A Literary/Art Publication of the Boys of Whitesands School
“The ease with which poetry is styled on the page might be one of its allure… The quality for this year's The Sail competition is impressive and the selection process was not an easy one, requiring reading, re-reading and reflecting.” – Dami Ajayi (Author of Clinical Blues) “All the winning entries in this category are well-deserving of the honour. Not only are the works well written and wellresearched, the writers took great diligence to adhere to the best writing practices, making proud the school and the teachers who had invested in them over the years. With this kind of skill, the sky is the limit.” – The Editorial Board
BN I SIBSN : 9 7987 987583 563264234-34– 5
9 789785 362435
writing publishing
THE SAIL
A Literary/Art Publication of the Boys of Whitesands School ISSUE 2, MAY 2016
THE SAIL A Literary/Art Publication of the Boys of Whitesands School
“The stories…should be commended for their diversity in matters of theme and style. Ranging from the contemporary to the historical, from the realistic to the fantastic, the pieces sufficed with social commitment to rollicking adventure years, the stories in The Sail provides us striking glimpses of what the literary voices of the future are already capable of in the present.” – Rotimi Babatunde (Winner of the 2012 Caine Prize for African Writing)
Whitesands School
THE SAIL
Whitesands School
The Sail
A Literary/Art Publication of the Boys of Whitesands School
The Sail
A Literary/Art Publication of the Boys of Whitesands School
Whitesands School
iv Published by Feathers and Ink E9/1067 Abayomi Estate, Old Ife Road, Agodi, Box 4023, University of Ibadan Post Office, Ibadan, Oyo State, Nigeria mail@feathersink.com www.feathersink.com for Whitesands School Plot 140, Whitesands Street, Elf Bustop, Lekki Phase I, Lagos State, Nigeria www.whitesands.org.ng www.facebook.com/WhitesandsSchool www.twitter.com/whitesandsSch Š Whitesands School (2016)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the written consent of the publisher. A catalogue record of this book is available in the National Library of Nigeria. Editoral Board: Mr. Chido Ahumibe, Mr. Matthew Lanre-Alimi, Mr. Bayo Olupohunda, Mr. Kola Olatubosun, Mr. Emeka Onukwu-Isitua, Mr. Romanus Eboh, Mr. James Eboseme and Mr. Henry Dike
ISBN: 978-978-53624-3-5
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Editor’s Note There is a story as heartwarming as it was heartbreaking that took place shortly after the publication of the first issue of this book last year. A student in one of our senior classes was informed, by his parents at home that plans had now been completed to take him abroad for further studies and a chance to reunite with his other siblings. But instead of jumping for joy, the young boy broke down in tears and disappointment, telling his father than one of the things he had been looking forward to in the next session in school was a chance to enter for The Sail writing competition and a chance to finally see his name in print. Now, being withdrawn from the school, with a chance to travel abroad nonetheless, his dream for which he had been working hard on a number of creative work would now never be realised. To hear the story was moving because it confirmed what we had assumed from the start; that the idea of a book of students’ creative work was an important one. It provided an exciting and stimulating means of achieving mental and emotional satisfaction, and maturity. It was also a confirmation to us that the idea needed to survive. It was no longer a passing activity needed to merely distract the young teenage students from unproductive pastimes but one with concrete positive relevance for the present and the future. Boys lucky enough to have been published in the first issue celebrate that achievement that will now go with them wherever they go across the world, with their names written indelibly on the pages of a creative work. In this second issue, the magic returns as young students, many of
vi whom we had been conditioned to see only through the lenses of classroom and their acts at the school hall, return to surprise us with their depth of perception of serious life issues. In poetry, prose, visual arts, and essay writing, they take on matters as earnestly as they can muster, with a number of delightful surprises, even with the seeming limitation of grammar by a few. Thankfully, the competence of our judges, in-house editors, and teachers sufficed to get the work up to the standard for which we can all be proud. Speaking of judges, we thank Rotimi Babatunde, winner of the 2012 Caine Prize for African Writing, for agreeing to judge the prose entries. He did this competently and thoroughly, giving in-depth analysis, corrections, and commentary for each of the entries submitted. We also thank Dami Ajayi, the author of Clinical Blues for his thorough work on the poetry entries and for taking the time to participate in our MeetA-Writer event during the year. Both writers gave their time, energy, and competence without asking for anything back, and for that, we are grateful. Judging the essay entries were teachers of the English Language Department at Whitesands School (including the Head of Department, Mr. Matthew Lanre-Alimi, and others, Mr. Chido Ahumibe, Mr. Bayo Olupohunda, Mr Romanus Eboh and Mr. Emeka Isitua). Because of Mr. Olupohunda’s persistence, competence, liaison with relevant parties, and help with the editing, the work was completed in good time. And lastly, the visual art entries were judged and selected by the able arts teacher, Mr. Olaifa. But, as usual, none of this would have happened without the support, encouragement, and funding by the management of Whitesands School for whom the idea has always been a commen-dable one. We thank them.
vii All the entries were judged blind, that is, without the names of the entrants written on them. This helped assure us that the ratings given by the judges are without prejudice, arrived at solely on the strength of the work. For this reason, all the winners, runner-ups, and honourably mentioned writers should be very proud of their achievements. If this is an indication of anything, for the student entrants and winners, it should be the future projection of a brilliant journey into excellence, wherever the child finds himself. Congratulations to the students, particularly those whose names appear on the prize list, and particularly to those who have been working hard towards this honour since last year, finally reaching the end point with distinction. Some have their names in more than one honour category. This is commendable! Like that traveling student to whom quitting was a sore disappointment, these ones stuck to it and found greatness. As a school, Whitesands can only teach, guide and support, especially in the building of academic competence, character and perhaps fortitude. The creative and innovative potential is within the capacity of the child. Our hope is to have demonstrated that these can be tapped and directed towards a significant good. Kola Olatubosun Editor, on behalf of the Editorial Board Ikoyi, Lagos. April 5, 2016
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Contents Editor’s Note
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By Kola Olatubosun
Fiction
Beginnings By Anthony Ifechukwude AZEKWOH Another Visa Story By David Praise EBRINGA
3 10
The Last City of Omar By Nnamdi Michael NDUKA-EZE
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Land and Sea: Small Beginnings By Oluwatobi Adedolapo OYERO
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Lagos Market By Osemedua IWELUMO
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Slave By Emmanuel Ifidon OHIOMAH
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A Summer Like Never By Onyekachi Sammy UWAZURUONYE-ANYANWU
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Suvivor By Jesse Chinwekene OKORAFOR
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x The Lie By Otse John Philip ATTAH
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The Stolen Toys
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By Chimere IKOKU
The Art of Why
Poetry
By Anthony Ifechukwude AZEKWOH
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All is Fair
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Material Wealth
47
Problems By Nnamdi Michael NDUKA-EZE
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Le Vrai Valentine
49
See You Again By Onyekachi Sammy UWAZURUONYE-ANYANWU
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By Oluwatobi Adedolapo OYERO By Olasubomi Kehinde OWOYELE
By Chukwuebuka Patrick EZEKOBE
xi Abandoned By McCarthy Efeziono ELUTABE
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The Science Student
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Destiny By Abdullah Olamilekan AJANI-LAWAL
56
Waking Up
57
After the Rain By Jesse Chinwekene OKORAFOR
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Individuality By David Oluwanifemi AMUSAN
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Darkness and Fear
60
Timely Friends By Durodoluwa Timothy AJIDAGBA
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By Jesutofunmi KUPOLUYI
By Toluwanimi Peter AJIBOLA
By Olorunfemi Anuoluwapo KOLAPO
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Essays Deforestation
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Why Students Fail External Examinations By Chukwuka Emmanuel OMENE
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The Battle of Life: Today or Tomorrow?
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Unravelling Humanity By Anthony Ifechukwude AZEKWOH
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Darkness of the Mind By Felix Chukwudumebi OKOLO
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Bullying By Oluwatamilore Elisha OGUNBANJO
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Appendix/Results
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By Jesse Chinwekene OKORAFOR
By Nnamdi Michael NDUKA-EZE
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List of Artworks Shattered By Oselumense Osagie EBADAN
Undefeated By Chukwuemeka Anthony CHUKWU
The Bond By Stephen Adeoluwa Oluwamidara ADEDOYIN-ADEDIPE Melody By Oluwatobiloba David ALAOFIN
Class Thought By Oluwafikunayomi Oluwadurotimi OLAGBAMI Hunter By Kenechukwu Henry ONAGA
2 28 42 62 64 81
FICTION
Shattered Oselumense Osagie EBADAN (SS3C) First Prize: Visual Arts (Senior Category)
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Beginnings
I
Anthony Ifechukwude AZEKWOH (SS3C) First Prize: Fiction Category
t was cold and his phone was dead, yet all he could think of on his way to Marcus’s was the ridiculous jogger dressed like a Christmas tree doing his usual prancing gazelle routine. Today, he was sprinting. Lenny understood sprinting. You ran fast because you had somewhere to get to. He didn’t understand that whole jogging business. It was a run, only slower, so obviously you were in no hurry to get where you were going, so why not walk?
As always, arriving at Marcus’s house always brought this sense of dread he couldn’t yet place. Maybe it was because he knew what he was about to endure for three hours, or maybe it was the fact that he was tired of his frequent visits, but it was most likely the latter. It was the pet dog Rover who seemed to have a hungry look on his face whenever Lenny approached him. Without hesitation he knocked on the door fervently while keeping a close eye on the dog. After about five minutes the door opened and he wished he had been greeted by a much kinder face. Tessa was Marcus’s first daughter. Her real name was Theresa, but if you valued your teeth and general good health you usually called her Tessa. She greeted with her usual grunt and led him in. After all these years, Lenny was astonished as to how Marcus kept the interior design the same. The colour was, in one word, drab. His wife upon moving into the house had decided to give it her personal “touch”. When Lenny finally de-
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cided to get married, he had hoped his wife wouldn’t be half the tyrant Catherine was. Tessa led him to the sitting room, which he had become accustomed to due to his frequent visits. As he sat down he heard a sharp screeching sound which made him cover his ears in absolute horror, a sound that could only be described as abominable. It was jarring and could only have been made by one man, one teenager to be specific. James, the third and last child (Lenny hoped), was thirteen, and when he told Marcus of this disturbance he replied, “Let him be. He’s ‘experimenting’. “
Lenny wished he could experiment somewhere else, like Canada or the French Quarter. Or Russia, which Lenny had heard was nice at this time of the year. He had given his suggestions to Marcus but his friend wouldn’t have it. Still waiting for Marcus to arrive, he used the time to look around. What caught his eye was the family portrait. Looking at it, someone may have assumed they were a happy family, but after a year of careful observation, he knew otherwise. “I remember when we took that.”
