Generally, 2021 has been a trying time for everyone. It has been a roller coaster of good and bad memories. In this memoir, I am a character who has been ravished by extreme hunger and malnutrition. The price of food items keeps soaring everyday without perching its feet on any particular cliff. The least a common man could afford, even garri, the students’ most dependable and affordable friend in times like this is now gold.
Starvation knows how to kill a student’s vibe. It leaves one wedded to emptiness and torments one with an invisible hand. And since a chronic headache and a disturbed tummy won’t allow one to concentrate, sleeping becomes therapy. It takes one on a blissful journey far away from the whirling torrents that have stolen one’s peace and order.
Very recently, when we were cleaning up our room, my roommate stumbled on a small piece of paper where he wrote the common food items and the price they used to be bought in the market in front of them. Their prices have skyrocketed madly. Almost by 300 per cent. A sachet Tomato, #50; a congo of Garry, #180; 3 tubers of yam #1000…that was 2 years ago.
The other day, it was one of my friends. When I saw how greatly he has reduced in size, I didn’t bother to ask any question. His long neck and dry lips could tell his sorry story better than himself. Deep down we know the smiles that sits chiefly on our faces are all sham.
See also: Before You Do TDB, You Need To Read This
I hate to think about many things in this country. Oftentimes when you do, you begin to question almost everything in and around you. If one goes too far, one might not be able to trace one’s steps back home. It is such a horrible part of the world with a confusing road map. Perhaps that preacher was right when he told his congregation to start planning for Plan B.
The last time I ate Amala was when I left home about 5 months ago. So, few weeks ago, when I visited my uncle in his office and he sent me to get him his favourite Amala with Abula, I was forced to order some for myself with his change. My uncle shared this experience, so he understood my condition.
On whom can I vent my anger, is it on you or on myself? I think this tiny little space is wide enough to grant me an audience. Let me rant and pour out my mind here as bare as it is. It is not just me that is going through this pain. There are many more whose shoes are bigger than my legs. I just hope this frees me of some psychological distress, brings some comfort and perhaps some hope that the sun will rise on me again.