A Love Letter to Every Little Girl in the World: For the International Day of the Girl Child

 By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

My dear little girls, my pink princesses wherever you are in the world, I want to start with something simple. I love you. I love you so much that if I had a magic wand, I would bring every little girl together under one big tree on a beautiful moonlit night. We would catch fireflies, share sweet stories, give warm hugs and laugh until we were too tired to talk. Since I do not have a magic wand, I am sending this letter to you instead.

My name is Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu and I was once a little girl too. I know what it feels like to have a head full of small dreams and to find joy in the smallest things. When I was little I loved long flowing gowns and funny enough I still love them today. I think some things we love as children never really leave us and that is beautiful.

I know the joy a mother feels when she dresses her little girl, styles her hair and calls her princess while watching her smile. Every little girl is precious and every child deserves to feel loved. Whether your mother is beside you or someone else is caring for you, I hope you know that you deserve love, tenderness and attention.

I love watching little girls play because you can make a toy from almost anything. You wrap old clothes into a little baby, carry her everywhere, pretend to feed her, rock her to sleep and cry when someone takes her away. Sometimes all you want is to laugh with your friends. One small joke can keep you whispering, covering your mouths and laughing again even when the adults around you do not understand why. I hope you have many happy moments like this to remember when you grow older.

Some of you dream of being a princess with pretty dresses, a pink room and colourful beads in your braids. Some prefer other colours and some have completely different dreams. Whatever makes you happy, I hope you have the freedom to enjoy it. Please enjoy these small things for as long as you can and do not hurry into adulthood. There is time for you to grow and I hope you enjoy being a child without pressure to become grown too soon.

I wish I could be there when you return from school with so many stories to tell about your friends, your lessons and the funny things that happened. I would listen even if you repeated a story you told before. And if you came home with tears in your eyes, I would want you to feel free to talk without being laughed at or told your worries are too small to matter. Sometimes what a little girl needs most is not an expensive gift but someone who has time, a kind word, a listening ear or a comforting hug.

Sadly life is not easy for every child. Some little girls have to take responsibilities before they are ready, some cry when nobody is looking and some are denied school or play simply because they are girls. When I think about them I wish I could gather them close and remind them that they deserve kindness, protection and opportunity to grow. My dear girls, never think you are less important because you do not have what another girl has. You do not need the finest dress or the biggest doll to be special and you do not have to look like your friends or be best in class. Each of you is growing in your own way and that is all right.

Please go to school and learn all you can. Ask questions when you do not understand, read books, discover new things and keep your dreams alive. Whether you want to become doctors, teachers, writers or something else entirely, do not be afraid to dream about it. You may change your mind as you grow and that is all right too. What matters is that you have chance to learn, explore your interests and work toward a future you can be proud of. And when something worries you or someone makes you feel unsafe, please tell a trusted adult who can help you. You should never have to keep quiet about being hurt and asking for help is nothing to be ashamed of.

One day you will grow up. Your little dolls may be packed away, your colourful hairpins replaced by other things and the games you enjoy today may become memories. You will have new dreams and new things to learn but I hope you will always remember the little girls you once were, the ones who could laugh over smallest things and turn old clothes into beloved babies. And when you become women, I hope you will be kind to little girls you meet. Listen to them, encourage them and help them believe in themselves. If you have chance to help a girl stay in school, feel safe or pursue her dreams, I hope you will take it.

My dear girls, today is International Day of the Girl Child, a day to celebrate you and girls everywhere. This letter is for every girl who loves pink and every girl who prefers other colours, for girl who plays mother, girl who dreams of princess, girl who giggles with friends and girl who is still finding her way. It is also for girls who are struggling and waiting for someone to show them kindness. Every girl deserves love, safety, education and chance to dream about her future.

If I had that magic wand I would gather you all under that tree tonight, hold you close and tell you how much I wish for your happiness. I would remind you that you deserve childhood filled with love, people who protect you and freedom to dream without fear. Since I cannot do that, I hope these words reach you wherever you are and bring little warmth to your heart. As I end this letter I have just one wish for all little girls in the world. May the world become kinder place for you to grow, learn, laugh and dream. Wherever you are always remember you are loved. May you always have time to play, courage to speak when something is wrong and chance to grow up to become whatever you dream of being.