Lenny turned around to meet his friend. Truly, the years had worn him out or maybe it was Catherine. He could never tell. At about six feet tall, Marcus looked like an athlete that is, if you ignored the grey hair sprouting at the edges of his head or his constant slouch. He remembered when they were children and how lively he had been; now he looked like a fifty-two year old man even though he was in his early forties. “It was just after James was born wasn’t it?” Lenny asked.
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“Yes and that one was after the wedding”, he said, pointing to a gold framed picture, for some reason Marcus looked at Lenny with a scowl.
It took him a while, but he remembered. The wedding service had been nice with a never ending flow of food, when it was his turn to make a toast, he had said wonderful things about the groom recollecting their childhood years and he was sure he saw some tears in his friend’s eyes.
Then he looked quizzically at Catherine and said “Oh, I thought you were marrying Will (Marcus’ brother). In that case I take it all back.” Lenny didn’t remember all of it but there was definitely a lot of shouting and swearing afterwards. “And what a day it was” Lenny replied with a smile. “You’re two days early. Is anything wrong?”
“Can’t I visit my friend without coming here to work?” “What do you want?” “Something.”
“Before you begin just remember that I don’t owe you anything”
“Really?, because if I remember correctly, I am the one who introduced you to your wife, looking back at it, I think I should apologize.” With a sigh Marcus replied, “Just shut up, let’s go upstairs and talk.” On the way up, Marcus started with the usual question “So when are you settling down?”
“Don’t start with me, Marcus,” Lenny replied.
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“I’m just saying. You’re a family consultant and yet you don’t want to start one. That’s a bit ironic isn’t it?” There were very few events in the world that could be considered rare. Lenny being speechless was one of them. Marcus just wished he had his camera. Before they could even get up the stairs, Charlie had already beaten them to it. For a young boy he was quite smart, but the side effect was that he was constantly spouting out facts that everyone could live without. “Hey, Uncle did you know that…”
He was abruptly cut off by Lenny who quickly replied “Yes, I did.”
After the interruption, they made their way to the living room upstairs, where they both sat down. Once upon a time this house belonged to Marcus’s parents and as children they had both played in this room. In fact just sitting down here brought a feeling of nostalgia.
“What’s wrong?” Lenny asked. When you spent twenty two years knowing someone, it was easy to know when they were troubled. “It is the house,” Marcus replied.
“Oh, did it go to a party without telling you? For God’s sake be more specific.” “It’s being bought out.” “What?”
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“Times have been rough.” Marcus said. “I got laid off from work two months ago so I haven’t been able to pay the bills and I had no choice, so last week I went to an estate agent. This morning, I got a call. She said she would buy the house and for good money too. Just enough for us to start a new life in a small apartment.” Hearing his friend so sad brought out a protective instinct in Lenny, he needed to make sure his friend was okay but honestly he didn’t know how. “But you can’t sell the house,” he said finally.
“I had no choice and there’s something else you should know.” “What?”
“The buyer, it’s your sister, Lenny.”
“But-but-but she’s dead.” Lenny replied.
“I thought so too but when I heard her voice I was sure, she may go by a different name but I’m sure of it, it’s her. Rita’s alive.” Marcus insisted. But Lenny wasn’t listening; he was too busy remembering the burial.
It had been a nice day, and the birds were singing. The flowers were colourful, and it seemed like such a cruel joke seeing as they were just about to bury his sister, his only sister. It had been an accident, she worked for the infirmary in Iraq, constantly helping, constantly happy, constantly hopeful. She had just got off the phone from her brother, and no one expected it. Everyone knew that the fighting went on in the battle field but no one expected the infirmary base to be bombed,
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thirty-three died, fifty-two injured, Rita wasn’t among the injured.
Until this day he would never forget the last words he heard her say on the phone that day. “So when are you coming back home?” Lenny had asked.
“Don’t worry about me. Just a few more days and I’ll be back home, I promise. Tell Marcus I said hi” She had replied.
“Lenny, Lenny are you listening?” Marcus said, interrupting Lenny’s reverie. Lenny just looked at him and said “Hi”.
“What are you talking about?” Marcus asked. “Never mind that, did she give you a card?”
“Yes, she did” Marcus replied, handing Lenny a white piece of paper. It read:
Michealson Consultancy Agency TARA .I. DREWS
It didn’t take long before Lenny scrambled the letters and what he realized made his heart stop. Rita Edward.
There were a lot of questions going through his head, but the first one was “how?”
For a year, he had mourned the death of his sister and now it occurred to him that she’d been alive all this time. How could she? What was she
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doing that was so important that she left her family and friends in the dark? Thinking about it now, she always did have a bit of a selfish attitude. To be frank, he came from a family of drug lords, corrupt politicians and mafia kingpins. He had hoped he and his sister would be the exception, the ones to escape the mess that was his family. And now here it seemingly was, his sister pulling the exact same stunt his father would pull. It stung, it really did. He stormed out of Marcus’s house, knowing that his friend would understand the trauma he was facing. He had already put his keys in his car when Marcus called out. “Lenny?”
“Yeah?” he answered.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
Lenny drove off without looking back. The only thought in his head kept coming back: “Now, when have I ever done anything stupid?”
Another Visa Story
I
David Praise EBIRINGA (SS3A) Second Prize: Fiction Category
n an old village lived a young lady and her mother. Her name was Iyin. She was the only child left of her mother who, by this time, was well stricken with age. Her father had died a long time ago fighting in a war for his beloved country Nigeria. Her two siblings were also dead. They both died in a motor accident on their way to school. Life was very tough for Iyin and her mother as they barely managed to eat once daily. They couldn’t even imagine the possibility of eating three times a day, it was unthinkable. Iyin began to think about life. She wondered whether luck could smile on her again. In fact, she had lost hope. Iyin’s mother was old, and she would cry every night asking God why her fate should be like this. She thought of her husband, her two children but they are all gone now. She wished she could give Iyin a better life and a good foundation but she could not. Where was the money? They both lived in a mud house in the village and would sometimes beg other villagers to help them with some money. Iyin was well known for begging in that village. It was that bad. At times, if she wasn’t begging for food or money, she was selling plantains, bananas and other foodstuffs just so that she and her mother could live. She loved her mum very much.
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Now, it was a Saturday morning and Iyin was going about her morning chores. Suddenly she turned back and couldn’t believe who she saw. It was her aunty, Aunty Vera! She was very happy to see her and began screaming and jumping all over the place. You could say that she was really hyperactive. Iyin quickly rushed into the house to inform her mother of Aunty Vera’s arrival before going back out to round up her chores. Her mother too was very happy to see her sister again after so many years and so they began talking. “Sister…”
“Yes oh, good to see you again,” Iyin’s mum said.
“You too, but that is not the main reason why I came,” Aunty Vera said. “Really, so why did you come then?”
“I came to make a proposal to you,” she said.
“What proposal are you talking about?” Iyin’s mum asked. “I don’t like the way you and Iyin are living.”
“My sister, we don’t like it too but what can we do?” Iyin’s mum said in a sad tone.
“That is why I’m here” Aunty Vera said, “I want to take Iyin with me back to the United States.” “United gini? You mean you want to carry my daughter abroad?” Iyin’s mum asked with her eyes opened wide.
“That is exactly what I am trying to say” Aunty Vera replied, smiling. At this point Iyin’s mum’s joy knew no bounds! She stood up and began to
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sing and dance while raising up her hands and looking up towards the heavens. Aunty Vera watched her sister closely with amusement. Iyin was still outside sweeping the compound but when she heard her mum singing so loudly, she rushed inside the house to see what was going on. “Mama what is it? Why are you dancing and singing?” she asked
“My daughter, it is even good that you are here, come and sit down” her mother replied. “Ehen Vera, please repeat what you just told me.”
Aunty Vera smiled and turned towards Iyin “I told your mother that I want to take you with me back to the United States of America.” Iyin couldn’t believe what she just heard.
“Are you serious, aunty?” She asked excitedly. “Yes I am, Iyin” aunty Vera replied.
Iyin began to dance too and she started crying. They were tears of joy.
“Thank you very much, aunty. Yes I will go with you,” Iyin told her aunt.
“You’re welcome my dear,” Aunty Vera replied, and turned towards her sister.
“I have already started processing her visa; it will be ready in two weeks. So I’ll come and pick her up when the time comes.” “Alright Vera, I’ll make sure she gets ready before then,” Iyin’s mum replied. After that, it was all pleasantries until Aunty Vera finally left and went to her house. She was staying in Lagos for now.
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Soon, the time came for Iyin to depart and head to the U.S. She couldn’t believe her luck. God has finally smiled on her again. At the airport, Iyin’s mum, aunty Vera and Iyin were quite busy. They were trying to checkin the luggage. After a while, the boarding announcement was made. It was time for Iyin to go and board the airplane with her aunty. She hugged her mum very tight whilst in tears. “I’ll miss you mummy” she said.
“I will miss you too my daughter, be a good girl and don’t forget all what I’ve taught you” her mum replied. “Yes mum, I won’t” Iyin said. They both hugged again.
Iyin had to go now as the final boarding announcement was made. She waved goodbye to her people. Ten hours later, they landed in Houston, Texas.
As they drove past other vehicles while on their way home from the airport, Iyin could not believe what she was seeing. It was as if she was in a new world entirely. Soon afterwards, they both got home and her aunty told her that she was going to take her to meet someone the next day.
