‘A day will come when you will look for your money in Nigeria banks and you won’t be able to access it,’ Mazi Nnamdi Kanu had once prophesied.

 ‘A day will come when you will look for your money in Nigeria banks and you won’t be able to access it,’ Mazi Nnamdi Kanu had once prophesied.

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

Just almost at the tail of 2022, the Central Bank of Nigeria announced at a press briefing that it has redesigned all major naira notes and will by December 2022 start circulating them, and therefore, the existing notes would seize to be regarded as legal tender by January 31, 2023. Why did the CBN decide to redesign the naira notes? The naira notes was redesigned to address the issue of individuals who have made currency fraud their main source of income. Another reason for the currency change was to deal a fatal blow to the growing kidnapping and ransom industry. The third reason for the change in notes was to aid in lowering the rate of inflation and the fourth reason was to control the amount of money circulation.

These four reasons appear to be glowing in the surface but could these reasons be the main reason for the redesign and swift banning of the old naira notes? Or is the upcoming general election a major reason for this redesign and swift banning of the old notes?

About 500 million pieces of the new N1,000, N500 and N200  currency was ordered from the mint due to Nigeria’s weak minting capacity. It seems funny that about 1.5 trillion of the old notes had been returned while a lesser redesigned pieces were printed. Was the CBN cashless policy the reason for the little amount printed? Or could it be that more than 500 million pieces was printed? However, if the majority of the money printed is hijacked by politicians, and very rich businessmen, what would be the fate of low-income earners? If a governor is able to withdraw more than 5 million naira from the redesigned notes, how much would be left for the poor masses?

 Has Nigeria ever experienced money scarcity before? Findings showed that during the pre-colonial era, different cultures used a variety of items as means of exchange. These items such as cowries, beads, bottles, manilas and other stuffs were used as means of exchange. In Nigeria, the first major currency was undertaken sequel to the colonial ordinance of 1880 which introduced the Shillings and Pence as the legal tender currency in British West Africa. Later, the West African Currency Board issued the first set of banknotes and coins in Nigeria, Ghana, Sierra Leone and the Gambia, from 1912 to 1959. Then, the highest banknote denomination was one pound while the one shilling coin was the highest coin denomination. On 1^st July, 1959 the Central Bank of Nigeria, which is now the sole issuer of legal tender money throughout the Federal Republic of Nigeria, issued Nigerian currency banknotes, while the West African Currency Board issued banknotes and coins were withdrawn, and on the 1^st of July, 1962 the currency was changed to reflect the country’s republican status. The banknotes which had FEDERATION OF NIGERIA, now had FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF NIGERIA, inscribed at the top. The notes were again changed in 1968 following the misuse of the currency banknotes during the civil war.

The government later made the decision to decimalize the Nigerian currency; abandoning the metric and adopting the decimal currency. The name of the Nigerian currency was changed in January, 1973.Then, the major unit of currency which used to be 1 pound came to a halt and the one naira which was equivalent to ten shillings became the major unit, while the minor unit was called the kobo. That was indeed a start to a new beginning after the civil war, a new currency, Naira, was meant to be the new start for our business transactions.

 On 11^th February 1977, a new banknote with the value of twenty naira was issued, and gradually, other currency banknotes were issued. However in April 1984, under the leadership of Muhammadu Buhari, during his military regime, the colours of all the banknotes in circulation were changed with the exception of the 50 kobo banknotes, with the reason to arrest the currency trafficking prevalent at that time, and to control the withdrawal of money to foreign countries. And in this same 1984, the government had granted a two weeks grace period for changing the old notes, thereby causing a huge shortage in commodities. In that same 1984, Nigeria had few banks operating in the state capitals and a cluster of cities. In 1991, the 50 kobo and one naira were both coined.       

Due to the expansion in economic activities and because Nigeria wanted to facilitate an efficient payment system, hundred naira to one thousand naira banknotes were introduced in December 1999, November 2000, April 2001 and October 2005.

