Pimoey Oshodi's Blog

Black is the colour That ushers us into the New Year Such an air of the earth’s odour Like inhaling a rotten pear That bursts open to reveal its colour! Isn’t it black from its stare? Fruits no longer fall without a farce And never again a favour. We ask ourselves what really is our fear When people go hungry without food for their neighbour. We ask ourselves what we care About the price decrement of our labour. Salary no longer puts food on the table, And constant is the tear Of the ones who walk by day and night with little or nothing to harbour. One voice says we rather stay aloof of the demur To better endure the sear. Black is the colour No human change to dare Perhaps with hope of bleaching its colour May resuscitate such dearth in the sphere Black I no longer fancy as beauty’s colour But more of evil, pain and sear It can only take a Caro pore To bring us to a dreamy swear.

Teaching??? No way! Why have I been posted to a school for God’s sake?  I mean, I should have been posted to a radio or television station where I could be relevant. What will a Mass Communications graduate like me do in a school? These were my thoughts as I collected my  NYSC  posting letter. Not only was I posted to a school, it was in a rural area – the village of Okuta in  Kwara State , far away from the hustle and bustle of  Lagos  − where I would be an English teacher. I got to my orientation camp in early March 2012. The experience was amazing: although lights-out was at 10pm I would switch on my little torch and fill my diary with the day’s activities, from making new friends to planning escape routes to avoid the parade ground. At the end of the orientation camp, it was hard to say goodbye because we were all posted to different places for our primary assignment: some (like me) to the rural parts of Kwara, others to its capital, Ilorin. The ...