The next day came and Iyin was soon sitting inside a very big building. She wondered why the place was so big. She also saw so many girls there too. They all gave her glaring looks as if to say she should leave the place immediately but she couldn’t understand what they meant. Aunty Vera had gone in to see a certain man named Marcus. He was the person in charge of the building. Some minutes later she came out to meet Iyin and introduced her to Mr. Marcus. She then told Iyin that she (Iyin)
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would now be living with Mr. Marcus in the building with the other girls. Iyin did not like the idea at first but when she thought about the friends she could make with the girls around, she finally consented to it. Her aunty promised to visit her twice every week and this made Iyin like the idea. Now, little did Iyin know what she had got herself into.
The building where she now lived was where all the girls who were being used for human trafficking either as prostitutes or slaves were kept.
Mr. Marcus became harder on Iyin now and forced her into prostitution. He even threatened to kill her if she failed to comply with his orders. She had no choice. She thought about her life once more. How can people be so cruel? She hated her aunty very much now. Mind you, she never came to visit or anything. Iyin was all alone at this point, in the hands of human traffickers.
A day came when one of her close friends who she had met while in the building, Abbie, came and informed her of a way for her to escape. In fact, all the girls were planning to escape from the building. They were all tired of being maltreated and forced to do things they wouldn’t have done ordinarily. It was as if they had formed a team now with Abbie and Iyin at the helm of affairs. They carefully planned their escape without letting anyone know of their plan. Iyin tagged it “The Great Escape”. Everyone was actively involved in the planning as well. They were to run away from the building to their various homes at midnight. The day came and at midnight, everyone except Mr. Marcus and the other ‘caretakers’ escaped from the building.
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After the escape, she went to live with Abbie and her parents for a while. They treated her as their own daughter and a member of the family. Iyin also loved them very much too, and would usually thank them for their kind gestures towards her. Later, Abbie’s parents bought a ticket for Iyin to fly back to Nigeria. When she finally came back, she lamented to her mum what had happened and how she was forced into prostitution. Her mum was shocked especially at the fact that her very own sister could do something like that to her. She had thought that Iyin was only going abroad to better her life and possibly their situation. She was back to square one now, except that this time she had a tale to tell everyone that cared to listen to another visa story.
The Lost City of Omar
I
(An account from John Bircham. 1747)
Nnamdi Michael NDUKA-EZE (SS1A) Third Prize: Fiction Category
t’s real! It is very real! I have just had the most engaging period of my life, I have just done the impossible, and I’ve found something which was never there.
Checking my compass, it read ninety four degrees east. I conceived the prospect of exploring the ‘Gambia’. Everyone back home in England thought it impossible for a so-called aristocrat like me to survive in the tropics, where heat burnt through the pigment of the white man’s skin and turned him dark. All these myths were too fascinating and childish for my reasoning, and I couldn’t make out the fact that my skin would suddenly turn dark, and my brain would melt leaving my head as disfigured as that of a baboon. All fascinating stories, I thought. Well, I was about to find out if they were true.
As I explored the Horizon on the top deck of my ship, I, spotting a vague area of land through a slight mist, immediately called for the captain to change navigation. “Ahoy mate”, I shouted. He did as I demanded.
As we got in view of the large mass of land I spotted over head the sail of the ship, I sighed in relief. It was only then I noticed that the waves of the sea had become tame. Unconsciously, I reached out for my handkerchief in my back pocket. I had been so adrift in thought I had been
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caught unawares by the sudden rise of the ocean’s temperature. I hurried to the bottom deck as fast as I could to check the coordinates we were at and was stunned to find out that it tallied with my map’s coordinates for the location of the Gambia. “AHOY! AHOY!” I shouted dashing towards the captain’s deck. “Stop the ship, stop the ship”. The captain immediately brought to a halt the progression of the ship. We had arrived at the Gambia.
The first thing I noticed about the Gambia was its temperature and humid air. How could they breathe? Were they really beasts with eyes on their chests and noses on their buttocks? I just couldn’t wait to find out. We emerged from the ship with all our conveniences and set up a large campsite for us to rest and lie down for the night. As I lay myself down in my tent, I pondered the possibility of being taken away in my sleep to a cave of wild beasts to be eaten or to be offered to the deities or this place in sacrifice as my books predicted, or be burnt alive. “Too much”, I soliloquized and seized my state of climaxing thoughts just in case I get disappointed. But I knew why I came there and I wouldn’t leave until I found Omar. Waking up in the morning, the crew and I were told to pack all our necessities for the day as we were going to go deep into the Gambia and might not be back until sunset. “A whole day,” I thought. Well, it would be worth it if I have some of my questions answered.
We made our way deep into the Gambia, which the guide called the ‘home of the locals’ and it was not long when we started spotting mud houses, thatched huts and….. “Humans!” I sighed with utter disappointment, having expected beasts with glowing eyes, not mere humans. But, I made a closer inspection of these creatures which looked
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at us as if we were odder than they were, and saw marks, scars and body decorations on their skins. I made my way to the tour guide and asked her what they signified. She said that they were a sign of their protection from the evil spirits that supposedly lay at the heart of the Yukasa forest. I laughed at her response, dipped my hand into my back pocket and brought out a handkerchief. “Whoff” I exclaimed.
The guide turned towards my direction and laughed as if trying to get back at me for my previous mockery of her claim of the evil spirits, and I looked back at her sternly in order to give her a cold grin. Supposedly recognizing my unpleasant response to her laughter she explained that the closeness of the Gambia to the Equator magnified the sun’s effect on its atmosphere, thereby giving it an intense, thick layer of heat.
It was getting late, but we (well not we, the guide since she understood the language of the Gambians spoke to them on our behalf) asked them our questions and she gave us their answers in English. I even had the chance to ask an elder my all-mighty question, “Was Omar real?” The elder responded in a vague form of English, which I immediately I made sense of as “very bad place, no one allowed there, only the spirits”. Immediately, he stood up and went away, never turning back as if he was being chased by something. The other tourists were angered by my question claiming that I made him walk away with my childishness. But I had seen the look of caution before and that elder had it, from my assessment. He must have believed that he had said too much to me, making him scared and disappointed, I said. I knew I was in the right
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place and no passive tourists who wanted to enjoy the African sun would have held me back. For a week we did the same thing ‘exploring the Gambia’. It was starting to get boring and we had almost covered the full-length of the Gambia based on my map. It was then that I thought of it: “What if Omar was not in the Gambia? I mean in Gambia but not in Gambia”. I was confused by my thought and did not know what to do but as I lay at the campsite I made a decision that would determine the writing of this manuscript, which I hoped would tilt the course of science and prove all doubts wrong, I was going to find Omar or die trying.
I woke up at the fifth hour of the day, with my compass and my handy bag with food items and also of course my binoculars, I broke out from the herd of snorers so called ‘aristocrats”, I thought, more like lazy pigs. I was off like lighting before anyone discovered that I was gone. By the seventh hour I was already, by the strain of my legs, a thousand kilometers aloft from the campsite - in reality probably just above a hundred. I laughed as I thought of the confusion of the pretty tour guide when she realized I was gone and how the others would have loved me to have been captured by the locals. She would have defended me because of her obvious affection for me. But I recognized the task ahead and after two more hours I stopped to feed my stomach, after which I was up again to continue my quest. I checked my pocket watch and it showed that it was the fourteenth hour of the day, I had been lost in my own folly that I had not considered the fact that I had journeyed eight hours without seeing a single soul. As I slowed down my pace I checked my compass and tried to tally it with my map. I was astonished to find out that I was supposedly not on the
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grid of Gambia, I checked again this time with more enthusiasm and found it to be true, I was nowhere and had nowhere to go. Watching the needle of my compass slowly come to a halt I realized that I had been walking for several minutes without lifting my head once. “Bad manners,” I joked.
Lifting my head, I dropped everything in my hands and opened my mouth wide. “Oh my! I’ve done it! I’ve done it”, I shouted with joy, yet in disbelief.
I had found it. I saw trees “beautiful trees”, amazing landscapes, beautiful waters, tall stone structures, seemingly thatched houses and unbelievable mountains. At that point in time I completely ignored the warnings of the elder. “For crying out loud I’m a discoverer - I had found Omar”, I thought. I knew I was lost but that wasn’t important now.
Slave
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Emmanuel Ifidon OHIOMAH (SS3C) Honourable Mention: Fiction Category
found myself within the confinement of a steel cage. The door was left open, so I decided to make a run for it, only for me to look at my feet and see that I was bound by two iron chains. “How inauspicious,” I thought as I suddenly got a faint idea of what I was; of what I had become. I was a slave.
It all started coming back. The memories were inflammatory.
My name is Bo, a sixteen year old boy who had a thing for climbing trees. I was a native of Magazulu. One morning, I was sitting on the branch of my favorite tree, admiring the beauty of the African landscape - from the drops of dew that had settled on the tiny blades of grass to the iridescent tune of the birds chirping. Everything was perfect, but the white man was averse to that.
A deafening blast that blocked my ears sounded through the entire village. I had never heard or seen anything like that in my life (the long, black, rifle guns, which I named ‘’shakamulus’’). They came in groups of two or three, some of them with torches, and the others with shakamulus, and I watched, as they set our huts ablaze. I saw my mother, screaming to the gods for help. My father was long dead. Immediately, I got down from the tree and ran towards her, but I was stopped in my
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tracks by the white man’s rope. I struggled as hard as I could to escape, but to no avail, as they dragged me to the ship. My mother’s eyes were red with tears as she watched them take away her only son. I was all she had left; she was all I had ever known.
Upon my arrival at the ship, I was surprised to find out that the white men could speak Magazi, our mother tongue. One of them loosened my ropes and ordered me to get in. “Kase,” I replied, which meant no. He got infuriated and hit me with the butt of his gun. I fell down, unconscious as they dragged my body into the ship.
