digital efforts in our contemporary world, to be an entire parallel universe with all of its own uniqueness and complexities which I am to grow into, understand, and harness with an even more productive life in view. Fact is: there is too much one misses out on if one does not conform to the transmutations the world is undergoing, chief of which is a massive technological thrust. I am going to trust my memory to say that my earliest attempts to have a life on the digital trajectory, a way of life made more popular with each breaking day, was in 2011 when I opened a Facebook account. As laughable as it sounds, I hadn’t a phone at the time, but I had heard of the miracles that happen online, how connection is made as easy as snapping one’s fingers and as quick as a reflex action. I created an account on Facebook on a friend’s phone, and I recall having to frequent his house to have access to that account, to have access to the second world I had, or better still, was putting together with my own hands. Hence, I could say that I have had ten years of consciously engendering a digital presence for myself, creating accounts with several other tech innovations as soon as I come across them. Furthermore, I could take a debatable stance that any ten years of labor is prized by the laborer; nothing else could have as much influence on him as such a work. On my part, and as for influence, my life online has a noteworthy influence on any other aspect of my life you would like to examine. There had been days that I woke up to devastating news — and by this I mean a couple of heart-wrenching, upsetting news on my online feed that directly have an effect on me; from friends I have made online, family whom I am connected to, pages I follow, and not necessarily headlines from local or national media outlets — and the rest of the day would cave in against a backdrop of melancholy, euphoria, or excitement, depending on the form of information I received. As a writer, my online presence, I have found, seems to tower unchallenged over other presences I have. In fact, several people who know I write online do not know me in person, and this reality begs the question: if I hadn’t an online presence, would I have had their readership? This, too, is an influence. It is the very reason why both of my online and offline lives, despite distinct, are interlocked, and cannot really have separate existences. Writing, for me, has been an enjoyable experience ever since I melded it in some sort of holy matrimony with my digital life. One of the beliefs I have is that anyone can be a writer, but for one to write something that others would find binge-worthy, one needs to be a voracious reader. And this belief has become my culture, my religion, in which I can call myself devout. I read as much as I write, and with this progressive persuasion of mine, I am caught up with the challenge of having books I wish to read more than I have the resources to afford. Albeit, the relief technology promises and makes available is nearly endless. So, I have grown accustomed to having soft copies of the works of my favorite writers from all around the world on my phone and personal computer and almost at no cost at all. This, too, is an influence from my digital presence. However, just as any other application in life, technology comes with as much drawbacks as benefits. Over the years, we have had reasons to blame the abject upheavals of our social and cultural dispositions on the ragingly continuous whirlwind of digital growth, and these reasons justify themselves. Within the cadre of our morality, decadence is increasingly festering; whole governments are implementing bans that prevent the use of most of our digital creations with a firm stance that such comforts are just too good for this age. In all of these events, it seems that we are coming closer to the unfortunate conclusion that life before technology was far more comforting. However, while I agree with such a conclusion to a fair extent, I still believe that the major cause of the terrors of digital life now is that we tend to lose our humanity in it. Earlier, I explained that I find my life online to be an entire universe — a world, yes, but one that cannot really have an independent existence of its own — and our failure to see it as such, I postulate, bedevils us. If I find a preacher, speaking of the evils of the social media in that nothing in it is as real as it seems, I would definitely agree with him on that note given several evidences

Essays, Writers

A Journey Down Memory Lane by Oluka Emmanuel.

