The People of Calabar
Rita’s Story “After 3 JAMBs, I finally got admission in 2009 but not without scourge from my dad. He threatened to send me to a College of Education if I didn’t pass that exam. In other words, that was my last chance to apply for medicine and surgery. My first year in Uni was mad fun. I wasn’t a fellowship person then, so I explored… I made friends, both good and bad, across all the 6 classes in the department (Year1-Year6). I spent most of my time hanging out with friends and watching movies and so ended up failing Physics in my first semester. Later on in the year, I got my second redemption in the faith after I came across the CMDA fellowship and I’ve been a devoted member ever since. Eventually, I wrote the Physics again and passed it.” She now turns to look at me. All the…
KOFOWOROLA
I fell in love once. I was barely 16. He was tall and shy. Quite introverted. He didn’t believe I loved him. He said I was “omo baba olowo” and an “efiko”, what did I see in him, a common school drop-out. I told him my love wasn’t about where he was coming from or what his story is but what we could build together. He was skeptical. Couldn’t imagine a future with me. Said I was high up there, how would we match? What would my parents say? So, I decided. If he was worried about his status and what my parents would say, why don’t we do something about it. I bought books, so we could learn together. He was aloof. Didn’t believe that he could meet up. Then the cheating began. He began seeing other girls he termed “not up to my class”, just so he could…
Short Story: Terror in The Woods
Olaedo was not from a rich home. In fact, his father was a poor palm wine tapper who met his untimely death just a few months after Olaedo was born. Not withstanding, one could say Olaedo grew up with a silver spoon. He had a wealthy godmother, who took it upon herself to see Olaedo through school. After his biological mother died when he was three years old, Olaedo’s godmother immediately brought him to Paris where he grew up. He grew up a happy child amongst her children. There were numerous times when he forgot that his godmother wasn’t his real mother. Well, his problems began when he turned seventeen. Strange day-mares, if they can be called so, became his daily bread. As he sat in his philosophy and logic class one sunny afternoon, he fell into a queer trance in which he saw himself walking in a woodland. It…
Short Story: Poisoned
I just couldn’t stand all their noise and palaver. I never wanted to be the kind of girl to get married, have kids, have trouble with my husband, divorce and leave broken kids behind. No! Been there, felt that. So I’d often toyed with the idea of not getting married at all. I knew I could get married and not have children, but I wanted my own kids and I didn’t want them to go through the hell I went through with my parents. I couldn’t bear the noise any longer. It seemed my earphones couldn’t drown their noise and yells as well as the shatters. I didn’t want to get emotional, so I got up from my bed, went straight for my drawer and picked up my Beats by Dre headphones. The bass tone would’ve been enough to shut out the noise even from a drone. Tears slid down…
The People of Calabar: Sonny’s Story
“This was 2011, my first time in Calabar. I had come down for my upcoming post-UME exams and I was staying with my elder brother in the hostel, Malabor. I was walking down to the hostel using the Goldie/Mount Zion gate when I passed this crowd. There was this guy who was shuffling cards and people were guessing where their chosen card was.” At this point, he looks up at me and I swear, I could bet how this story will end. I think he reads my mind then he says, “Just wait, let me finish the story. “I was standing at the edge of the crowd and the person shuffling the cards… let’s just call him the hustler. The hustler looked at me and convinced me to try. I accepted. He gave me a very easy one. It was stupidly easy so I decided to try my luck and…
The People of Calabar: Faith’s Story
People of Calabar is a personal project of Sayyid Elabor. He believes everyone has a story to tell. So he runs, jumps, and sprints around Cali town, getting random people to share their stories with him.
Everyone always has an interesting, funny or inspiring story to tell. Your story could be someone’s motivation.
