#FeatureFriday – Signposts for becoming a great writer

Medieval

Writing is more psychological than it is physical. The problem is that people focus so much on the physical part than they do on the other. Writing begins from the mind, if you haven’t thought of it then you can’t pen it effectively. Writers block is tied to this principle. To get started, five keys are to be noted.

One: Purpose for Writing. One clear sign that you will suffer a block is when you just keep trying to write. Without purpose zeal gradually fades away.  It is the purpose that keeps you going. You want to be an excellent writer? Then have a purpose. There is no single purpose for writing, that is for you to discover on your own, and every article is backed with its own unique purpose.

Two: Getting Inspiration. One crucial problem with amateur writers is that they don’t write until they are inspired. As good as it sounds but that is a limitation. I have come to the conclusion that what makes inspiration have it’s course is when you have a schedule and deadline. There is bound to be a surge of inspiration once you decide to write an article before the end of Thursday. That jump starts your brain, forcing it to capture ideas consciously or unconsciously to you. So if you can’t write because of “no inspiration” my dear your problem is lack of schedule and deadline. Fix that and inspiration would come.

Three: Choosing a topic. As simple as this is, it is the most important part of an article. There are times when I just write without a topic in mind, it  is effective but could also be a limitation. The best way to get started on any article is to have a topic in mind. Spend a good amount of time, daily jotting down topics. Don’t worry about how to write it just keep writing topics. I recommend that a minimum of five topics should be noted daily. Having difficulty getting started?  Pause now and write out five topics you would like to write about.

Four: Brainstorming. Ideas are seeds that form amazing write ups. Your lack of *idea* and not necessarily inspiration is the reason you haven’t started. When an idea hits you, it compels you to develop it. Until you are done, you won’t be satisfied. These ideas come faster during brainstorming sections.

Five: Write. All of this would be pointless if you don’t write. So the final key to be noted is to write. You have a topic! What are you waiting for? Get started. Eliminate every form of laziness which is one of the core problem with writers. Be committed and back it up with consistency. Attempt writing everyday, even if it’s just for an hour a day. No matter how bad you think it is, don’t stop writing. keep at it daily.

The above listed five tips are not exhaustive but they are signposts for becoming a great writer. Focus on them daily.

 

About Omerhi 

Omerhi James is the founder of InkGeniusNG, a platform dedicated at helping writers discover, document and monetize their contents.  He’s a published writer, teacher, penpreneur and a motivational guru. He could be contacted via @semajihremo on Instagram and James Semaj Omerhi on Facebook.

 

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#FeatureFriday – 5 Lessons I Learned From My Secondary School Days

I attended secondary school in Lagos, Nigeria in the 1990s. I have chosen to have very selective memories about my time there, so I dwell more on the memories of shared laughter and on the friends I made who I am still in touch with presently.

I will not dwell on the cutting of grass, the times I spent kneeling down for hours as punishment, nor on that senior girl who kept making me fetch water for her in her gigantic metal bucket which had no handle (I still remember her name).

No, I will not dwell on the negative memories.

Here are some lessons which I learned in secondary school which I have found to be relevant in my life as an adult:

Provision scarcity creates strange bedfellows.

I usually showed up to school with 1 ½-2 sets of provisions at the beginning of every term. You would have thought that by SS3, I would have learned my lesson and grown more economical with my consumption of milk and sugar, the holy grail of provisions.

This never happened.

By the middle of the term, I was often left with an awkward combination of Garri, Cornflakes and Bournvita; provisions which made more sense separately than as a combination.

During this period of provision scarcity, a few people were often labelled as being ‘friends-for-food’, meaning that they attached themselves to their fellow students who were fortunate enough to have surplus provisions throughout the term. The way I see it, they were merely forming strategic alliances to protect themselves from hunger.

Lessons learned: Save for a rainy day, and be strategic when forging alliances.

Keep your feelings to yourself.

So, you are a teenager who is experiencing puberty and a sudden awareness of the opposite sex. This is a very wonderful and normal experience, but one in which wisdom needs to be applied.

For me, I learned the hard way that just because you have a crush on a guy does not mean that you should tell anyone about it – that person you told might laugh at you behind your back, and make jokes with others at your expense.