In 2008, CBN introduced the polymer versions of 5, 10, 20, and 50 naira notes, and many citizens welcomed them with open arms while gradually ignoring the old paper note in the same denominations. However, six years after, many people began rejecting the polymer currency notes, either because it faded to the point it can no longer be spent, or it shrunk after a while. Maybe because it couldn’t endure the too much business transactions, it began to fade in beauty. It seemed that the polymer banknotes were created to have short life span. Anyway, the shrinking of the polymer notes and the fading out of the currency features printed on them never caused money scarcity.

Since 1^st October, 1960 was Nigeria’s Independence, CBN issued a redesigned 50 naira polymer banknote for the celebration of the nation’s 50^th anniversary, on 29th September, 2010, and on 12^th November 2014, in order to mark the 100 years of the amalgamation of the Northern and Southern Protectorates into a nation-state called Nigeria, the Central Bank of Nigeria unveiled the new redesigned 100 naira banknote to commemorate our 100 years as a single nation. Really? Too many redesigns! However, the old banknotes never stopped being legal tender. They gradually faded out on their own.

 Has Nigeria experienced money scarcity before? The shortage of commodities in 1984 was understandable because Nigeria was still in the crawling stage but what could be the reason for a repeat of 1984 in 2023, from the same head of state, Muhammadu Buhari, who now serve under the civilian rule as president of Nigeria since 2015? Then, in 1984, the few banks that operated only maintained branches in the state capital and never found it of interest to expand into the rural areas. Many had lost their jobs, businesses came to a halt, people died of frustration, and the most affected were the traders.

 Recently, it was stated that CBN spent about 281 billion naira for the printing of the naira notes in five years and about additional N3. 88 billion to destroy mutilated ones within the same period. The question is, did CBN redesign or repaint the current naira notes? Why the urgency in the redesign and circulation of the naira notes; 200, 500 and 1000 which is today affecting everyone? Was the redesign really for the four reasons aforementioned? Perhaps, truly, the CBN had done this redesign for the implementation of the cashless policy which would plug fiscal leakages, for the boosting of government revenues and as well as help the economic empowerment of vulnerable Nigeria as well as benefit the country as a whole. However, if that is the case, we should not still forget the fact that the government OWES and so didn’t need to spend much just to redesign the aforementioned naira notes! The money spent on the redesigns should have at least been used to solve the problem of ASUU, pay workers’ salaries and pensions, create employments and build a beautiful green and white country to benefit all.

The government should focus on what to do to aid her struggling citizens to whom they made promises to during election and not on repainting our naira notes! We are not babies that need new dresses for every birthday; we are adult who want to build stability for the generation to come. And if at all the redesign was urgently necessary, then the government or rather CBN should have learnt from other countries that had their currency redesigned. For instance, the Bank of England released new designs for British pound banknotes featuring King Charles III last year, but the old banknotes will remain legal tender as the new notes are not expected to enter circulation until mid-2024. In the case of Nigeria redesign, the new notes came in circulation by December of 2022 and just like flash the old notes were asked to disappear by January 31, 2023 but were extended to February 10, 2023. There should be no hurry in the circulation of the new notes and there should be no swift disappearance of the old notes. This policy should have been a gradual process. Why the urgency in the banning of the old notes? Nigeria is not yet a cashless society just like other advanced countries and yet when such policies are made in developed countries, they give their citizens enough time.

Instead of the hurry in the stopping of the old notes from being legal tender, the new currencies should co-exist with the old ones until the old ones fades away.

This harsh decision of not accepting the old naira notes is affecting the people, especially the poor masses who now suffer to get the money they have worked hard to earn, even to the point of sleeping in the bank. The scarcity of money has brought riots in Nigerian cities as angry protesters are today attacking ATMs and blocking roads in frustration at the lack of new redesigned banknotes. Banks have limited access to cash for withdrawals because of the scarcity of the new notes, and to make everything worst, some businesses refused to accept the old notes, thereby causing frustration, disrupting businesses, causing long queues, angering customers or rather citizens to set ablaze the commercial banks in some Nigeria cities.

 Since the banks are no longer operating as they ought to, the people are now doing cash transfer, which most times have no results. By the way, who are the ones doing the cash transfer? The forty percent of the citizens! Where did the rest citizens go? The sixty percent of the population have no access to banks. In this case, what is the fate of these 60 percent of the population?

