Yawn! Woke up from a deep siesta with smiles on my face. The latter minutes of my nap had witnessed a journey to the past. How time flies. One minute, it’s today; the next, it’s years down the lines. Yet, nothing seems changed until you take the time to stare through your rear view. In my short dream, I ran through the past years, what seemed like struggles now a passed phase I yearn for. The daily commutes down the paved route of Area 11 Garki from Ahmadu Bello through Area 11. The ambience of the chilled AGIS office where behind our four walls, multi-ethnic personalities in colleagues interacted freely. How I miss the Aajias with whom I came to a better understanding of the Northern people. How in the end, it turned out that we’re all indeed one; mortals anyways. First, humans before narrowing down to our categorization as males or females. Then further down the line, Nigerians then our ethnic groups. How I yearn for the times. The gossips in the office. Funny now when I recall the drama that regularly played out with one single entity "Nne". Amazing now how one single pretty but overly conscious chick upset the balance turning men to wimps within an organization.
Then the inter-state trips. Kaduna! Nasarawa, Minna, the fun weekend trips. Tomobola nights at the military mess, cheap girls, booze on the house and fun all through the night into the morning. Down South now, I can only wonder what’s become of the night times in those mammy markets. Mogadishu barracks, home of grilled fish with whores standing in line for the next prey, their fees as high as the state of economic living dictated by the city itself. I miss the night crawls. The quiet streets of Ahmadu Bello at night leading to Wuse II. At a time, Ibiza on Friday nights, a world filled with all sorts long before government wielded its strength.
And I wonder how it’s come to this. When days and nights know little difference as I pore through tasks that only seem to increase. They say you lose sight of time when engaged in something you love. For me, I seem to have lost sight or track of the very things I thrived on. Maybe it’s sheer maturity. Maybe not but what else best explains my accustoming to solitude, quiet ambience and my perusal with the skills that interest me? Friends express their concerns saying you’ve lost it working yourself to the brim. For those that my insensitive self still attract, it’s that I’m too stiff and focused. But I too am human. I too yearn for a taste for those things only now, a rarity even in appeal. “What’s in it for me?”, the question that has me revisiting every anticipated step.
In my heart, I wish I could write all day, I wish I was creative enough to churn out great apps for entertainment purposes, make a living from these things I love then retire to a great book or my write-ups until nature calls. But that life seems only a while away as I strive to break even. Cross country calls to her just to keep alive any hope of future ties or a walk down the aisle. Yeah, I still steal out some time for those moments. I miss some birds, plus all the nameless ones that we’ve crossed path. For some, my ingratitude at the times best understood now as I recall the times.
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