The Virtue of Crowds

Left alone I would

run out of excuses.

It’s a by-product of

staying too long in

the one place. That’s

the virtue of crowds.

Swept along with no

idea of where I’m go-

ing, not really caring,

too busy sharing other

people’s destinations.

So pick any arbitrary

point to turn even if

still surrounded.

Finally apologizing

if really necessary.

The First Position

Caught by an aberration

in the parameters of the

Library he paused. Stopped

for a moment by a book-

case. Noticed that the titles

were different, were now

written in a language that

was foreign to him. Became

perplexed. Uncertain if it was

a diminuition of his psyche or

simply his eyes playing tricks.

smalltown weekend

The shopping center is

Sunday empty. A State

regulation — remember the

sabbath or some such re-

fried beans. Only the bakery

& the newsagent open. Bread

rolls & Lotto, one certain

one wishful.  But I’m a

believer in musical omens,

so the fact that the left-on-

all-the-time soundsystem is

piping country music into

the passageways as I enter

signs no luck for me today.

Seasonal

Broad brushstrokes

of smoke across

the landscape. Point-

illist pain in my

head, just behind

the ear. Everything

closes in, is

focused. Nothing

I can do but

cut myself another

slice of watermelon,

lie back, &

think of England.

The Dichotomous Key

If it has these attributes

then it is this.  

Otherwise it is not this.

& if it is not this, but has

these other attributes

then it is that.  

Otherwise it is not that.

If it is neither this nor

that, but possesses another

set of characteristics

then…..

& so on

down the line, eliminating

the alternatives by

counting in turn the

wings, legs, body

segments, etc.

so that you

might start off

with the spider

& end up

with the fly.

Ode To An Orgone Instructor At Mute Noon

Her hair braids in the hallucinatory hour, 

through night’s numinous negativa, 

the nocturne of Novalis’ flower. Her syllabus

is papyri in a second skin rising in coptic 

numbers in her slumber. There is a new form 

in her stanzaic hair toss, tones of lexical marigold, 

of holofoilhydrangea? Hair a sensory brushfire? 

Amen, announce the birdcall 

of her oratory. In torn patches 

of evening light, she is interpreter

to Plato’s star, scrunchie sewn 

to the circadian coordinates 

of her compact sound mirror. 

Orgone instructor at mute noon,

her mind on the pitching mound, 

baseball’s borderlands her first life. 

in the outfield’s scattered glory,

sky spattered like a fresh Pollock, 

blown like his sifting static sands

in i grovigli dell’anima. Amen, announce 

her birdcall in kairos, white jacket, her 

second skin read casually. I know that here 

is Woman made manifest, marigold 

maeanad, incorporeal; face blazed 

on a C-note, sinking in a sleepy jukebox.

her lucid lyric one of sight through 

one shock’s refractory tempest. 

John Thomas Allen is a 41 year old poet who is interested in experimental poems and particularly speculative ficton and poetry.  He lives in Upstate NY, and writes almost every day. Some things he sits back and laughs at.

Bilingualism and Cognitive Development in Children: A Study of Uzbek-Russian Bilinguals

Abstract: This paper investigates how bilingualism—especially Uzbek-Russian bilingualism—affects cognitive development in youngsters. Emphasizing the cognitive benefits seen in bilingual children—especially in executive functioning, memory control, metalinguistic awareness, and socio-cognitive development—it draws from present research and data gathered in Uzbekistan.

Although the advantages are clear, the article also addresses contextual issues such linguistic dominance and social attitudes. The paper underlines the need to encourage bilingual education in

multilingual cultures and urges greater study on underrepresented bilingual communities including Uzbek-Russian children.

Keywords: Bilingualism, cognitive development, executive functions, Uzbek Russian, metalinguistic awareness, theory of mind, socio-cognitive skills, Uzbekistan, language development, children.

Introduction

For decades, psychologists, linguists, and educators have been fascinated by bilingualism. Although the worldwide body of study has usually concentrated on European or North American populations, little is known about multilingual children in Central Asia, particularly in Uzbekistan.

Given the country’s multilingual background—where Uzbek is the state language and Russian is still widely spoken— children are often reared in bilingual settings. Focusing on executive processes, working memory, theory of mind, and metalinguistic awareness, this study looks at how Uzbek-Russian multilingual influences cognitive development.