Due to this money scarcity, many banks, ATMs, POS, have shut down, and to make the matter worst, the mobile money transfer are currently fluctuating due to poor network. People no longer get healthcare because by the time the doctor receives alert, the patient is already dead. Traders no longer do business due to scarcity of cash; workers are also affected, students are now at home because there isn’t enough money to transport and to buy lunch. Some of the banks that were overcrowded few days ago are today empty. Customers are no longer sure of their fate but then they still queue at ATM booths, not because they are sure of getting miracle but maybe believing little in false hope.

What is the government doing to stop this mess? In a country were the government does not listen to the court order what would then be the fate of the citizen? Could this be the fulfillment of Mazi Nnamdi Kanu’s prophecy?

The British-Nigerian political activist who was known to advocate for the secession and independence of Biafra from Nigeria, and also known as the leader of the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB), which he founded in 2014 had once prophesied before his arrest in June of 2021 that, ‘A day will come when you will look for your money in Nigeria banks and you won’t be able to access it’.

Of course, the people are indeed looking for their money in Nigeria banks, their hard earned money but are not able to have access to it. Due to the shortage of the new currency, people now sell cash to get cash; people go hungry on daily basis, and frustration mounting as some citizens can’t purchase basic necessities.

 It is quiet understandable if we say that Nigeria is operating Nigerocracy instead of democracy. By my own definition, Nigerocracy is a form of government were the country chooses democracy as their form of government but the government instead chooses to rule the country with hammer and hardship, thereby causing the citizens to suffer in pain and poverty, while the government live big in affluence and puff.

If the definition of democracy is government of the people for the people and by the people, then why is our government not including us in the decision that they make? Why are the citizens waved behind when important decisions are made? Shouldn’t there be a forum were the citizens are allowed to Have Their Say? Don’t we have the right to tell the government what we want and what we do not want? Shouldn’t the government listen to their subjects more than they listen to their power? Shouldn’t they listen to the court of law? Perhaps, our government is above the rule of law? Does their veto power also include ignoring their subjects and court order? Are we going to halt our future just because the government wants things to go their way? Or should we, the citizen rise up and fight for what is rightfully ours?

Without the citizens, there won’t be existing government and laws! So, the people have the right to rise at matters like this and decide their stand. What if they decide to use the old notes among themselves without complaining? Protest; sometimes do not solve issues but standing tall to decide the best that would suit without complaining seems the best approach at this moment. What is best; to locally reject the old notes during business transactions and wait for when the new notes will be printed more and maybe die in hunger while waiting for a journey thus far or to still continue using it as legal tender and settle rising bills? Even the few months’ extension to the use of N200 naira old note won’t be able to solve the problem of money scarcity.

Two solutions; allowing the old and new notes to co-exist until the old notes completely disappear. If such won’t be supported by the CBN and the federal government, then the number two would be to internally use the old notes among the citizens. Implementing number two solution would be breaking the law but then; a hungry man doesn’t know what law is until after having a full stomach. Therefore, the people want nothing more but a peaceful approach to this money scarcity to avoid breaking the law.

My Journey As A Writer: Pick up your pen and start writing

My Journey as a Writer: Pick Up Your Pen and Start Writing

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

 

The evening was warm and beautiful as I returned home from school. Shedding my jacket, I entered my father’s bedroom, where he sat engrossed in his writing at the study desk. Oblivious to my presence, he remained deep in thought.

‘Dad, would you like achara tea?’ I asked, wearing a smile.

Startled, my father scolded me for interrupting him. ‘Can’t you see I’m working?’ His serious demeanour always accompanied his writing sessions.

‘Mum asked me to bring it to you,’ I explained, walking over and placing the tea by his mouse. Playfully, I flicked his head with my fingers. ‘As the younger version of you, I have the right to distract you a little.’ Glancing at the scattered sheets of paper on the table, I sighed. ‘Are you hungry?’ I enquired, realising that his focus on his book, “Christian Behaviour in Politics,” had likely caused him to forget his food, which had now grown cold. I noticed his computer was shut down, understanding his preference for pen and paper before typing.

A slight smile curved my father’s lips as he lifted the mug to his mouth. ‘I can see your mission today is to distract me,’ he remarked, taking a sip of tea.

