The things that do not matter
Year one had been ugly with all shades of bitterness. The girls in mbanefo hall called her 'crawfish'. For she was tall, skinny, with legs that knocked at the knees. Her roommates spoke to her with distaste, nose curled up at the aroma of her four hundred naira okra soup.
'This girl which village are you from sef' they would say at times.
But she would only but smile and continue ironing her bend-down-select chiffon clothes.


One time she was christened 'soymilk' because of her love for the brand. She would take it as tea, soak it with garri and even take it as a snack with sliced century bread. But it didn't matter to her, for the stomach doesn't tell what enters it, what matters is whether it is been filled.

Year two was slightly different. She had picked coyness and the love for make up somewhere. And so she painted and shone, while the boys whistled and made remarks about her sprouting hips.
She became known as 'baby'. Fresh, radaint dark skin with lips that spoke of sin.
'Baby' they would say, 'where have you been all day'
'Library' she would reply ' poring over books and magazines'
But she never told them about Jayboy. Almighty Jayboy and hurried kisses and cuddlings. For her life was a lie. And she was afraid to come out real quick. And so she lied. Never telling them of unprotected rumpings and missed periods, not until the latrine told tales of late abortion.

Year three was the best. Baby now belonged. Sassy,classy and flirty. Living the life of a drama queen ,with hands stretched to hang her bag beyond her reach.
'Baby were you in school yesterday?'
Silence.
Silence.
It did not matter. Sorting was available and only very few lecturers looked the other way.
And so she soared and soared. Knew all the hotels and night clubs by their disco lights. While her grades dropped to a freaking zero.
'Nwam kedu maka akwukwo?'
'Enwero'


Year four, baby is in final year. Missing scripts. Carry overs. Exam mercenaries. But baby is fine. Baby just met an Indonesia based guy who showers baby with sweetness and wealth. And so baby is not perturbed.
They have only dated for one month and two weeks when baby falls into the routine of morning sickness, fever and loss of appetite.
And so a visit to the hospital proves baby is pregnant and in the second stage of HIV. Baby's love abandons her at the hospital and baby is currently lying at the mortuary after ending her life.
Rest in peace baby

Chinwe4real:
The things that do not matter
Year one had been ugly with all shades of bitterness. The girls in mbanefo hall called her 'crawfish'. For she was tall, skinny, with legs that knocked at the knees. Her roommates spoke to her with distaste, nose curled up at the aroma of her four hundred naira okra soup.
'This girl which village are you from sef' they would say at times.
But she would only but smile and continue ironing her bend-down-select chiffon clothes.


One time she was christened 'soymilk' because of her love for the brand. She would take it as tea, soak it with garri and even take it as a snack with sliced century bread. But it didn't matter to her, for the stomach doesn't tell what enters it, what matters is whether it is been filled.

Year two was slightly different. She had picked coyness and the love for make up somewhere. And so she painted and shone, while the boys whistled and made remarks about her sprouting hips.
She became known as 'baby'. Fresh, radaint dark skin with lips that spoke of sin.
'Baby' they would say, 'where have you been all day'
'Library' she would reply ' poring over books and magazines'
But she never told them about Jayboy. Almighty Jayboy and hurried kisses and cuddlings. For her life was a lie. And she was afraid to come out real quick. And so she lied. Never telling them of unprotected rumpings and missed periods, not until the latrine told tales of late abortion.

Year three was the best. Baby now belonged. Sassy,classy and flirty. Living the life of a drama queen ,with hands stretched to hang her bag beyond her reach.
'Baby were you in school yesterday?'
Silence.
Silence.
It did not matter. Sorting was available and only very few lecturers looked the other way.
And so she soared and soared. Knew all the hotels and night clubs by their disco lights. While her grades dropped to a freaking zero.
'Nwam kedu maka akwukwo?'
'Enwero'


Year four, baby is in final year. Missing scripts. Carry overs. Exam mercenaries. But baby is fine. Baby just met an Indonesia based guy who showers baby with sweetness and wealth. And so baby is not perturbed.
They have only dated for one month and two weeks when baby falls into the routine of morning sickness, fever and loss of appetite.
And so a visit to the hospital proves baby is pregnant and in the second stage of HIV. Baby's love abandons her at the hospital and baby is currently lying at the mortuary after ending her life.
Rest in peace baby

So please can I know u more?

rtdCivilservant:

So please can I know u more?

send a tweet to @okafochinwe

Chinwe4real:


send a tweet to @okafochinwe

I don't tweet neither do I have a tweeter account. I am same guy that asked to know u better on one of ur threads (where u were asking of how to recover ur phone quickly). There u stated u would be leaving for Katsina soon then I requested if I could go with u.

Chinwe4real:
The things that do not matter
Year one had been ugly with all shades of bitterness. The girls in mbanefo hall called her 'crawfish'. For she was tall, skinny, with legs that knocked at the knees. Her roommates spoke to her with distaste, nose curled up at the aroma of her four hundred naira okra soup.
'This girl which village are you from sef' they would say at times.
But she would only but smile and continue ironing her bend-down-select chiffon clothes.


One time she was christened 'soymilk' because of her love for the brand. She would take it as tea, soak it with garri and even take it as a snack with sliced century bread. But it didn't matter to her, for the stomach doesn't tell what enters it, what matters is whether it is been filled.

Year two was slightly different. She had picked coyness and the love for make up somewhere. And so she painted and shone, while the boys whistled and made remarks about her sprouting hips.
She became known as 'baby'. Fresh, radaint dark skin with lips that spoke of sin.
'Baby' they would say, 'where have you been all day'
'Library' she would reply ' poring over books and magazines'
But she never told them about Jayboy. Almighty Jayboy and hurried kisses and cuddlings. For her life was a lie. And she was afraid to come out real quick. And so she lied. Never telling them of unprotected rumpings and missed periods, not until the latrine told tales of late abortion.

Year three was the best. Baby now belonged. Sassy,classy and flirty. Living the life of a drama queen ,with hands stretched to hang her bag beyond her reach.
'Baby were you in school yesterday?'
Silence.
Silence.
It did not matter. Sorting was available and only very few lecturers looked the other way.
And so she soared and soared. Knew all the hotels and night clubs by their disco lights. While her grades dropped to a freaking zero.
'Nwam kedu maka akwukwo?'
'Enwero'


Year four, baby is in final year. Missing scripts. Carry overs. Exam mercenaries. But baby is fine. Baby just met an Indonesia based guy who showers baby with sweetness and wealth. And so baby is not perturbed.
They have only dated for one month and two weeks when baby falls into the routine of morning sickness, fever and loss of appetite.
And so a visit to the hospital proves baby is pregnant and in the second stage of HIV. Baby's love abandons her at the hospital and baby is currently lying at the mortuary after ending her life.
Rest in peace baby

Tragic.