The Day I Nearly Died – Two Years Anniversary

Today marks 2 years since I nearly died in an accident. You can read the original post here. In the last 2 years my life went to hell and back. I struggled through the 5 stages of grief.

Last year was the worst year of my life. I got hit by a severe depression. I got to a stage where I just had to take it one day at a time. The one year anniversary post can be found here. Last year taught me that sometimes, survival is a victory.

Some days of the week I felt like giving up. I even contemplated suicide. After the accident, I had lost my ability to code. That for a sprinter would be like losing a leg.

Last year, the world went to hell in a hand basket. The shit hit the fan on every side. I gave up on my company and closed it down. I almost gave up on living.

Last year I published 2 books on the Amazon store. Its was surprising for me that just when I taught it was all over, a new life began. At the end of the year, I had gotten my ability to code back.

As I move to the acceptance stage, this will be my last post on the accident. No longer will I build a shrine to it. I am moving on.

In the process of getting through the last 2 years of hell, I forgive myself for all the mistakes I have made in the past. I have done my time, I have paid my penance, I can leave the prison, I can finally move on.

I will end this post with this poem. It says most of the things I want to say.

The Spring of Life

Like a seed that dies to sprout into new life

or trees dead and brown in the winter months,

yet bursting buds in the spring.

Life shall come out of Death

and Death shall be

the Spring of Life

Please Vote for Constance


A while back I remember posting about the Etisalat Flash Fiction Award. Today, one of my friends has made it to the finals and needs your votes.

To vote for her,

  1. Use the link
  2. Use a web browser, FireFox, UC browser or CM browser (preferably) to VOTE. If it says the connection is insecure, please continue it won’t affect your device
  3. Tap the blue bar showing the no of votes
  4. You’ll be prompted to log in to your Facebook account then click continue.
  5. When the no of votes changes then, you’ve voted

Thanks as you vote

2016 Etisalat Flash Fiction Award

Today I read about the 2016 Etisalat Flash Fiction Award when I was reading the Punch newspaper. The guidelines for the competition clearly state that the competition is open to all Africans resident anywhere in the world and that the number of words for each entry should not be more than 300 words.

This lead me to wonder. What does 300 words look like? I think it would be hard to create a story with this limit. The authors would have to zoom in on the core of their story with little room for embellishment. This poses a challenge on what to add or eliminate from the story without ruining its structure.

I have learned from life that it is constraints that inspire our creativity. It was our limitations as human beings that forced us to use the leverage of our minds to conquer the world around. It was the constraint of gravity that made us develop machines that could make us fly. In the absence of resources, we develop resourcefulness and make do with what we have around us.

This will be the challenge that those who enter for the competition will have to face. A part of me wonder if I should enter for this competition. I have never written a novel before although I have finished the draft of my first book which was on technology.

Regardless of whether I send in an entry or not, I have friends that I acknowledge are talented writers. I will be reaching out to them and I hope the grab this opportunity with both hands.

If I decide to enter this competition, it would be an opportunity to learn how to write flash fiction. I would have to train myself to do this.

This is what 300 words look like when shown in print.

A Beautiful Poem About Creativity

How can birds sing, if taken from the meadow?
Cloistered away in silent fear
envious of the boundless skies
Even her wings are held earthbound
defenceless is she, and silent as the grave.

What sun may rise for she who walks in shadow,
the blackness that makes her disappear
hidden away from prying eyes
Too fearful to make the smallest sound
accepting of pain, and living as a slave.

It isn’t mine. I found it on the web and had to save me for myself for a rainy day. You can find the original here.