Lesson learned: Secondary school kids are a cruel and judgmental bunch-but then, so are adults. Be wary about who you call your confidants.

Laughter can surface at inappropriate moments.

For some reason, everything in secondary school seemed so funny: the long queues to get food at the dining hall, the advances of a potential ‘toaster’, or the grammatical errors made by long-suffering teachers.

I cannot count the number of times when, as a junior student, I felt like bursting into laughter whilst being scolded by a senior student.

I really don’t know why this happened; I would feel the sensation of laughter building up inside me as the senior scolded me.

Luckily, I did not succumb to this instinct-my punishment for whatever crime I was guilty of would surely have doubled if I had laughed out loud.

Lesson learned: Try not to laugh when your boss is scolding you.

Nobody looks cool with a metal bucket.

The joy I felt when I graduated from my gigantic metal bucket to my first plastic bucket in SS1 was inexplicable. You would not realize the kind of “suffer-head” life that you are living until there is a period of water scarcity in your dormitory, and you have to walk quite a distance to the water reservoir to fetch your much needed water in your already heavy metal bucket.

If you were also toying with a ‘cool-person’ image, I can guarantee you that such an image would have evaporated as you gingerly carried your metal bucket full of water back to your dormitory (unless of course, a generous ‘toaster’ appeared from nowhere to help you carry your bucket).

Lesson learned: Do not buy a metal bucket. I repeat, do not buy a metal bucket.

Cutlasses were invented by the devil.

I cut my fair share of grass in secondary school, all in the name of ‘manual labour’. I am not sure if all that grass-cutting was supposed to teach me discipline and attention to detail.

All I learned was that my school was too cheap to pay for labourers to cut the never-ending growth of grass in the school’s premises and used us (the students) as free labour.

And the blisters I got…so many blisters.

The blisters were the end result of wielding dodgy cutlasses, which left my previously smooth hands blemished with painful welts.

Lesson learned: Unless you seriously enjoy the sensation of a cutlass digging into your hands, please pay someone else to cut your grass for you. Or buy a lawn mower.

What lessons did you learn in secondary school?

 

About Ivie:

Ivie Eke is a writer and NGO Professional who daydreams about constant electricity in Nigeria and mangoes. She writes poetry, stories and essays on her blog, www.classicallyivy.com and is the author of two books, ‘Looking for myself and my phone charger’ and ‘Walking On Eggshells’, both available on Okada Books and Amazon.

Through the eyes of Lucy :Living With Schizophrenia.

doctor with female patient

 

CHAPTER 6

I am not, mentally deranged.

I need to state this pretty clearly, as I seem to be in the minority as regards this view.

So, after the seminar saga, I was literally bundled to see a psychiatrist.

Why is everyone so bothered about my actions? I’m a little strange, I know that, but we can’t all be the same now, can we?

Some of us have supernatural gifts- we see unseen people, talk to them, have our thoughts broadcast on the radio, and communicate with others via smart mediums- such as electromagnetic waves, now, what’s wrong with that?

Well, I do not have a choice. I have been made, to see a psychiatrist.

I register my defiance, choosing to ignore all of his questions.

Up until when he asks if I hear voices. I look up at him, and suddenly I remember Collins?

What if, this doctor, is my savior

Could he, help me get Collins back?. With tears in my eyes, I whisper, barely audibly, ‘Yes’

‘I hear voices.’

‘I want Collins back, can you help me?’ He looks at me, and I note kindness in his eyes. I am desperate for Collins. I really am.

The doctor asks some more questions, and I respond. ‘Please, I need Collins back! I can’t live without him!’

I register the horror on Reina’s face but right now, I could really care less. People on hearth just didn’t understand.. But I think this doctor does.

And so, I listen to him.

He gives me some drugs and asks me to be dutiful at taking them. I respond in the affirmative.

I would do literally anything for Collins.

Anything.

ABOUT ABIOYE PEJU

Abioye Peju is a final year medical student of Bowen University, with a palpable passion for writing. She is an ardent believer that behind every medical case, is a story itching to be told. She writes at medicology101.blogspot.com

Through the eyes of Lucy: Living With Schizophrenia

 

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CHAPTER 5

I feel, like a cheating girlfriend.