Once he finished his tea, I picked up the empty mug, ready to leave. However, my father’s words halted me before reaching the door.

‘You know how much I dislike being disturbed when I’m writing,’ he spoke calmly, indicating his desire for a conversation. Eager to learn from him as both a skilled writer and teacher, I turned to face him.

‘Yes, I understand that whenever you’re writing, you prefer not to be interrupted,’ I acknowledged.

‘I’d rather have my sleep disrupted than my writing. You should know that,’ he continued. ‘Good writing requires creativity, and creativity requires space for deep thinking. I can’t think clearly if I’m constantly interrupted. If my thoughts are muddled, my writing suffers. Even a small distraction from you can obliterate the momentum I have in writing this book. Yes, I often start with a rough draft, but when it’s time to organise my ideas, I refer back to the outline in that draft. Once the flow is disrupted, it may never return the same way. The next time I continue writing, the new ideas may come out differently, for better or worse. That’s why one should never disturb someone who is working with their mind. They need that uninterrupted time for brainstorming. Writing a rough draft is indeed crucial for capturing initial thoughts and ideas on paper, and I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment. But when you try to expand upon those ideas and lose your creative flow due to noise or distraction, it may be challenging to recover... That’s why I prefer to write in complete silence, whether it’s here at home or anywhere else.’

My father’s words resonated with me. I recalled a time when I was writing my first short story in my stuffy room. Thoughts were flowing, and I felt an immense joy. However, my sister barged in, talking loudly. The moment I heard her voice, all my writing zeal evaporated. Instead of persevering, unsure of what to write anymore, I closed my notebook and sought solace under the guava tree outside. I hoped the gentle breeze would rejuvenate me and bring back my thoughts, but they never returned the same way. It took several days for my inspiration to resurface, and even then, it arrived in a different form.

‘I’m sorry,’ I apologised gently, recognisng the impact of my actions.

My father shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sometimes, I don’t mind the noise, as long as it doesn’t distract my thoughts...’ He chuckled.

I chuckled as well, my gaze sweeping the room. Next to his study desk, there was a table covered with books, files, and papers. In fact, his bedroom housed numerous books, arranged meticulously in a way that fascinated me. Anyone attempting to organise a home library would envy the arrangement of those books. However, I was always hesitant to touch them, fearing a sudden collapse that would require hours to fix. Thankfully, my mother was always there to restore order when such mishaps occurred.

My father was an avid reader, always immersing himself in books when he wasn’t writing. He treated his books with tender care, especially their spines. He despised seeing them scribbled on, folded in half, or tainted with dust.

I’m not sure where my father’s love for books and writing originated, but I know that I inherited mine from him. Just as he treated his books with reverence, I shared the same sentiment. I disliked breaking the spine of any book and avoided folding pages while reading.

‘Have you finished the story you told me about?’ my father asked.

‘No,’ I shook my head. ‘I lost concentration.’ I walked closer to my father.

He leaned back, chuckling. His well-shaved beard and red shirt exuded a refined aura, and apart from the sprinkling of white hair, one could mistake him for someone in their early forties. He noticed my gaze resting on the newspaper he had bought earlier from a vendor. Handing it to me, he said, ‘Would you like to read this? I’ve read all that interested me for now.’

Gratefully, I accepted the newspaper. ‘Thank you, Dad. I don’t usually buy newspapers because they’re expensive,’ I laughed, scanning its pages. ‘I want to be a great writer, just like you...’

My father smiled. ‘Writers don’t focus on the cost; they value the message the story conveys. As a younger version of me, you should understand that sometimes we lose our way in writing, while other times the words flow effortlessly,’ he spoke in a soft tone. ‘Our moods can often influence what we write... Reading will help you become a better writer. I have plenty of books; you can read them when you have spare time. Pay attention to the grammar used and apply it to your own writing... Your reading life should always complement your writing life.’ Pausing for a moment, my father continued, ‘We write to be heard, to have a voice, to express our thoughts, to evoke emotions, to give a voice to the voiceless. Writing empowers us to create. Don’t be afraid or frustrated if your ideas don’t immediately come together. Just write them down. When you return to them later, you’ll be able to connect the dots. Sometimes, you may know what to say, but your thoughts might not translate onto paper. Keep pushing your pen, writing both sense and nonsense. Eventually, the non will dissipate, and what remains will be sense, which people will read and enjoy. Trust the process. Don’t overthink it; take it one step at a time... But keep writing. Don’t stop, and one day, many will line up to read your stories.’ He looked up at me. ‘You may go now.’

