The Writeventures of Emaleecious

We both needed something from each other. I his service and him, my money. I noticed how young he was when he came closer. But then, I thought I was doing him a favour as I believed he needed the money very much. I asked told him what I wanted him to do, and he set to work. I couldn't help it. I stared. I observed his concentration on the task at hand. He was so young, I thought to my self. Why, he is barely a child! My thoughts strayed... I started trying to imagine how bad the situation might have been for his parents (if he still had any) siblings, or guardian to send him out to the streets to earn a living. To fend for himself and find a means to survive on his own. At his age... I kept staring. Under the guise that I was inspecting his work. Then I saw them. His hands... They certainly didn't belong to a child. They were very big. Calloused. Weathered. Hands that had gone through many changes. Hands that looked stronger than mine. And older. What happened to childhood? Why...

I thought I understood his saying perfectly. I couldn't have been more wrong! "Twenty children can not play together for twenty years"...it sounded so simple! I graduated. I forgot some things I was thought. I remembered some. Then I found out that indeed twenty children wont truly play together for twenty years. It started in bits. We all moved on. Settled in different parts of the country. For some, it was different parts of the world. For others, it was in the same neighbourhood. Gradually, our tastes changed, based on our individual environment. Some got better and more refined. Some got worse and crude. Then the circles of friends changed. some got wider, some shrunk. Then along came NYSC, taking people to different places, in mind and in reality. Our worlds increased and decreased. Then work. Suddenly, we had fewer things in common. We hardly saw, talked or remembered. Except at weddings, events, work, on the streets, in traffic...then we said "hi, did you go t...

"Gimme N2,000 now"! I looked up with an annoyed expression. "Gimme N2,000 now, let me go" I immediately wanted to wind up the glass, but he clamped his hand down on it. The window didn't budge one bit. It was at the tip of my tongue to ask if he had gone mad. Realizing I wasn't taking him seriously enough, he said "you see wetin I hold for my waist?" I looked down to his waist, but all I saw was a big orange Tee. very dirty. I couldn't even say anything. I realized it wasn't a joke. My sister yelled at me to wind up the glass. "what are you still waiting for" she asked? I told her the man was holding it down. "What do you want?" I asked him. "gimme N2,000, let me go" I kept staring at him stupidly, thinking to myself...I'd sooner give the money than give it to you. "if you don't answer me now, I'll blind you with this thing in my hand. see my hand". Automatically, my hand moved to the hand...

Boundaries....the word rolled on my tongue as I was in the shower, and I marvelled at the meaning. At that point what came to my mind was how good it was to set boundaries in every thing. After the shower, I went straight to the Dictionary to get the most appropriate meaning. "Boundary: A visible object or mark indicating a limit". Recently, I had a spat with a very close friend of mine. It was over something that didn't warrant a fight. But we were so strung up and stressed. So we snapped. Both of us. And we did not talk to each other for a while. Then I apologised. Not really because I knew I was wrong, but because I respect her. She calmed down somewhat but was still miffed. I let her be for a while, then started talking to her. Tentatively. She responded. In Monosyllables at first. Gradually to short sentences. Finally started talking...but it was not still the same. Not until the next day. When she had healed completely. Then it hit me. Boundaries. The Boundary we se...