*EVERY FOUR YEARS*

You know they say, *absence makes the heart grow fonder*. So it means that *for your presence to be felt, you have to learn to be absent*. So you see pastors visiting church members who no longer attend crusades. You see customers calling customers and shouting: *long time, no see.*

So every 4yrs, comes a leap year. For whatever reason the year leaps every four years, we don't care. But we leap for a different reason every 4yrs.

*The world cup.* 32 nations poised for a bloodless battle. Each battalion fighting to defend the badge, the flag, the people.

You know it's just a game. But it is most times personal, don't be fooled by the handshakes, according to Playstation. Vendetta is sought, glories are at stake, fame and immortality is on the line. Bragging rights are most important for the fans. Expectations are high. A lot is at stake. Fans shouting and cheering their soldiers to victory. Displaying banners and banters. Chanting, cheering and jeering. Jubilant fans celebrating like salvation has been won and a new heaven created. Crying fans shedding tears, that sprung forth from a bleeding heart. Fans of different ages,even as below as 7yrs and even above 70yrs. Men don't cry slogan holds not in football. I have seen men cry. I saw the tears of Baggio in USA '94. Ronaldo de lima' s tears flowed like a stream in France '98. Oliver Khan was not to be consoled in 2002. Trezeguet wept in Germany 2006. In 2010, Arjen Robben fought without success to stop his tears. In 2014, Lionel Messi alone wept like the daughters of Jerusalem. So men cry every four years.

But the cries don't make it any less memorable. Infact, it makes it more nostalgic and more desirable. It bleeds the heart and makes it to grow fondest.

The world cup epitomizes patriotism. Soldiers praying for recruitment to fight for their nations. Battling Yo stay on the frontline. Politics divides us.

Religion divides us too. But football unites us. Ahmed Musa with football on his feet is absolved of ethnicity and religion. He becomes our Musa. Mikel Obi becomes our son.

It's One Nigeria. Together we fight the enemies. We support totally and without reserve.

*If football were to be a religion, everyone would worship together. Although Pastor Messi and Evangelist Ronaldo, would pull the biggest crowd of worshippers*

*Brother Suarez will be banned for biting brother Cheillini*

*Choirmaster Neymar will be renowned for his outstanding performances*

*Senior pastor Zlatan Ibrahimovic will be renowned for his ebullience and confidence*

*Judas may still be Karius with a pitiable concussion*

*MARADONA AND PELE WOULD STILL BE Gods, waiting for Messi/Ronaldo* to perfect the trinity

*I WILL TAKE MY SHOTS*

The decision to shoot is not always an easy one. First you decide to aim, then you decide to pull back the trigger, and then you decide to withstand the recoil.

But when you decide to load the gun, and place it onto the palms of a natural shooter, with you at a possible smoking end. Then you are taking a long shot.

That was exactly what I did, when I decided without coercion, to pay a visit to an eco-friendly, human-at-your-own-risk reserve.

The receptionists explained the risk of an unguarded terrain, and after consulting with my babe, I gave a lovely-informed consent: *I go shoot my shot*.

That was how we started a journey into a mangrove forest, with deadly animals lurking underneath a wooden pathway. Monkeys swaying and swerving in search of meal. Birds twittering and chirping away tunes of uncertainty. Pythons and cobras watching from distances. Of course the receptionist was clear on this one: *You may or may not see the python. But the python will see you*. I prayed the heavens to save me from this self-imposed trek with uncertainty and danger flanking me.

At each ripple generated in the dark waters, I incriminated the python and/or the crocodiles. A 15minute walk became a 40yrs exodus from the land of Egypt for me. The only difference was that why the Israelites ran from an unfriendly land to a promised land, I was freely moving opposite, towards a land flowing with snakes and crocodiles.

My assent to embark on the 401meters walk atop a canopy that peaked at 22.5ft above the ground, was a revelation that I was being piloted by some wicked village herbalists. Given that I might be 5% acrophobic, the decision to mount that swinging suspension was an enchanted one.

