Skip to main content

WHO WROTE IT?

 – By Ify Omeni
A Commissioner for Education went on a tour to a secondary school. He was very impressed with the facilities there and decided to test the intelligence level of the students.
He asked a student, ‘I am sure you must be proud to be a student of this great school.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The student replied.
‘That’s good. Now tell me, who wrote Things Fall Apart?’
Storried Who Wrote it
At this point, the student became frightened and burst into tears.
‘I don’t know. I did not write it sir. Please don’t punish me. It’s not me who wrote it.’
The commissioner was upset and went to complain to the principal.
The principal was livid.
‘Don’t mind the stupid boy. He is the one who wrote it. In fact, I will deal with him as soon as you go.’
The commissioner left the school, shocked.
His aides seeing how upset he was, offered a solution.
‘Don’t worry sir. We will set up a panel of enquiry to determine the immediate and remote causes of writing such a book.’
At this point, the commissioner asked to be driven home.
That night in bed, he told his wife the story and she was so sympathetic.
‘It’s your enemies that wrote it. You know you have so many enemies. Let’s pray and bind every evil forces trying to destroy your destiny.’
At that point, the commissioner went off to sleep.
He had seen enough drama for one day.
So I throw the question to you, dear reader.
WHO WROTE IT?
Or have things indeed FALLEN APART?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

ÌGBÀ ÈWE (CHILDHOOD DAYS)

By Teslim Opemipo Let our mothers come like harmattan haze and swear by the sacrality of ògún if the roof lying above their fathers' house has never been stoned by a boy in love to walk them out for an evening talk. Let our fathers come like a windy rain and swear by the simplicity of òsun if the path that leads to the village stream has never danced to serenades sang by their soles in chase of maidens with braids so long. Let the elders come like a mid-year harvest and swear by the tranquility of the moon if they've not once tasted the bliss of childhood fermented with the morals of moonlight tales. In our village, childhood is made of water; kinsmen, remember, water is brewed with life and life is the laughter moulded on our lips when we gambol from rivers to trees and to fields painted in the colours of hopping grasses. Brethren, if you hear an elder saying: growing up kills laughter and joy, do not giggle for they once like us tasted the bliss o...
A LETTER TO YOU To you who just wanna throw in the towel and probably end your life already, cause it feels like the weight of 4 planets lay comfortably on your shoulders and your happiness just lasts only as long as a good haircut. To you who has lost the spark to all you hold dear. The passion you once used to feel juggle in your belly just suddenly disappeared. To you who has this excruciating pain (in your body, soul. Every single where, it hurts bad)  that won't just go away. To you who doesn't know yourself. You don't even love yourself first first. You wear the mask every single time so that it's caused bruises on your face. Sores. Scars. You have eroded You. To you who feels getting from where you are to wanna be is a very long thing. To you who don't even know how and what to feel. To you fighting battles. Though ones, you can't deal no more. You have this ugly past that brings plenty voices in your head. You can't tell no one. . ....

WHY DO TEARS FOREVER FLOW?

By Ola Vincent Omotade As I lay on my bed this morning, with sunlight streaming through the window, a gentle breeze blew the flimsy white curtain and I saw the sky turn blue.. OH! its a new day I said. Just as I took a step to go get my pink hard smoker's brush and a Dabur-herbal toothpaste to spray on my brush, I heard someone crying in terribleness. I was weak in my spirit and all I did was to rest on my cushion, threw the brush on my carved mahogany bench and these were words that interfered with my heart. I realized coming to this earth, newly birth nothing in my hand I bring. simply naked to the earth I come, looking for dress in tearsa Oh for us We came hale and hearty, But yet tears trooped out from our eyes, the little helpless baby. Looking for ways to support living, we sow in tears but at times reap in joy, not always every time though. Going through the nooks and crannies of pains in craft works, handiworks and education (disciplined with tear...