I returned the paper to my father, grinning, and just as I reached the door, I turned around and said, ‘Dad, thanks for the writing tips. Since writing is an infinite journey for me, I will need them to navigate my writing journey every day. They will serve as a map to lead me...’ Once again, I turned around to leave.

‘Pick up your pen and start writing. Ideas are everywhere; you just have to find them with your pen,’ my father said blissfully. He let out a smile, hopeful that I would become a great writer someday. Then, he immersed himself back into his work, and I headed to my room. It was hard not to feel good when looking at the younger version of yourself. I could sense how proud my father was of me, even though I was naughty sometimes. His talent as a writer had deepened my love for writing.

As soon as I entered my room, I spotted my sister walking towards me. She was brimming with enthusiasm. ‘Big sister, I’ve read a few lines from your story, and I think I like it.’ Just as I was about to brush her off, she added, ‘You can write about anything. Writing is your talent.’ With that, she walked away, unwrapping her strawberry lollipop and blissfully sucking on it.

I stood by the door, watching her disappear into the distance, a sweet smile gracing my face. I am a writer, I whispered in my heart. From a young age, I was well-acquainted with the three major genres of literature: drama, prose, and poetry. Every day, I would scribble lines in my notebook, whatever came to mind. As I grew up, with my father’s guidance, I began to grasp the flow of writing. I learned the distinction between merely harbouring the thought of being a storyteller and actually sitting at my study desk, penning down my thoughts for people to read.

English and Literature were my favourite subjects in school. No matter how tired I was, I never skipped those classes, and I relished reading books. While I mostly enjoyed choosing my own books to read rather than assigned ones, I never declined a good book. I was always eager to learn more and write, a lot.

The next day, as I rode the bus back home from school, the scenery outside the window caught my attention. I was seated in the second row, by the window, directly behind the driver. I turned my head and gazed at the scenery passing by, my eyes drawn to the trees swaying in the gentle wind. In that moment, I reached into my backpack, retrieved my pen and notebook, and allowed myself to be captivated. My eyes fixated on the dancing leaves, and my hand moved effortlessly as my thoughts poured onto the paper. It felt invigorating. My hand glided smoothly, no need for crossings out.

The elegance of my hand in motion was a beautiful sight. In fact, at that very moment, I felt the flourishing thrust of youthful penmanship as I penned my story. Writing allowed me to communicate. It brought me joy and satisfaction. I owed it all to my beloved father, who paved the way for me. I simply had to tread the path he had laid before me.

‘I am a writing addict, if the English language would allow such words together,’ I mused. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. I cherished the sensation of holding my pen and giving life to my thoughts. Even my text messages were composed in full sentences. Texting abbreviations bored me, and I often ignored messages written in such a manner.

As I reached home on that beautiful day, I dashed towards my father who was sitting on the verandah, engrossed in reading his write-ups.

‘I’ve just finished the story. Would you like to take a look?’ I asked, my excitement evident as I offered him the story before he even had a chance to reply.

A sweet smile formed on my father’s face. ‘You’re a great writer. I might have to learn a thing or two from you,’ he said, looking up at me. ‘Did you finish the story today?’

I nodded, my smile widening. ‘Do you like it?’ I eagerly enquired.

He chuckled and replied, ‘I’m sure I will.’ Handing the notebook back to me, he added, ‘I’ll read it all by tomorrow.’ With several writing assignments lined up, his work was always embraced by many. As I looked at him, I couldn’t help but feel proud and grateful to have such a talented writer as my father.

‘You were right,’ I whispered, glancing around. ‘Ideas are everywhere. We just have to capture them with our pen.’ I smiled again, contemplating how my pen could evoke emotions and bring people together. It had the power to heal broken hearts, make people laugh or cry, and it will connect and unite people together. All it needed were ideas to bring them to life, I thought as I walked inside.

