You sit by the lush lawn that overlooks your steel gate, reading a magazine while sipping from a glass of chilled citrus drink. The weather is mild; shining from the back of a dark cloud is the sun, gazing weakly at the world. A passing breeze toys with your hair, blowing them over your face. You didn’t put out a hand to hold them in place, rather you let the breeze nudge them about.

The once gentle breeze gathers into a howling wind which snatches the magazine from your
hand, throwing it feet away from you. You gave a chase, both hands lifted in mock panic, to retrieve your costly magazine. The wind gets excited, doubling its might and swelling your gown like ball wears worn in the western world. You pause in your pursuit, the magazine has been hurled over the fence and you stand holding onto your gown smiling.

You remember Miracle running not too long ago, after a piece of paper she’d been sketching on, stolen by the wind. The thieving wind, you called it. You equally remember how she had laughed when the wind blew up her skirt, you see her gleaming eyes filled with shocked pleasure as she paused to gather her skirt. You remember how you had ran out to her, how you two giggled until the
drizzling rain turned to a mighty downpour.

You remember too how you took turns drying each other’s body, and how you stayed up all night watching her unsteady temperature. Miracle is a fragile one and easily catches cold.

The falling rain brings you out of your nostalgic trance. You turn and flee to shelter while the tears you don’t notice mingle and fall with the rain.
Anger masks your face, stretching it to a frightful angle. You pace in short quick strides, rounding an imaginary table a thousand times. Miracle stands by the sink, playing with the water that runs over her fingers. Her face is frozen, void of any emotion. She raises her
face and looks at you briefly, now you see the defiance in her eyes. You cannot help notice she dons a turtle-neck sweater which is black and thick over a knee length gown; you wonder if she is cold.

You stop right before her. Your eyes are pleading and teary, and your lips shakes from threatening sob.

‘Please,’ you whisper, fighting the sobs. You take her hands in yours.
She moves out of your semi embrace, furiously wiping her eyes with the cuff of her
sweater. She is strong willed and stubborn, just like you.

‘Mother.’ There is plea in her voice. ‘Years ago while in college you had me. You had nothing; no friend nor family to support you, yet you had me despite the mockery and scorn.  Had you aborted me, would you have had me with you today?’

You sit down, letting the tears flow, looking at your sixteen years old Miracle and grasping the meaning of her words.
You ache from what the world would say to her, how the world would treat a teenage pregnant girl. Seventeen years ago you were there yourself, and the pains you passed through still clings to your heart. The world has not changed much in seventeen years. You hug your daughter, weeping with the same unity you had giggled with under the rain.
Vin giggles as you tickle him. The sound of his laughter brings light to your heart. You set him down and watch him crawl happily to his pack of toys.

Months ago, you had sat watch over your teenage daughter and her growing belly. From
the first to the ninth month, fearing that things might go wrong any second. You stood by her against the world and fought her battle with her.

When Vincent was born, you had wept profusely, hiding your face from the excited nurses. You had cried for your daughter’s safe delivery, you had cried at her bravely, but you cried more for wanting to get rid of this angelic being that did
you no harm. All for the sake of what the world will say.

The birds are chirping happily outside, and Fat Jo your dog runs after them, playfully barking up at the sky while clawing at their faint shadow on the ground. You are at the lawn, not reading though you have a magazine on your laps but watching Vin in a slightly oversized cap play with his kite. He is two years old and calls you mama. Far, from the north, the wind came calling. Blowing off Vin’s cap and hurling both it and his kite over the fence.

He turns to you with wide eyes,
laughing, you run to him laughing. Your laughter mingled with Jo’s barking as you all run around playfully.

You lift your grandson to your back, his giggle fused with yours as you run from the falling rain. You are afraid he will catch cold. Fat Jo barks excitedly, running after raindrops. Your dog loves water a lot.

Your voice is sleepy. You sit rocking him to sleep, singing a lullaby. His petite angel-like face cuts your heart. The guilt is still there, although you didn’t get to destroy this happiness.
Nonso Serah Uchechukwu has been published in this blog under the name Serah Donald Mbachu. She sent in this from Owerri. You haven’t seen the last of Serah here.
If you wish to guest blog here, contact me on

Tweets to @Oke4chukwu



I am an introvert personality. I am not someone with a leaking vocal coordination that is going about spewing banal articulations. When I see something stupid I immediately unsee because my intelligent is far above stupidities and passion. I cannot be seeing myself dancing to every wind and caprices. I am the dogonyaro tree that withstand every airforce.