Every step on that unsteady suspension, sounded like a panic attack. The gait was unsteady, unstable. Every step was a misstep. Before we approached the second tower, I beckoned on my late grandfather to intercede on my behalf. He was a traditionalist before he came a Christian. So I believed his versatility on both divides, would make my case more appealing to whichever god that chooses to answer pronto.

But a sharp swing caused by a fellow tourist who mostly tripped, forced me into withdrawing my case from my grandfather. *I fight here, I die here*. But falling 22.5ft to your death, isn't exactly a good death. Especially given the fact, that a python might make a diving to (save) swallow you. So I changed my bravery slogan: *I fight here, I conquer here*.

The canopy walkway granted me the opportunity to touch the topmost part of a tree. It gave me a bird's eye view too, so I appreciated the view from the topmost. But denying me of strong winds to fly down, was like setting up the tortoise for a gravitational descent.

401meters and six towers, then we were down again. I blessed the heavens. Then through the jungle again and out.

*Nature is kind*, seemed to be the message being passed by the 95yrs old tortoise, calmly lying by the corner.

*You've got only one life to live.*

*take your shots*

You know you can visit Lekki Conservation Center later?

©BENCHUKISH

WET

The night was his nightmare; scary and depressing. It wasn’t about the imaginative ghosts that existed in every corners of a child's world at night. Of course, like every other child he had the impulse to shake, flee or run for cover when power ceased at night, when heavy wind activated a tree into 'spirit' dancing, when a naughty ruminant decided to make nuisance of itself in the dark. But he was left more devastated, scared, forlorn and weak with what came from within.

Like every other of his peers, he was normal until he began to feel abnormal. He was normal and felt normal till the air around him became polluted with scolds, judgement and unhealthy comparison. His feeling of abnormality degenerated into a disease condition the day his mother irretrievably released the virulent pathogens encapsulated in her words:"you think you are still a child? Borrow a leaf from your younger sister". Adaku giggled before she pinched her nose tightly as if she was protecting her nostrils from a visibly air-borne carrier hovering aboard. He lowered his head and in an instant, tears and rejection took possession of his countenance, fear took over his mind and gloom became his bedtime friend. He was left in a lurch. "Take that mattress outside and come back and soak the bed sheets", his mum slurred as she stormed out of the room. She had never said such words to him before. She had always laughed it off and dried the mattress later in the day. But that day, she felt different. And from that day, she never felt otherwise about his uncontrollable bowel movement while asleep. From that day, he began to make conscious efforts to stop but he couldn’t have as much control in the subconscious. Night time became scare time.He began to dread the night. His daily activities became blighted by the memories of a mattress drenched in his urine. He would remember the soul-depressing anxiety with which he stood up in the dead of the night confronted by his mess. It usually started like a dream. In such dreams, the desire to pee always seemed unquenchable. His dreams were usually unreal but the peeing dreams defied the odds. So real they were that they even left stinking evidence at his crime scenes. 

 

TO BE CONTINUED ..........

 

Photocredit: nighthawkbedwetting

FROM SUBURB TO URBAN

.......I didn't enjoy the movie as I would have wanted. A woman was carrying a crying child just directly adjacent to our seat.

I could say the child cried throughout the 8hrs journey to Eko. A child of probably 8months to one year. All requests to the young mum to breastfeed the child fell on deaf ears. I guess she was probably shy to have one of her breasts unclad in the public. And then i would have been scandalized if she did. I have never seen such on close proximity. Back at home while we watched local and international movies on our black and white television, we always closed our eyes or asked to do so whenever a romantic scene was being displayed. 

Then came the announcement; " biko enwere ndi Berger (are there people coming down at Berger)?". The voice of the conductor woke me up and my brother who had slept earlier told me: "Anyi abatago Lagos". Those words deleted even the slightest indication of sleep from my eyes. It was after 2:00 pm.and I pleaded with big brother to allow me take his Window side position for clearer view of Eko. "Where is the three man sculpture that they said welcomes everyone to Lagos?" i asked. Big brother told me we have passed it. My FIRST LAGOS DISAPPOINTMENT.