My writing journey may not have always been smooth sailing, but every day as I wield my pen, I embark on a new adventure of discovery and growth. To date, I have completed about nine novels, and I continue to write more because ideas never cease to flow.

My pen is my sword, and I store my ammunition in my notebook. I always ensure they are close by because inspiration can strike at any moment. I must be prepared. My pen is akin to a doctor’s scalpel or stethoscope, an engineer's hammer drill, and a soldier’s sword.

I cannot imagine myself without my pen. It has always been my favourite tool for writing as it enables a profound connection with my brain and thought process. Even though I can now directly type on a computer without jotting down words in my notebook or rough drafts, I still feel the irresistible urge to write with my pen and into my notebook. It feels safer, better, and it truly makes me feel like a writer.

 

 

To The Beautiful You, London

 

 

To The Beautiful You, London

                                                                                                  29^th October, 2022.

                          

Dear London,        

I am Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu, the Nigerian brown-skinned young woman that is always overwhelmed with happiness at the mention of your name. I never really believed that I could fall in love with a city by just reading about it. I thought it was just something that people exaggerated in stories, but the first time I read about the Great Fire of London, I knew that you were the best city for me. At that moment, I felt that you were just like gold in the fire; refined and purified to be admired by everyone. It is true that I have never visited you before, but I feel happy just by reading books about you. Whenever I read books about you, London, I feel like I am being transported to my favourite foreign city, as well as immersing me in all of the lush details of your perfect spot.

How lovely of you to be the capital and largest city of England and the United Kingdom. You impeccably stand on the glimmering River Thames in South-east England at the head of a 50-mile (80 km) estuary down to the North Sea, and have been a major settlement for two millennia.

You’re culturally rich and such a diverse city as you, with centuries of history flowing within every alleyway and mews makes me to always want to know more about you.

I could imagine how glorious it would be to watch the sunset from Waterloo Bridge, and looking ahead at the beautiful Eye of London which sits right in your heart. I read that the London Eye is a giant Ferris wheel on the South Bank of the River Thames in London, and that it is a beautiful, modern structure that represents a modern and successful London. I feel so happy about you, my sweet great London.         

London, you are a major city of about 9 million people and you undoubtedly house so many beautiful places like St. Paul Cathedral which offers an awe-inspiring walk through history, and featuring some of the most beautiful art mosaic and architecture. What about Syon Park which was built in the 1760s? I enjoy browsing with my phone just to admire the 200-acre park and its grand house with superb interior. I also enjoy reading the London Bridge which glows magnificently at night as well as the Canary Riverside, the markets which are constantly buzzing from Old Spitalfields in East London to the multi-storey operation in Camden Market, the numerous walking trails, the Tower of London, the Royal Botanic Gardens, the coffee shops, hips of bars and restaurants, high-end schools, museums, courts, beautiful buildings, lovely people with beautiful souls and hearts. In fact, I don’t need to be there before knowing that every corner of you has its own distinct charm, waiting for me to come over and discover them myself. Your attractions draw in millions of people to you.

Yes, many of the top cities of the world have their own attractions which have received awards and have left huge tourist trails just like you. However, no one would dispute the fact that people of all nationalities, cultures, and ethnolinguistic backgrounds see you as the place where they can freely live, work, school, build their future and have fun. 

I genuinely want to simply wander around you and get lost in all the neighbourhoods you have created. I want to enjoy your lovely weather and the delicious meals which you offer generously. I read that the people living in you are as beautiful and amazing as you. Though you might be expensive for most people to live in, but then, I still believe that you somehow have room for all. There is no city without challenges but your ability to overcome whatever challenge that is thrown at you makes you the hero of the entire city in the world. Do you know why I call you the hero of cities? Despite experiencing devastation and destruction during the Great Fire of London in 1666 which brought an end to the ravaging plague, to the aftermath of two World Wars, you gloriously rose like a phoenix from the ashes, and today you stand tall, stronger and even beautiful! You survived the Great Fire, and became a glittering gold.

