Andy Eze @andyeze

I awoke to the commotion with a start, the sound of screeching tires and slamming doors reverberating through the neighborhood. Jumping out of bed.
It was up the neighbourhood, a team from the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) had swooped in, surrounding a grand three-story building where some individuals had been residing. It was barely past 4 am, and the whole scene was both surreal and unnerving.

Out of the chaos, two figures managed to evade the authorities, each using their own methods of escape. One of them, probably possessed by a fleeting moment of courage, made a dramatic leap over the fence at the back of the compound and dashed into the night. The other, more cunning and resourceful, chose to hide out in the building's ceiling, skillfully covering his tracks. It was a scene straight out of an action movie, and despite the seriousness of the situation, a part of me couldn't help but marvel at their audacity and quick thinking as I listened to people who were present during the live action recounted the incident.

The ensuing chaos saw some of the residents' cars being seized while the male occupants were escorted away and loaded into the awaiting vans. The building, once aglow with the energetic hum of life, now stood as a graveyard after they zoomed off with the victims

I couldn't help but wonder about the individuals who had been taken away and the events that had led to this dramatic and unexpected turn of events. The neighborhood had been forever changed in the blink of an eye, leaving in its wake a palpable sense of unease and uncertainty. As the day unfolded and life began to return to its normal rhythm, the memory of that intense morning lingered, a stark reminder of the fragility and unpredictability of the world we live in.

During my early teens, my family and I had a familiar path that we often followed, lined with a towering breadfruit tree. The tree's sprawling branches cast shade over a considerable stretch of the path, and it was common knowledge that people would always hurry through this part of the route to avoid the peril of a breadfruit falling on them.

Over time, countless tales had circulated about unsuspecting individuals getting struck by falling breadfruits, resulting in serious injuries. Despite this, on one particular day, my family and I decided that we would not succumb to fear. "Why should we run today when we never had a breadfruit fall on us before?" we reasoned.

As we ventured down the narrow path, we watched another person take a leisurely stroll beneath the breadfruit tree and felt a surge of anxiety and unease. Moments later, a loud crash reverberated through the air, and we all turned to see a breadfruit plummet to the ground. Terrified, we screamed and sprinted in every direction.

In the aftermath, as we caught our breath, we pondered the narrow escape. "What if we had merely walked as we had planned?" we mused. It was a valuable lesson learned: sometimes, heeding warnings and being cautious is more than just an old superstition.

I had a dream last night that was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. It had been a long time since I dreamt something so fascinating. Usually, my dreams were serious and profound, holding deep meaning or revelatory insights. But yesterday was different. In my dream, I found myself floating and experiencing pure joy. I was flying amidst the clouds, soaring alongside the birds. Everyone around me was also flying, but it felt as though I was truly relishing every moment of my flight.

When I woke up, I lay in bed for a while, reflecting on the dream. I couldn't shake off the feeling of enjoyment and renewal it had given me. As I got up and went outside, I saw the birds flying freely in the sky, and a part of me wished I could join them. I longed for my dream to manifest in reality, for the ability to fly like a bird.

In the wake of that dream, a sense of longing and wonder lingered within me. Even though I knew the dream was just a product of my subconscious, it left me with a deep desire to experience the same freedom and exhilaration I had felt while flying through the clouds.

I stood excitedly at the start line for the annual cross village marathon with my three running buddies Chidi, Naza, and vicky.

With our belts fastened, we took a deep breath, getting ready for the challenge. For the first few miles, we ran with lack of enthusiasm and determination.

As we made our way through tree shades, the sweet smell of ripe guava filled the air, making us want to stop and take a break from the race. We took a sharp left, laughing and straying off the path.

Picked some juicy guavas off the trees and savored the sweetness of their freshness. This was one of the best parts of our marathon journey.

By the time we made it to the halfway point, we were feeling the exhaustion but Vicky’s support kept us going. We were determined to finish strong and with me in the lead, we urged each other on and made it to the finish line together, hand in hand.

Till now my body hurts from the race but I will be fine soon as long as I have my friends.

The familiar hum of electricity was missing, and a sense of unease settled over me. I glanced out the window and saw that the entire neighborhood was shrouded in darkness. A total blackout. My mind raced as I wondered how long it would last and how we would manage without power.

Two days passed, and the neighborhood had transformed into a silent, eerie landscape. With everyone's phones drained of power, the need to find a charging station became urgent. A few of us banded together and set out on a mission to find a place to recharge our phones. After searching for what seemed like hours, we stumbled upon a small hotel nestled at the edge of the neighborhood. Without a second thought, we hurried inside, desperate for access to electricity.