I woke up later that day with a swollen forehead. I found myself within the confinement of a steel cage. The door was left open, so I decided to make a run for it, only for me to look at my feet and see that I was bound by two iron chains. I continued staring at the chains as memories of what happened earlier on were being replayed in my head. I wondered what remained of my village, of my mother. “Dust and ashes,” I said to myself, the result of the white man’s untenable actions. I was lost so deep in thought that it took me a while to realize I was not alone. We were about forty - each one of them in a cage similar to mine. It was dark and I could barely see their faces, impossible to decipher who was who. They were nothing but dark moving figures. I decided to get some sleep. The following morning our cages were still open and our ankles still locked with balls and chains to ensure we could not escape. We were given orders to go to the deck of the ship. As I climbed out of the shadows, I screamed as the harsh rays of the sun hit my eyeballs. Everything
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was too bright. The sun had become a stranger to me, after being in the dark for so long. We were in a long file, and upon our arrival on the deck, a bucket of cold water was splashed on our faces. No soap, no sponges, it was just cold freezing sea water. After that, jobs were assigned, and it didn’t go down very well; I saw my friend, Kal, at the other end of the ship. He was protesting and refusing to work, so he was tied up and thrown overboard. Death was inevitable. No other person dared to utter a word of complaint, after such a ghastly example. Now, the jobs were arduous, and we worked relentlessly, for endless hours. We didn’t have much of a choice, and to make matters worse, we were flogged as we worked. It was the recreational activity for the white man, at that time. It went on for days and days and food seldom came. It seemed like we would never get off the ship. I lost track of the number of days, weeks probably. But little did I know that everything was about to change.
Land and Sea: Small Beginnings
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Oluwatobi Adedolapo OYERO (SS3B) Honourable Mention: Fiction Category
hese days whenever I meet with customers, some of the residual morality seeps out of my system. They always warn me not to mix business with personal affairs. My comments weren’t as selfish as that and they were unable to understand. The borderline corruption of our business was the reputation we would speak of with such pride and audacity. The everyday vice I was aware of made me think deeply of a life outside this boat. It reminded me of my life, the life I had before they came. To any onlooker my humble existence was but a simple story of work and pay, not even reaching the level of mere religion. It was always the story of the farmhand whose little life he could not afford. I was younger then, and my age only served as a foundation for further insults concerning my education. I didn’t know much but I knew that what they had done to us was less than human, maybe even less than me. The ideal of the fresh recruits is a pointless excuse that they implore to escape the severity of their situation. They keep talking about hope and a plan. It was but a fortnight ago, that we had begun to plan our escape. The order of the day was that those who were too slow would be killed or left behind. We had implored Ricky to steal the jailer’s keys and liberate us after the final rounds of the guard near the door. Simplistic people make simplistic plans. Unfortunately, Ricky was a little retarded and
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nearly cost us our lives that night. Sacrificing him was no mistake but I still fear the memory of his eyes at the sight of our faces that night, how he’d broken into tears once we left him to his fate.
Some of them were older than me. It was sad to watch bearded men plan the impossible, but I felt no pity for them. All I had for them was envy, envy for their hope. Little over twenty new recruits and their childlike exuberance was almost bright. Perhaps the crippling lack of emotion on this boat has brought us to the reflective presence of gruff mates who’d seen three wars – three wars that had left individual scars on each and every one of us. I watched adolescents at their possible worst day in, day out. But there was one amongst them who had all the brazenness that came with being a captain. This lad was tough, fast and smart. He was me. Thomas, he was called. They say he came from Wales, but he got the tongue of a Brit and the temperament of an Irishman: a combination unheard of. He didn’t impress me. He was just like the others, uneducated, unhappy and hopeful. My youth was spent exclusively cleaning things whose names I didn’t know, while being yelled at by a guard or soldier. Sometimes we had guests, big shots from Spain or France mostly, offering old Maurice big money for his produce in Jamaica, but Maurice always refused, on account of his bluntness concerning the source. The lads and I were the source. Maurice didn’t like forced labour and detested slavery with every inch of his aged body, but he’d gotten so old now he couldn’t even tell when they stopped the boat, especially when they got some of us. Before they would go hunting, they would put Maurice on some medication that knocked him out for hours. The day we’d caught wind of this cycle, old Maurice was knocked out for three weeks.
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Casual revenge was in order and we could have used the exercise. Just off the coast of the Mediterranean, Thomas had beaten us to the punch and he was going to regret it. ‘Slacker’, as we called him, was the man behind the whole operation. He hated the poor, but he wasn’t a bad guy. The plan was to poison the water supply and replace the reserves with the saltier substitute. Once the head count had gotten low enough, ‘he’d caught on. His name was Officer Brown and he was the slimiest snake I’d laid my eyes upon, he controlled the boat from the inside, keeping Maurice clueless. Thomas would have given anything that day we cast anchor. Land! It had greeted us with an unfamiliar taste of freedom, but just a taste. Thomas was the only one let out of the boat. We would have preferred to join him, but the chains were extra tight today and the air was misty and cold. Rain would soon come and Brown wasn’t interested in wasting any time. Thomas got off, and then they started. They brought out the gold we had stored in the brig, quite a large enough quantity if I might add. Then they started melting it and I could already hear Thomas sneezing. Wet and tired, half of us retired to the prison, at least the half that was linked to me and that’s when I heard Thomas. He screamed a scream a man only screams when death pinches him. We came outside to see sentries pouring hot gold on his hands and feet, binding him to the soil of the island. When all but one of them had gotten back on in quite a haste; the last one whistled long and loud, so loud I’m sure they could hear it in York town. The last one joins us and that’s when I saw the largest, meanest looking men-shaped monsters I’d ever seen. They started ripping him apart shouting with pain whenever they touched the hot gold; I saw Thomas cry blood when one of
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them started raping him. After they had mauled and devoured Thomas, we cast off again on our way to England.
Brown had relished the death of Thomas, and had done so even more after Maurice passed away. He’s been in charge for three months now and labour has never been lower. Some of us still remember that day. Many kill themselves just to destroy the memory. I can’t blame them really, I’d had the same dream for six months and I still saw me in that boy. The next day, the situation worsened as Brown had chosen to address us. He told us that what he did was right and it was his job, but I could tell he was scared too, maybe even more than us. Two days later, Brown killed himself and we were stranded, but maybe this is what we needed. Maybe this was our hope.
Undefeated Chukwuemeka Anthony CHUKWU (SS3A) Second Prize: Visual Arts (Senior Category)
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A Summer Like Never
H
Onyekachi Sammy UWAZURUONYE-ANYANWU (SS3A)
ave you ever wondered what it’s like to be in a plane that is about to crash, moving left and right in mid-air, not knowing what is going to happen next, your heart literally in your mouth? How did I find myself in this situation, you may ask? On the day of the last exam, we had Civic Education and Computer. This didn’t bother me. It wasn’t my problem. I knew what awaited me the next day. I was so excited and I had already packed my bags because I knew my summer was going to be blissful. Little did I know what I was heading for. The next day, my exams, the last two subjects after a dreadful week of facing the others. I didn’t expect to do well because I hadn’t prepared well for them. The questions came and to my surprise it was unproblematic. It was the same for the final subject. That was easy too.
After these, my colleagues ran out to play football, booking sets here and there, hustling for space so they could play. I observed and didn’t participate. This was very unusual. After watching all kinds of matches, the useless goals that where being scored and other events happening around me, it finally hit three-twenty. My driver, as usual, came late. I arrived home at an unusual time and threw my bag somewhere. I threw my school uniform on the floor and sat to watch my normal Friday TV episodes. As time was counting down I checked my bags over and over
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again for fear that I was forgetting something. Finally the long wait was over, Saturday finally came.
I headed for the airport, took all my belongings and arrived there just on time. The custom and police officers there were curt and unfriendly. This didn’t bother me. I entered the airport, checked in my bags; I only had two on me plus my hand luggage making it three. I was given my ticket number and realised that I was in the economy class as usual. A bell sounded signifying it was time for my flight, and I boarded the plane. Everyone took their seats; the flight attendants double-checked everyone, making sure we were safe for takeoff. It took thirteen hours to get to my destination and it surely wasn’t worth the wait. Airplane food was bad, and the toilet wasn’t a pleasant place to go to. After thirteen hours of being in the air and in the same sitting position, the plane landed and this is where it all began. I got my hand luggage and the flight attendants were there to assist you. I wondered about how one could be trained to be so nice and friendly all the time. I left the plane and got to the baggage claim section. The bags were there waiting to be picked up by their owners. I didn’t notice that I had waited for about thirty minutes and my luggage weren’t in sight. I wondered whether it didn’t arrive or whether another individual had picked them up. I was frightened because a lot of things were going through my head. But what could have gone wrong? The day wasn’t getting any better for me. I approached an officer because I felt that they would be more educated and better trained than the ones in Nigeria. He was a tall, black, man with tattoos on his body. To my surprise he wasn’t of any help. I didn’t know who else to turn to or what to do. I was suddenly like a fish
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out of water. I swallowed the pain of having lost two luggages and all the other discomfort I had endured so far, and left the airport. I had earlier booked my stay in a hotel, and finding it was not the problem. But getting there was. The money I had brought to take care of myself was no longer with me. Eighty percent of it was in my luggage and I wasn’t going to spend the remaining money on getting there. The day got worse when rain started to fall. I was lonely and wet. It took me some time to get to the hotel but I made it. The hotel was everything I expected. It was a five star hotel so I was comfortable. I had dinner later that day and it was delicious. The day was starting to get better and better. There is nothing really to talk about in the place I went to. It was the journey. Coming to the place and going back home was what made the difference. I stayed for only two weeks and came back. My return journey was a story I will never forget.
On the last day, I packed up my only bag which I had with me. I still hadn’t received any information from the airport after several calls I had made, but I’d stopped being bothered. I was able to get a taxi to take me to the airport from the little money I had left. I arrived at the airport very late, and the sky was pitch black. The only sources of light were the street lights. I usually preferred morning flights to evening flights but this time was different; I had no choice. It was the only available flight to Nigeria at that time. I did the normal routine in the airport, checking in my bag, security checks, and waiting for the flight. It didn’t take much time and I finally found myself on the plane. This plane was different, I had this feeling that something was not right but I said to myself “what do I know”. It took faster than usual to get on the plane and you could feel that something was not right. I took my
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seat, strapped my seatbelt and prayed, because I knew that if that plane went down, I knew where I was going. I put all these behind me and we were ready for takeoff.
We had been mid-air for just a few minutes when I heard the buzzer which signified that something was wrong. It was the first time I ever saw the oxygen masks come down. The plane wasn’t steady at all and I knew it was all over. We were shouting and screaming and the attendants were trying to calm us down. I just sank into my seat and thought about my life. This wasn’t a good feeling. A family of five were just behind me and I heard them praying. I decided that the best option was just to fall asleep and take whatever comes.