In you, many people have built great future for themselves. You have produced the world’s number one royal family; you have equally produced great men and women that are ruling the world today. You give everyone great opportunities. For your attractions and the good things you offer, many families have today migrated to you, and many more are everyday queuing the line all because of how amazing you are.

It is impossible not to fall in love with you my great London. You’re rich in history, adventures, food, art, and culture. Tell me, why can’t I fall in love with you over and over again? You might be surprised as to why someone that hasn’t seen you before could truly fall in love with you, right? Sometimes, people fall in love with people, places or things even before meeting them in real life. I am among the one percent of people that do not need to see you before falling in love with you. You deserve to be loved and cherished. There might be biases from people. But to me, I sincerely want to tell you that you’re the number one city on my travel calendar.

People say that falling in love is magical; I think I felt it with you. Always remain you, and take care of everyone as you have always done. I believe in you. I believe in the greater and beautiful future that still awaits you.

Yours sincerely,                                 

Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu.   

My Mother, My Everything

 My Mother, My Everything

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

 

All my life, I have realised that being a mother is the only job without monthly salary. No retirement, no day off, no shift, no leave, no resign, no retreat and no surrender. But, it is a job of 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. It is work for life.

I have discovered that no one hides pain better than a mother who is trying to survive for her children.

Whenever I look at my mum’s beautiful face I can’t help but smile and thank GOD for the gift of her. I can’t help but hug her and never let her go.

My mother has always been my inspiration. She has always been my source of strength.

As I lay on the couch in my living room one Friday morning, I recall my mother telling me about my journey into this world.

She told me that it took GOD nine months to create me. Throughout the nine months, I was in her womb swimming like little fat worm and fish. I had caused her pain but she was glad she had me in her womb. I had kicked her while in the womb, but she never got mad, instead, she smiled and rubbed her belly gently blessing me in her womb.

She told me about her cries in the labour room, about her contractions and about how I finally landed. She held me in her hands, kissed my pink cheek as tears of joy streamed down her face. She was glad because I became her Joy of Motherhood.

During my school days, my mother became an early bird. She will wake up so early in the morning depriving herself of her beautiful sleep just to get me ready for school.

She never told me this but I knew that most times my mother went hungry for my sake. She went out very early to work and came home late looking very tired and hungry. Instead of grabbing a bite, she will feed me. Instead of taking a rest, she will bath and put me to sleep. She would walk in the rains, and in the hot scorching sun for my sake.

I might not wear luxury dresses but you never fail to clothe me. You might not have brought me to high-end restaurants but you always feed me with your best home cooked food.

I might not live in a palace, but you gave me a home filled with happiness and peace.

You saved your hard earned money for my school so I would become a better someone in the future.

Mum, I might be too many things-stubborn, naughty and even silly, but I will never risk loving you. I will never trade my love for you for anything in the world.

You are my gold and diamond. Mum, I want to say thank you for loving me unconditionally, thank you for carrying me in your womb for nine months, thank you for given me sunshine and peace, thank you for holding my hands and leading me to the right track. Thank you for being my weapon shield, thank you for feeding me always, thank you for being my mother.

I love you mum-I always love you and will never grow tired of loving you. I love your warm embrace which gives me strength. I enjoy your lovely kisses and will always want it.

I pray you grow old and become a healthy grandmother of my grandchildren.

Mum, always know that no matter how old I become you’ll forever remain my mother and I will forever remain your little cute baby. I love you my precious jewel. You are my best gift and my everything.

You are a blessing that no one can replace. I pray you eat the fruit of your labour.      

The moment I met you (Chapter 33)

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

Chioma had changed into a set of clothes after taking her bath. So, she went to the kitchen to cook noodles.

When the food was ready, her mobile phone began to ring. Seeing that the call was from an unknown caller, she didn’t bother to pick up. Perhaps, Chioma was afraid it was that man of her dreams. She didn’t want to speak to him, because she was afraid of what to say. In fact, Chioma was tired and in no mood to receive calls, especially from a random caller.                                                                                                

Just then, her brother Andrew walked inside as she began to eat her noodles; seeing Andrew, Chioma was surprised. She looked up at the clock hanging on the wall. It was almost two in the afternoon.                    