But so many other things were thrilling and as described in the too many scintillating stories about Lagos; there were too many buses speeding and overtaking. Stopping with their bus conductors shouting probably in Arabic as I first thought. Most of the buses were yellow. I asked why and big bro told me that's for uniformity. I loved the sense of order. The highway leading into Lagos was just captivating. Neatly tarred with high rise buildings flanking it. Through the windows I could see those building we had only watched in movies. Very tall and a bit scary. The tallest buildings I had seen physically before then were mainly 3 storey building in Onitsha. Very old with already worn out paintings. Eko seemed grandiose. 

Our bus would soon be climbing up and down of many flyovers creatively designed with beautiful gardens situated beside them. I was in awe of Lagos. No wonder they say it is the CENTRE OF EXCELLENCE. When we passed through the independence tunnel, the Sunlight disappeared for a while and came back on to shone on the portraits of Nnamdi Azikiwe, Tafawa Balewa and the other heroes of independence. Lagos is a wonder. And the tunnel with those pictures pushed me back to my primary school class and I remembered our teacher teaching us SOCIAL STUDIES; "In 1960 Nigeria gained independence. The first president was Nnamdi Azikiwe. And the prime minister was Tafawa Balewa". This is me now living history. This is me now seeing the past. 

Then we got stuck in a traffic. It lasted roughly 45mins but I wasn't bothered at all. The traffic allowed me to discover another wonder of Lagos-The billboards. The billboards in Lagos or signboard as we popularly called them were not just designed with a single picture and static writings. Some of them were moving. "Wow!!!! Signboard with movies" I screamed in a subdued voice. Displaying different pictures and conveying different messages. Had the traffic lasted for about 2hrs I wouldn't have cared. I was being entertained. I saw brand new cars numbering about hundreds parked in car dealers shops. So new and so foreign. I can't recall ever seeing a display of nice cars in this number. Even remembering papa's car didn't help my recollection. Lagos is a place to be. So signposts pointed to some directions. I could read a sign with an arrow supposedly pointing the way to Oshodi, our luxurious bus followed the sign. Then another to Mile 2 then to Maza-maza where we alighted and for the first time in my Entire Life, the soles of my feet were in contact with Eko soil. My sister back in Onitsha must be downcast.

But people were much. So much I could barely see the environment clearly as I did inside the luxurious bus. Everywhere was noisy. Everybody seemed busy. The only place I could relate was Onitsha Main Market.
Big brother held me by the hands as we crossed the double-lane road at Maza-maza. The last time I was assisted in road crossing was before I entered Primary six. Mama would hold you tightly and drag you all through the crossing as if you were resisting police arrest. She would then add an extra force at the tail end of the crossing to make sure you were entirely out of harm's way. She knew the pains of birth. She wouldn't afford losing a child to carelessness. And so we crossed over and waited for a bus which according to my brother would be going to VOLKS-BARRACKS. A bus came by with a conductor either speaking in tongues or in Arabic. Big brother waved it down and as we stepped a foot onto the bus, the driver sped off. I held tenaciously to a seat before inevitably falling on top of an already seated passenger. He pushed me off his body before I could mutter "I'm sorry". HARSH LAGOSIANS. 

The bus conductor continued his rambling at every bus stop. I listened closely to decode his fast ramblings but all I could eventually hear was 'VO-ARAK!!!!!' We got down when big bro shouted "BARRACK OWA OOOO". I was still wondering why everyone was shouting even big bro when he made his way to the door and out of the bus. I followed him. The bus then slowed a bit and big bro jumped out. I followed suit but hit the deck after a few staggering. If it were in Onitsha I would have demanded for an apology. IMPATIENT LAGOS

Do you care to know about my next few days in Lagos?

If YES, Then this story has TO BE CONTINUED

photocredit: tolet.com.ng