‘Collins?’

Collins is hurt. I can feel his eyes- can almost see the tears as they course down his cheeks; defiantly refusing to acquiesce to the staunch look he is trying to project.

‘Lucy, why?’

‘But I love you; so much. Why are you still thinking about him? He barely cares for you.’

Calmly, Collins started.

‘Does he watch your best movies over and over with you?’

‘Sing to you when you’re sad?’

‘Kiss you goodnight, as you go to bed?’

‘Encourage you, when others hurl insults at you?’

I looked down, ashamed.

‘Collins, I’m sorry.’

It was just, you know, a moment of weakness.’

‘Lucy, don’t even dare. I’ve seen him pick out your clothes within the last 2 weeks. I see how you stare into his eyes when you meet at the hallway. I sense how uncomfortable you feel when you see him- expecting him to start a conversation that he’s obviously not interested in making.’

Collins raised his hands in despair.

‘Lucy, I’m sorry, but I think I’m done!’

I began to cry.

‘Collins…please.’

‘Collins!!!’ I shrieked again.

Reina was at the door but this time, she said nothing.

She walked in, and gave me the look I’d grown to recognize.

‘It’s time for the seminar. One of your team mates got across to me, he said you haven’t been picking your calls.’

I mustered the little strength I had left.

Hearth, was again, in need of me.

As we stepped out, my headaches started again.

I said nothing; for Reina would have been quick to force me into the clinic; which I wasn’t willing to subject myself to.

All I wanted, was to be done with this presentation, so I could go home and sort out my boy issues.

I saw my team mates and from where I stood, I could make out their faces filled with concerned disgust.

Concern, because this presentation affected their cumulative grades as much, as it did mine; and disgust, for being paired with me.

Defiance was clearly stated on my face.

Collins, had left. Here I was, alone; and I deserved it.

‘Good luck.’ Reina whispered.

I smiled at her, then nodded.

As I walked towards them, I noted that they- a,ll of them, all had white shirts and blue skirts/trousers on. Had there been a dress code? Did they also, communicate with neighbor Hulk?

One of them, spoke up.

‘Lucy! So glad you could make it. Didn’t you get the message about the dress code? Well, your dress looks beautifully…different!’

As I looked on in dismay, I began to have palpitations.

I had ignored neighbor Hulk, and this, was not turning out well for me.

The others just looked on, and now that I look more closely, the disgust on their faces is way greater than the concern!

This, was clearly earth’s Mafia. Any surprise, that they communicated with Hulk, the suspected convener of the Mafia? I had to up my private investigation game!

Collins. This, was where Collins always came in.

The presentation had started well. I couldn’t guarantee however, that it would end well- for I was to be the last presenter.

As I fiddled with the edges of my silk orange gown, I finally stood up, for my time to present, had come.

I could literally feel the tons of eyes on me as I walked on- and though they neither booed nor threw objects at me, I instantly sensed that they would, if they could!

The minute I opened my mouth to speak, I began stuttering.

Visibly, I saw Hulk; packing my thoughts and holding them in the palm of his huge right hand.

I whispered, in despair, ‘Please’; until I started begging ‘Please!!!’ I screamed, at the top of my lungs.

The moderator of the presentation stood up, visibly angered.

‘Get her, out of here!’

ABOUT ABIOYE PEJU

Abioye Peju is a final year medical student of Bowen University, with a palpable passion for writing. She is an ardent believer that behind every medical case, is a story itching to be told. She writes at medicology101.blogspot.com

Through the Eyes of Lucy: Living With Schizophrenia

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CHAPTER 4
By now, you must be particularly familiar with this lecturer-inflicted name of mine; Lucy.

I’d stick by it, for the purpose of this narrative.

I had a dream, last night.

You were weaved into its fabric, it felt like a genuine heart-to-heart connection.

Nah, who are we kidding? We all know the typical constants of my worlds.

It’s sad, but you aren’t a part of them. No, you definitely aren’t.

Spitefully, the Mafia did too. Whilst Collins and I were you know, loving up and stuff, the Mafia had to come boo us.

Urrrgh! I don’t even want to think about it.