But then, knowing that her adoring brother was right here with her made her smile. She knew that he must have come back home just to check on her. Feeling loved, she greeted him sweetly.                                       

Andrew nooded at her then pulled out a chair and sat down.    Chioma rose to bring food for Andrew but, he gestured for her to sit back. Placing the snack he had bought for Chioma on the table, he looked at her with a serious gaze.                                                                       

‘Why didn’t you tell me about your accident? You rejected my calls because you were afraid to say something about it, right?’ Andrew scolded with a faint smile.                                                                                               

Chioma almost spat out the noodles in her mouth when she heard what Andrew said. How did he know about it? Who could have told him? Did he just come home this early to give me a dressing- down? Chioma wondered. She was speechless, unable to answer Andrew’s questions.               

        

‘What? You are dumb and can’t speak? Or maybe you’re confused as to how I got hold of the information? Don’t worry I didn’t pull out the surveillance clips. You know that I don’t know anything about hacking skills. If I know about hacking, I will be invincible.’                             

‘Of course my big brother Andrew is highly gifted,’ Chioma said with a smile, trying to change the subject. But Andrew was smart.               

The moment I met you (Chapter 32)

 By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

Michael strolled towards his desk as though no one has spoken to him. Even though it was just a short stroll, he was still able to captivate everyone’s attention.                                                                                                 

The partnership contract signing with George enterprise was to begin any moment and would be broadcast live as well as officially announced to the public.                                                                                                

Michael had made the contract signing low-key. He didn’t bother with walking down the red carpet in front of reporters as most contracts are done. Even though there were reporters around, it was still low-key.                                                                                                             

At Moon Corporation, Robert sat in the office watching the live broadcast. On the screen, he could sense Michael was bothered with something which was obviously related to the girl he was investigating about. But despite that, Michael was very handsome and pleasing to behold. He was the kind that was hard to ignore.                                                           

After signing the contracts, Michael turned to the CEO of George enterprise and held out his hands.                                                                     

The man kept a bright smile on his face as he shook hands with Michael. Shaking hands with this   god-like man was like walking through heaven’s gateways.                                                                                                       

‘The contracts could be withdrawn any moment,’ Michael said expressionlessly. ‘The sky could turn dark; it would be your best interest to work well.’ His words carried layers of meaning which was understood by all.                                                                                                         

Anyone could tell that though the contracts had been signed, there seemed to be rough seas ahead.                                                               

Michael wrapped up the contract signing by having lunch with the CEO of George enterprise which was a plus to his reputation. Eating with Michael was like eating with Angels from heaven. 

The moment I met you (Chapter 31)

 By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

Reaching for the wine rack, Michael selected a wine. After pouring a glass of Amorone della Valpolicella wine, he made his way to the leather seat by the window, before sipping on the wine. His mind seemed to be occupied with something. It was obvious it wasn’t about the partnership contracts he was about signing with George enterprise but rather about Chioma Chima.           

Just then his phone vibrated, Michael glanced at his phone to look at the number before picking the call. Coldly, he said, ‘don’t make me wait else I will cancel this contract.’ He was speaking to the CEO of George enterprise.                                          

          

‘Almost there, sir,’ the person at the other end of the line said.                   

‘Lazy morons,’ Michael cursed. ‘I shouldn’t have accepted to partner with incompetent trash like George enterprise! You are more like pigs!’                                                                                                                        

Michael ended the call as soon as he finished speaking. He looked furious as he stared outside the window. He murmured, ‘you bring nothing but bad luck. I had brushed against the only woman I had ever loved just to sign a stupid contract. You better behave else I will crumple your company with my hands!’ then, he gulped down the red wine.           

      

Michael had a cold and aloof personality that made it difficult for others to get close. His authority in the business world further instilled fear in others, forcing them to behave carefully around him. So when the CEO of George enterprise walked inside the suite he was careful not to offend this god-like man. Though, clad in a Versace gorgeous navy blue suit which no doubt looked very expensive, classy and high-end, the CEO of George enterprise was nothing but a mice when he stood before Michael.                                                                                                                  

‘Sir Michael is indeed a legend of the business world,’ the man said, trying to curry favour. ‘He is not just a legend; he is an unbelievable miracle…’