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Lagos Market
Osemedua IWELUMO (SS2B)
he odour of raw meat wafts through the air as the butcher sets to work on the recently killed cow taken from the abattoir. Flies perch on different kinds of fruit, unnoticed by the market women who are too busy negotiating with potential buyers. The women are haggling here and there, while a young girl runs to the stall with a fresh batch of tomatoes and peppers. Men are fixing the tents while others are mending the covers. The ground is littered with decayed food, including various animal parts with rodents scurrying around. The putrid smell is ignored by most, for it is just another day in the hustle and bustle of the Lagos market.
Survivor Jesse Chinwekene OKORAFOR (SS3C) The crash came with a force so surprising that I thought that we were hit by a military tank. It is not every day that you find your life hanging on by a thread. One moment everyone was all “merry merry” all the way round, the next moment, you are the only survivor of a bloodbath that lasted about forty-five seconds. Right now, I’m in a worse state than a madman’s and it’s all because I wanted to visit my uncle.
As usual, a transit motor park is as rowdy as a market; passengers going into their buses, potential passengers buying their tickets, a preacher somewhere begging people to repent and so on. I went over to a hawker and bought two packs of gala and two bottles of drink before going to buy my ticket. My mum came up to me and said: “Ekene, I’m going home.”
“Bye. And tell Imi not to worry. I’ll be back by the weekend.”
“Remember what I said. As you are boarding the bus now, stop playing music and pray. In everything give God his share first, and then make sure you have enough battery power.” “Ok.”
We hugged and she prayed for me. We walked slowly to the car, as if we were at a burial. Then we exchanged goodbyes and she left. I didn’t
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want to travel but I had to. Since I finished my WAEC exams, I had been a nuisance at home. So when my Uncle Kela asked me to come to Port Harcourt to stay for some weeks, I gladly accepted, but my sixth sense kept on tingling.
I walked slowly to the counter and bought a ticket. My bus number was two-three-nine-zero, seat number seven. I walked to my bus and boarded it. As I entered, I noticed some pretty interesting people. A man sat at the back seat, wearing a buba and sokoto and carrying a woollen bag. There was an Arabic inscription over the bag and the mere sight of it made me think of Boko Haram. A fat man sat directly in front of him, with a briefcase which I presumed contained money. I noticed he paid for two seats (8 and 9) probably because of his large body mass. I found my seat and sat down, said a quick prayer before I started playing music. I was using earphones so that I wouldn’t get distracted. Gradually the bus began to fill up and I recognized someone in the crowd, Lami, an old school friend of mine. “Lami!”
“Jesse!”
“What’s up now, are you travelling too?” “Yes, I’m going to PH.”
“Me too. Lagos isn’t banging.”
“I swear. I am going to see a friend of mine.” “Me, I am going to stay with an uncle.” “But I didn’t ask you.”
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I punched him in the chest and he started smiling. He boarded the bus and went to his seat. I just kept on listening to my songs. The driver started the engine and ten minutes later, we were out of the park. A man (a pastor apparently) told us all to bow our heads and we prayed. Immediately after the prayer, my music player started playing “Alright” by Kendrick Lamar, which was one of my favourite songs, so I became engrossed. After the song however, a stale song came on so I dozed off.
When the bus was close to Benin City, I woke up. By this time Lami was asleep so I didn’t bother to wake him up to gist with him. I just continued listening to my songs. About fifteen minutes later, I switched off my phone and continued staring. At about the same time, the driver announced that we would be going through a shortcut, I didn’t mind as long as I got to my destination safely. We were now in an under-developed region and, as I suspected, my phone had no signal. I just kept on staring and I was lost between the dreamland and reality until I heard a loud bang. The bus skidded along the clay road and everywhere was in pandemonium.
Unfortunately for us, it had just finished raining and so the driver had no control of the brakes. The next thing I knew, the bus started flipping like it was a Ferris wheel. Blood and body parts were thrown about the bus like in a blender and deafening screams hit my ears. It lasted for approximately twenty three seconds but it felt like three minutes when it was all over, I didn’t even know I wasn’t injured, I thought I was mutilated so I made no effort to move. After like two minutes, I moved a bit and found out that I had sustained no major injuries.
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In the accident, the door of the bus was thrown open, and as I was close to the door, I tried to jerk myself out of the bus. It was not successful on the first three tries, but on the fourth I made it out. My legs felt like they had been smashed by a rock. I stretched my legs and then I hit some people in the bus to see if they were alive or maybe just sleeping.
I checked if I could find a phone and call for help, but as far as I could see, there was no sign of civilisation. I didn’t find any phone but in the process of looking for the phone, I saw quite scary injuries. I even forgot about Lami up until that point. Apparently, his head was broken and on his left leg was a deep gash.
The man that looked like a terrorist at the back was missing his left arm which I think was stuck out the window during the time of the accident. When I stopped my search for a phone, I was deeply grateful to God for preserving my life. I looked around for an electric pole; I found none. I checked for telecommunications towers, I found none. I walked a few metres up the road and back; still I saw nothing. Just green and green for miles all round. I walked back to the scene of the accident and sat down. Reality sank in: I was going to die.
The Lie
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Otse John Philip ATTAH (JS3B)
t all started on a Monday. I was going back home from school, I was thinking of how to deal with this repugnant report. I was petrified to the point that a small breeze scared me out of my wits. I concluded finally that I will hide my report and say that my teachers were still correcting it. With that thought in mind, that’s how it all began. After that day I resolved that every time I got my report I shall lie about it. Since then I stopped being serious in my studies and became playful. Around the Junior WAEC period I still didn’t read for my exams thinking that I will probably lie about it. Unknown to me, it was normally printed and pasted on the notice board.
As expected, I failed, but I was flabbergasted that it was pasted on the notice board and I was panicky about what to do. To make matters worse, when I got home my parents asked me about my score, I replied with my usual answer.
But this time they said, “You always say that they are correcting your report, tomorrow me and your father are coming to your school to see all your reports.’’ As I objected they told me to shut my mouth and I was sent to bed early.
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That same night I was trembling so much you think I had a cold. I concluded after racking my brain that I shall burn the results by sneaking into school by midnight.
As the clock struck 12, I swiftly and quietly took my lighter, some matches and my school bag. I quietly sneaked out of my house. As I got near my school, I started hearing loud voices and when I peeped I saw the gateman holding a bundle of money in his hand and some armed robbers arguing with him. Apparently, the gateman had been doing drug deals and had no more drugs. As I tried to hear more I felt a hand touch my shoulder and as I turned around something hit me in the face, as my consciousness was slipping away I saw a dark figure loom over me.
When I woke up I was inside a darkroom tied up to a chair. As I was panicking on what to do, the door opened and a man with a fierce axe came in. Immediately I saw him I thought enough was enough. I dared him to come nearer. As I did that, he got angry and hit my legs with a plank. I fell and lost consciousness. Some hours later I heard gunshots, I then struggled out of the chair, crawling towards the door. While they were fighting, I got outside I saw my parents. “Why did I lie?” I thought. “And what happens now?”
The Stolen Toys
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Chimere IKOKU (JS2C)
n the Wild Kingdom, a baby elephant was born into the family of the Sophia’s. The happy couple built a house for this baby elephant. They decided to call the new addition, Baby Sophia, just like the Tweets had named theirs, Baby Tweet. The birth of the elephant brought more trouble to the Wild Kingdom because the Giffy Barcas were jealous again. This time, the domestic animals decided to tell the King Dog. But the King Dog ordered that they should not harm any wild animal.
“In the Wild Kingdom, there are lions, wolves, bears, sharks, whales, foxes, tigers, jackals, bulls, tigers, boars, snakes, baboons, monkeys, gorillas, spider monkeys, buffalos, crocodiles, ostriches, eagles, cheetahs, elephants, hyenas. And you know they are stronger than us,” said the king Dog. The animals left in anger and began making plans to overthrow their king. But the king had many domestic guards who were stronger than all the animals involved in the plan. The angry animals decided to focus on the plan of attacking the wild animals. Some of the puppy dogs joined the plan. The King Dog and the Queen Dog called them black sheep.
They hatched a plan. Instead of harming any animal in the Wild Kingdom, they decided to steal their toys. So the domestic animals sneaked into
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Woody Kingdom at 12.00pm woody time. The next day, the wild animals found out that all their babies were crying. So the parents asked the children what had happened to them. They replied: “All our best toys have been stolen.” The Tweets reported this to the King lion.
He shook his golden brown mane and roared. “Who could have done this?” “We do not know,” replied the elephants. Baby Tweet cried. Baby Sophia cried too.
“Have any of you had any quarrel with the domestic animals?” The Tweets shook their heads.
Then the king said it must be the animals in the domestic kingdom. So they all left for Giffy Kingdom.
King Lion asked the King Dog if they had stolen anything from their kingdom. The king had nothing to say for himself and his people so he kept quiet. Then he remembered that his people had many toys, so he called them for a special assembly. “Who stole toys from the Wild Kingdom?” the King Dog asked.
Mr. Goat who had not been in support of the plan pointed out the animals behind the stolen toys. There were the cow, the horse and the antelope. The other animals who were involved were saved because they repented, confessing their wrongdoings before their king. The cow, the horse and the antelope were banned from the domestic kingdom.
POETRY
The Bond Stephen Adeoluwa Oluwamidara ADEDOYIN-ADEDIPE (SS3C) Third Prize: Visual Arts (Senior Category)
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The Art of Why Anthony Ifechukwude AZEKWOH (SS3C) First Prize Winner: Poetry Category
We fight over things like power and race We step on others just to get to a higher place We struggle for things that’ll never last We yearn for pleasure that ends so fast But why? We look for peace in places that bring war
We have so much yet always want more We crave for things that won’t heal our souls We still disguise them and call them “Life Goals” But why? We steal, we curse and we also lie We waste our time yet wonder why life passes us by We have lost the true meaning of happiness, peace and love We have become weak yet we don’t seek help from Above But why? We have caused ourselves and others pain and sorrow We have acquired so much, yet feel so hollow We look for happiness in places that’ll never bring it
We find ourselves in a play called ‘Ignorance’ and we’re looking for where to sit
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But why? We act the way we do That much is true But have you ever looked up to the sky And asked yourself, Why?