 With all my love,

Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

 

#InternationalDayOfTheGirlChild #DayOfTheGirl #IDG2026 #GirlChild #GirlsCan #EveryGirlMatters #LetGirlsLearn #ProtectTheGirlChild #NightengaleAwards

 

 

The Things We Leave Behind

 

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

How time flies. As a child, I would use a whole week to pray for Sunday rice and chicken, because that was all I knew how to pray for. I cannot even remember anything I saw as more serious than that. Once I had a big bowl of rice with my chicken, not minding the body part, I would be happy for the whole day.

But now I am old enough. I no longer pray for that. Most Sundays, I do not even care what I ate, as long as the food is tasty. Of course, just do not add boiled potatoes and beans to the menu. Those potatoes have refused to let me be. They come with plenty of tiny strings attached, like they want to tie me down. Since childhood, me and those strings have not agreed. I have forgiven many people in this life, but I am still negotiating peace with Irish potato.

What I pray for now has changed. Now I pray about how to find stories in everything. How to make my novels on Amazon become bestsellers. How to end each story in a captivating way, with suspense and all. How to be original and not copy another person's work, because it makes me truly happy when I am praised for my work's originality. And beyond writing, I pray for how to start my own foundation to help children, how to support orphanage homes, how to build a conglomerate, a company that will have many businesses under it, that will create opportunities for others. These are the things that occupy my heart now.

Childhood was very sweet, but I had to leave many things behind as I grew older. And from time to time, when I remember how sweet it was, I realise those sweet things are exactly what we leave behind.

There are some things we leave behind as we grow older without even realising how much they meant to us. Childhood is one of them. We grow older, take on more responsibilities and slowly move into another stage of life, but some childhood memories remain with us. Sometimes, the sound of rain, the sight of a tree, or a familiar smell can take us back to those days.

When I think about my own childhood, I remember how easy it was to be happy. We did not need much. Rain could turn an ordinary day into an adventure, a tree could become a playground, and a small amount of water could become a swimming pool.

I remember playing in the rain as a child, sometimes without clothes, laughing and running around without feeling any shame. We did not care who was watching. We were simply children enjoying ourselves. There was also a guava tree I remember very well. Whenever it rained heavily, water would gather around it and form what looked like a small river. We would go there and do our own little swimming while the rain was falling. Once the rain stopped, the water would dry up almost immediately, but while it lasted, it was our swimming pool.

I also remember rubbing charcoal all over my body without feeling ashamed. Sometimes, I would wear the back of my clothes in front because I thought it would stop the front from getting dirty. I thought I was being clever. Looking back now, I laugh at myself because I was only a child.

Even taking my bath at night could feel like going to war. I hated it when I was younger, especially when the water was cold. I would rather find an excuse than enter the bathroom. Yet today, I cannot imagine going to bed without bathing, even when the weather is very cold. It is funny how some things change as we grow older.

Another thing I remember clearly is how many of us lived together. We were staying at Ngor Okpala, close to the Imo Airport, where my parents had a very big school called Crown Scientific Seminary of Nigeria. The school still exists, although it is no longer at Ngor Okpala. My cousins were living with us, so there were many children in the house. There was always someone to play with, laugh with or disturb. The house was rarely quiet.

With so many of us together, we had our own funny ways of doing things. Whenever my mother shared soup, my cousin and I sometimes preferred to chew the garri or fufu first and lick the soup afterwards. Funny, right? At the time, we enjoyed it and saw nothing strange about it.

After school for the day, my cousin and I would sometimes gather the younger children and others living with us. We would teach them something and ask each of them to pay us ten naira. We needed money to buy sweets and chewing gum, so we found our own little way of making it. We even had receipts. They were old receipts my parents no longer used, but we used them to make our little business look serious. We would collect the ten naira and give the children receipts as if we were running a real school. Looking back now, it makes me laugh.

Life was really sweet then. We ate ripe fruits almost like squirrels. Sometimes, we ate unripe mangoes as if they were proper food, enjoying the sour taste. What makes me laugh now is that I cannot even taste sour unripe mangoes anymore. I enjoyed them so much as a child, yet today I can hardly tolerate the taste.

We played hide and seek, ran around barefooted and sometimes played without clothes. We did not care about how we smelled after playing outside, how dirty our clothes were or who was looking at us. Sometimes, we slept together, farted, laughed and teased one another without feeling embarrassed. Everything was simple. We were not trying to look perfect. We were just children enjoying the little world around us.

