Hi everyone, you know how we sometimes have nasty nostalgia and we want to write it down but we most often cannot find the right words to put down? I actually had these thoughts but did not feel the need to put down on this blog, Mr Andre Nnnana Ibeh, however has some really interesting, howbeit funny nostalgic thoughts…please read and enjoy…

All things would remain just the way they are except change would play the role of a hero, long awaiting… still standing looking bravely at the task before me I know that the journey to the crested shores of success would take me all around the globe. Before now I would worry about things my hands cannot hold onto or my fears would tremble like a volcanic eruption, the stormy waters has imprinted on me the salty waters, my feet deep rooted in the sands of time, the melody not forgotten my fetter bones dancing to ancient beats, innate not forgotten not remember but a template driving deep into the very fabrics of life…

When I choose to settle down, the inevitable would be that boyhood would be thrown out the window and the cloak of a man worn like the rituals carried out the circumcision into man hood as the foreskin of boy hood is shredded by the hot blades of progress!! So I also began the recycling, my heart. It would be easier said than done, because the obstacles I was yet to meet each day as they stumble on my part I couldn’t even phantom the solutions to them but God’s grace just saw me through. My trials had taken three turns.. these I would open up to you much later in my brief history.

“The Annotations of a Story Teller”… Like my father would say ” the man who spent the night in the pit laterine is likely to be the man who knows each fly by its name”, “no matter how big the scrotal sack is, it never takes part in the rituals of love making”, “my son, he who has seen a lot is prone to talking a lot so, it is left for you to tell your own story for who best can relay it else you for every annotation is like your tender foot prints from childhood to this very massive prints of fatherhood”.

Suddenly I saw my father clearly, the huge frame I used to dread when I was much younger seemed to have withered through the storms of life, he looked so frail, he looked small as I towered way over him.. .. I looked at the irony of life, it reminded me of the lily by the water side, so beautiful in the morning but withers when the sun comes out…. time seemed like an endless stream, the frailty of mortality is that we would wear out like the water lily but our very thoughts and past seemed ever green!! now I see where Chinua Achebe drew his inner strength from to write for in his literature he lives on. Although the soul seeks eternal life but our very thoughts actions are eternal too.. once imprinted in paper memories never die. My friend just called me, her father had just passed on, I would want to console her but would I have the right words to comfort her… loss is only felt by those who have lost something.

Back to history, the formative years of my boyhood was chiefly triggered by external factors, one of them would bring out the aggressiveness which I would tend to show much latter in my teenage years!! As a growing teen I was constantly bullied, this was unending so the only way I had to over come was to in turn search out the bullies and beat them up that way I learnt that attack is the best form of defence.. but in doing this the gentility in me was gradually lost by the callous skin cover of ruggedity. Most people who knew me during my formative years where stunned to oblivion for most thought I would end up a garage boy (agbero) the popular Nigerian slang for miscreants and no-good…. even my teacher then, Mr Orogun (of blessed memory) lost faith in me as he had tried to instil knowledge into me but failed. He flogged and punished me severally but I just wouldn’t change. Most times, I was victimised!

I remember the case of Valentine and myself. We had an altercation that should have ended calmly only for Valentine to call me a bastard…. then It was an eternal insult to be called that! My youthful frame jumped into action…me? a bastard? I sprang up on Valentine who was bigger than me in size but I didn’t care much, my combinations of punches was amazing, the speed and accuracy ” mmmhhhhh” I wonder why I didn’t become a boxer” I surprised Valentine with two straight punches; one to the left and the other to the right. He threw his punch at me, I saw it coming, quickly I took a bow, the punch went wild I felt the weight of the punch as it creased the air above me, I sprang up with a quick upper cut, that was the end. Valentine slumped straight to the floor bleeding from his nose and mouth just as the physical battle would crescendo, Mr Orogun just walked into the class, with me starring down at Valentine bleeding from his mouth and nose with a bulp on his forehead!! “Oh God I wished I hadn’t come to school that day”. Orogun as usual would plant ridges on my buttocks with the cane… back from my story!! Orogun believed that my type would end up in a state school and become a no good, he called me “mumu go to school”… hahaha! The thought of that now just makes me laugh… he even went as far as composing a song for me that he turned my mates into his choir  The Mock Choir of Primary 6 A, UNIBEN staff school…. the song goes like this

“Mumu go to school goat catch am kill am chop”…

I remember PIUS who was the biggest in our class was also mocked by Orogun too, he called him ‘PIUS eghile’ eghile meaning snail.. PIUS was tall but very slow.. but now looking back I would to Mr Orogun of Blessed memory you where wrong about your assumption of my destiny…. (UNIBEN staff school Primary 6A class of 1993/1994)…

To be continued



  1. Takes me a lot to way back in short pants. Life, on my end, morphed me into an introvert – a shell i ain’t as fortunate as you to break out from.
    Nice piece, lady


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