The sociolinguistic scene of Uzbekistan provides a special background for research on bilingualism. Historically influenced by Soviet policy, Russian has retained a prominent presence in education, media, and government. Despite efforts to promote Uzbek, many families continue to speak both languages at home or across generations (Abduraxmanova & Abdurayimova, 2024).

Bilingual children often get instruction in Uzbek while consuming Russian media, leading to high levels of functional bilingualism. Recent research indicates that bilingualism improves various facets of cognitive growth. Constant mental switching between languages, Bialystok (2001) claims, helps bilingual children acquire better executive functions.

These consist of improved attentional management, mental flexibility, and inhibitory control. Baart et al. (2024) discovered in a comparative research that Uzbek-Russian bilingual kids did better in audiovisual speech perception activities than their monolingual counterparts.

Bilinguals also seem to have better memory performance. Kids with two language systems grow more efficient working memory to organize and keep vocabulary and grammar from both languages (Practice in Clinical Psychology, 2024).

This backs a developing agreement that bilingualism challenges and strengthens children’s cognitive control mechanisms rather than confounding them. Often, bilingual kids have improved metalinguistic awareness—the capacity to understand the structure and application of language.

This capacity becomes especially clear in Uzbekistan, where youngsters negotiate between two grammatically distinct languages (Alimova, 2023). They learn to think about language not simply as a medium of communication but as a system of rules that might fluctuate.

Theory of mind, the understanding that others have views and viewpoints different from one’s own, is also improved in multilingual children (Kyuchukov et al., 2023).Among Uzbek Lyuli youngsters, who speak both Uzbek and Russian or Tajik, bilingualism was found to boost early development of perspective-taking and empathy.

Despite these advantages, bilingual youngsters in Uzbekistan confront problems. Some families regard Russian to be the “prestige language,” resulting to unequal development or even loss of Uzbek abilities among urban youth. Tursunova et al. (2023) caution that such changes could impair cultural identity and weaken native language ability.

Moreover, educational systems generally do not fully support balanced bilingual development. Lack of skilled teachers, inadequate bilingual materials, and cultural bias against minority languages lead to language dominance and code-switching anxiety (Miliyeva, 2023).

Recent study in locations like Tashkent and Bukhara demonstrates that multilingual youngsters often develop early literacy skills in both languages and exhibit excellent social adaptation. However, language use varies largely on parental influence, school language policy, and peer group preferences (Baart et al., 2024; Tursunova et al., 2023). For instance, in houses where both languages are equally supported, children demonstrate higher vocabulary retention and comprehension.

Uzbek-Russian bilingualism is a good case study for learning how managing two languages influences a child’s cognitive development. The benefits—ranging from higher executive functioning to better social understanding—are consistent with global research on bilingualism. However, to reap these benefits, educational policy in Uzbekistan should better foster balanced bilingualism and overcome cultural biases.

Future research should include longitudinal data and neurocognitive tests to better validate these findings in Central Asia.

References

1. Abduraxmanova, X. R., & Abdurayimova, A. I. (2024). Reflection of Uzbek-Russian bilingualism in the speech of residents of Uzbekistan. European International Journal of Pedagogics, 4(5), 61–63.

https://eipublication.com/index.php/eijp/article/view/1873

2. Alimova, M. I. (2023). The impacts of bilingualism on children’s language development. American Journal of Pedagogical and Educational Research, 12, 300–302. https://www.americanjournal.org/index.php/ajper/article/view/924

3. Baart, M., Arakelian, E., Morozov, A., & Usmanova, M. (2024). Exploring audiovisual speech perception in monolingual and bilingual children in Uzbekistan. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, 239, 105808.

https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jecp.2023.105808

4. Bialystok, E. (2001). Bilingualism in development: Language, literacy, and cognition. Cambridge University Press.

5. Konnikova, M. (2013, January 22). Is bilingualism really an advantage? The New Yorker. https://www.newyorker.com/science/maria-konnikova/bilingual-advantage-aging-brain

6. Kyuchukov, H., de Villiers, J., Mamurov, B. B., & Akramova, G. R. (2023). Narratives reflecting Theory of Mind among bilingual Lyuli children of Uzbekistan. Journal of Language and Cultural Education, 11(1), 1–15. https://doi.org/10.2478/jolace-2023-0001