When I look back now, I realise that those ordinary days have become some of the memories I treasure most. A rainy afternoon was just a rainy afternoon. The guava tree was just a tree. Ten naira was enough for sweets and chewing gum. An old receipt could make our little business look official. Sour mangoes were a treat. We found happiness in ordinary things without thinking about it.

We continued going to school, growing a little older with each passing year, while still finding time to play and enjoy ourselves. We were children, but we were slowly becoming older children and beginning to understand more about the world around us. We did not know that one day those days would become memories.

Sometimes, I wonder what that guava tree looks like now. Does water still gather around it when it rains? Are there still children who run there and make their own little swimming pool? Perhaps another group of children has discovered the same place and is enjoying it without knowing that we once did the same thing.

As we grew older, things slowly changed. We became more conscious of ourselves and the world around us. We started caring more about how we looked, how we behaved and what people thought. We also became more responsible. The freedom we had as little children slowly became different as we moved into another stage of life.

But I still carry those memories with me. I remember the rain, the guava tree, the charcoal, the funny way I wore my clothes, the struggle over taking my bath at night, the crowded house at Ngor Okpala, my cousins, the soup and garri, the ten naira lessons, the old receipts, the sweets, the chewing gum, the ripe fruits, the sour mangoes, the hide and seek and the laughter.

I had to leave those days behind because I grew older. None of us can remain children forever. But sometimes, when I remember those moments, I feel close to that child again, the child who only needed a bowl of Sunday rice and chicken to be happy. I remember how free we were, how easily we laughed and how little we needed to be happy.

Those days were not perfect, but they were sweet. We did not need perfection. We only needed one another, a little food, somewhere to play and enough time to enjoy being children.

Those are the things we leave behind as we grow older. We leave the games, the muddy feet, the rainy afternoons, the sour mangoes, the crowded house and the simple freedom of childhood. But the memories remain.

 

OUR FLAG: GREEN-WHITE-GREEN

 By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

On October 1st, 1960, Nigeria became independent. That is 66 years ago today. Before that day we were under the British, and on that day we were told that from now on we will rule ourselves. To mark that new life we needed a new flag, and the government then called for people to design it.

A 23 year old student named Michael Taiwo Akinkunmi was in London at that time studying Electrical Engineering at Norwood Technical College. He saw the advert in the library, he went to buy paper and crayons, and he drew something simple. He drew three vertical lines, Green White Green, and inside the white he put a red sun with rays. He sent it to Lagos from London and out of over two thousand entries, his own was chosen as the winner. The judges removed the red sun and left it as just Green White Green, and that is the flag we have been using since 1960.

When they asked him what it meant, he said Green means our forests, our agriculture, our natural wealth, the land that feeds us, and White means peace and unity. That was his explanation in 1959 when he was just 23 years old.

Now it is 2026, 66 years later, and when we look at that same Green White Green today, what do we really see?

We see Green, because the land is still there and it still grows food. Nigeria is still one of the most fertile places in Africa, we still have good rain and good sun and rivers, but the truth is that many farmers cannot go to farm freely today because there are killings and insecurity on the farmland. Many have lost their lives on the farm. Because of that, many young people have left the village for the city because farming is now hard and risky and expensive. Many of those who still farm are complaining about fertilizer and transport cost, so we have green land all around us but the food from that green land is still very expensive in the market.

We also see White, and White was supposed to be peace and unity. In 1960 the dream was that all tribes would live together as one Nigeria, and yes we are still one country after 66 years, we have not broken, but the truth is that many people are not feeling that peace and unity in their daily life. Many people are not sleeping with peace because money is not enough and many people travel with fear and many are just worried about what tomorrow will bring. We have seen too much blood in different parts of the country and families are still crying. Unity too is not easy now, there is too much suspicion and too much anger, many feel they are not carried along and many feel they are shouting but nobody is hearing them.

Then we see the second Green again, and that Green was supposed to mean hope and future, that Nigeria will grow and become better. Many people are still hoping, that is why shops are still opening every morning and that is why parents are still sending children to school and that is why people still wake up by 4am to go and hustle. But many people are also tired of hoping, they have been hoping since they were small children and now they are grown adults and they are still hoping for the same basic things like light and good road and good work.

