Mike Tee

I am a police officer or rather say, I was a police officer. I didn’t join the force because I needed a job, I did because I believed that justice was sacred. My father is a successful businessman, I could have been comfortable living my life but I wanted to make a difference and to wear the uniform with pride, not to stain it with corruption. I refused bribes, even when they mocked me and called me “Mr. Holy,” and said I will not survive in the police force, I stayed. All these, I stood my ground, ironed my uniform every morning and I told myself that integrity was not enough, or so I thought.
Here is the real story. I exposed a senior officer who was involved in extortion, little did I know that that he is not alone, there were other senior officers involved. The next week, I was in handcuffs, framed for the same crime I exposed. They said if I confessed, I’d be free in two years, they said I was the mastermind of it and that I kidnapped their family members, forced them to sign off on it. My wife brought divorce papers to the cell for me to sign, my father never came around, my mother, she came only once in two years but she refused to look at me in the eyes.
Two years later, I walked out of prison, free but not innocent. The whole world had moved on and I was the villain. I didn’t know where to go to, nothing to return to. Now, I sit down here wondering if I should forgive or become the terror of the state which crucified me, the righteous? My crime was integrity and the justice served for me has grown to make me a rebel.

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I gave my life to this country with pride and doing it wholeheartedly, hoping that, that service is the highest form of love; I fought tooth and nail in the dust of Maiduguri, I was among those who patrolled the borders of Zamfara, I was a watchman under the burning sun of Borno and then sat down watching in the cold nights of Kaduna, all of these to make sure there is peace in the nation that I took an oath to defend. All the bullets that flew past me was a reminder that I have a wife and two children who are waiting and praying that I would return home safely. I put aside birthdays, laughter and comfort, believing that the country that I serve would protect my family if I am unable to do so.
Well, I was wrong. Five years have passed since I fell in service and my family’s struggle has become a wound that have not been tackled. My wife moves from one office to another, following my gratuity which did not and may never come. Last week, our younger child died in her arms right in front of the hospital all because she could not make the payment upfront for treatment.
My surviving son wanders the streets in search for food in the trash, his heart is against this country which I once called my home. He has no faith in the flag that I died defending. And as I watch from the grave, I am haunted by the thought that my sacrifice for my country was what gave birth to their suffering. I gave my all for peace but I am afraid that my son may not grow up to keep that peace because when a country forgets its heroes, it is planting seeds of rebellion in the hearts of those they abandon.

Writing is as good as an Art and a Craft

Episode 5
(Narrated by Muhknaan and Nendi)
Muhknaan’s POV
Months into our friendship, sitting down in my hostel room with the scholarship award letter in my hand, it felt like the world was asking, who are you?
But I knew the answer.
I wasn't the village boy anymore. I was a Theatre Art student with a purpose. A student who had fought, struggled and come out the other side victorious because someone believe in me.
When I saw her in class that day, as I walk to take a seat beside her, my heart was heavy, full of words I could never quite say. She didn't need a speech, she had my gratitude in every eye contact that we made.
As I sat close to her, I whispered, “thank you.”
She simply nodded, her eyes glowing with satisfaction.
*****
Nendi’s POV
I knew this moment was coming. The moment when they will pay his school fees every session and give him 100k every month as upkeep as long as he maintain the CGPA of 3.9. I know he can do it. He is already at 4.2 so I am not worried.
When I recommended him for the scholarship, it was not to get him recognised. It was to remind him that his value was not defined by the clothes he was wearing or the village he came from.
One time, he was asked to address new students to encourage them. As he delivered his speech, I realized that the most important thing he learned was not in anything Theatre or film, it was how to believe in himself.
When Muhknaan said, “The person who pulls you up is the one you least expect,” I knew he was not just talking about me but himself. He pulled himself up too, by trusting in his worth.
*****
Muhknaan’s POV (continued)
The next week, I picked myself up in a very familiar place, the lecture hall. This time, I was not the one who was confused. I was answering questions and teaching the people who had been laughing at me. Those who had looked down on me are here for help. It felt strange and unsatisfying.
I was no longer the quiet boy who sits in front of the class. I was Muhknaan, the one who held the answers. I was grateful and not bittered.
Closing (Muhknaan’s POV)
“The best food are the ones on silver trays, but the ones you are invited to with love. Now, I have a seat at the table not because I changed who I was but because someone saw who I truly am.”
I was not the boy from the village anymore. Neither was I the “city boy” too. I was just Muhknaan, the one who had dreams.
Nendi’s POV (final lines)
Fortunately, we just need someone to see us. To know and pull us up, simply not because we have problems but because we are worthy of standing tall with our heads straight.