7. Miliyeva, M. G. (2023). Influence of bilingualism on socio-cognitive personal development. Zien Journal of Social Sciences and Humanities, 1(4). https://zienjournals.com/index.php/zjssh/article/view/37658. Practice in Clinical Psychology. (2024). Cognitive abilities in monolingual and bilingual children: A comparative study in Azerbaijan Iran. Practice in Clinical Psychology, 12(3). https://jpcp.uswr.ac.ir/article-1-930-en.html

9. Tursunova, Z. F., Mamatova, D., & Sharipov, M. (2023). Bukhara’s linguistic mosaic: Unraveling bilingual dynamics. Comparative Linguistics, Translation, and Literary Studies, 1(2). https://citrus.buxdu.uz

An Ordinary Saturday Night

Four beers in

On an ordinary Saturday night

And he’s doing internet research

On why dogs

Sit on people’s chests,

He can’t believe that his London

Has been gone

For more than two years.

Taylor Dibbert is a poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of, most recently, “Takoma.”

The Lights That Dimmed                          

 A SHORT STORY BY STEPHANIE ELENDU                                  

INSPIRED BY TRUE EVENTS              

THE BEST FRIEND

7th December, 2012.       

 It’s been 365 days since my best friend died. This fact hits me hard when I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is my dusty ceiling board staring back at me.

The sound that woke me up from slumber comes again: my mother’s shouting. My lateness to school would be the only reason she has to be this loud this early.

I wonder why she let me sleep longer.A mother would have several reasons to shout at the crack of dawn, but mine wasn’t like that. She hated noise and didn’t like to strain her voice – her words, not mine- so she hardly raised her voice at me and my brother, unless we were doing something foolish.

But let’s go back to the highlight of my morning- my best friend’s death anniversary.I sigh. I knew this day was going to be hard, but the feeling of loneliness that hit me shocked me to the core.I miss her.

In my mind’s eye, I could still see her face. Her goofy, loud laugh that commanded attention, her wide smile which always managed to turn heads, and that teasing voice that always made me feel like I was home.

Fola was the best. Knowing each other since we could crawl, as our mothers were also best friends, we grew up in the same space. We spent almost every day together for the past ten years…How this person, who was one of the most important people in my life, was gone, was beyond me. One minute, she was with me, breathing and alive; the next, she was gone. Just like that.       

 I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to fall asleep once again, I longed for a deep sleep that would shut out all the memories, at least till a whole day had passed.What was I supposed to do without her? How was I supposed to move on from someone who was like my twin? It was hard, and I didn’t like it one bit. It hurt way too much.        

 A sob escaped me and before I knew it, I was bawling my eyes out, my whole body shaking with grief. I stuffed my moth-smelling pillow into my mouth to muffle my cries. The last thing I wanted was attention and looks of pity. I was kidding myself, of course, I knew that was inevitable,  but I’d just appreciate a few minutes to myself where I didn’t have to lock eyes with people who looked at me like a miserable puppy.          

The sobs refused to stop, no matter how much I wanted them to. So I went on, my body curling up in half as I cuddled myself and bit down on the soft pillow. After what felt like an eternity, I finally calmed down and dragged myself from my bed. I had to face everyone sooner or later; better to just get it over with.                                        

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~“Mummy, let’s have fried egg, please” my little brother, Ade, was whining in the living room.He was perched on the floor, mere inches away from the rug, so Mom didn’t have to kill him for spilling food on it.

Before him was a bowl of soaked garri. The sight of the food told me that it was that time of the month when we went flat broke. We were poor, but whenever mom got her salary at the end of the month, it usually took a week to spend it all. Like clockwork, my father would stagger into the house on the 3rd day of each month and demand that my mother give him half her salary. If my mother refused or even hesitated, she received a hot slap on the face or worse, it didn’t matter if we watched. By now, she knew not to argue, which made me despise her a bit.            

 In case it isn’t clear yet, I hate my father. When I was nine and Ade was just a year old, he decided he didn’t want to live with us anymore. He left my mother without so much as a reason. It broke my mother, who was left with two kids to care for. But she picked herself up, got a job as a cleaner, and worked to the bone to keep us alive.