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With fond memories, the journey started in August last year during the lockdown. Being one who loves to write, I always had a pen and a jotter somewhere close. Give me a refrigerator stocked with goodies, uninterrupted electricity supply, cable television, wireless fidelity internet connectivity, smartphone, notepad, a pen and jotter, and I’d stay indoors and writing — never to step out for any possible reason. That shows how stupendously I love to write. I had just written my entry for an online essay competition in preparation for the 55th birthday celebration of His Excellency, Chibuike Rotimi Amaechi, the honourable minister of transportation.  After submitting my entry, I began to surf the net that fateful day, and with great nostalgia, I recall vividly how I stumbled on the website, “www.cmonionline.com.” At first, it got me thinking… “See money online? How? Which kind of money do they want us to see again? What are they even talking about?” All these questions caressed my mind. Then, to oblige my curiosity, I clicked on the link. Behold! It was a blog; an online weekly essay competition. The competition was at its maiden stage — week one. Then I said to myself, “we die here be dat; bring it on!” That was how I learnrt about the competition and how my journey in the competition began. Today, the competition is already in week twenty-six (26). The journey from week 1 to week 26 was not without twists. It was an incredible roller coaster for me — everything in a package. At some point during the early stages of the competition, I even submitted two entries for a particular week — week 3. My love for writing and naivety for some unwritten rules about the competition almost got me disqualified for that reason ***chuckles***. Later on, I went on to win my first prize in week number four-(4) of the competition for my essay titled, “The 2020 Edo Gubernatorial Polls: Intrigues and Lessons Learnt.” The fact that I won the week’s prize was pretty gladdening. But what gladdened me the most was that my essay gave the judges tough a task to select the winner and eventually, we had two winners for the week. Interestingly, the other winner coincidentally wrote on the Edo state elections as well. In the words of one of the judges, it read, “Chukwuemeka Oluka has established himself as a natural writer with an easy flow. His introduction was styled much like a media report, taking the reader through the events leading up to the election before delving into the core issues and dissecting the lessons learnt therein”. Another judge had this to say about my winning essay, “well worded with flow and consistency. Use of metaphors and catchphrases. Very distinct in writing and delivery. Grammar is top-notch as well as easy to understand and readable. Very communicative as well.” The other winner for week 4 was also electrifying in his essay so much so that Cmoni submitted thus, “As I am unable to break the tie, I will have to award a cash prize of N10,000 each to these two writers….” That probably may have inspired the idea of having to increase the weekly prize money to N20, 000 for the top two essays later as the competition progressed. Before then, I won again in week fourteen-(14) with an entry titled, “I Support Zoning, ‘With My Full Chest’”. My (wining) essay for that week became the cynosure of all eyes. It seemingly was the yardstick upon which other essays were rated. Writers who wish to improve their chances of winning in the competition should endeavour to read the feedbacks for week 14 because for the very first time, a judge took diligent and painstaking efforts to list out vital points. Through it all, my approach to the weekly writing challenge remains a deliberate one. To avoid witnessing writer’s block, I write not less than 300 words in a day. So, by the time I put everything together, I must’ve attained the word count permissible. I also ensure I read crazily — not limiting myself to any genre. Tellingly, my essay inspiration(s) had had to come from the least expected of genres. I also listen devotedly to both local and international news to polish my grammar and to keep me abreast of current global trends. Social media happenings have also inspired some of my beats in journalism and entries in the competition. Another approach I adopt is to distinguish myself as a natural writer using simple, clear and unambiguous language devoid of weird and heavy-sounding vocabularies. Since the competition provides writers with topics and not necessarily titles, I ensure that the titles I give my essays always stand out — so much so that it catches the readers’ attention effortlessly and stimulates them to read. I also ensure I edit my work painstakingly before submission. Meanwhile, the competition continues to grow from strength to strength. The number of essays grew from 15 entries as of week 11 to over 20 essay submissions during week 24 — creating a huge audience of not just writers, but readers and thinkers alike. The competition’s website will proceed to attract greater traffic as days turn into weeks and weeks into months; and so, translating to more income for the blogger through pay per clicks and impressions this traffic yields. As of week 25, an independent survey I took reveals that 32 wonderful essays have clinched the weekly prizes so far from the competition’s inception. Writers who haven’t won, have gone on to improve themselves tremendously — showing a win-win situation for all. From the survey, a breakdown of the 32 winning essays shows that 17 emerged from the creative writing category, while 11 were essays from the current affairs category. The remaining 4, emerged from the social category. This reveals 53.1%, 34.4% and 12.5% winning percentages respectively. A further breakdown of the individual categories shows that female writers have won more in the creative

Essays, Writers

What It Means To Write by Johnson Onyedikachi.