The end

Muhknaan the Village Project
Episode 3
(Narrated by Muhknaan)
Nendi lived off-campus, in Russau, a very busy student area but I never knew a house like that existed in Russau. When she opened the door.
“Welcome to my little space,” I stepped into another world. Like something from a music video. Cool air hit my face, no, not a breeze from the fan but AC. Real and well mounted Air Conditioner.
One side of the wall had four lines bookshelf, filled with great novels, magazines, books, and even biographies. I will very much love to describe how she has a smart TV, framed arts that were pieces to make you stop and think.
“Sit anywhere,” she said as she walk to the kitchen. It was the usual student self contain but it was bigger and very colourful. “Do you want juice or something heavier?”
I sat there staring. “Juice is fine… this is… this place is… it is beautiful.” I stammered.
She chucked. “Don't be too impressed. This is just good management. Nothing lucrative.”
I winked. “Management? Are you sure you are not hiding a side hustle as the governor's PA?”
She smiled but didn't answer.
Later that day, as we studied and talked, we spoke about something more deeper.
“I want to put my village and other rural communities in the map,” I told her. “No one should grow up on darkness like I did and they should enjoy many benefits too.”
She looked at me, keenly. “And I want to start a foundation. For students like you, smart, intelligent and overlooked.”
My heart skipped with mixture of happiness and concerned. Students like me. Not boys from the village, it is just people who are worthy.
*****
Three days later, I was walking in the Faculty of Art Main Hall when I heard two guys from my class discussing.
“Guy, she just dey pity the guy ne.”
“For real. Nendi? With that village boy? Na jazz be that naw.
“She just dey use am do community service, nothing else.”
They laughed loudly and mean. Little did they know I was behind. I sat down behind while Nendi came and sat with me. My chest tightened. All of a sudden, even moment, even book she gave me, every food, all the smile, everything felt like charity. I hated the fact that I allow myself to feel relevant.
*****
That same day, she texted. “Coming over to read?”
I replied:
“I can't make it today. I have some things to sort.”
The next day, I sent another message to her:
“I am sorry. I need space.”
I didn’t explain further or send another message. I just disappeared. Because to me, I was just the village project to her. And I couldn't bear to look her in the eye not until I knew who I really was.

To be continued.
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Muhknaan the Village Project

Episode 2
(Narrated by Nendi)
I have always been told that intelligence comes in many forms but I have never seen it wear dusty sandals and over sized shirts, until I met Muhknaan.
He was reserved, not because he had nothing in mind but because he need to speak to prove his worth. His brain was a silent machine, very smart, knowing a lot and always ahead of the rest of us.
I had watched him for weeks. The way he answers questions with examples, the way he disappears after lectures, he doesn't eat in school or do anything normal like others but I had a choice to ignore him like everyone else or sit beside him.
I sat, I never regretted it.
*****
Our first study session with him was in two days time. He was uncomfortable as I joined him under the tree beside the Village Hostel Cafeteria, as if he was not used to being chosen, and maybe he was not.
“Did you bring your Playwriting notebook?” I asked him, while opening mine.
He nodded his head and handed me a tattered, dog eared notebook with very sharp handwriting with every topic colour coded.
“This is… beautiful,” I added, sincerely.
He looked at me like I've just called a galloped road a “fine art.”
“I just try to make it easy to revise,” he replied me almost being sorry.
We spent three hours and I swear, I learned more in that one session that I had in all the lectures combined. When we got to some point, I paused.
“Muhknaan, can I ask you something personal?”
He shrugs. “Yes, sure.”
“Where are you from? I mean there must be a story behind your accent…your humility and intelligence.” I
He sighed. “I am from Shimankar village, in Shendam LGA, Plateau State. My father is a rice farmer. We are eight in the house and I am the last born but the first to come to the University. It took everything for me to be here.”
I was quiet for a while before responding.
“No wonder you study like your life depends on it,” I gently said.
He smiled, a sad smile. “Because it does.”
*****
After two weeks, I already started liking Muhknaan but cannot bring myself to admitting it so I bought him a pair of Nikes from my cousin, some books he has always spoke about in the studying session. But he rejected every gesture.
“This is not pity,” I told him one day when I gave him lunch. “This is partnership. I learn from you. So please, let me give you something back.”
He cast his eyes at the food, then stared back at me.
“And if I say no?” he asked.
“Then I’ll eat it here in front of you and make loud yummy noises until you agree to eat.”
He laughed and it was the first time I saw his teeth. Clean, strong just like his spirit.
He took the food.
*****
The Departmental week is in a week's time. We were all expected to dress formally, everybody was talking about what they will wear. I noticed Muhknaan was becoming quieter than usual. That night, I went to his hostel to give him food, when he escorted me back home to my gate, I stopped him while he was about to leave.
“Do you have clothes for the Departmental week?”
He shrugged. “I will just wear my brown shirt and black the trouser.”
“The ones with the thread coming loose on the sleeves?” I asked, humbly.
He looked embarrassed but comfortable. “They are clean and…”
“I know,” I interrupted. “But allow me do something.”
The next day, I gave him a white shirt, navy-blue trouser, and new sneaker. It was nothing extravagant, I swear.
“I can’t accept this,” he said, holding the bag like it was fire he was handling.
“This is not a gift,” I said. “It’s a recognition. You have already earn it and you deserve it.”
He opened the bag slowly.
“White?” he asked.
“Yes Muhknaan, because you deserve to be seen,” I replied.
*****
As anticipated, the day of the Departmental week came. When he walked into the hall, he caught attention. The same people who named him “village boy” were stunned into silence. The whisper;
“Is that Muhknaan?”
“Is that not the village boy?”
“This guy fine I swear.”
“He’s even fine o…”
But Muhknaan didn’t care. He didn't smile and did not frown either. Just a straight face. He walked to the front, and as usual, lecturers points to him to bail the class on difficult questions. I leaned over and whispered.
“You know everyone is excited seeing you in this dress and your answers to questions are helping us out right?”
“He looked at me calmly. “I didn’t come here to impress. I came here to succeed.”
That night, I wrote in my journal:
He carries so much grace. He is a reminder that power need no volume and greatness can be carried in humility. I gave him a shirt, he gave me an insight.
I am not sure of what we were becoming, friends, study partners or something deeper. But I knew one thing for sure;
He was already changing me and I am glad about it.