The People of Calabar: Annabel’s Story
“I’ve had lots of goofy experiences,” she pauses for a moment. With her eyes turned upwards in their sockets possibly trying to recollect all the memories. They stay this way for some time before a goofy grin cracks across her face. She continues. “It was 2014. My dad suggested my sisters and I should learn to drive. Then he mentioned he saw a driving school close to our house. The next day my two elder sisters and I went to the driving school to enroll. Personally, I didn’t think it was going to be so bad; I was actually looking forward to the experience of learning to drive and we began lectures immediately after enrollment. We started by learning all the traffic rules, signs and etiquettes of driving, you know… normal classroom stuff.” I could tell there was something exciting coming up because she kept smiling, and her smile was…
How I Killed My Sister
I was 7 years older than her. She was 9 and I was 16. She had round blue eyes & long blonde hair. I had dark eyes with short black hair. I hated the fact that everyone loved her. My parents paid more attention to her than they did to me so I was never at home, but rather with my friends whom I felt at home with and rather accepted. Whenever my little sister came to my room, with the hatred I had for her I screamed at her and told her to go play with her dolls. At school, my friends and I always made fun of her. One day, at home, during dinner she brought out a little piece of paper and handed it to me smiling charmingly. She asked me to open it. I thought it was childish and useless to look at the paper so…
Flashback to My Exam Experience this Semester
When I woke up, my room was dark. I didn’t want to wakeup. I only wanted to keep sleeping, keep sleeping and have a ghost read for and write my exams for me. The time on my phone showed 3- something-a.m. Neither of my alarms had made me proud. Four more days hunnie, I tried to trick my lazy bones into getting up. I picked up my note on Survey of English Literature; I couldn’t read a single thing. I couldn’t understand. Not that I couldn’t comprehend, I just couldn’t understand. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t understand what I was reading. The frustration set in, then the fear, and finally the tears. The course was a simple one, just a couple of stories and poems and analysis of texts, texts probably older than my ancestors. But notwithstanding, the fear was real. I flew back to the memories of my…
What Goes On In My Thoughts
Am I the only one that thinks I get it all wrong almost all the time? I know I can’t be the only one that feels this way. Like, where next? Am I right to miss this opportunity? Is it actually the right thing to do now? Some days, I wish I’d been born with an entire map of every decision and choice which I should actually make at every point and step in my life. Do you also notice how everything God doesn’t like is actually where we head towards? Then some days, I fear that I’m not dreaming big enough. I fear that education and reality are stifling my mind. Only exposing me to already established facts, but not to the unexplored terrains of the vast and creative richness of my imaginations. I know nothing so everyday I pray, Help me. It’s always what I ask Him, everyday.…
“I KNOW Boys(SELF LOVE)”
I know boys who are trying to blend into the social norm Like squeezing to fit into their skinny jeans I know boys who are low self esteemed,less dignity and alcoholically obsessed I know boys that ponder if they’re handsome and six packed enough to suit in I know boys who are fleeing arrows fro. the bows of their skin Playing sports with grim;it’s never easy to accept that our bodies are defective and faultful But when do we draw the line? When the ink hits our skin Isn’t it the same thing as dying Because we’re so obsessed with fashion and style Some men just have more guts than others The funny thing is men like us don’t slay Belts below the waist,still wanting to be macho at the morgue Still proceeding to ink in tattoos Still praying that the mortician finds us sultry and appealing We might as…
A Cry From the Deep
The stars dangled in the sky, casting silver shadows so that the night air glowed. It was cold. The villagers did not seem to mind. Children littered themselves in the open space: some danced, bathing in the moonlight, their bare feet sending red dust into a frenzy. The calmer ones sat, listening to Mma Obiageli as her words came to life in their timid minds. They would suddenly break out in a chorus at intervals, singing until veins protruded from the sides of their neck. The hunters sat down under the mango tree. They sent sweet melodies from the Udu that diffused into the cold night. They sang epics; tales about the hunter and the hunted. Anuli sat on a stool, at the entrance to her hut, her wrapper sagged around her chest so that the cold air splashed against the top of her breast. She could hear her mother’s…
Short Poem – When I Die
When I die, People will pick up their phones, And begin asking how I died, And yet they never picked up their phones To call me and know how I lived. When I die, There will be those who will look for memories Of the last time we met and spoke, And begin narrating those stories and encounters, But never spoke of them about me when I lived. When I die, There are those friends who will want to know my home, The name of my village so they can bury me, And yet they never bothered to know, When I still lived and danced on this earth. When I die, There will be those who will contribute to my burial, As they seek to be seen to have loved me, And begin creating ways for a fitting send off, And yet they supported me not when I still breathed.…