For two years, I didn’t see my father, but one day, he appeared again. He was drunk the night he pounded on the worn-out wooden door. How he found us remains a mystery to me. Mom had moved us out of our two-bedroom apartment to a face-me-i-face-you flat with just one room on a dead-end street. He’d barged into the house and in a slurry voice, demanded that my mother give him money. She tried to get him to quiet down, but what followed was a resounding slap that would have woken me up if I wasn’t already watching them from the peephole on the bedroom door. That was the first time I saw him hit her.

She was frozen for a while before she finally dug into her purse and shoved some naira notes into his hands, silent tears streaming down her face. He spat some more insults at her before he finally left.         

I’d thought that would be the last time, but it became a monthly routine for the next couple of years. Some months, he didn’t show up, and those were the best months for us. I never asked her why she put up with it, I just watched him come and go month after month. All that time, he never acknowledged me or my brother, and we didn’t bother doing the same. I didn’t say anything because I loathed him, Ade was just frightened. I had to explain to my brother that that was just how our life was and he shouldn’t ask Mom.           

Looks like he already came this month, and I missed him. Otherwise, my brother wouldn’t be drinking garri this early in the morning.Ade continued whining, but Mom didn’t respond. He should know her better by now; she never does. I grabbed a steel bowl and from the bag which held the abundant grains of survival, I poured a few scoops for myself. With my spoon, I took two spoons of sugar since Mom wasn’t around and tossed them into the bowl before removing one sachet of water from the bag perched by the creaking kitchen door.“

Do you miss her?” Ade asked. Without missing a beat, I said, “Miss who?”“Fola” he said, his voice timid. I knew he was talking about her, I just wanted him to say her name, and he did.“Of course, I do. I miss her every day’ I say without meeting his eyes. I fear I wouldn’t be strong enough if I met the look in his eyes.Ade is the only person who understands. He’s the only one who’s not afraid to say her name or even bring her up.

When we were alone, I’d repeat stories about the good times Fola and I had when she was still alive, and no matter how many times I told the stories, Ade always listened. I appreciated him for that.“She’s probably watching you right now with her mouth like this’I turned to look at him and saw that his mouth was pouted just the way Fola used to when she was alive.

That earned a soft giggle from me. I appreciated my little brother for trying to cheer me up, I decided I would try to look happy, at least until we parted ways at school.       

 “Eat that food quickly so you’re not late for school,” Mom said as she entered the living room, her face expressionless.“Good morning, ma” I muttered, and she hummed in response. I gobbled up the garri and grabbed my bag to make sure all my notebooks were in it.The last thing I wanted to do was go to school, the same place where memories of my deceased best friend would be filled with.

Sadly, I had to go because it was exam season. “Did you pack all your writing materials?” Mom asked with an eerily calm voice. I wonder what’s going through her head right now. Ade didn’t know Fola as well as Mom and I did, so it was just us who felt the weight of her absence.  Mom had grieved, but sometimes I got the feeling she’d moved on. I guess losing a lot of people in her life made her an expert in getting over pain with speed.

“Yes ma” I replied and nudged my brother to hurry up.He gobbled up the remaining food and ran into the bedroom to get his bag. I looked down at my uniform as I waited for him to come out. The lemon green shirt and olive green skirt was a combination I’ve hated ever since I had to wear it.Fola loved the colour green, and it suited her a lot. I, on the other hand, couldn’t bring myself to like the colour.

However, after she died, I felt more connected to her whenever I laid eyes on the colour green. She was in the trees, the grasses, and even the disgusting moss that spread all over our building.Ade came out with his bag slung over his shoulder, and after saying goodbye to Mom, we headed out.“

Sewa! Come here!” Mom called out to me. We hadn’t gone too far. I told Ade not to move and walked back to the entrance of the building, where she stood in her wrapper and worn-out blouse, her face visibly tired.“I know what today is, do you want to go visit her mother?” she asked, a nervous edge in her voice.

I stared at her and wondered how she could even ask me that. She couldn’t even say her name.“No. It’s better if we don’t.” I replied. Mom nodded and asked me to go ahead and have a nice day at school. I turned, caught up with my brother, and we began our journey to our place of education… also the place of death.              

THE SURVIVOR

From the moment he stepped into school, Michael could sense eyes on him. The weight of the silent murmurs caused his head to bow low; he didn’t want to see their faces.It’s been a year, and no one has forgotten.

How could they? The stark reminder stared them in the face every time they came to school. Some had managed to escape the horror of returning to the scene every single day by transferring schools. Michael and the rest of the students weren’t so lucky. And so, here they were, a whole year had passed since that dreadful day.