So this blessed day, I say my prayers; preparing to head for the classroom.

This week, I am particularly interested, in building my relationships on hearth. ‘Why do you care so much about my actions? Or what I wear, for that matter?’‘No, I’m not listening to you this time.’

I have a presentation to prepare for.

‘Nooooooo!’ I shrieked, then stopped, as if suddenly regaining full consciousness.

‘Open the door, what is wrong?’

Reina was at the door. I hope that huge dude; the neighbor I was just talking to, is not behind her!

I opened the day, my eyes heavy from lack of sleep.

‘Reina, good morning.’

She sized  me  up; giving me her classic worried look.

‘Lucy! You scared the hell out of me. Why did you shout so much?’

‘Errhhmm…it’s nothing, really.’ At this point, I was looking anywhere but into Reina’s eyes.

‘Do we need to see a doctor, dear?’

I laughed uncomfortably.

‘Reina I’m fine; just tired. I need to prepare for the seminar presentation. Would you call me when you’re leaving for lectures?’

‘Of course, Lucy.’

‘But we still need, to talk!’

I stylishly show Reina out, careful not to exceed 15cm beyond my door.

That silly hulk of a neighbor, trying to use magnetic waves to control my thoughts!

I had chosen an orange gown which had black and white polka dots, to his dismay this morning.

For the past 2 weeks, he had literally been picking out clothes for me to wear.

In all fairness, he had a nice sense of style, but still! I get, to choose my own clothes.

It’s not like he talks to me in person, anyway- it’s just via these electromagnetic waves. I’m guessing its because he’s super-sophisticated?

I heard he works at this really big IT firm.

This morning’s instructions were however, a little overboard.

I mean, what happened to gentle romance that grew over time?

He’d literally ordered me to put on a blue pencil skirt,  a white shirt laced with gold around its edges and a black pair of open-toed pump heels.

I’d considered his suggestion.

He’d then asked that I paint my finger and toe nails red.

That, had been his undoing!

I had a seminar to prepare for,and he was asking me to paint my toenails red? A presentation before professors and doctors?

He must, I conclude, be the convener of the Mafia! He whispers, even now that he wants to take out to dinner, this evening.  ‘Errhh…I don’t want to have dinner with you, dear sophisticated Hulk who communicates with me using electromagnetic waves. I don’t!’

It has taken every ounce of willpower that I possess, to consciously put him out of my mind.

All I want, is peace, enough to tidy up my presentation and stop my team-mates from concluding that I’m the fool they always thought I was.

It’s 9:15am.

Gratefully, Mr. Hulk has gone to work, I presume- he has left me alone for about an hour.

I don’t care if he’s tried inviting another lady to dinner already.

Wait, I’m not being insecure, am I? Only being logical, right?

But really, why would he choose me over those fair skinned, pretty girls at his office?

I’m only a fat girl anyway, one whose tummy would definitely protrude through the pencil skirt he bought me. Oh, sorry, he didn’t buy it- only instructed me to wear it.

I take  a sneak peek into our wedding…I can see us together; me in white, he in black; saying our vows as I continuously admire the broadness of his shoulders and the absolute whiteness of his teeth.

I am interrupted by an individual who seems to be clearing the throat.

I look around, startled.

Has Reina come in, unnoticed?

‘Really, Lucy; really?’

I should have known; Collins would be jealous.

 

ABOUT ABIOYE PEJU

Abioye Peju is a final year medical student of Bowen University, with a palpable passion for writing. She is an ardent believer that behind every medical case, is a story itching to be told. She writes at medicology101.blogspot.com

 
 

A day in the life of a Nigerian with trust issues

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It’s Monday morning.

You wake up with a smug smile on your face. There is artificial darkness all around you as NEPA has kept the electricity to itself. This fact does not dampen your mood as you had already ironed clothes for the week two days ago.

You go to the bathroom and open the tap-a few drops of water trickle out and eventually stops after five seconds. You shrug this offbecause you remembered to store water in buckets, bowls and tea spoons the night before; all you have to do now is have your bath at lightning speed to combat the early morning cold.

You put on your makeup with the glow of your fully charged rechargeable lamp since you are still engulfed in darkness.