All is Fair Oluwatobi Adedolapo OYERO (SS3B) Second Prize Winner: Poetry Category
To dream of death And fight for rest, Our injured hands Have claimed this land. We are sentries of a cause
We fight today because of loss, As men we do not cry We were born to live and die. Bullets wake us early morn Common battle of the torn, Betrayal is fear’s reverse Courage fails hopeful nerves. I dream only to survive Pleasure is for those who hide, My family is not my own Lacking mind, dying soul.
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I fear this is the only way Who are we to choose our fates? My hands designed to handle arms Tipping them off from afar. The days I used to have a voice When children had a choice, We will dream in black and white
For home to come and end the night.
Material Wealth Olasubomi Kehinde OWOYELE (SS2A) Third Prize Winner: Poetry Category
Show me the nudity of your false possessions. Shower my needs with your rusty pearls Let me fall into your Greying light-in a reality of infinite pleasurewiping off my pre-existence.
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Problems Nnamdi Michael NDUKA-EZE (SS1A) Honourable Mention: Poetry Category
Its name spells its task. To create troubles to fill your heart. Its treasure is a heavy burden. It’s brave enough not to wear a mask. It does not sleep in the light nor does it rest by night. Every hour of the day it knocks, hoping to hear a response. No test can prepare, No teacher can teach. The lesson of problems.
It preys on no flock, as every is its meal. Do not question a problem, It is a problem on its own.
Accept it and move on plan your strategy, prepare for the war, do not rest on your oars. For the ready are always alert, But the steady always ready.
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Le Vrai Valentine Chukwuebuka Patrick EZEKOBE (SS2B) Honourable Mention: Poetry Category
Le Vrai Valentine Red velvet roses, Petals sprayed across the wooden floor, White roses as white as snow, Only one day has such beautiful qualities, Don’t you know? It’s Valentine’s Day!!
What is Valentine’s Day? I ask myself, Is it just day with such a love so strong it couldn’t be reckoned with, Is it really? No I say, it is not a day of love or charity, It is the day in celebration of a saint, Who sent a message like none other, Love! I tell you, Love is not just a crush on someone or an emotion, Love is expressed in every step we take each day,
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On this world I call a pitch black canvas, We are painted in so vividly. We show love: When we help a lady across the street, When we help the poor lad with some meat, When we make generous donations without a hint,
All this done is not enough until you end it with humility, Humility in itself reflects pride, Not by oneself but by the way others see you. Yet again I drown in my own words, And hope to make to make it too shore with more enmity than ever, And pour my words into you till it sinks in, Or you drown thinking.
See You Again Onyekachi Sammy UWAZURUONYE-ANYANWU (SS3A) Honourable Mention: Poetry Category
When will I ever see you again I have suffered and bore the pains Your absence has been like a cross I wouldn’t carry I waited and hoped we would someday get married Your voice echoes in my head
Thinking one day you would be in my bed They say time waits for no one But In my mind I knew you were the one In my dreams you appear Feels like this can’t be repaired When will I see you again When will I ever see you again.
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Abandoned McCarthy Efeziono ELUTABE (SS2C) You’re alone now; you’re scared something will happen That no one knows but you alone and no one also cares Now fear comes to you in another form, different from what you experienced in life so far And now you know what it really feels like, when you left them alone You need more time with them; you’re family and those who really cared But you can’t just buy time neither can you reverse the world You’ve neither bought their love nor trust Now they won’t be around you on your white bed
As fearless as a pack of foxes at midnight, you were Now no one cares when you fall when the only thing you ever did was kill, eat and take Like breathing in and never breathing out, not giving but taking And so they left because they haven’t really gained anything from you
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Those who were around you, like your brothers and sisters weren’t Where are they now that you’re here? They’ve all forgotten you, but you’ve not forgotten them and now it hurts you But they didn’t betray you; it’s you that have betrayed yourself And now you lie there alone because of yourself Because thou had rejected loved ones and have chosen friends and money over family Now thou is regretting and waiting for death With no one by his side
The Science Student Jesutofunmi KUPOLUYI (SS3B) I am a science student But not your typical physics fluent, Averse to amusement, Lover of Newton Genius, I am a science student, But not your stereotypical nerd, Against all things mythical, Hypercritical yet hardly ever original, Because though analytical, TK’s always been lyrical With every ink stain, I demonstrate poetry at it’s pinnacle Dream-killers can’t help but be pained, Who said the next greatest thing can’t be an African miracle Incredible, as I put pen to paper, I see a nation stand up and defy its critics Observer by observer we’re setting new limits, And each tribe’s in the credits, ‘We made it’, A redefined Giant of Africa we created, Against heresies dressed like prophesies, We stood up, To a united Nigeria, we pledged and we rose up,
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Our enemies, we choked up, We called for our girls and they showed up, The thieves owned up, And our plight that was our light, well it took off. I am science student But if my lines can cause my people to line up, I’ll keep writing, till the great examiner tells me it’s time up.
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Destiny Abdullah Olamilekan AJANI-LAWAL (JS2B) What is Destiny? Destiny is a predetermined course of events It cannot be decided Neither can it be written or told Destiny is entirely beyond a person’s control What is going to happen tomorrow? Destiny!
What is going to happen next week? Destiny!! What is going to happen many years to come? Destiny!!! Nobody knows the future And life is crazy Destiny is good or bad But we can shape our destiny into a good one Not a bad one
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Waking Up Toluwanimi Peter AJIBOLA (JS1A) Waking up in the morning; I am still sleepy. Waking up in the morning; I go to the bathroom speedily. Waking up in the morning; I go to brush my teeth with my brush. Waking up in the morning; I wear my clothes in a rush. Waking up in the morning; I get into the school bus. Waking up in the morning; I’m going to school without a fuss!
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After the Rain Jesse Chinwekene OKORAFOR (SS3C) Feeling my life could go as I please Remembering good old memories Yes, they last. I sat down and thought how all my grades could be E’s how my friends could all pass and I would reseat.
I must not read in vain, fill my mind with useful info I shall not subscribe to my bane I must shine after the rain.
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Individuality David Oluwanifemi AMUSAN (SS2B) Everyone has their own path to take, Whether they become superstars or models, Doctors or surgeons, judges or lawyers, Imposing decisions on others, is not your place Advice, don’t force to comply,
Something parents do is teach you how not to be you, So don’t let anyone control your future, Be your own man and live without regrets, That you fulfilled your dreams and ambitions, And you became the person you envisioned.
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Darkness and Fear Olorunfemi Anuoluwapo KOLAPO (SS3C) White Black Red and Blue The colors I see The colors that torment me. I close my eyes and I see darkness Darkness unlike that of the night Just darkness. Darkness and fear Fear unlike never before Fear of the darkness that consumes me And what is in it.
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Timely Friends Durodoluwa Timothy AJIDAGBA (SS1A) We live in a world where Time is like a blink of an eye Where friends of yesterday are like a time past Those moments we had that felt like a blast Are now our faded memories Friends of true Are those we grew with From our yesterday till today At times of sorrow They comfort us-strong for tomorrow What a beautiful bawcock they are Fake friends Are those who slowly tick away with time They bring us no gain but often pain They wile away our day And hate when we are gay We always wander if they are worth being called friends Oh ducky Would time draw us apart Or grow us into an everlasting bond
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Melody Oluwatobiloba David ALAOFIN (JS3A) First Prize: Visual Arts (Junior Category)
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ESSAYS
Class Thought Oluwafikunayomi Oluwadurotimi OLAGBAMI (JS3A) Second Prize: Visual Arts (Junior Category)
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Deforestation
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Jesse Chinwekene OKORAFOR (SS3C) First Prize Winner: Essay Category
forest is a collection of plants, mostly trees. Forests are very useful as they are involved in almost every natural cycle or proc ess like the water cycle, global warming, and so on. Forests contain plants whose leaves are the sites of photosynthesis – a natural process that produces starch and oxygen. Forests also contain resources which are used to produce bio fuel-a renewable source of energy. These are just few ways through which forests contribute to the well being of life on our planet, but sadly we are losing these beautiful resources due to deforestation. Deforestation is basically the destruction of trees with no intention of replanting them. Deforestation is a deadly evil that needs to be stopped quickly. “About thirty percent of the world’s land area comprises of forests and a further twenty two percent are found in tropical regions”, says The World Resources Institute. The bad thing is that even though such a small ratio of the world’s total land area comprises of forests, they are still being lost at an alarming rate of eighteen million hectares per year! At that rate, The World resources Institute predicts that we would lose all our remaining forests within a few hundred years. Agriculture is a major cause of deforestation. Due to the overwhelming demand for food and the inadequate land space to provide it, farmers cut down large acres of forests to provide space for cultivating crops
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and livestock grazing. Logging is another major cause of deforestation. Most materials we use daily are produced from wood and the industries that produce such materials require a constant supply of wood. Therefore, these industries (most of them acting illegally) cut down large areas of the forest to provide the wood they need.
The first and foremost effect of deforestation is the loss of habitats of many plants and animals. About seventy percent of the earth’s plants and animals live in forests but due to deforestation we are losing an increasing number of wildlife. Most of these plants and animals have just been discovered by man and these plants and animals are facing extinction already. Global warming and the greenhouse effect are sped up by deforestation. Plants use carbon dioxide (a greenhouse gas) to produce their food. This gas is emitted daily through processes like combustion, respiration, decomposition and so on. By cutting down trees we remove the only user of the carbon dioxide we emit. We obviously cannot stop using wood until more suitable alternatives are found. Therefore, the best way to reduce the rate of deforestation is by providing and enforcing strict legislation against it. Afforestation must also be encouraged to replace the forests we have already cut down.
Deforestation is a global evil, destroying useful resources at an increasing rate. The usefulness of the forest was shown through the production of vincristine and vinblastine, to drugs used in the treatment of leukaemia. They were produced from a wild periwinkle found in the forests of Madagascar. If deforestation continues at this rate, in the next few hundred years, we would not have a quarter of our current number of forests remaining.