So why do we still celebrate October 1st? This day is not about government. Government will come and go. This day is about the promise that was made to us in 1960. That we can rule ourselves and build our land with our own hands. We have not kept that promise well, that is the truth, but the promise itself has not expired.

Green White Green is still our flag. Since 1960 till now, it has never changed. It is still there, waving.

So I will leave you with this: when you look at it today, what do you really see? Do you still see wealth in the green? Do you still see peace in the white? And that last green that was meant to be our future, do you still see hope inside it?

Happy Independence Day.

 

Mazi Gburugburu Says Listening to the People Should Come Before Decisions

 

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

Dr Chima Matthew Amadi, popularly known as Mazi Gburugburu, has said listening to the people should remain an important part of decisions concerning the development of Imo State.

The Action Peoples Party (APP) senatorial candidate for Owerri Zone made the point while speaking about his interactions with women from different communities during the August meeting season.

Amadi said the conversations gave him the chance to hear directly from women and understand some of the issues that matter to them.

‘Throughout the month, I consulted with and engaged women across different communities, listening to their concerns, sharing in their experiences, and learning from their perspectives,’ he said.

He said the experience also showed him the strength and wisdom of the women he met and their concern for the progress of their communities.

‘Their warmth, resilience, wisdom, and commitment to the progress of our communities continue to inspire me,’ he said.

For Amadi, the importance of such engagements is not only in the meetings themselves but also in what can be learnt from the people who take part in them.

He said the conversations had strengthened his belief that the people should have a voice in matters that affect their lives and communities.

‘These consultations have strengthened my conviction that the voices of our people must remain at the heart of everything we do as we work together to build a better Imo State,’ he said.

Amadi also thanked the women who took part in the meetings, saying their support, wisdom and encouragement meant a great deal to him.

‘I am grateful to all the Imo women who made our August engagements meaningful and memorable, and sincerely thank them. Their support, wisdom, and encouragement mean a great deal to me,’ he said.

His comments put the focus on the role of public consultations and the need to hear from people at the community level when discussing issues that affect them.

 

The First Time I Saw My Name in Print

 

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

I started writing when I was a little girl. I was very young, but I loved holding a pen and putting words on paper. Sometimes, I would take a piece of paper and write nonsense. There was no story behind it and no particular reason for doing it. I simply wanted to write. I could sit down and put whatever came into my head on paper, even when it did not make sense. Sometimes I would read it again and laugh at what I had written, but that did not stop me from doing it again. I enjoyed the writing itself. I liked seeing words appear on a blank piece of paper. I did not think of myself as a writer then, and I certainly did not know where writing would take me. I was just a little girl with a pen who enjoyed putting her thoughts on paper.

My father, Rev. Prof. Ben Onyeukwu, had a lot to do with my love for writing. He is a writer and journalist, and I loved reading the things he wrote. He wrote articles, tracts, pamphlets and other works, and I enjoyed seeing his words on paper. Having a writer so close to me made writing feel familiar. I could see my father putting his thoughts into words and creating things that other people could read. I would read his works and sometimes go back to them. I did not fully understand what this meant for me at the time, but it became part of my childhood. I was reading, and I was writing too. Even before I knew what it meant to be an author, I knew that I enjoyed reading and putting my own thoughts on paper.

The books I read introduced me to other writers whose works I still remember. I read Chinua Achebe, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and William Shakespeare. They were different from one another, and I enjoyed that. I liked Chinua Achebe's stories and the way he could tell so much through simple words. I enjoyed reading Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's books and following the lives of her characters. Shakespeare was different again, and some of his language was difficult for me, but I still enjoyed reading his works. I was not reading them because I wanted to write exactly like them. I was simply a reader who loved books. But the more I read, the more I wanted to write my own stories. I wanted to create people who existed only in my imagination and give them lives of their own.

In those early days, I did not take writing too seriously. I would start something and leave it. I could have an idea, write a few pages and then move on to another idea. Sometimes I had a story in mind, and sometimes I had nothing at all. Even then, I could still pick up a pen and write. There was no pressure to finish anything. With time, my writing changed. The few pages became longer, and I started creating characters, giving them names and thinking about what might happen to them. I began to understand that an idea could become a story if I gave it enough time. What had started with a child writing nonsense was gradually becoming something I cared about.