Before I continuous, I must give spoiler alert. I am a grammatical ability and sometimes my words only dictionary can carry it especially when I am vexed. Beer with me because I cannot bring it to your level, just look at somebody who is linguistically violent to be interpretation my vocabulary conundrum. Ah ha!

I have confessed to my introvert naturalism but I have come to decide to speak out. The issues in the national tea cup has entered a dangerous atmosphere. In lay man’s terminus, we are under suffering. No electricity, no fuel, no job, no money, no anything.

Why is this happens under change? This is not what we bargains for during campaign. When Buhari he comes and jingle campaign promises like traffic jam. The promises he have denied them. Because the promise is APC promised not his personally. But people voted because of this billboard of five thousand to unemployed, of two million jobs of school children feedback. Now all of them denied or detained.

The only promise attained is fighting corruption. But this is absolute propaganda. Because not single naira enter our economy. You are fighting corruption but you are borrowing made in China money. This is inconsequential intangibility. For my opinionated wisdom, corruption is when somebody enter NNPC filling station and buy fuel 400 naira.

We are tired. Stop blaming Fashola or Kachikwu. I did not casting one vote for Fashola nor Kachikwu. I cast you my vote, remember Kano cast you 1.9 million vote  So don’t insult our excess sense organs. And nobody to tell me nonsense of exercise patience. One year is not one week. You cannot hold one year wastage and expect to successfully incarnate your destination. Is first year suffering constitutional? Is go slow government the cultural manifest? Then why the bastardisation of the masses? Because the rich are getting richer while the poor are trekking and sipping garri without no sugar.

Some people are stupid to be saying we better to buy fuel 400 naira than blood shedding all the time. But is it a crime for us to have everything that every normal country have? Look at Niger Republic we give them independence but they have peace, fuel and light. But some people want peace in exchange for cutthroat economy. Some people must go back to school.

That is one. On the issue of Fulani frequency fighting all over Nigeria is something that must be put to a stoppage. I enter Facebook somebody he posted the fear of Fulani headsmen is the beginning of wisdom. I feel bad about that testament. My mother is Fulani even you the president is Fulani so you must ensure that peaceful coexistence thrift among all and asunder. People that kill cattles and people that kill somebody must be bought to book. Otherwise Nigeria will fall apart and men anarchy will be loosed upon the society.

On the aspect of your frequency traveling in the overseas is not good. Because money is burning in the jet because it’s not swimming you use to travel or inside horseback. It’s kerosene you put in your jet and meandering in the wilderness of somewhere. Obasanjo when he presiding this country partitioned more than 70 countries but Nigeria he worst after Obasanjo come down. It is not traveling, traveling, traveling. Sometimes you put credit in your waya and call Japan or you send your deputy or a minister.

That remembrance me of your deputy come to Kano and people are abusing him shouting “bamuso, bamuyi” and some people carry sign board with the subscription “no food, no fuel, no money”. Somebody even throw something stronger than aya. This is just the tip of the ice bank of frustration. If it happenstance in Enugu or Port Harcourt they will say 5% noise but if we Kanawa complain then it is really a hopelessly situation. This is the typing on the wall for this administration. Sit up.

On the issue of Boko Haram you have tried your common best to uproot the enigma of their barbarism. But some people can never accepting the defeatism of Boko Haram because of Chibok girls. Until they return all the Chibok hostages. And we’re hearing one girl see in Cameroon  one girl carrying suicide cartridges. Too much confusion. I secretly suggestions you secretly negotiations with Boko Haram to release as much girls as possible. But inside public looks you bone your face marrow and threaten the use of forceful that is how American CIA using tactics, they bone but they go behind the curtain and pay top dollars. Because no amount of forcing and intelligent gathering will rescue all the girls, it is something for the sensing organs to manoeuvre and decipher. I am a bloody civilians but that does not mean I cannot give you military tactics and nuances. A world is enough for a wise.

In a final note I must quantify this with a quotation mark. In the world of Chris Rock “No normal, decent person is one thing”. Buhari must not becoming one thing, just pursuing corruption. Because what we poor masses need is food by the table, light on our bulb and fuel inside our Keke.
Just for fun you should try commenting in this King’s Grammar, if you can.

Tweets to @Oke4chukwu