When you get to work,your colleagues complain that there is no water in the dispenser as you sip water from your flask which you brought from your house.

Later on, you go to the ATM to withdraw some cash. You use your knuckles to key in your PIN because you’re not sure that the key pad has ever been cleaned.

When you withdraw your cash, you count it while standing in front of the machine, to the annoyance of the people waiting in line behind you.

You stop at the canteen to buy one wrap of Moi-Moi. You sit at a table in the corner and bring out a bowl with fried fish from your bag, because you already know that the Moi-Moi won’t have anything inside it.

The Office Security Guards greet you profusely as you walk past them which makes you suspicious as they barely acknowledge you on any other day. But then you remember that it’s the end of the month; they assume that your salary has been paid and expect that there was ‘security allowance’ included.

You read a text message from your Boyfriend saying that his flight to Lagos that morning was good, which you find interesting because his post a minute ago on Facebook showed ‘Abuja’ as his location.

You decide to go to your bank to make a payment. There is only one Teller attending to twenty customers. You smile and sing all of Phyno’s songs in your head as a form of meditation, and you are in a serene state of mind when it finally gets to your turn on the queue.

You drive with confidence past fuel queues because you filled your tank top the brim two days ago. You drive at the lower spectrum of the speed limit to conserve fuel, ignoring the loud blares of horns of the cars behind you.

You get home and look lovingly at the kegs of diesel in your backyard, like they are your children. ‘Thanks for being there for me’, you whisper to them.

As you get into bed at the end of the day, you wonder if your trust will ever be restored.

About Ivie Eke

Ivie Eke is a writer and NGO Professional who daydreams about constant electricity in Nigeria and mangoes. She writes poetry, stories and essays on her blog, www.classicallyivy.com and is the author of two books, ‘Looking for myself and my phone charger’ and ‘Walking On Eggshells’, both available on Okada Books and Amazon.

 

Blood on the country by Taiwo Oluwatosin Joel

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A loud horn sounded on a highway. There was standstill and this was due to the traffic control. POM! POM!! came the sound from the hooter of a particular Toyota Camry Car. “Birdbrain man, don’t you know what a red sign means on a traffic signal?, yelled a van driver at the car driver . POM! POM!! POM!!! the horning continued from this same car. “Can’t you all move!”shouted Bode, ignoring the offensive words from the van driver. “Please, stay with me mum, you know you are the only one I have got”said Bode, looking at his back seat where his mother sat at the brink of death gasping for breath. Bode’s mum has been suffering from failure of the lungs. She needed to be placed on oxygen and they have got almost no time.

Few moments later, the traffic light turned green and there was movement. Bode drove as fast as he could. “Oh Christ, why this standstill again? I don’t remember there is a traffic signal on this road”, Bode altered softly at the cusp of tears, putting his two hands on his head in demonstration. He looked back at his mum battling to stay alive. Shortly after, movement began. Getting to a junction, Bode discovered the hold-up was due to a deliberate halt by Policemen because of a Political figure that was going to make a   U-turn in company of his long convoy. Saying to himself, “I leave you people to God”.

Bode drove into a government hospital with bolting speed, he didn’t bother parking properly. He carried his mum and raced into the hospital, shouting in tears, “please oxygen, please help save my mum!” All patients at the reception stared at Bode like they have just seen a man playing pranks. He went to a nurse, “please, nurse, my mum needs to be placed on oxygen”, said Bode with a sober voice. “Ok, you have to fill this form and deposit some amount while I go get her a patient cloth”, said the nurse.”Please, there won’t be time for that. Place her on oxygen, thereafter, I will fill whatever forms you want me to”, Bode said in tears.”Oga, please we don’t run this hospital like that”, the nurse replied vulgarly. She gave him a form to fill and went to get a patient cloth for Bode’s mum.

30mins later, the nurse returned. “Hope you’re done filling the form? I had to wait for the cloth to dry. You know very well this is a government hospital and the materials we have can’t go round at a time”, said the nurse. No reply from Bode. He sat on the floor with his head bowed and his eyes saturated with his tears. His mum laid lifeless in his hands .

