Shattereddreamsnovel.com

While I was in secondary school, bullies always reminded me that I'm effeminate. I was made to carry effeminacy as a curse, like a nickname that didn't come from a place of love. These differences and clashes with bullies were a result of rattled opinions—ideas that should never be conceived by a man. These vary from feminism to music preferences. For this, I was seen as that boy who would grow into a simp. A woman can run me over without thinking twice. And considering that I am effeminate, I will probably turn gay and become the next Bobrisky. But I ignored them and their grievances. I believe that everyone is entitled to their opinion, and that doesn't invalidate my capacity as a man, especially when these accusations are mere assumptions. They can call me gay or whatever they want. But one thing I'm sure of is that my value system places me at the banquet among my peers. However, a few months in Nsukka as a college student have left me with no other choice than to q...

 I remember it like it was yesterday. Those days, British accent was the trendy thing in Nigeria. Schools hired teachers who taught British accent in the name of social etiquette.  My school hired a teacher who taught this British accent as a subject. Then, we were forced to pronounce “baby” as “beibi”. Saying “bebi” is considered outrageous and vernacular and too “Igbotic”. And as a pupil, who is aiming at the global stage, you must learn how to speak “correctly” and “constructively” inorder to be favoured by the white people - ndi ocha. Pupils were made to compete against themselves. There was a prize for the best “British speaker” in the class.  And the kid who couldn't speak in a British accent? He is the dullard of the class. The empty brain, one who wouldn't cross the shores of River Niger. Looking back at this moment in my life, I realize how foolish we were. Our culture was already at the verge of collapse and we were contributing to its own extinction. This is th...