With his tattered backpack slung over his shoulder, the heavy feeling of books making his back hurt, Michael made his way to class.Immediately he walked in, the noise that filled the room came to a halt. He was sure all eyes had turned to him. He ignored them and made his way to his seat at the back of the class.

Plopping onto the creaking wooden chair, he dropped his bag and placed his head on the table.“It’s just a few hours of school, then I can be free,” he told himself, an attempt at reassurance.A few seconds later, the low murmuring resumed.“Omo! Imagine say we dey there that day. We for don die!” a voice came from beside him, followed by loud laughter.

Michael froze in his seat.“Ah! If na me dey there that day, I for dodge the trailer o. E no fit hit me. I go just dodge am fast fast” came another voice, followed by more laughter.Michael felt something familiar bubble up in his chest. Rage.He knew the feeling so well, because, ever since that terrible incident, he’d felt often.

At himself, and at the world.What were those idiots saying? They shouldn’t joke about something like that!Blood pounded in his ears as he fought to keep calm. He’d fallen out with a student over something similar in the past and didn’t want the attention, but what these two boys were saying seemed to push past his fear of reprimanding or suspension.‘

One of my guys dey there that day. He talk say people body just scatter everywhere”“Remember that dark girl wey dey our class that time, the one wey dey do like say na only her know book, Fola abi Funmi – she dey there. I just dey think say that her brain wey know plenty book don scatter for road now”

Michael had heard enough.He rose from his chair, the sudden movement causing the wooden seat to scrape loudly on the cemented floor.The class went silent, and everyone turned to face him.With two strides, Michael walked up to the boy who’d made the last statement. His clenched fist rose and connected with his jaw, the unexpected impact sending the boy to the floor.

All hell broke loose.Blows were exchanged, bodies connected with the ground as the boys were entangled in a struggle, the rest of the students began to cheer, hyping the boys and already betting on who was going to win.

By the time a teacher ran in to pull the boys apart, Michael’s nose was broken, and the other boys had blood dripping from their faces from cuts and a purple bruise was already forming on one of the boy’s forehead. “What is going on here? Are you animals?” the teacher, whose name Michael couldn’t be bothered to remember, bellowed. 

“Sir! This Michael na animal! Me and Jide dey on our own, he come dey fight us. He don crase true true!” one of the boys cried out with a wild expression, his eyes wide with anger.“Shut up! Why are you speaking like that in this school, you useless i?iot! And you, why did you do that? Is this what you learn from home and come to display here?”

The teacher turned to face Michael, whose chest heaved with heavy breaths as he struggled to regain rhythm. His eyes glued to the floor.He didn’t say a word, causing the teacher to yell at him more. Students stood by watching the scene unfold, some whispering that perhaps he had lost it.

Michael didn’t care, and he didn’t regret raising his fist to the jaw of that foolish boy. He deserved it for talking about her that way.After fruitless attempts to get him to speak, the teacher ordered the three boys to go to the principal’s office and remain there until they were called.“

All thangergero boys sef, I don’t even know how I ended up working in this school,” Michael heard the teacher murmur as they filed out of the class.Students from other classes, who had come to see what all the commotion was, scattered back to their respective classes once the boys and the teacher came out.

The teacher yelled at them to return to class and to stop turning the school into a war zone.Michael walked obediently towards the principal’s office, the two boys behind him whispering insults and threats. He didn’t notice the girl who stood, staring at him.

Michael knew he had made a mistake. He knew he had acted out and would most likely be suspended from school, but even as he made his way past the classes, he knew he would do it again…for her.As they entered the empty principal’s office, he allowed his mind to fill with memories of the girl whom he’d done this for, the unlucky one who should have been there with him today.

Fola.Even as her beautiful smiling face came to mind, he couldn’t help but crack a smile.She was the most cheerful person he had ever met. After coming from a broken home where everyone yelled and scowled at each other, it was like a breath of fresh air meeting Fola, who saw light in everything and everyone. 

One thing that always amazed Michael about Fola’s personality was her ability to find joy in every situation. Before they became friends, Michael thought Fola’s parents had made a mistake by enrolling her in a public school, he thought she was too smart to attend a school filled with kids from the deepest parts of rural Lagos.