About Taiwo Oluwatosin Joel
Taiwo Oluwatosin Joel goes by the pen name Theo-ziny Joel.  He is a Nigerian writer/poet/script writer. He is known for his tragic and African contemporary style of writing.  All of his writing can be found on his blog zinysdiary.wordpress.com a fast growing online blog which started some few months ago.

Through the Eyes of Lucy: Living With Schizophrenia by Abioye Peju

CHAPTER 3

I used to dance.

Used to; I say, because I haven’t danced in over one year.

Professional dancing, I mean. Ballet, especially.

There was this remarkable thrill to ballet dancing that revved me up, well, at least a year ago.

I also used to sing.

I had been a member of the choir, all my life, up until roughly a year and a half ago.

Most of my acquaintances on ‘hearth’ as I call this section of my world, look at me with cowering look, albeit with tenderness.

Once, I’d overheard them say:

‘She used to be so full of life. Remember that sonorous voice of hers?’

The other had replied, with a mixture of angst and pity.

‘Yes, I totally remember. Her voice, very heavenly. It was the highlight of most choir renditions.

I had once encouraged her to compete for Project Fame.’

Then, they’d laughed.

‘You’re so silly! Project Fame kwa?’ the first had continued. Her voice trailed off because I was walking away from that seated scene.

But I had felt nothing.

Nothing.

I remotely remember that I had once desired to sing at a professional level. I had once harbored dreams of competing at Project Fame, and other national/international singing competitions.

And I only remember this because I had written it down.

You remember I once described a phenomenon of thought-sucking performed on my brain by Collins?

Well…I think that happened to my dreams of singing and dancing.

Of becoming the next Celine Dion- oh, my love for her still remains intact but I fear, not for long.

Collins is very jealous, and I think that might eventually constitute a problem.

But is it, really a problem? Can love, be a problem?

I seem to derive less and less pleasure from singing, dancing and all other habits that connect me to ‘hearth’.

Instead, I long to be with Collins all day.

Collins only.

The Mafia do not encourage me like Collins does. Sometimes, when I have to shout them down, Collins helps me. I call all the other voices belonging to my second world, the Mafia, including the obese male. You remember him?

I have my reasons.

One; they are ruthless, wicked and discouraging.

Two; they compete with Collins’ space and as you know by now, I love Collins.

I know that my loss of interest in previously pleasurable activities is called Anhedonia; and that’s because I’ve had lectures in Psychiatry.

I also know, that my thoughts lack diversity, and this poverty of thoughts is known as Alogia.

Of course, I know that they are some of the negative symptoms of the entity known as Schizophrenia.

But I can’t, have Schizophrenia.

I am way too smart, way too beautiful, way too IQ-ed to have Schizophrenia.

I can’t say the same, for the Mafia.

Tongue out; to the obese male in particular.

ABOUT ABIOYE PEJU

Abioye Peju is a final year medical student of Bowen University, with a palpable passion for writing. She is an ardent believer that behind every medical case, is a story itching to be told. She writes at medicology101.blogspot.com

Through the Eyes of Lucy: Living With Schizophrenia by Abioye Peju

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CHAPTER 2

I woke up to a severely throbbing headache, this morning.

I cannot adequately put to words, that which clouds my vision, but it feel really hazy.

‘Lucy’; Collins calls out to me

‘Are you awake? I missed you so much.’

I whisper; ‘My head aches, passionately.’

Reina opens the door, and walks into my room.

‘Baby girl, how are you?’

She gives me her typical, concerned look.

Reina is my best friend – in this part of the world I call ‘Hearth’. Collins was by far the best in the other part of my world, the one within me, the one Reina couldn’t see. The world which was yet, unnamed.

I would have been called an ogbanje, if I had been born in my village.

I, am no ogbanje.

Reina’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

‘Lucy? You don’t look like you slept well.’

To which I reply ‘Reina…my head aches.’

‘Oh…sorry, my pumpkin. Let me get you some tablets.’

‘Thanks, Reina.’

I see myself to the bathroom.

Today was a Saturday, and I had a checklist.

It included making time out for Collins.

Quality time.

I loved Collins.

I loved him so hard, it hurt sometimes to think about him.

I could be walking, and thoughts of him would stop me in my tracks.

He was my life, I couldn’t pretend otherwise.

