Life has given me different tales to share with my world, especially with people that come in contact with me. Some of my tales are just like the experiences some other folks have had while some are just unbelievable.
Until I became an adult and started earning a living for myself, I never once celebrated or marked my birthday. Most times, I forget when the birth date approaches or get to remember only when the date has just passed. This was because the activities we were engaged in our house wouldn't even make one remember those things.
When I turned eighteen, I had just completed my secondary education and had some very good grades in my final examination. My mom gave me a surprise gift on my eighteenth birthday. A pen. This pen wasn't just any kind of pen. When the ink in it has finished, it could be refilled. Though I didn't know how much the pen was worth, I cherished it so much.
This pen was kept secretly in a place where only I could locate it. During church services and other special programmes, I would jot vital points down in my diary using the pen. Quite often, I had made it clear that no one could share the pen with me.
Since I seldom used the pen, the ink didn't finish until after eight months. The headache of how I would refill the ink became constant until I found a man, who specialized in the refilling of special empty pens. After due consultation, the cost of refilling the pen equaled buying a new one. But I decided to refill it because it was the first gift I ever received in celebration of my birthday.
A year later, I got an admission into the university. That was one of the most unforgettable moments in my life. The first semester soon came and you can't believe what I did. Your thoughts are as good as mine. I wrote all the exams with my magic pen. The results came out and I was glad that it was so fine. From then, I made that pen my idol. Such a special gift from my momma occupied a special place in my heart and I ensured to keep it safe.
As soon as the first-semester examination ended, I returned the pen to the box. I kept it away from the reach of everyone.
As the second semester was getting to an end and exams were drawing nearer, a riot ensued in the school. The students' union government was in total disagreement with the university senate and the entire administration over prescribing students' union activities in the university. It started like a child's play but soon escalated.
First, there was a seventy-two hours boycott of lectures which culminated in the closure of the school. There was a press release for all students on campus to leave the school within twenty-four hours. But as we would have it, we were encouraged to stage a protest which we did. It was a massive protest that the entire students hijacked commercial buses and went to the state government secretariat to formally lodge our protest. We were warmly received by the governor who appeased us and asked that we return to school so that the whole matter will be sorted.
Unfortunately, when we arrived at our university campus, we started hearing sirens blaring and moving around hostels with the announcement
You all have until 6 pm today to vacate the hostels.
Without mincing words, the ladies were the first to begin evacuating their luggage from the hostels. They left en masse.
Every one of us knew what the mobile policemen were capable of. We all have less than one hour to vacate our hostels.
Again, the students' union executives started going around, encouraging students not to exit the struggle at that crucial time. They started making chants
Aluta continua, Victoria ascerta.
Meaning that ***If we continue in the struggle, victory is certain.
When the time limit that was issued remained at fifteen minutes, the movement out of campus intensified. I had no option but to join the bandwagon. I rushed to my hostel, picked my trading bag and ran like a crazy dog from the hostel. The struggle died naturally and our school was shut down for eight months.
When school resumed, we had just two weeks to pay reparation for destroying public utilities and two weeks to write exams. It was during the exams that I noticed that my precious pen cannot be found. I searched everywhere I could but my idol has gone into extinction or probably traveled to a land of no repair.
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This was a very touching memoir-esque story and enjoyable read, @mrenglish. It gave a wonderful insight into your life. The piece flowed nicely, ticking so many boxes, despite a few issues with mixed tenses (past and present). For a #CNF, it could have done with some dialogue. This is a key aspect of fiction writing to be considered when writing Creative Non-Fiction to ensure its inclusion in a balanced manner.
You can find information about what we are looking for in creative nonfiction stories in this post.
Your post gave me a remembrance of a particular pen which I believe only the pen can make my hand writing fine , but now realized they are child play to me
Those fables got the best party of us.
Interesting story, I can fell your pain for I had felt so when the pen my late grandmother gave me got missing.
A beautiful story, I know how you feel. I recall I felt when I lost a man that was given to me by a friend.
To lose such a precious gift is somewhat painful.
The University unrest made you loss the pen. I understand how dear to you such a precious gift is.
Those days, University protest is usually intense. It's so unfortunate that I lost my idol, my pen.
Awwwww I feel your pain I can only imagine how u felt when you couldn't find the pen
I love your story. I couldn’t stop reading it until the end.
I can imagine how you felt when you looked around for the pen and couldn’t find it.