LETTER TO THE OLD ME

LETTER TO THE OLD ME

Dear Old-Me

Sad and sorry to say I have never expressed my love for you this way. Now I know how important it is that I show you some love, and be emotionally expressive with you, especially when I look back at the things we’ve been through together; the choices you made for me and the places you have led me to.

I remember those days when you drew me to very good friends; those days when our street in Ugwumba Estate was full of boys that sold or smoked igbo, bus conductors or drivers and street hawkers. The street is till like that till date. Do you remember I nearly joined them but you held me back and said it wasn’t a good life for me? Do you remember I hawked biscuits, then I hawked chewing sticks at the motor park and then I wanted to start selling pure water but you drew me back. Thank you so much because the boys that sold pure water then are still selling it till date. Dear Old-Me, remember you told me to learn a skill and I learnt to sew women’s bras and tights. That kept me homely and helped in school too. I am grateful you drew me to Abel; he taught me marshal art and we snuck out of the house early mornings to the stadium where we learnt to play Shutokan Karate. We came back in the afternoons to sew bra. That was good for me. Though he too smoked igbo in secret and I pretended as if I didn’t know, you told me to get only the good part of him. I stole his bra patterns. I got them and mine became unique. I thank you Abel. Do you remember Amechi? The one we called Michelin tyre because of his body building? He too was of help because I sew with his machines. You told me to stay away from distractions at home. Though I knew Amechi smoked igbo in secret too, I obeyed you. I will always obey you Old-Me.

When I sewed at home, Okorie, the one we dubbed Poker was my good friend. You told me to stick to him because he was very brilliant at school and he was about to teach me how to make pirated Petals Relaxers; the ones he packaged and sold in Port Harcourt. He promised to teach me but somewhere along the line he formed a bad alliance with Fela, the one we called Ego-Nnenne because he stole his grandmothers money when he was a little kid. Dear Old-me, I thank you so much because I obeyed you when you told me to quit my relationship with Poka. Then Poka started smoking igbo with Fela. Soon they graduated from igbo to brown powder and then to coco (point five). They even started selling drugs for Baby-I-love. So sad, Poka was killed and burnt to ashes by an angry mob who said we went robbery. Fela was killed same way too but here I am still moving on.

Then again, you drew me to another very good friend, a friend that is now more than a brother – Nwoha Richard. Then we roamed the street like twins and addressed ourselves as “Baas”, a Portuguese term for Master, because we read it from the novel, King Solomon’s Mine. We called ourselves “Santos Santos, Mr Benson’s son” and said “where have you been since I came back from Switzerland?” Then we were the envy of the boys in the street and everybody wanted to be our friend but we didn’t accept them because they didn’t have what he had – love for education. Because Richard made some money as bus driver we played scrabble, danced kilamiti and drank juice to the envy of every other boy in the street. We went out to eat A & B – akamu and beans – at Urchman’s shop. I remember my friendship with Richard made me take my education very serious. Richard was rare bread. I have never seen a guy with his kind of internal self motivation, determination and strong will. He left the bus business and clinched his education so tight. Now most of his colleagues in the bus business have been kill in one way or the other. I owe him a lot.

Dear Old-Me, do you remember the other friend you drew me to; the one that had a mini grocery shop in front of their house? Do you remember him? I wouldn’t want to say his name because I later discovered that he was a gay and wanted to sodomize me. You told me never to let that happen. He didn’t know that he was instrumental to my growth and progress. Did he? When I passed the GCE and wanted to write JAMB, Mum tried to discourage me. Old-Me, you told me to get disobedient and I did. Grandma also told me never to listen to my mum in anything that had to do with my education and I obeyed you and my grand mum. Then I stopped eating at home. The mini-grocer was helping me with feeding and some pocket money like I was his girl friend. Then when he tried to sodomize me, you told me to stab him and chase him out of the house with a machete. Then we quit friendship with him and you told me not to bear any grudges against him.

Dear Old-Me, do you remember the first time we got into the university, the first place we landed was in my cousin’s room in Alvan Ikoku hall; a room full of cultists. Do you remember that we sold igbo in that room? When I wanted to be like them, you advised me otherwise and said it was not why I came to UNN. You saved me from their hands and I didn’t join them though I sold igbo for Chineke-Muo at Jives sometimes. Thanks to Jehovah that I was not caught by Fimber the one-man-squared Chief security Officer of the school. Dear Old-Me, I can’t say what would have happened to me if I had continued with Chineke-Muo and his guys. Most of them didn’t graduate you remember? My cousin had mental issues and left school. I’ve not seen him again since the ugly incident at GS building, where he went mad in front of all the students and was hurried home. I wished I could help him. He was a very hospitable guy. I wish God will help him.

Dear Old-Me, do you remember you told me to search for Uche Ajike, the one we called Darkness at Aba? I did and I found him. He was very glad to see me in UNN. He took me like his younger brother. There was something he did that I cannot forget; a rare gesture of hospitality. He gave up his bed space for me, when bed space was a hot cake. And I stayed in that same room till my graduation – Room 436 Alvan Ikoku Hall UNN. Some people thought I was actually his blood brother. I owe him.

Even when I met old secondary school friends that stayed off campus, you advised me to mind my relationship with them but I am sorry I didn’t listen. I just wanted to explore the world because of the freedom I had. Then I moved in with then into their apartment off campus and I quit attending meetings of Jehovah’s Witnesses just to please them. On the rag day we got drunk and fought a group of well armed military men. Just the three of us. Do you remember that the military men shot at me? The bullet missed me and hit the rickety taxi packet by the road. I would have been dead before now. Thank Jehovah they didn’t kill me. Do you remember I packed out of the house back to the hostel only when Abacha, the deadly cultist threatened me with two guns in hands? I thank Jehovah he didn’t kill me. Then I learnt my lessons never to disobey you.

Old-me, I remember you rejoined me with lovely roommates at the hostel. I can’t forget how much they helped me. Paul Ezudo rekindled my seriousness with my studies. I saw him as a competition, read like him and played like him. Funny, now we are working in the same industry. Orji Ukariwe was like the big brother of the room. He advised me all the time and called me Nwa Aba though he too grew up in Aba. Kenneth Nwankwo paid for my bed space when I didn’t have the money to pay and we shared everything like we were brothers. Do you remember Obinna Ekekwe? He was the one that loved dancing. He was the one I called Doublasky because his nick name was Double. I even wore Double’s cloths to school like they were mine. I owe those guys so much. Don’t you remember Awa Daniel too? He brushed me up in French. Remember I used to make C in French courses but from the day Awa came into the room, I made nothing less than 90 in all the French courses. That guy was a great man. Funny, I’ve forgotten French. I can’t speak it again.

Dear Old-Me, I want to use this opportunity to say a big thank you and say: “I love you.” I will always love you despite the mistakes we made together.

To be continued….