Nwachuku Deborah @borah

Our end-of-year party on Friday was amazing. Everyone in the compound contributed at least ₦1,000 to make it happen. When the DJ arrived, some of the stronger guys helped unload the big speakers; one of them got a minor injury, but it wasn't serious.

We started the night with a prayer, setting a good tone for the evening. The party had eating, dancing, and even rapping competitions, keeping everyone entertained. It was the most fun I'd had in a long time.

Dinner was a delicious serving of yam and egg sauce, which everyone enjoyed in high spirits. I decided to call it a night around midnight, thinking the dancing might get a bit too wild for me.

Throughout the party, I had a great time watching others dance to Amapiano and other popular songs. Although I didn't have the energy to join in, being part of the lively atmosphere was more than enough for me.

This afternoon, I woke up from my siesta to the sound of crackling and burning outside my window. I live on the third floor, so I get a good view of the farmlands nearby. Curious, I went to check what was happening and quickly realized something was wrong. Thick smoke was rising in the air, and the heat was intense even from where I stood. It turns out that someone had been burning weeds, but they lost control of the fire, and it spread wildly across the neighboring farms.

In no time, the fire brought down everything in its path. A large plantain plantation was swallowed up by the flames, followed by fields of maize, cassava, and other crops. The farmers' hard work and months of labor were reduced to ashes in just a few hours. It was painful to see so much destruction caused by one careless act. The sky turned dark with smoke, and the smell of burning plants was everywhere.

The smoke didn’t just affect the farms. It made its way into homes, making it hard for us to breathe. Every breath felt heavy, and the air was so thick with smoke that opening a window brought no relief. People were coughing, fanning themselves, and covering their noses with cloths. All we wanted was a breath of fresh air, but that simple wish was taken away by someone's lack of caution.
This entire mess could have been avoided if a little more care had been taken.

One day, something sharp pierced the sole of my foot. At first, I thought it was just a minor wound, so I didn’t pay much attention to it. But over the next four days, the pain didn’t ease. It only grew worse, especially whenever I walked. I couldn’t understand what was causing the discomfort, so I finally decided to inspect my slippers closely to understand the source of the issue.

When I checked, I discovered a needle-like object with spikes lodged in my slippers. It had been pressing against the wound the whole time! Shocked, I quickly threw it away, but by then, the damage was already done. The wound wasn’t healing, and the area around it started to look dark and swollen. That’s when I realized it might be infected and decided it was time to visit a clinic.

At the clinic, the doctor confirmed that the wound was indeed infected. They cleaned it up thoroughly, applied some medication, and gave me instructions for treatment at home. I was also prescribed antibiotics to help fight the infection. It took about two weeks of proper care for the pain to finally subside, and I could walk normally again without limping or discomfort.

This morning, I woke up later than usual. I wasn’t feeling too strong, so I decided to make something simple which was Indomie with eggs. I quickly got dressed and headed out to buy the eggs from a nearby shop. When I arrived, the shop was busy. One person was cutting meat, while the other was helping a woman who had come with her husband to buy eggs. I had no choice but to wait for my turn.

After what felt like forever, the woman finished buying her eggs and was heading back to her car. Just as she was about to get in, she hit her foot on something, and the bag of eggs she was holding fell to the ground. Everyone around shouted at once, but the husband calmly stepped out of the car. Without saying a word, he started picking up the eggs, sorting out the unbroken ones, and putting them back into the bag.

The woman looked so frustrated, and it seemed like she wanted to vent her anger, but her husband calmly told her not to worry. His tone was so gentle that it surprised me. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t blame her, just quietly went about fixing the situation. It was a level of self-control I wasn’t expecting.

Meanwhile, the ladies at the shop couldn’t stop talking about the incident. Some were laughing, others were commenting on how eggs are too expensive to waste. But the man ignored all of it. He didn’t engage or get distracted. Once he was done packing up the good eggs, he got back into the car with his wife, and they drove off as though nothing had happened.

A few years ago, there was a man in my neighborhood who kept pigeons. These birds often flew around, and some of them would come into my compound before heading back. But there was this one particular pigeon that started showing up at my window more often than the rest. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but when I noticed its consistency, I began leaving little things for it like garri, bread crumbs, or sometimes chin chin.

At first, the pigeon was afraid. The moment I came near, it would fly away without a second thought. It clearly wasn’t interested in being touched or making friends. I decided to just let it be and left food for it to enjoy without disturbing it. Over time, though, it became less scared. It started hanging around my window longer, even after eating the food. I knew we were slowly building some sort of trust.