But to his surprise, befriending her made him realise she wasn’t that different from most of them. The one thing that made her stand out was her active positivity, and of course, her smile. Michael always thought God had blessed heespeciallyly with it, and it was a good thing she put it on display all the time. But now, Michael and the rest of the world wouldn’t see that smile ever again, and it was all because of that horrible day.

Michael didn’t want to think about the incident, but he couldn’t let good memories of Fola in without letting in the dark memories. He hadn’t learnt how to block that yet.Although Michael’s body was fixed on a seat in the principal’s office, his mind began to transition into that day, exactly a year ago.                                          

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~That morning, Michael had an exam. Exam season was like hell to him as he had to spend the duration studying subjects he found extremely boring – excluding English. He couldn’t wait for the exams to be over so he could finally have a break from school, even though he was going to miss Fola, the girl he’d managed to develop a hard crush on since the previous year.Ignoring the yells coming from his family members at all corners of their two-bedroom house (He’d come to understand that part of his family’s problem was their size. Five bickering children with their unhappily married parents living in a two-bedroom flat wasn’t something to be cheery about)

He dashed out of the house and headed to school, navigating pedestrians, tricycles and motorbikes along the busy road. He glanced at the watch his father had given him as a birthday gift and saw that it was 7:50.

He had to be in school in the next ten minutes in order to avoid any punishment, so he picked up the pace and eventually broke into a jog.He entered the school gates at exactly 7:59.

The day went by quickly. He and the other students sat down for their respective exams and before they knew it, the bell rang for closing of the day.Michael hadn’t seen Fola that day, so the first thing he did was look for her once school was out.

He immediately spotted her with her best friend, Sewa. Sewa was nice and a loyal friend to Fola, he and she got along fine.Fola spotted him as he approached them and flashed her million-dollar smile.

“Michael! How are you? How was your paper today?’ she asked with a genuinely curious expression.Michael gave Fola and Sewa a brief explanation of his experience with the examination, prompting them to burst into laughter when he joked that he’d been scared he forgot all that he read and almost peed himself.

Everyone piled out of the school gates, laughter and chatter filling the dusty air. Michael was glad to walk with Fola, even though he knew once they were outside, they’d have to go their separate ways home.

Micheal had a feeling Fola knew he liked her, and sometimes he suspected she had mutual feelings towards him, but he never made any move because he knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. He was satisfied with the privilege of just being friends with her.

They talked about the holiday which was approaching and Fola was talking about how she was happy she would be able to hold more tutorials for the children in her neighbourhood. Her selfless actions always managed to amaze Micheal and made him like her even more.“

Fola and Michael, please wait for me at the school gate, i just remembered i forgot my textbook in class” Sewa suddenly told them before turning back the way they came.Fola continued talking and greeted some students as she and Micheal walked towards the gate.

The school compound was huge, large enough to hold a standard football match, so it took a couple of minutes to walk from the school building to the gate.By the time Fola and Micheal got to the school gate, students had piled out in groups and were preparing to cross the busy road.

Micheal and Fola stood near a group of girls who were laughing and talking loudly.“I wonder how the next class is going to be. We’ll be in SS2, almost done with secondary school” Micheal said.

He preferred listening to her speak rather than say anything, but he knew it would be strange if all he did was stare at her and watch her speak.Fola smiled and nodded her head in agreement. The road was busy today but as they stood there, it began to clear up slowly and soon, it was free. Sewa was taking long getting whatever she left behind, but Micheal didn’t mind a few more minutes with Fola. She was an intelligent speaker and was passionate about History and Literature, so she always had a story to tell. She was speaking about the story of one George Washington of America when Michael heard someone call out to him.

He turned around to see his classmate standing on the other side of the gate. “I’m coming, let me see what he wants” he excused himself from Fola, a move he would come to regret in the days that followed.Micheal headed towards his classmate, but all it took was two seconds for his world to turn upside down.

Literally.

Before he could comprehend the events, Micheal felt his body launch off the ground, and with a hard impact he connected with the ground. His ears rang as pain shot through his body.

Then came the screams. Or the screams came before his entire body connected with the floor. He could hardly understand what was going on.

Michael forced his eyes open and turned his head slowly to meet the image that would haunt his dreams for the following months; it was a bloody arm, disconnected from its owner.He blinked to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.It was still there‘Fola! Was she alright? What was going on?’ his head spun as he tried to gather strength to stand, but it was like his whole body had shut down. He registered the sound of an engine behind him and managed to turn around in time to see a white truck roar off, leaving behind a cloud of toxic white smoke.

