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I was peachy and that was probably why I was still smiling at
      the strange guy whose words I couldn't make any sense of
      anymore. I had just received a bank alert from  Ecobank.
      My uncle had credited my account with #7500. It wasn't much
      but it would take me through the next fortnight; I was very
      frugal. I knew I had to call uncle before the day was over
      and inform him that I had gotten the alert plus I needed to
      thank him. The strange guy was grinning wide at me and said,
      " can I have your digits now?" I sighed inwardly, of
      course that was what the convo had been about. I was in a
      hurry, so I collected his phone from him and typed in my
      number, said a hurried goodbye, ignored his last comment and
      hurried off. I opened my handbag and brought out my cellphone
      and dialled uncles' number. He picked up and before I could
      tell him about the alert, he asked if I had "seen the money
      he sent". "eeh uncle ewetegom de alert, thank sir," he said
      it was fine and that I was welcome and that "chukwu dikwa
      mma, nne adim busy ngah kpoachi gi". The call lasted for
      4minutes and 15 seconds, I know this because I had set my
      calls to send me a balance after each call. "kai mtn are just
      thieves..," I said out loud. They had cut #15 for a 4minute
      call. Happy that I had made the important call, I headed to
      the Firstbank atm just after the CEC building. It was hot,
      very very hot, it was as if the earth and the sun had
      quarelled and the sun had decided to punish the inhabitants
      of earth just to get back at earth. I was putting on a
      short-sleeved black and green checked cotton shirt. I hated
      the weather, it always made me sweat and big patches would
      appear under the arms of my shirt. I walked faster, "Jesus!
      The queue was long,very long, had everyone in school come
      here?" I joined the queue anyways, a guy with bushy hair was
      in front of me. I tapped his arm gently, he took off his
      earphones,turned back and looked at me with raised brows.
      "please are you the last person on the line?" I asked.
       He shrugged, raised his arms a bit and made some hand
      gestures, "I guess but one girl told me she was behind me
      some minutes ago,and I haven't seen her", he turned, and
      plugged in his earphones. I mentally assumed the "one girl"
      had withdrawn a long time ago so I resumed her position. I
      was standing for almost ten minutes when a group of three
      girls came up to me and asked the question I had asked the
      guy in front of me. The stood behind me after I had given
      them a detailed explanation of the lines' situation. They
      were loud. They talked about how wicked their female lectures
      were, how some girls in UNN could not dress fine, how
      ridiculous the cost of school shuttles (taxis and buses) had
      gone up again just in the space of the Christmas and New year
      (two week) break and how some boys in UNN were assholes. One
      of them, very dark, the kind of dark-skinned complexion most
      people called "black" and whose name according to their
      discussion was Chinwe, recounted her own version of how
      "assholey" UNN guys could be. She spoke with a confused
      accent, she started off her story with what sounded like a
      British accent, then a black-american accent and finally
      ended up with an eastern nigerian accent. I shook my head
      inwardly because I was avoiding trouble or being called a
      gossip. The queue didn't seem to be moving and the sun was
      really showing off its' powers. I thought I'd die, the
      earphone guy in front of me stank. He smelt like "ogiri" and
      it was choking me but I couldn't point that out to him
      because I was also avoiding trouble. So, I endured and
      thought of nice things instead to block our the scene around
      me, the non- ending talking of the girls behind me, the ATM
      continuous noise and the heat, it was the climax of it all.
      Some twenty two or more minutes later, it was my turn.
      Heaving a heavenly sigh, I walked toward the second ATM and
      was double stepped by a light skinned girl wearing a pink
      flowery dress and what seemed to be a tube of pink lipstick
      on her lips. She practically pushed me to the side and I was
      about to reign curses on her when she cut me short with,
      "please o, I am before you, allow me to withdraw biko, do you
      know how long I've been standing here? Abeg o babe chill" I
      was dumbstruck, I would have allowed her to withdraw first
      but her next words, "can you move away so I can do my
      business?", that threw me off and I straightend up, closed my
      mouth, eye her from head to toe, deliberately walked slowly
      to the ATM. I thought the body language blew her off and she
      would be quiet and let me withdraw. I half smiled at my
      "supposes" victory. I didn't expect the painful slap on my
      back or the hair tugging that followed. Anger blinded me and
      I fought back, kicking, scratching and pulling her very long
      extension. We kept fighting and screaming and I heard a cloth
      rip, hoping it wasn't mine, I kept right on fighting. Someone
      snickered at the background, I frowned. I caught a glimpse of
      the headphone guy, he had taken off his earphones and was
      staring at us in awe. "Wow! I am just making a fool of
      myself", my mind spoke angrily, just as the fair
      one-tube-all-pink-lipstick girl punced my face as the world
      turned black.


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my eyes are
brilliant: a firework of events.
my thoughts are
weakened; how come it took
this long to realize?
my screams are
crippled: hence the irony,
suiting this madness.
my heart is
consumed: inclined to a seul,
the imperfect affair.
my life was
still is: when will it fully blossom?
some lies are
a sign: love's very true own
my eyes are
not for seeing,
but feeling,
all these other lives
i dare not intrude
or touch,
for the better part of
this dreadful