I AM GAY?

I AM GAY?

I know it sounds awkward, but what if it is true. All those smooth sexy legs revealed from your bump shorts, and those cleavage and flat belly revealed from your crop tops, what if they do not entice my fantasy?

            Those nails that make you look like witches; make-ups that make you look like masquerades. What if I dislike them? Does it make me gay?

            Those glossy pink lips make me want to kiss, but I almost choked when I perceived that oozing odour. At first I thought we were standing close to a rest room, then I realised your mouth was open, and I could see that green leaf from an overdone vegetable soup sticking out from your canine teeth.

            I get confused each time I see you with a make-up. I wonder how beautiful you were, and how make-up can change you into a beast. I took you for a stranger after you took off your weave-on to maintain your natural hair.

            I was labelled gay because I somehow disliked things that were too artificial; I would prefer her natural hair to those attachments. I cannot remember the last time I kissed her lips without having a taste of lip-gloss.

            I am not trying to be rude, I like girls, but I like them more when they appreciate the natural way they were made, you can add little touches to that nature, but don’t make them too artificial. Why fix lashes if God adored you with them, and your skin colour could have been better if you did not bleach them.

            Seriously, I cannot be gay. By the way, what will I be doing with a fellow guy; he has everything I have. I am the kind of person that goes for things I do not have not things I already have. So do not get the wrong perception, am just trying to say my mind. No offence though.

Augustus Bill

©2014

www.tunnelz.blogspot.com

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     TUN/0012//31/07/14

I SECRETLY CRUSHED ON HER

I SECRETLY CRUSHED ON HER

She was so gorgeous and outrageously beautiful, her body curved in the right corners, and her smile parted ways for a set of white dazzling teeth and sizzling dimples. She was just a perfect creature made on the day God was not tired.

            I do admire her from afar, always dreaming of having such a beauty as a friend. I never summoned courage to walk up to her, but deep down I crushed on her.

            One fateful afternoon, I was sleeping on my 4ft 6” bed with my roommate who was feeling slightly sick. A rapt knock woke him up; he tapped me and requested that I checked the door. I woke with sleepy eyes, jumped into my shirt and made for the door. I almost concluded that it must be one of the neighbors knocking to collect something.

            I pulled the door slightly ajar, lo and behold I was blinded by the beauty I saw. My secret crush was standing before me. She greeted. Of course she wasn’t looking for me, since she barely knew I existed. She asked me of a name I wasn’t so familiar with; someone she described to be living in my hostel. I directed her to the room and she left.

            I felt so stupefied that after many months of secret crush and admiration, I was given a chance, and I couldn’t even ask her name. Though she barely knew me, I saw in her eyes this feeling; it could be the feeling of surprise meeting someone I have met somewhere or that feeling I can’t explain.

            As she left I felt like jumping into my trousers and going after her, but that would have been the most stupid thing I would have ever done.

            Opportunity they say comes but once, I just pray this opportunity repeats itself. Am not even sure of what I would do the next time, but am sure I wouldn’t leave without knowing her name.

Augustus Bill

©2014

www.tunnelz.blogspot.com

                                                                                                                          TUN/0011//29/07/14

THE JOURNEY OF A SCHOOLBOY

THE JOURNEY OF A SCHOOLBOY

Sometimes we wake up to the tragedy of what to eat. The last cup of rice had been cooked the previous night and four friends had battled over the meal for a fair share.

                The well had dried up and it had become a routine to trek 200metres to the next lodge that still had water in their well. You had to join the long queue already waiting for their turn, sometimes you have to get into fist-cuffs before getting water, not that the water is clean or drinkable, at least it serves the purpose of house chores, bath and laundry for the morning.

                All these struggles are done in just few hours, since lecture is slated for 8am. Walking down Ifite road to the bus stand, I seem to imagine that most students just like me, might be covering hunger and weariness with those starched & ironed designers clothes that adored our bodies.

                Once dressed for school, it was har4d to tell who ate or not, as everyone looks smart. Even the lady that soaked garri that morning still looks beautiful in her designers dress, flat shoes and male-up. All is packaging.

                You get to class to listen to an old weary woman tell you her life history; how many degrees she had, how their generation was better than ours, and how children of nowadays are never do-wells. She ends her lecture with a corporate begging style of asking you to buy her half baked handout or forfeit your 30 marks.

                You trek to your next lecture somewhere in the bush, where an old man would be busy looking at boobs and booties, standing ladies up just to analyze the sizes of their fronts and backs. He ends his lecture with information that his quiz is next week. Meanwhile he taught nothing but he will definitely set something for the quiz.

                You leave school without hope of food. After those boring lectures you come back to your squared house where you struggle with rats and cockroaches for right of occupancy. The most annoying thing is that these creatures don’t share your rent with you, they just squat with you and share everything that comes into the house, food, clothes, books etc. the only thing they refuse to share is that drug you kept for them to eat and die, they leave it for you untouched.

                Night comes with its comfort, not that it takes away your worries, but at least it helps you forget them for the time being. But the nights are not always empty; mosquitoes who had become unwanted night guests are usually there to wine on your poor blood.

                You wake the next morning weary and weak, you look at the clock, and it is 5am. You curse and sigh because you know the journey of a schoolboy continues…

Augustus Bill

©2014

www.tunnelz.blogspot.com

                                                                                                                                  

       TUN/0010//29/07/14

AWARDS

AWARDS

She ran from her seat to the stage with such eagerness that would earn Blessing Okagbere a gold medal in a 100metre race, she received the award and without any appreciation she sprinted back to her seat, this time she nearly tripped, as her 4ft wedge wasn’t designed for sprint races but for dinner nights and top notch events like the one she just attended.

            I usually thought awards to be given in recognition to people’s contributions in a certain field, but my thoughts are gradually been eroded by the turnout of events. The lady that ran to the stage didn’t even know why she was awarded; she just heard her name and ran the race of her life, as if the award would be given to another if she didn’t show up in seconds. It was only after she had gotten back to her seat that she read the description of her award from the plaque. Of course she must have been told earlier that she would receive an award, or maybe she even paid for it. So it was easier to understand her race to the stage to receive the award, there was no appreciation for the award, not that she knew what she would say, moreover she doesn’t even know why she was awarded.

            As I sat at my table at that award night watching people race to the stage to receive their plaque, I began to imagine the concepts I have conceived for awards. Before now, awards were mostly by nominations. Nominees knew they were nominated but they don’t know who the winner will be at the end. But these days’ awards are paid for; just pay for the plaque and you have yours. I remember receiving a call from an organization demanding that I pay money so that they can give me an award. These days’ people demand appreciation for the award given even before they give it out.

            Award has become a means of extorting money from those that have it. I recount a story of a radio station that won the best radio station in their region. At first we thought it was by merit, since the winner was chosen after a mobile voting process, but we later got to know that the staff of the station had on the final day of voting, recharged a number of mobile phones and voted for themselves continuously, each of the staff at least voted 50 times. If that was the case, how is the award a People Choice Award?

            We should either change our idea of awards by embracing transparency or we could still be enmeshed in the nets of ambiguity. 

Augustus Bill

©2014

www.tunnelz.blogspot.com

                                                                                                                            

                                                                                                                          TUN/0009//28/07/14