One day, something surprising happened. The pigeon flew into my house. At first, I thought it might have been an accident, but it didn’t seem panicked or rushed. It stayed calm and even let me touch it briefly before flying off again. That moment was special, as if the bird had finally accepted me as a friend.

From then on, it became a routine. The pigeon would come by almost every evening, and it wasn’t just about the food anymore. It seemed to enjoy being around, and I found myself looking forward to its visits.
Unfortunately, the man who owned the pigeons eventually moved out, and my little feathered friend went with him.

There’s this boy in my street who, despite being grown in age, acts a lot like a child. He’s always running around with the younger kids, playing with them everywhere, even in the market.

One day, I was nearby when he accidentally knocked over a bottle of oil from a shop stand. The owner, angry, gave him a harsh slap right there in front of everyone. The boy was shocked and embarrassed, and the market people were murmuring. That same day, he continued playing as usual after the mother settled the oil woman.

But recently, while messing around with his friends on the roadside, a keke driver didn’t see him run out, and he was hit. Thankfully, the injuries weren’t too serious, but he had to go for treatment and was out of area for about three weeks.
Now that he’s recovered, it’s like he’s a different person. I haven’t seen him in his usual spots, and he doesn’t run around like before. People are saying his mom must have really talked to him, and maybe, after all that, he’s finally realized the need to act his age.

I got on the bus, paid my fare, and soon enough, the bus filled up with other passengers. We all settled in, and after a few minutes, we were on our way. The driver stopped three times along the route to drop people off. Things seemed smooth and normal, until, out of nowhere, a guy from the back suddenly shouted that he’d missed his stop. Apparently, he had fallen asleep and only woke up after we’d passed it. Trying to be reasonable, the driver said he’d charge him a bit less for the inconvenience.

The man went into his pocket and pulled out a torn note to pay. Seeing this, the driver lost his patience. Before any of us could react, he slapped the guy right there. We all stepped in to separate them and calm things down, and a few of us asked the man why he didn’t have better money to pay with. He explained that he’d gotten the torn note earlier from an okpa seller. It was a bit hard to believe, but there wasn’t much we could do about it.

Someone suggested he withdraw some fresh cash from the nearest ATM or POS, but he bluntly refused. At that point, it seemed like he was just being stubborn. The driver, fed up and unwilling to argue any further, told us all to get back on the bus. He gave the guy one last look, and we drove off, leaving him behind. None of us said much as we drove away, still processing what had just happened.
As we left, the driver muttered something about the man reaping what he’d sown.

As a fashion designer, I have a straightforward policy: pay an advance before I start, then complete payment once the work is done. But this one customer decided to test my patience. She wanted to make Ankara dresses for herself and her two daughters, but instead of paying the agreed advance, she paid less. Since it was her first time, I decided to let it slide, hoping to build trust.

After putting in the work and finishing the dresses, she completed only the advance payment and asked to take them home, promising she’d settle the rest within a week. I let her take them, trusting she’d keep her word. But two weeks passed, and I didn’t hear anything. I messaged her politely about the balance, and she just ignored me. Eventually, I called, and she simply said, “I’ll pay soon.”

Months went by, two to be exact, and I hadn’t received a thing. Then, on Sunday, I saw her with her husband at an event. We didn’t exchange greetings, I just kept my distance and didn’t bring it up.

Surprisingly, when I got home that evening, I received a payment alert from her husband. Maybe she got worried when I didn’t acknowledge her at the event, or perhaps her husband took things into his own hands. Either way, thank God the payment finally came through.

Back in my first year of university, there was this guy who started showing interest in me. I could tell right away that he liked me, but I wasn’t really ready to reciprocate those feelings. One big reason was that I knew I was almost two years older than him, and that just made me feel like we were on different levels. Still, he didn’t give up easily.

He even went as far as telling two of my friends that he liked me. Of course, they came to me, trying to play matchmaker and pushing me to give him a chance. But I wasn’t having any of it. I told them to stop bothering me about him, and that was that. But this guy wasn’t backing down. He’d bring me food during night classes, and on Valentine’s Day, he surprised me with a watch.

I decided to be plain with him. I told him I knew he liked me and wanted to get closer, but I was two years older than him. I thought that would make him back off because, in my mind, it was the only way to send him away. Surprisingly, he said it didn’t matter to him. But I could tell he was nervous, like he didn’t know how to respond to the age thing.

After that conversation, things changed quickly. The next day, he started acting different, no more teasing or calling me those sweet names he used to throw around. He started keeping his distance and eventually stopped talking to me altogether. It was like he’d decided that was the end of the road.