The screaming. Michael had never heard anything so banshee-like. It rang in his ears, but all he focused on was finding Fola.“Michael! Michael!” the shouting had gotten closer. He turned his head to see Sewa’s horrified face, before realising she was trying to pull him up to his feet.“Fo… Fola. Where is she?” he managed to let out.

Micheal had never felt pain like he did in those moments trying to stand. It felt like his whole body was on fire.“I thought she was with you? Micheal, wasn’t she with you?” Sewa was hollering and Michael couldn’t take it. If Fola wasn’t with Sewa, then where was she?

His vision began to clear up, and he began to see the ghastly sight before him.The crimson liquid spilled in different places all around him made his stomach churn.Not just the red stream that decorated the floor, bodies were everywhere.It was horrible. These students had just been standing with him, how was it that their bodies had become separated on the cemented floor?

Micheal’s head pounded, as well as his heart. He struggled to push past the pain raging throughout his body. He needed to find Fola.He glanced around, dread building up in his chest.‘No, Fola can’t possibly be among them’ he thought.“Micheal stop! She’s gone!”

Sewa’s agonized voice pierced through his racing thoughts.He turned to face her and for the first time, he noticed the pale expression on her face. But he didn’t care. And what was she saying about not finding Fola? She was her friend! Why wouldn’t she want to find her?

Micheal ripped his hand from Sewa’s hold, consciousness now returning in full and he now began to register the screams from other people – students and passerbys. Everyone had gone ballistic, frantic and yelling at each other.

Micheal plunged towards the spot he and Fola were standing just seconds ago. He ignored the puddles of the scarlet liquid pooling out of the bodies on the floor and looked around to see if he could identify Fola.And then, he saw it.Lying on the road, was a bracelet made of blue wool. He recognised it immediately – it was Fola’s. He could barely make out the letters of her name on the white beads used to design the bracelet. He recognised it because he was there when Sewa gave it to her for her birthday. Her happy face when she saw it flashed through his memory.‘

No!’Micheal tore his gaze from the blood-stained bracelet and looked around for more evidence of his friend’s existence.“

Michael, get out of there! She’s gone!” Sewa was screaming at him, tears streaking down her face.Micheal shook his head.He was about to take a step further into the horrific scene before he felt hands drag him away.He screamed and thrashed and begged them to let go, but they didn’t.They didn’t let him see her, even if it was one last time.

The door to the Principal’s office burst open, pulling Michael out of the nightmare he had just gone through for the umpteenth time.He sighed and raised his head.                   

THE MOTHER

When people tell me they’re sorry my daughter died, what passes through my heart is either appreciation or resentment.

Hate is for the ones who go ahead to tell me they understand. I want to ask them right away if they’ve ever lost a child, the only one that you carried in your womb, the only one who’s been with you ever since you gave her life. I want to snap at them and slap them and tell them they can never understand, but I don’t. I never do.

It would be ‘dramatic’ or even worse, they’d ask if I was the first to lose a child. So, I seal my lips and smile solemnly like I’m supposed to.The day I got the call, I was cooking Fola’s favorite soup – Egusi. My baby girl hadn’t been feeling too well that morning, but because she had a test, she insisted she went.

I knew there was no stopping her. I made that soup with all my love, waiting for her to return, but she never did. 

From the year she learnt how to read, I knew I had a brilliant daughter. She always made me proud when it came to academics. As a single mother who was barely feeding herself and her child, it brought me immense joy each time she came home with her report card, beaming with joy. She knew it made me happy to see her be the top of her class.

Besides being a smart girl, Fola was selfless. Some of the kids in our neighbourhood came by the house every Saturday and Sunday to learn from her.

She taught them Mathematics, a subject I hated while I was a student myself, but here was my daughter, teaching other children.Everyone loved her, children and adults. So, don’t blame me if I sometimes sit down and question why she was taken away from me in such a cruel way.I couldn’t even bear to identify her body, so her biological father had to do it.

Kunle came from Ondo state where he lived with his wife and family to identify his daughter’s dead body. In a way, I was glad he got to do it, it was a way of punishing him for not being involved in her life. His expression when he came to our apartment told me it wasn’t a forgettable experience.