My love for writing also influenced the course I chose to study. I decided to study Mass Communication because I wanted to become a journalist. I wanted to work with words and tell stories about people and things that mattered. At a higher institution, I began to see writing from another side. It was not only about creating characters and imaginary situations. There were real people with real experiences, problems, achievements and struggles. Their stories mattered too. Journalism gave me another way to use the thing I had loved since childhood. I could write about people who were actually living the stories instead of only creating stories in my imagination.

Becoming a journalist did not take me away from creative writing. I continued writing novels, especially romance. I have always enjoyed romance because love can change people in many ways. It can make someone happy, confused, hopeful or afraid. It can bring two people together, but it can also leave people hurt. I enjoy creating characters and following their relationships as a story develops. Sometimes I begin a novel knowing exactly where I want it to go. At other times, the characters seem to take the story in another direction. I may start with one idea and end up somewhere I did not expect. I enjoy that part of writing because there is always something to discover along the way.

Writing has also taken me into other areas. I run a blog, Nightengaleben.blogspot.com, where I publish my writing and other stories. I also edit stories written by young writers. I enjoy doing this because I understand what it feels like to have ideas in your head and want to put them into words. A young writer may have a good story but struggle with how to present it. Sometimes all that is needed is someone who will sit down, read the work carefully, point out what needs to be changed and encourage the writer to continue. I have also written a few biographies. Writing about real people is different from writing fiction because there is a responsibility to preserve their lives and experiences as accurately as possible. Both forms of writing have given me different ways to work with words.

My works are on Amazon, Wattpad, Webnovel, Inkitt, Dreame, NovelUp, Medium, Feedcover and other platforms. I also share my writing on social media under the name Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu. When I think about this now, I remember that none of these things was in my mind when I was a little girl. I did not know anything about publishing platforms or readers waiting for new stories. I only knew that I liked writing. That is why seeing my own name on my work has always meant so much to me. Behind that name are many years of writing, reading, starting stories, abandoning some of them, changing others and learning from my mistakes.

The first time I saw my name in print, I looked at it differently from the way I had looked at the names of other writers. For years, I had opened books and seen someone else's name before reading the words inside. I had read my father's works. I had read Chinua Achebe, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and William Shakespeare. Their names were attached to the stories I was reading. Then I saw my own name attached to something I had written. It was a simple thing to see a name on a page, but I knew what was behind mine. I remembered the little girl who used to write nonsense without caring whether anyone would read it. I remembered the many stories I had written since then. I remembered the times I had wondered whether my writing was good enough. Looking at my name in print made all those memories come back to me.

There was happiness in that moment, but there was also a new feeling. Once your work is in front of other people, you cannot decide how they will receive it. Someone may enjoy your story while another person may not like it at all. Someone may understand what you were trying to say, while another reader may see something completely different. I have had to learn not to let that fear stop me. A writer cannot please everybody. If I kept every story to myself because I was worried about what people might say, many of the things I have written would still be sitting somewhere unseen.

I have also learnt through my mistakes. I have written stories that I later changed because I was not happy with them. There are chapters I have read again and wondered what I was thinking when I wrote them. I have started stories and stopped because I could not find the right way to continue. There are also days when writing comes easily and I can keep going without thinking too much about every sentence. Then there are days when I have an idea but cannot seem to get it down properly. I have learnt to live with both sides of writing. Even now, I can pick up a pen without knowing exactly what I want to say. I may write a few lines and leave them for another day. Sometimes those lines grow into something. Sometimes they remain just a few lines. I am no longer worried about that.

Writing has become part of my daily meal. It is something I have become used to having in my life. I write as a journalist, and I write novels and other stories. I edit stories for young writers, write biographies and run my blog, Nightengaleben.blogspot.com. There are days when an idea will stay in my head until I put it on paper. There are other days when I simply want to write because writing still gives me the same satisfaction it gave me as a child. The little girl who used to write nonsense has not completely gone away. I still have that part of me that can sit with a blank page and wonder what might come from it.

My love for writing has also made me want to create opportunities for other people who love words. I am the founder of Nightengale Awards, where I give awards to recognise people and their work. Under Nightengale Awards, I also run the Nightengale Literary Awards, a live writing competition where writers come together to write and compete, after which prizes are given to the winners. This is something I am proud of because writing is not only about the person holding the pen. Writers also need places where their work can be seen and appreciated. When I think about the little girl who used to sit with a piece of paper and write nonsense, it is interesting to know that I now help create opportunities for other writers to write, compete and be recognised.