To our surprise, the staff didn't seem to mind as we huddled around the nearest available outlet, plugging in our phones. As the battery indicators began to climb, we were greeted by a friendly waitress who seemed genuinely intrigued by our sudden appearance. The prospect of being discovered made us uneasy, and we braced ourselves for the inevitable request to leave.

However, our fears quickly vanished as the waitress inquired about our needs and how we could support the hotel. Flustered and caught off guard, we mumbled about only needing to charge our phones and leaving as soon as they were juiced up. Embarrassed by our seemingly freeloading behavior, we realized we had unfairly imposed on the hotel. Immediately, she looked at us, nodded, and assured us that it was okay.

I never quite thought it would happen, but there I was, my earpiece missing. The culprit was none other than my so-called friend, who, in a moment of carelessness, had pocketed my cherished music-listening companion. I couldn't help but feel a pang of betrayal as I realized what had transpired. Music was my solace, my refuge, and now it was cruelly snatched away.

With my heart filled with a strange mix of annoyance and longing, I embarked on a quest to replace my stolen earpiece. I headed to the market, hoping to find a like-for-like replacement. What I found there, however, was not what I had expected. The once affordable earpieces were now priced at an astonishing 3,000 to 4,000 Naira, a stark contrast to the 500 to 1,000 Naira they used to be.

The shock of the price hike didn't deter me. I needed my music, and I was willing to fight for it. Music was an essential part of my daily routine. A day without music felt like a day without color, a day without energy. Walking to school, returning home, and spending solitary evenings, music was my constant companion.

In the end, I made a decision. Ignoring the steep cost, I purchased a new earpiece. As I walked away from the market clutching the small package, a sense of contentment washed over me. Sure, I might have expended my last card on this impulsive buy, and perhaps it wasn't the most prudent decision. But as I plugged in the new earpiece and lost myself in the melody of my favorite songs, all doubts vanished.

Today was one of those days, you know? Kinda lazy, with a hint of "I really don't want to do anything" vibes. After all those exam fights a few days back, it felt like I needed a break, a day to just chill before diving into another paper. So, I decided to embrace the laziness and take it easy.

I mean, even cooking felt like too much work, so I hit up my favorite place and scored three humongous wraps of okpa. Yep, comfort food, all the way. They were like cozy little bundles of joy that I devoured without any guilt. Total lazy day food, you know?

Later in the afternoon, I finally dragged myself out of the bed, and I remembered I had these ripe plantains just waiting to be fried. So, I made my way to the kitchen with that lingering "I really can't be bothered" feeling. But hey, I was determined to give myself a little treat, so I heated up the oil, chucked in the plantains, and just watched them sizzle.

But here's the plot twist: as I was standing there, giving minimal effort to this whole cooking thing, one of the plantains decided to get a little wild and, next thing you know, it's jumping out of the frying pan. And guess where it landed? Yep, right smack dab in my mouth. I mean, seriously? How lazy can a plantain be that it doesn't even want to stay in the pan?

To be frank, I ate each plantain as soon as it left left the hot oil.
It was memorable though and I thank myself for making very good use of today.

When I was in secondary school, there was an old, winding path that diverged from the main road. It was a longer route to school, but it held a special allure for me. Along this path, nestled among the lush greenery, grew a cluster of wild mango trees that bore the sweetest, most succulent fruits. I found myself drawn to this path every day, not just for the promise of a tasty snack, but for a budding business opportunity.

The wild mangoes were irresistible, and I couldn't resist plucking a few on my way to school. At first, it was just a small indulgence, something to brighten my mornings during the journey to school. However, I soon recognized the potential of these delicious fruits. I discovered that my friends at school were just as enamored by the wild mangoes as I was.

So, one day, I decided to bring a little extra to school and offer them to my friends during break time. To my delight, they were ecstatic at the opportunity to savor the juicy, wild mangoes during the school day. It didn't take long for word to spread, and soon I found myself with a small but growing clientele of classmates who eagerly awaited my arrival each day.

Before long, I realized that I was making money through this simple act. The free money was enjoyable, and at that age, I had an emerging interest in business. I noticed the thrill of offering something of value and being rewarded for it. I started to make between #200 to #500 daily; back then, the worth of the naira was appreciable, so it was a substantial amount for a student. In my small world, I was literally rich.

The daily routine became a joy for me. With each mango sold, I not only made a little extra pocket money but also found satisfaction in providing something delicious and unique to my friends. The business venture became a source of pride and fulfillment, and it sparked an entrepreneurial spirit within me.

Looking back, those moments under the wild mango trees were more than a source of income. They were the seeds of my passion for business and the satisfaction of offering something of value to others.