To be continued.

Muhknaan the Village Project
Episode 1
(Narrated by Muhknaan)

I hear people saying that the University is a factory to recreate yourself but it only reminded me of what I wished I had but did not have.
I came to Unijos with a metal box, four faded shirts and one pair of trousers with a whole lot of dreams too heavy for my slippers. My father is a peasant farmer in Shendam LGA in a village where the talk of electricity is surely a rumour and water is gotten from the pregnant clouds.
After my registration, I was the talk of the class. Very noticeable but not in the traditional way you will ever wish. The oversized shirts I wore, the faded and holed collar. My dusty and worn sandals made noise on tiled or concrete floors, loud enough to announce my poverty. Nobody speaks to me unless it is for a laugh or to borrow my notes.
While this is happening in my 100 level, I buried myself in books. I was always at the Library like a ghost. I don't know how to operate a computer but I manage to use the e-library just a bit. At night I will sit in corners of the hostel with street lights and read from the books I borrowed from the library. I will study hard to the place that even the lecturer had little understanding of. I was an Art student, studying Theatre and Film Arts. That was how she noticed me.
Nendi.
She was a Direct Entry Student. I met her at 200 level. The first time I saw her, I forgot the question I was trying to ask the lecturer. She walked like a secret fully boxed in bright light, dark, curvy, beautiful eyes, cute smiles and a face like Rihanna. Her skin was smooth, the kind that glowed without trying. She didn't wear flashy clothes but everything she wore was perfect because it hugged her almost tightly, this is a clear beauty that doesn't not need permission to shine.
I thought she was like every other person who acts like I am invisible. But one evening before closing from school, the lecturer had fumbled through the Directorial Concepts in Theatre and Film. The room was filled with confusion and as usual I whispered the correct explanation under my breath. I didn't think anyone heard. But Nendi, she did.
After the lecture, while I was packing up and trying to disappear, I saw a shadow falling over my book and when I looked up, Nendi was standing there and smiling. Not a forced or mocking one but a real smile. Then without asking me, she sat beside me.
“You are smarter than everyone in this class put together,” her voice was soft. “Do you mind if we study together?”
My brain which is capable of answering almost all questions in class suddenly became shut. I nodded slowly as if I had been handed a gemstone but wasn't sure if it was real. That was the day everything changed.
But if I had known where that simple question would lead me. If I had known the secrets she was hiding, I might have run the other way. I would have said no.

To be continued.