When I look at my journey, I can see how one thing led to another. Reading my father's works helped deepen my interest in writing. The books of Chinua Achebe, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and William Shakespeare gave me more reasons to read. My love for writing influenced my decision to study Mass Communication and become a journalist. Journalism gave me a way to tell real people's stories, while writing novels gave me a place to create stories of my own. Along the way, I started my blog, wrote biographies, edited stories for young writers and created Nightengale Awards. My writing has reached readers through Amazon, Wattpad, Webnovel, Inkitt, Dreame, NovelUp, Medium, Feedcover and other platforms, as well as through social media. None of these things happened at once. They came one step at a time.

I did not begin writing with a plan. I had no idea that the simple habit of putting words on paper would stay with me for so long. I certainly did not imagine that writing would take me into journalism, novels, biographies, editing and eventually creating opportunities for other writers. In the beginning, there was only a pen and a piece of paper. I wrote because I enjoyed writing.

Today, when I see the name Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu on my work, I still think about where it began. I think about the little girl who could write nonsense on a piece of paper and be perfectly happy with it. She was not thinking about readers, publishing platforms, journalism or awards. She was only enjoying the words in front of her. The writing has changed since then. The stories are longer, the purpose is clearer and there are now people who read what I write. But something important has remained the same. I still love putting words on paper.

And perhaps that is the best part of the journey. I started with a pen because I wanted to write, and after all these years, I still do.

 

The Day I Bought Something I Did Not Need

 

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

I went out that day to buy one thing. I already knew what I wanted and how much it would cost, so I also knew how much money I would have left after buying it. I was not planning to buy anything else because I did not have much money to spend. I only wanted to get what I needed and go home. I had no idea that I would return with something I never planned to buy.

When I got to the shop, I went straight to the seller and told her what I wanted. She brought it out and I checked it before paying. I was about to bring out my money when I noticed something on one of the shelves. I looked at it and then looked away. I knew I did not need it, so I tried to ignore it and pay for what I had come to buy. But after a few seconds, I looked at it again.

I asked the seller how much it was. She told me the price, and I started thinking about whether I should buy it. It was not very expensive, but it was not part of my plan either. I had enough money for what I came to buy, but if I bought this other thing, I would have less money left. I knew that, but I still kept looking at it. I started telling myself that I could buy it because I liked it and the price was not too high.

I picked it up and looked at it properly. I asked the seller a few questions, and she answered me. I checked it again and kept thinking about it. The funny thing was that I had entered the shop knowing exactly what I wanted, but now I was spending more time looking at something I had never planned to buy. After standing there for some time, I finally decided to buy it.

I paid for both things, collected my bag and left the shop. As I walked away, I was happy with what I had bought. I kept looking at the new thing and telling myself that I would use it. At that moment, I did not feel that I had made a bad decision. I was simply happy that I had seen something I liked and bought it.

After walking for a while, I remembered the money I had left. I brought out my wallet and counted it. I started thinking about what I had spent and what I still needed to pay for later. I still had enough to get home, but I had spent money I had not planned to spend. I looked at the things in my bag and laughed because I knew what had happened. I had gone to the shop for one thing, seen another thing I liked and allowed myself to buy it.

When I got home, I took the things out of the bag and looked at them again. I still liked the thing I had bought, but I also remembered that I had not needed it. I thought about how easy it was for me to change my plan. Before entering the shop, I had already decided what I was going to buy. I had even decided how much money I was going to spend. But seeing something I liked was enough to make me change my mind.

The next day, I passed the same shop again. I looked at the shelf and saw that the same item was still there. I remembered how I had stood in the shop the day before, looking at it and trying to decide whether to buy it. This time, I did not stop. I did not even go into the shop. I just looked at it and continued walking.

Since then, I have tried to be more careful when I go out to buy things. If I see something I like, I first ask myself if I really need it. If it was not part of my plan and I do not have extra money, I try to leave it. I do not always succeed, but I now think about it before spending the money.

I went to that shop that day knowing exactly what I wanted. I came back with what I needed and something I did not need. The funny part is that I was the one who made the decision to buy it, and I was also the one who later wondered why I had bought it in the first place.

