How My Lost Pen Came Back Finding Me
How My Lost Pen Came Back Finding Me
Thus set forth, half chemistry and half teaching work, the problem attracted me. I was reconsidering it that afternoon (it was a Thursday afternoon) as one of the noisy, sooty Sienna buses of Akure lugged me to Jos en-route Abuja. Now it happened that the evening of the same day destiny reserved for me a different and unique gift: the encounter with a woman, young and made of flesh and blood, warm against my side through our overcoats, gay in the misty cold of Jos, patient, wise and sure we were walking down streets still bordered with ruins from the religious crisis of 2012.
In a few hours, I felt reborn and replete with new powers, washed clean and cured of tiredness borne from the 12-hours journey, finally ready to enter life with joy and vigor; equally cured was suddenly the world around me, and exorcised the name and face of the woman who had gone down into lower depths to make Jos city a "home away from home" for me.
My very writing became a different adventure, no longer the dolorous itinerary of a convalescent, no longer the musings and wails about buhari's administration but a lucid building, which was no longer solitary: the work of a chemistry-cum-mathematics teacher who weighs and divides, measures and infers on the basis of assured proofs and strives to answer questions..
Alongside the liberating relief of a rookie who tells his story, I now felt in the writing a complex, intense, and new pleasure, similar to that I felt as a student when penetrating the solemn order of differential calculus in Dr. Julius Ehighe Osato's class. It was exalting to search and find or create, the right word; that is commensurate, concise, and strong; to dredge up events from my memory and describe them with the greatest rigor and the least clutter.
"Paradoxically, any baggage of atrocious memories became a wealth, a seed; it seemed to me that, by writing, I was growing like a plant"
Thanks in no-small measure to my "JOS CATERER", Oluwabukunmi Alabi
Thus set forth, half chemistry and half teaching work, the problem attracted me. I was reconsidering it that afternoon (it was a Thursday afternoon) as one of the noisy, sooty Sienna buses of Akure lugged me to Jos en-route Abuja. Now it happened that the evening of the same day destiny reserved for me a different and unique gift: the encounter with a woman, young and made of flesh and blood, warm against my side through our overcoats, gay in the misty cold of Jos, patient, wise and sure we were walking down streets still bordered with ruins from the religious crisis of 2012.
In a few hours, I felt reborn and replete with new powers, washed clean and cured of tiredness borne from the 12-hours journey, finally ready to enter life with joy and vigor; equally cured was suddenly the world around me, and exorcised the name and face of the woman who had gone down into lower depths to make Jos city a "home away from home" for me.
My very writing became a different adventure, no longer the dolorous itinerary of a convalescent, no longer the musings and wails about buhari's administration but a lucid building, which was no longer solitary: the work of a chemistry-cum-mathematics teacher who weighs and divides, measures and infers on the basis of assured proofs and strives to answer questions..
Alongside the liberating relief of a rookie who tells his story, I now felt in the writing a complex, intense, and new pleasure, similar to that I felt as a student when penetrating the solemn order of differential calculus in Dr. Julius Ehighe Osato's class. It was exalting to search and find or create, the right word; that is commensurate, concise, and strong; to dredge up events from my memory and describe them with the greatest rigor and the least clutter.
"Paradoxically, any baggage of atrocious memories became a wealth, a seed; it seemed to me that, by writing, I was growing like a plant"
Thanks in no-small measure to my "JOS CATERER", Oluwabukunmi Alabi
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