(Mystery short story)

The Ghost in the Vault
My name is Lara. I have gone through every file and every case and everything about the man knows only as “Echo.” He is thought to be a ghost, although considered as a myth to some people but not to me. He is real and this night is the night to catch him.
“Radio check. Everyone, make sure you hold your position.” I said looking at the digital feed.
“Unit 3 in place. No sign of movement.”
He doesn't move like a man. Echo moves like sound, fast, invisible and leaving behind memories. That's how he got the name but everyone always leaves a clue, even him. I just need to find it.
“Fix your eyes on Sector C, that is where he will likely hit. Mark my words.” I firmly said
Sergeant Manfa handed me the water flask which contained squeezed lime and hot water. “You have not blink your eyes in ten minutes.”
“I can't afford that luxury. If we miss him, we will be chasing him again.”
It was 9:26pm and I have been monitoring the feed but I it was just a flip.
“Vault system just rebooted,” Cisco as we fondly call him had muttered.
“He must be inside,” I hurriedly noted without any doubt. “Send in the code blank. We all move now.”
We breach very fast. Every step in that room felt like a threat because we all know what Echo can do.
“Vault door is open,” Sergeant Manfa called.
Inside the vault lobby, the bank's security supervisor, Omojo sits on the floor, terribly shaking. I knelt down in front of her.
“Where is he?”
“Gone…” She swallowed her saliva. “He went through the fire exit. He knew everything. My daughter. Her school and every detail. I gave him the code.”
“He manipulated you.”
“He gave me a choice but it was the one I couldn't make.”
I looked around, nothing is broken, no false entry, just a clean sweep. I followed the exit door and called out three officers with me. We spot movement. Someone in hood and he tosses a cigarette. This is the typical move of Echo.
“Stop. Police.” I charge after him.
He ran away and slips, he fell down, I think he hurt his arm. But he keeps going. I fired a warning shot but he was already gone.
*****
Back in the Interrogation room at 12:47am, Mariam was silent and it felt worse than guilt.
“He said he didn't want to harm anyone,” she murmured. “He was calm and seemed friendly.”
“He used you. That is all.”
“Or I let him.” She added.
I drew close a file which was by my left side to the center of the table, I opened it. “We traced the traced the breach a kind of tech that the military uses. Does that sound familiar?”
“My ex-husband,” she admits. “He is an ex-cyber defense and I think he may have helped him.”
Now, I have a clue, maybe contrary to what I have read in previous files, it means he doesn't work alone. This changes everything.
The most pathetic part is when I got to my house by 4:10am. The door was open. I took my gun out and pointed it to search room by room and I cleared them. There it is. A written note, on my pillow.
“You are closer than they think.
Until next time Lara.”
-E
On the back was a fingerprint, faded but Echo is here, in my my house, he is watching and listening. But as I looked at the fingerprint, I smiled slowly.
“You made a mistake,” with a smirk on my face. “Now, I have got you.”
But as I go to my bathroom, I saw another note.
“Left the fingerprint on purpose,
Because even ghosts wants to be seen sometimes,
I will come back very soon.”

The End

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Eid Mubarak to my Muslim brothers and sisters.❤️
Wishing you peace and joy!

It's all my fault,
What is the bone of contention?
I just don't know.
The pains and hurts; all my fault.

I don't want anyone around,
I just want me with myself.
I love the lonesome life;
I have cravings for quietness.

My heart beats rapidly,
I am anxious and restless;
This is not same as the case in the Bible;
Their shall be no sleep for the wicked.

Why do I misplace anger?
I am irritated at little things!
Can I be treated?
How? What is wrong with me is that of the mind.

One minute; I am soaked in anger,
The next, I am crying loudly like a baby.
Even though, I have not fulfill my purpose,
Deep down, I wish my life ends here and now!

So as usual, I visited Unijos Library today and after using the e-library, I decided to go home. Leaving the Library, I began to think of lots of things on my way including where I will be serving my fatherland. Series of thoughts to the point where I reasoned the fact that some lecturers will not be comfortable allowing their students to lecture their children, this is because they know that they taught their students rubbish (that one no concern me because whatever you teach me is subject to verification).

To the main gist of the day, I met these two female students on my way, from the look of things, they are 200 level students. The slim one spoke as if she was Berom. I like her wishes but if wishes were horses… She told the other lady that before they graduate she will open her own shop or she will buy a car. The lady told her that it would be better if she just opened her shop instead of buying a car. I was happy for her.

I thought she had some plans on the ground. She then said before they graduate, they go don blow because they are business minded. Jeez. Is being business minded now a guarantee to make money? Oh, I wish. Maybe she has other plans but I am just saying business mindedness is not enough. It takes more than,
Passion
Resilience
Smartness
Hardworking

Look, just get starving clients. People who wants your products. Not people you will force it down their throats.