Why Students Fail External Examinations
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Chukwuka Emmanuel OMENE (SS3C) Second Prize Winner: Essay Category
henever we hear about mass failure of students in West Afri can Examination Council (WAEC) or any other external ex amination, our fingers always point to the students as the ones who are to blame. But this is only true in part. Students are not always at fault and there are many reasons why students fail and underperform in external examinations. The first people that play a role in the failure of students are the students themselves. The 21st century students are mostly about gadgets, movies and social media. There are many distractions teenagers face and most students succumb to these distractions rather than becoming masters of these distractions. Many students place sports, social media, television, video games and surfing the internet above their studies. A student that is distracted and hardly studies will find it difficult to do well in his Continuous Assessments and internal school examinations. Such a student, struggling even in his academics will find it very difficult to excel in external examinations if he doesn’t step up his preparations. Students that excel in academic work may also end up underperforming or even failing because they did not adhere to the instructions of the examination thereby making very costly mistakes. Any little mistake proves very costly as there is little difference in marks in the hierarchy of grades. A way to curb failure in examination on the part of
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students is for parents to monitor what their children do on the internet and on their phones. Parents can also keep their children’s gadgets during the school session and also try not to put television sets in their children’s rooms. Teachers in school should also emphasise the need for students to adhere strictly to examination instructions and mark students based on the external examination marking guide to reduce their errors.
Parents also play a role in the failure of students in external examinations. Some parents are negligent towards the duty of monitoring their children’s academic development. Some parents just pay their children’s school fees and never show concern towards what they actually do in school. This may be because they just do not bother or because they arrive home late from work. This lack of concern gives their children the choice of either being serious with their studies or not. As children often make the wrong decisions without proper guidance, the child may become nonchalant towards his studies. Parents should be interested in their children’s studies by attending open day events in their children’s school and employing lesson teachers to help coach weaker students. The school can also create a platform where parents can check on their children’s homework and scores so that they can find out if they have done them or not. Some parents may be unable to provide their children’s school fees because of financial hardship. As a result, they pay their children’s school fees late or not at all and their children miss a lot of school weeks, which they find hard to catch with. A solution to this is that government should make education in federal schools free up to tertiary level. Teachers also contribute to the failure of students in external examinations. Some teachers are not qualified to teach particular subjects and
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have fake qualifications. These teachers will not have the knowledge that trained teachers have and this is to the detriment of the students. Such a teacher may never cover a topic comprehensively and the students may fail questions in external examinations because they were not taught those aspects in the subject. A solution to this is that the school must be very thorough in their screening process of teachers and should always run a background check on them. Some teachers may also not be very dedicated because of their low salaries and sometimes because they are being owed several months’ worth of pay. Such teachers are not in the right frame of mind to teach as they are constantly worrying about how they would take care of their families’ needs. This is common to teachers in federal and public schools. A solution to this is that government should have a budget for the proper allocation of funds so that they will be able to pay salaries. Government should also increase the salaries of teachers yearly as well as provide other incentives for career development. The last contributor to the failure of students in external examination is the school. The school may not have necessary facilities such as laboratories and computer rooms where students can learn practical aspects of various subjects. This leaves the students handicapped when it comes to practical aspect of the external examinations. The school may also be unsuitable for learning; the classrooms may be too small, overcrowded and poorly ventilated. Solutions to these are that the school can raise funds to improve facilities and upgrade their structures with the aid of the government and alumni associations. In the aspect of practical work, the school can collaborate with other schools equipped with better facilities, to teach their own students. Schools should not employ unqualified teachers who have fake documents; they should
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screen their prospective teachers extensively and always crosscheck their documents before employing them. The school should ensure periodic training and re-training of teachers in order to keep them at the cutting edge of their profession. The massive failure of students in external examinations can be curbed with the concerted effort of students, parents, teachers, schools and government, not forgetting God’s help as well.
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The Battle of Life: Today or Tomorrow?
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Nnamdi Michael NDUKA-EZE (SS1A) Third Prize Winner: Essay Category
orrying doesn’t stop tomorrow of its troubles; rather it de nies today of its joys. Tomorrow is a battle unknown, a fist unclenched, a child unborn, yet we already seem to decipher how this ‘child’ will look. Do not worry about the test tomorrow. Instead, worry about what you can and will do to prepare for that test. Tomorrow is a dangerous ball game and one must be ready to ‘play ball’, but even at that, if one doesn’t see the ball how can one kick it? There is a saying: “Tomorrow’s pregnancy surpasses that of today”. Imagine if when your mother was pregnant with you, she was preparing for the pregnancy of the next child and not focusing on giving birth to a healthy you. When I wake up in the morning it is hard not to think of how the day would divulge itself, that is different from being in a day filled with commotion, thinking of the outcomes of the next day instead of providing technical solutions to the solving of the days problems.
In certain circumstances, tomorrow seems to be the light at the end of a very dark tunnel, which we look to it as the only hope of getting past the problems of the present day. Yes at some stages in life, tomorrow seems the best alternative for a troubled today. Well if that is the case, then that is a simple way of describing escapism. Escapism is a way of
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finding an easy route out of the troubles of today by involving oneself in imaginary pretence. If there was an easy way out then the inventor of the electrical light bulb, Thomas Alva Edison, would not have tried the arduous one thousand ways before arriving at a device we enjoy as the light bulb today. If there was an easy way out, all the black brothers would not have given their lives for the freedom struggle which affected the world as a whole. If it was so easy, then our nationalists would not have needed to fight for our freedom, for a so called better tomorrow. A common yet lazy term people use while kicking back on the couch is that “tomorrow will bear more fruits”. How can tomorrow bear fruits when you have not planted the seed for the fruits to grow. The troubles of today are enormous but the troubles of tomorrow, if one does not act efficiently on the ones of today would be even more enormous.
Looking back at the days I have spent so far on this earth, I know that I have and always will hope for a better tomorrow. But how can tomorrow be better if we don’t try to make it better? How can tomorrow’s bagpack be any lighter if we first do not empty today’s bagpack? As a student, do you put the books for tomorrow in your bag before removing the books of today? In the same way we should not put the troubles of tomorrow ahead of the struggles of today.
There is a battle to be fought every day. You fail a test you thought you were ready for. You miss the school bus and hence come late to school. Or, in the case of adults, you get late to work and are given a sanction never to do such again despite being your first time. But at the end of the day, the day will pass on and its problems will pass on with it.
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So turn now then to the lively troubles of today before the ones of tomorrow are born. Defeat the problems of today before tomorrow’s problems grow legs to walk. If you make today your tomorrow then when tomorrow comes you will be ahead on points. Every battle requires a victory and a loss to give it the name ‘battle’. As we well know, when we lose the battle of the day we feel within us a weakness. It is in that weakness that we can find the strength to go on and win the battle of the day in order to win the war of tomorrow.
Isn’t a battle more important than the war? Doesn’t one use each battle, each loss, each defeat, to prepare for the war? If one, on the battlefield is absent-minded, thinking about getting to the war instead of getting past the battle, won’t he or she be swept with the ruins of the battle?
The battle of today is unparalleled with the war of tomorrow, but if you rest on the oars of today, you will be caught out on the blade of tomorrow. Each day is a page of the book you’re writing, every step, action, thought, second, minute, hour and experience all make a single page of your book and you cannot turn to the next page if you have not written the present page.
So now which is more important the battle of today or the war of tomorrow?
Unravelling Humanity
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Anthony Ifechukwude AZEKWOH (SS3C)
n January 1st, 2000 — 15 years ago — humanity was ushered into a new phase in its existence. We had just entered a new millennia, a new century, a new age. And we fooled ourselves, literally, into thinking that somehow, through some way, we would be different this time. We told ourselves that the past we left behind etched in bloodshed and tears was now far behind us. But here we find ourselves making the same mistakes we made thousands of times in just as many years. When will we learn?
See, don’t get me wrong. We’ve accomplished a lot over all these years. We spread out, settled into communities, built towers that could almost reach the sky, we even sent a man to the moon, But at what cost? For every single accomplishment, we earn two failures that caused lives. So, was it worth it? Does the end justify the means?
From the time of the first weapon that was ever created, we find humanity digging a hole for itself, a hole that would later be filled with the blood, the tears and the screams of the lives that we had taken. Humanity was aware of this, and the 21st century was supposed to be a clean slate for us, a chance to climb out of our very deep hole, and go into the light, to finally put the past behind us. But it never lasted. And not to long after, humanity was digging an even bigger hole, one with twice as many lives.
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Let’s take a look around, even in our own Nigeria. How many lives have been lost? How many families have been torn apart? Can I even begin to name our many tragedies, The Chibok girls, the bombings, and our incompetent government just to name a few. Now let’s go south towards South Africa where xenophobia seems to have taken root, imagine, a human taking another’s life simply because he did not come from the same country. That’s enough of Africa, why don’t we go to the far west of the globe, the infamous stolen country of America, a country literally based on the suffering of human beings. Over here we find a latent racism that has been hidden for so long but is now becoming visible. So all together what do we have? Kidnappings, murder, and racism, the list goes on. But tell me something; are these crimes against our own kind new? No they aren’t, these are the same crimes that have been committed centuries over.
So in a nutshell, humanity hasn’t changed. Why, you ask? This is because the minds of mankind haven’t changed. We are still the greedy, selfish, angry monsters that we were before, bound to our own legacy, unable to escape. Then we make excuses for our atrocities; put them under labels, to make them seem less horrific. For example, let’s say that a man killed another man, for a reason unbeknownst to us. If the killer was white and the man who was killed was black, we would call it racism. But what if the man was from a different country from the killer, we would then call it xenophobia. But the fact still remains; truth is immutable, no matter what you call it. Murder is murder. It’s not the end, you know, we can still try to change, we can still try to make this world worth living, and it starts with us, you and I. We must make a stand, in the great words of Thurgood Marshall “We must ascend from fear, we must ascend from anger”. So the greatest question remains; will humanity change or better still, can we?
Darkness of the Mind
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Felix Chukwudumebi OKOLO (SS3C)
mpurity can be described as a “state of immorality or sin”. It is the weakness of the flesh, otherwise known as unchastity. It is the vice that opposes the virtue of Holy Purity. Usually, when youths of modern times hear about the topic “impurity”, they tend to shy away from discussing it, either because of insecurity or for other personal reasons.
