Chronicles of the Illegally Legal – S2 E3


By Great Opara

It’s 5:55am. The chick jogging beside me is sweating profusely. I instinctively start to jog faster, just to leave her side. If this one should just goan die like this, I cannot fill eyewitness report o. All these Alpha Base people that dinor used to hear word. They’ll just lock someone up, then panel will follow and before you know it, school fees has wasted.
Passing by the chapel area, different cacophony of sounds (noise) float over to welcome me.

Different groups of people earnestly making different prayers and supplications to the SAME God? LOL! One girl is gyrating and stamping down hard, some other guy is going all “shakiti bobo” with the prayer. They all seem to be having genuine fun. Once again, I increase my pace, before someone will nw cast out demon from someone else, it’ll nw run and enter me. Me that I’m just minding my own business.
I jog on. The sweat is starting to drip faster. I’m sweating in places I didn’t know a human could sweat in. All this just for “Channing Tatum” type body? For fitfam? *sigh* As I begin to consider and reconsider quitting, a vision jogs past me. For the 1st time in a long time I truly understand what it means when they say a girl has “a bright past and a glorious future”. Lovely. I smile, swallow and take in a deep breath. Then I summon all my willpower left to jog faster, as I chase the vision of my future 😀
Back in my room, things are exactly as they should be. One of my room mates is cooking jollof rice (as long as it’s red, it’s jollof abi?) but it smells like fufu. Yesterday, he cooked porridge beans and it still smelt like fufu. Last week, I used his pot to boil water and my rich milk and milo tea was smelling like fufu. I nearly vomited.
Two other of my room mates are arguing over one girl in Sciences that “used to give” and whether or not she still “gives”. I shake my head. Someone is looking for the 5K he left in his jeans. Another human is looking for his phone. We’re all very calm about this. We all trust one another. Things aren’t stolen in our room, they just simply “disappear”.
After the struggle to get a bucket and fetch water downstairs, I locate my soap case. Something’s wrong. This thing feels extremely light. Trepidation overcomes me as I calmly open the case. My fears are confirmed. My soap is missing. One of these idiots has used my soap to bathe. I groan inwardly and as I am about to start cursing the person’s ancestors, I look around the room and I see the them all and their complicit, complacent smirks. I just have to smile. Things are exactly as they should be.
I stroll leisurely to the faculty. The sky is bright and the sun is out, but surprisingly the weather is quite cool. Looking at the world from behind my original Reyban shades, I notice all the admiring glances coming my way and I smile in appreciation. Oluwa o se o.
The faculty is in chaos however. I see one of my classmates, utter despair written all over her face, and I immediately know the reason why. They’ve pasted our broadsheet. I feel my heart slowly sinking. A massive headache is building in my skull. One bespectacled male beside me is muttering something in igbo about finding a gun or a knife. Something about ending it all before his parents get the chance. I don’t really stop to listen.
As I plot how to penetrate the crowd gathered at the notice board and learn my fate, I see my guy who I did “exam formation” with. He is backing away from the board and very silently whispering to himself as if reciting an incantation. I finally decipher what he is saying over and over again. “Cons Law, Cons Law, Cons Law”.
If he has run mad, then I’m probably next. I begin to look around for someone to give my shades, watch, belt and shoes to. If I’m about to run mad, let me at least do it properly.
Madness lies in the eyes of the beholder.

Great Opara
lssblog(2)Great Opara is…well, he’s Great, he likes to see himself as a peculiar, “tribeless” Nigerian. His hobbies include but are not limited to writing, eating, staring at his image in the mirror and talking to pretty females. Blessed with the gift of satire, this antisocial, introverted, unsung hero plans to use fiction to change the world. You can follow him on Twitter: @monsieur_ace


  1. And I started laughing from the fourth line already. Great, what is your inspiration for this thing? Are you sure you’re not using one book somewhere… Great work, great work.


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