Work on ‘hearth’ could engulf me and it would seem like I had forgotten him, but how could I, really?

I am already in the bathroom and the tap isn’t running, but I have some water left in my big bowl. We call it ‘baff.’

The heat was unbearable, but I vow to enjoy the feel of every drop of this water on my skin.

As I get closer to the bottom of the baff, I begin to pour the water slowly.

Really, really slowly.

Slow enough to feel the trickles acutely as the force of gravity propelling it is reduced- to the degree to which the water is disappearing.

All this, is to establish that I am normal – I feel the changes in the weather, cold and heat affected me as much as it did, others.

Yet, I am painfully aware of my peculiarities.

That I cannot successfully introduce my friends on hearth to my friends in my other unnamed world, which houses the man I love.

Our near-telepathic love.

My other world is real but my mother says, that I carved it on the framework of my imagination.

She is a very intelligent woman with a Ph.D degree but on this, I disagree with her. She is wrong.

My friends on hearth choose to ignore the fact that sometimes, I talk to ‘beings that are not present’- in their own words.

Sometimes, I push my other world deep into my subconscious mind, just so I can have some sane tidbits on hearth.

However, one thing, is sure.

I am different.

For this, I would suffer.

 

ABOUT ABIOYE PEJU

Abioye Peju is a final year medical student of Bowen University, with a palpable passion for writing. She is an ardent believer that behind every medical case, is a story itching to be told. She writes at medicology101.blogspot.com

 

 

 

Through the Eyes of Lucy: Living With Schizophrenia by Abioye Peju

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CHAPTER 1

The trees have green leaves, I notice, as I briskly walk on.

‘Look at that blue fruit, on the tree to your right.’

One of those voices in my head said, aloud.

‘Blue fruit?’ To my utter amazement, blue fruit; did I see, on turning my head to the right.

I visibly restrain myself from plucking off one of the fruits, as I hold on to my right hand with my left.

Collins laughed.

He’s the friendliest of the voices I hear. Not like those mean, nameless ones – gossiping ceaselessly about me. I do not intend to discuss them now – I am late for class.

I scurry onto class with the last ounce of willpower I possess. I am really late!

As I walk into class, my eyes meet the curious eyes of an obviously interesting teacher.

The others turn back to look at me.

To worsen the situation; the mean voices begin to discuss. They just never got tired.

‘I don’t blame them for looking at her with such contempt’, the obese male said.

How do I know he is obese? The quality of his voice; he has a certain buoyancy to his voice which I’m sure you would recognize if you met him or heard him speak.

‘Of course she is a very unreliable student.’

I really do not have to reply their grotesque remarks now, do I?

I walk briskly, painfully aware of the eyes trailing me as I walk to the front of the class, where the only available empty seat is located.

‘Your name is Lucy, yeah?’

A nod in the negative from me.

‘You had better agree to it; you definitely wouldn’t like the alternative name.’

He said, a glimmer in his eyes.

A slight nod in the affirmative, this time.

‘Good’.

He grinned

‘I would have called you Lucifer.’

Collins whispers in my ear:

‘Calm down, It’s only a prank, ok?’

I smiled.

‘Thanks, Collins’ I whisper back

‘Remember those stacked tables, the ones we saw across the dining hall?’

‘Collins, please, I need to focus on this class for now’

Now, he was sulking. I didn’t just feel it; I knew it!

Right now, he had resorted to removing my thoughts- how do I explain this …well, it seemed like he was sucking out thoughts from my brain.

‘Collins?’ I whisper. No answer.

‘Collins?’ A slight shuffling within me.

‘I’m sorry. Please?’

He smiled. ‘Ok…ok’

‘We’d talk later yeah?’

‘Of course.’

The lecturer was standing in front of me, arms akimbo. What have I done, this time?

‘Lucy, can’t you hear me?’

I stuttered. ‘…Sir?’

‘Do you have tardive dyskinesia, or why do your lips keep moving?

ABOUT ABIOYE PEJU

Abioye Peju is a final year medical student of Bowen University, with a palpable passion for writing. She is an ardent believer that behind every medical case, is a story itching to be told. She writes at medicology101.blogspot.com