 

The Day I Entered the Wrong Bus

 

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

I was in a hurry that morning. I had somewhere to be and I was already thinking about the time because I did not want to arrive late. When I got to the bus stop, it was busy as usual. Buses were coming and going, conductors were calling out the names of different places, passengers were getting down while others were trying to get in, and people were standing by the roadside waiting for the bus going to their different destinations. I was also looking around for one going my way. I had already started feeling that I was wasting time, so when I heard a conductor call the name of the place I was going to, I quickly moved towards the bus and entered.

I did not ask the conductor to repeat the name, and I did not even look properly at the writing on the bus. I simply heard the name, assumed it was my destination and got in. I found a seat by the window and sat down. The bus started moving almost immediately, and I felt relieved that I had finally got one. I looked outside as we moved along the road, but I was not really paying attention to where we were going. My mind was already on where I was headed and what I needed to do when I arrived. I was thinking more about getting there on time than anything else.

For the first few minutes, everything seemed fine. The bus stopped at a few places to pick up passengers and then continued. I was still looking outside, but most of the places did not mean anything to me because I was not familiar with that particular route. After some time, however, I started noticing that something was different. The road was not looking the way I expected it to look. I told myself that maybe the driver had taken another route because of traffic, so I did not worry about it immediately. I continued sitting quietly and looking outside, hoping that I would soon recognise somewhere.

Then we got to a junction I knew very well. I knew that if I was going to my destination, the driver should turn there. I watched the road, expecting him to turn, but he continued straight. I looked outside again and then looked ahead at the road. For a few seconds, I was not sure what to think. I started remembering what the conductor had called when I entered the bus, and that was when it occurred to me that perhaps I had heard him wrongly.

I turned to the woman sitting beside me and asked, 'Please, where is this bus going?' She told me the name of the place, and as soon as she said it, I knew I had made a mistake. That was not where I was going. I had entered the wrong bus.

I did not know whether to laugh or be annoyed with myself. I had been in such a hurry that I had not listened properly or checked the bus before entering. I had heard a name that sounded like my destination and immediately assumed I was in the right place. Now I was sitting in a bus going in a completely different direction. I told the woman that I wanted to get down, but she told me to wait until the next stop because the bus was already moving. I had no choice, so I stayed in my seat and waited.

As the bus continued, I kept thinking about how easily I could have avoided the whole problem. I only needed to ask the conductor one simple question before getting in. Even if I had spent another few seconds checking the destination, I would have known that I was about to enter the wrong bus. Instead, I had been too focused on leaving quickly because I did not want to waste time. Now I was sitting there knowing that I had already wasted even more time.

When the bus finally stopped, I got down and stood by the roadside for a moment. I looked around, trying to decide what to do next. I knew the general area, but I had not planned to come there that morning, and I was now farther away from my destination than I had been before. I checked the time and shook my head when I realised how late I had become. For a moment, I was annoyed with myself, but then I started laughing because the whole thing was almost funny. There was no point standing there blaming myself. I had made the mistake, and I just needed to find the right bus.

I crossed the road and waited. This time, I was not going to rush into anything. When another bus came, I looked carefully at the destination before getting close to it. I asked the conductor where the bus was going and listened to his answer. I even asked another passenger who was nearby just to make sure I had heard correctly. Only after I was certain that it was the right bus did I enter. I found a seat and sat down, this time paying much more attention to the road.

As the second bus moved, I began recognising the places along the way. I knew I was finally going in the right direction, and I felt more relaxed. I could not help thinking about the first bus and how such a simple mistake had changed my whole morning. I had left home worried about being late, rushed into a bus because I did not want to waste time, and ended up spending even more time going in the wrong direction. It was one of those mistakes that could have been avoided if I had simply slowed down for a few seconds.

By the time I finally got to my destination, I was already late. There was nothing I could do about that anymore. I had spent part of the morning going in the wrong direction and then finding my way back. I just had to accept it and continue with what I had come to do.

Since that day, I have become more careful whenever I am taking a bus, especially when I am in a hurry. I check the destination properly, listen to the conductor and ask questions if I am not sure. I would rather spend a few extra seconds making sure I am entering the right bus than enter quickly and later discover that I am going somewhere completely different.

That morning, I thought I was saving time by rushing into the first bus. In the end, I only rushed myself in the wrong direction.