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I was a shy 15-year-old boy in senior class when I discovered that I loved English more than I did my science subjects even though I wanted to become a doctor in future. I looked forward to English classes, but felt my eyes grow heavy during Physics periods. I couldn’t wait for our Chemistry instructor to get out of class. I barely got interested in the species discussed during Biology classes, and then, there was blood! At the sight of blood, I felt queasy. Yet, I wanted to practice medicine sometime in future. My understanding of the English Language was near-perfect in so much that I was often taking my friends on English classes after school. During exams, while most students preferred taking the option of writing a/an formal or informal letter to a decided recipient, I took on the more painstakingly horrendous task of writing an essay on the most unlikely of topics in theoretical English. The indicators were there, but I never considered the possibility of being a renowned writer. All I wanted to be was a doctor. My aspirations to spend the rest of my life dressed in a crisp white gown, listening to sick people tell me what their health situations were grew thinner after I sat my first WASSCE and came up with a definite ‘E’ in Chemistry. Nothing, I was told, could be done about it, except sitting another exam. Well, the dream of being a doctor had grown slim, but it hadn’t been entirely flushed out of my system. Hence, with a deflated ego, I took another senior school exam in the hope that my Chemistry would be redeemed. It was in the suspense between taking another senior school exam and assuring myself that I wouldn’t fail any more science subjects that I found company in pen and paper. I started off with scribbling short stories in 20-leaved books, almost nearly writing on all the pages, and nodding to myself in satisfaction when I read what I have written. And then, I took a liking to poetry and began to study Shakespearean sonnets. I began to give myself tasks that I thought would bring me to limelight. I had made a resolve that I would beat William Shakespeare’s number of written sonnets. Shakespeare had some identified 200+ sonnets. And I assured myself that I would write 250+ sonnets. And yes, today I have only 43 sonnets which are all talking about my kid sister, and I have completely forgotten them amongst other of my deserted documents. Poetry became another world I live in. Inarguably, even with my vapid short stories scribbled in 20-leaved books which only I was an audience to, and my 43 poems of fourteen lines which I had not only written in Shakespearean style, but in old English too, and hence, had made it even more insipid than the short stories, I had become, essentially and fundamentally, a writer. I would like to state, for the benefit of young, aspiring writers, that you needn’t more than a paper and a pen to be a writer. You become a writer by writing. However, to be a good writer with a solid reader-base devoted to your writing career, you need more than just pen and paper. I came to know that the basics of English language which I had learnt in secondary school had little to do with becoming a good writer. It took a whole more than that. To become a good writer, I found out soon enough, that I had to read some good literature. The trouble with writers of today is that we all want to be read by somebody, but we never read anything from anybody. After having discovered this, I began to read every piece of good literature I could find. Every month, I have a reading target. I would finish five books in a month. Prior to that, I had intended to read a book a day. As funny as it sounds, I had a saying for my the attempt: a book a day keeps writer’s block away. However, I couldn’t keep up with it, so five books per month became the target. Of course, I would be cheeky if I don’t state that I rarely hit bull’s eye each month even at five-books/month. Nonetheless, I keep on reading. Of course, sometimes, for us young people, reading is nearly the most difficult thing to do. However, I motivate myself by taking every book read as a step forward in the journey to becoming a best-seller. I write as much as I read. Albeit, reading alone doesn’t make one a good writer. A lot of deletions, lost drafts, writer blocks, criticism, failure, more failure, and resilience against the odds all add up to the bulk of the great writers we know today. I have never had the stomach for failure and criticism, but those two have always come after me more times than I can remember since I chose to be a writer. And in fact, to become a good writer is to fail. Hence, this knowledge from here and there is what I define as my journey so far as a budding writer. Every morning, I search for writing opportunities on my social media handles, and I have kept consistently at that so much that Facebook now recommends new writing ads and opportunities for me. My friends tag me on posts that call on young, emerging writers to make a submission for a writing contest, and I tell them that I have seen the ad before. They think I am being cheeky, but in all honesty, there is hardly a writing opportunity (at local, national, and/or international level) that I don’t get recommendation for. Hence, it was only natural that in September, 2020, I got notified about Cmonionline.com, a literary place that seeks to improve young Nigerian writers by engaging them in weekly essay competitions. Since I discovered Cmonionline.com, I have tried my best to

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