Impurity in modern times is due to idleness. There is saying I really like, which is “Idleness is the time bomb of impurity”. Idleness is actually the time bomb of impurity counting down to explode. When one is idle, it leaves one open to the attacks from the evil one. Since that one person is idle, he easily falls into the temptation without much resistance. Most times, this temptation is to watch pornography. Pornography is the chief cause of impurity in the 21st century. Pornography leads to other evils such as lust, masturbation, etc. this temptation is now entertained by many people in order to “occupy one’s free time and give one pleasure”. When people come to me and tell me that they watch pornography, I get so uncomfortable because they say it with so much confidence and freedom. It is said by them as though they are not even thinking of turning over a new leaf. They don’t seem to want to ever change from their evil act.
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It should be made very clear that pornography diminishes the human person. A well-formed conscience should make aware to the victims of pornography that what they are doing is harmful to the human person. They should be encouraged only to use the internet only for important reasons within the day time. The internet should not be used as a place to relax because that is where and when temptations come. It should be told to them that they are taking pleasure in watching people commit sin on the internet and encouraging them by downloading and watching the videos. In other words saying, “I like what you are doing, keep it up”. It should be told to them that if they saw their mothers or sisters on their screens doing those immoral acts, will they still be happy?” The answer we usually hear is ‘no’. So, we should tell them that if they would not be happy seeing their relatives commit sin and immoral acts, why should they seek joy in seeing other people’s relatives and family doing what you despise yours to do
Teenagers of modern times don’t want to address this issue and it is really disturbing to me. No one is perfect, but life is a constant struggle. Impurity weakens the mind and the soul.
Think about it, there is always something positive to do to occupy your time with: loads of assignments, sports, video games and most importantly, prayer, and more activities to occupy your time with. So, really, no one should ever be idle. The idle mind is the devil’s workshop. We should be able to control our ever-nagging passions. We should be masters of our flesh and not allow our flesh dominate us. The body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, so let us not let anything defy it.
Bullying
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Oluwatamilore Elisha OGUNBANJO (SS3C)
ullying is the use of force, threat, or coercion to abuse, intimi date, or aggressively impose domination over others. The be haviour is often repeated and habitual. Bullying is very prevalent in secondary schools.
I can barely remember my first days in secondary school, but what I do remember are the seniors: they were ruthless. I was short, pudgy and most of all, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. This made me a target amongst the seniors who knew me. The school bus was where I was introduced to the lifestyle of being a victim of bullying. It was hard, very hard. There were good days and bad days. On a good day my food would get taken, seniors on the bus would laugh with us juniors and nobody got punched. On a bad day everyone kept their mouths shut, because if they didn’t, it wouldn’t have ended well for them. There was one time when I was given one hundred naira to buy a drink and one gala for a senior and I was asked to bring back change. The cost of a drink and one gala was one hundred and fifty naira. I bought the drink and gave it to him and he asked me “Where’s my gala and my change?” I almost cried out of fear, then he started laughing. I thought I was going to be fine and all of a sudden, I felt a sharp pain in my arm: I had just been punched. As I said, it was hard, very hard. Bullying can occur anywhere in school, but it occurs the most on the
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school bus. There was a time when I came late to the school bus and I was told to give money to all seniors or else I’d get beaten. Let’s just say I was penniless for the rest of the term. Another time I brought food to share in the bus because it was my birthday and it was mostly eaten by the seniors. There was one time when I asked the seniors why the constantly bullied me and they told me that it happened to them so I had to experience it also. Children aren’t born bullies, they become bullies due to what they are exposed to. Children who are bullied by those who are stronger, or have an advantage over them are most likely to do the same to other children weaker than they are.
Becoming a senior made me realise that bullying came very easily and if you didn’t understand what you were doing to those juniors, you might never stop. There was one time when I borrowed a pair of sports shorts from a junior and I never returned them. It never crossed my mind to give them back and I just didn’t care that much. There are many reasons why people bully others. It may stem from peer pressure. Sometimes a junior is rude and your mates start saying things that make the situation feel worse than it is. So you beat up the junior or do something embarrassing to him. But the sad part about it is that you didn’t really care but you needed to save face, so you did what you had to do. Bullying may also be as a result of being a victim of bullying. When you become a senior and you remember how you were bullied, you feel as if you’re being cheated out of the “senior experience” if you don’t bully someone. It may also be as a result of just being generally stronger than the other person. It’s like the law of the jungle: survival of the fittest, extinction of the weakest – might is always right.
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You don’t care about what you’re doing to your victim because you’re stronger and by virtue of the fact that you’re stronger, you are also right. Bullying may also be as a result of teenage hormones actually. Puberty has this strange effect on you and sometimes it makes you want to lash out. The only way to do that sometimes is to take your anger out on a junior. There are many more reasons for bullying and most times it is usually caused by a combination of these reasons.
Many victims of bullying would more than anything, love to report, but the fear of being beaten by seniors after reporting or being called a snitch causes us victims to endure the pain of bullying. If a victim tries to stand up to a bully, it hardly ever goes down well. Most times, the victim gets beaten up. Reporting a bully takes courage. Once you report a bully you’re going to become a bigger target than before. Everyone will know you as “the guy that snitched”. You might even get beaten up by a group of seniors.
Bullying keeps on happening in secondary schools because students don’t know their rights and schools have not clamped down hard enough on bullying. Consistent bullies need to be punished, but fixing the problem of bullying isn’t just about punishing the bullies. They need to be made to understand that their victims are human beings, just like they are. The victims have feelings and are being traumatised by the actions of the bullies. Victims also need to have someone to talk to about their trauma. It is embarrassing to admit that you’re being bullied to an older person. It makes you feel weak and lesser than you actually are. I believe that teachers should be trained to handle the emotional aspects of the life of students, so that students can open up more easily, so as to be able to report bullying and talk about other problems. If these actions are carried out, I believe that the problem of bullying would reduce a whole lot.
Hunter Kenechukwu Henry ONAGA (JS3B)
Third Prize: Visual Arts (Junior Category)
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APPENDIX/RESULTS
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PROSE
“The stories submitted for fiction, and for publication in The Sail, should be commended for their diversity in matters of theme and style. Ranging from the contemporary to the historical, from the realistic to the fantastic, from pieces suffused with social commitment to rollicking adventure yarns, the stories in The Sail provide us striking glimpses of what the literary voices of the future are already capable of in the present.” — Rotimi Babatunde (Prose Fiction Judge), Winner of the 2012 Caine Prize for African Writing First Prize: “Beginnings” by Anthony Ifechukwude AZEKWOH (SS3C) “A powerful story by an intelligent and sophisticated writer… The story has a remarkably complex texture for an author so young. The writer‘s maturity in imaginatively conceiving and presenting realistically complex worlds is admirable. Many older writers would wish to be able to imbue their writing with such complexity.”
Second Prize: “Another Visa Story” by David Praise EBIRINGA (SS3A) “The poise and composure of the writing is admirable.”
Third Prize: “The Lost City of Omar” by Nnamdi Michael NDUKA-EZE (SS1A) “The writer has a fertile imagination. The story is engaging, and his vocabulary is rich.”
Honourable Mentions: * “Land and Sea: Small Beginnings” by Oluwatobi Adedolapo OYERO (SS3B) *
“Slave” by Emmanuel Ifidon OHIOMAH (SS3C)
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POETRY “The ease with which poetry is styled on the page might be one of its allure. How hard could it be to punch out a few words and set them in verse?
The quality of entries for this year’s The Sail competition is impressive and the selection process was not an easy one, requiring reading and re-reading and reflecting over these poems. I must say that the gap (if it exists) between the quality of selected entries is very competitive and that all poets who submitted for this contest must not relent on the efforts: they should keep belting out poems.” —- Dami Ajayi (Poetry Judge), Author of Clinical Blues
First Prize: “The Art of Why” by Anthony Ifechukwude AZEKWOH (SS3C) Second Prize: “All is Fair” by Oluwatobi Adedolapo OYERO (SS3B)
Third Prize: “Material Wealth” by Olasubomi Kehinde OWOYELE (SS2A) Honourable Mentions: *
Problems by Nnamdi Michael NDUKA-EZE (SS1A)
*
See You Again by Onyekachi Sammy UWAZURUONYE-ANYANWU (SS3A)
*
Le Vrai Valentine by Chukwuebuka Patrick EZEKOBE (SS2B)
The Sail
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ESSAYS “All the winning entries in this category are well-deserving of the honour. Not only are the works well written and well-researched, the writers took great diligence to adhere to the best writing practices, making proud the school and the teachers who had invested in them over theyears. With this kind of skill, the sky is the limit.”
— The Editorial Board (and all other teachers in the English department who helped judge this) First Prize:
“Deforestation” by Jesse Chinwekene OKORAFOR (SS3C) Second Prize:
“Why Students Fail External Examinations” by Chukwuka Emmanuel OMENE (SS3C) Third Prize:
“The Battle of Life Tomorrow” by Anthony Ifechukwude AZEKWOH (SS1A)
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A Literary/Art Publication of the Boys of Whitesands School
VISUAL ARTS “The winning entries in each categories were selected on the basis of not just their aesthetic skill and vivid colours, but also - more importantly - on their daring and complexity. An art piece that lends itself easily to interpretation is not always the most sophisticated. In this case, weight was placed more on nuance and complexity more than mere style in imitation.” — Tunde Olaifa, Arts Teacher, Whitesands School Visual Arts: Junior Category
First Prize: “Melody” by Oluwatobiloba David ALAOFIN (JS3A)
Second Prize: “Class Thought” by Oluwafikunayomi Oluwadurotimi OLAGBAMI (JS3A) Third Prize: “Hunter” by Kenechukwu Henry ONAGA (JS3B) Visual Arts: Senior Category
First Prize: “Shattered” by Oselumense Osagie EBADAN (SS3C)
Second Prize: “Undefeated” by Chukwuemeka Anthony CHUKWU (SS3A) Third Prize: “The Bond” by Stephen Adeoluwa Oluwamidara ADEDOYINADEDIPE (SS3C)