Since she died, I wasn’t the same. Other victims’ parents could say the same.

It wasn’t just my Fola who lost her life that day, but other students had been so unlucky to be hit by the idiotic truck driver who ran them over.The nerve of that man to run away after ripping children away from their families. Thankfully, he was caught before he managed to get away.

The public almost burnt him, or so I heard. Later on, I heard he was arrested, but the people set the truck on fire as a warning to other truck drivers.I wanted to laugh when I heard they burnt the truck. What good did that do? My Fola was gone.

Families had been destroyed. How did burning a non-living object justify their lives being snatched away from them at such an early age?

It’s been exactly a year since she died, and everyday, I miss her terribly.I realise I’ve been sour to people close to me, especially Mide and her daughter, Sewa. Yes, I felt angry that instead of Sewa, it was my girl who died in such a violent manner.

For weeks, I had nightmares of the accident; her fragile body being crushed by the impact of the moving truck.I was a terrible person for wishing that, and an even more terrible human being for saying it to Sewa’s face, but grief makes you do unimaginable things.

I pushed myself off my bed and went outside. I glanced around the vile compound where I’d lived for the past ten years with my daughter. It had been bearable because she’d been with me, but now, all I could see was its filth, and it repulsed me.

I raised my head to meet the gaze of someone I hadn’t expected to see. I blinked.  It was Sewa.“

Good morning, ma” she greeted me with a hopeful look. She stood nervously, it looked as if she had been standing there for a while.Right then, I knew I had really messed up.Sewa never called me ‘M a’, she either called me ‘Mummy Fola’ or ‘Miss Adesola’.

I stared at Sewa, the girl who’d spent half her childhood with my daughter. Right up till Fola’s passing, they were inseparable, and so were myself and Sewa’s mother. We’d bonded being the only single mothers on the whole street, defending each other in the presence of condescending wives and looking out for each other in any way we could.

Mide was the first real friend I ever had. I respected the fact that she was educated and taught her kids English, which made them speak different from other children in the neighbourhood.

We were the type of friends to feed each other’s children and eat together, but death tore us apart in the blink of an eye.I remember the look on Mide’s face when I screamed in her face that it should have been Sewa who died that day. I regretted it immediately, but the hurt and grief seemed to boost my pride as I didn’t apologise and let her walk out without a word. We never spoke again after that.

Seven months ago.Looking at her daughter now, I realise I pushed away the only people who could have helped me out. I knew it was a long stretch at being forgiven, but I was going to take the first step, for her.“Good morning, Sewa.” I gulped. “How are your mother and brother?” 

As I grew up in my relationship with God, I’ve found that my awareness of Jesus was growing.I’m working on writing an essay of Jesus on the Cross.

It’s the place of the Skull. As we think of Salvation and Redemption, I think about Jesus and his healing ministry. We should remember that Jesus’ life was a life of healing for those who were ill.

Seeking more than Redemption, it’s seeking healing of the soul. Redemption adds to our wholesomeness of salvation. However, our walk with Jesus as we carry our Cross in our daily walk with getting to know the fullness of salvation is to know God’s purpose for our entenal soul.

Our walk is not only to know Jesus, but to understand his Crucifixion and his total obedience to the Holy Father. There’s no true life without knowing that obedience to follow in Christ steps to know the Holy Father and to live in the spiritual path provided for our sins and Resurrection.

I need to write a poem

A poem that will serve as peacekeeper

Between the God And Humanity

Between the brothers and sisters

Between my self and my mood

I need to find the verses

Be completely different from the past

And so new to fit in the present

Need to have one truth

Justified and accepted

Need to write a new story

A new book about the life

Every single day is a new discovery

People become evil

Failure earn in so many levels

And love is replaced with food

People are divided

Between those who love the food

Between those who love the humanity 

Need to write a poem about the fear

And the dark

But many of stars are shining

So must not afraid of darkness. But definitely need to re organize in our mind what the unknown is like?

People are divided

Between those who love the food

Between those who love the humanity

Is so, difficult to think with the stomach full

People forgot to love and they become

Slaves of their stomach

Little servants of this great stomach

That cannot filter anything

Poetry unites people

Poetry travels more fast than the unknown words, that remain unborn

In the mind of an author…

Need to write a poem 

About the happiness

The smile of the childrens

The journey that never ends….

Who is the captain of the boat??