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MY REAL GHETTO STORY (2)
...continued from 1
While musing with an empty stomach, three possible ventures kept ringing in my feeble mind: church, bar, school. All of these are in a poor boy's attempt to survive.
Church? I hate the business, after all, the real ones do not thrive easily except one is ready for diabolism or mind games with gullible members. The neo-generational papas have actually messed a lot of things up for the supposed body of Christ. Beside, I did mention that the pulpit stuff isn't my thing so, no freaking way!
Bar? One needs to start with at least a carton of beer (like a motivational speaker would say). I don't even have money for a bottle, talkless of a crate. My former boss sacked me without a pay off...such impunity! I for like do the bar stuff o but e no go work now. If I borrow to start, hunger may cause me to finish the whole stock by myself...poor Ntemuse!
School? Yea school! Remember I said teaching was my calling? Yes, I said so. As I mused about school, I thought about the impact it could bring to the society. Qualitative education is one of the surest ways of averting futuristic societal vices. It could be my own way of giving back to the public (say rich men after actually taking a lot from the poor public). Beside, how do I give back to the public what I never collected? So the school idea just clicked naturally. Ok, how do I start?
First, I thought I needed to be inspired; have the needed experience, take advice, admonition, and direction from those who had been there before me. I could then start something, after all, my father owns a thatch house in Ubodung where I come from... I can start from there (from story to Glory... hallelujah!!!) So I applied for and secured a teaching job somewhere in Aganabio.
The proprietor of my new school is also a business mogul who travels a lot hence, his placing of his daughter in charge of the school. In a direct contrast of my former boss' daughter who was so adorable, this one was not just the type with a serious man's face, she was also this strict woman with a touch of beards on her chin (you know those kind of women na).
My first feel of her wrath was when she posted me to the elementary section of the school. For God's sake, I said I love teaching, but I didn't say I love teaching children. That stuff is damn stressful and frustrating. But what have I got to do? Handling the creche in my new working environment is like a rite of passage. From changing of diapers to cleaning up other messes, singing of songs to identification of objects etc. I could barely survive for two months. It was an equivalent of being caged in cell or being thrown into the bottomless pit. You know what? I no do again...I QUIT!
I am back to the first square, and joblessness is fast becoming my middle name. My village people at work? Or just maybe the guy that designed my fate didn't include me having a paid job. Who knows!?
As I returned to my sobriety, more options flung in, but this time, with a mixture of negative and positive ones. I think I must try other options... They are much :- armed robbery, pimp, politics, music, magic show etc. Or should I end up being a gigolo?
What do you think?
My name is Ntemuse, my story never ends... But I must survive!!
© Joshua Books
While musing with an empty stomach, three possible ventures kept ringing in my feeble mind: church, bar, school. All of these are in a poor boy's attempt to survive.
Church? I hate the business, after all, the real ones do not thrive easily except one is ready for diabolism or mind games with gullible members. The neo-generational papas have actually messed a lot of things up for the supposed body of Christ. Beside, I did mention that the pulpit stuff isn't my thing so, no freaking way!
Bar? One needs to start with at least a carton of beer (like a motivational speaker would say). I don't even have money for a bottle, talkless of a crate. My former boss sacked me without a pay off...such impunity! I for like do the bar stuff o but e no go work now. If I borrow to start, hunger may cause me to finish the whole stock by myself...poor Ntemuse!
School? Yea school! Remember I said teaching was my calling? Yes, I said so. As I mused about school, I thought about the impact it could bring to the society. Qualitative education is one of the surest ways of averting futuristic societal vices. It could be my own way of giving back to the public (say rich men after actually taking a lot from the poor public). Beside, how do I give back to the public what I never collected? So the school idea just clicked naturally. Ok, how do I start?
First, I thought I needed to be inspired; have the needed experience, take advice, admonition, and direction from those who had been there before me. I could then start something, after all, my father owns a thatch house in Ubodung where I come from... I can start from there (from story to Glory... hallelujah!!!) So I applied for and secured a teaching job somewhere in Aganabio.
The proprietor of my new school is also a business mogul who travels a lot hence, his placing of his daughter in charge of the school. In a direct contrast of my former boss' daughter who was so adorable, this one was not just the type with a serious man's face, she was also this strict woman with a touch of beards on her chin (you know those kind of women na).
My first feel of her wrath was when she posted me to the elementary section of the school. For God's sake, I said I love teaching, but I didn't say I love teaching children. That stuff is damn stressful and frustrating. But what have I got to do? Handling the creche in my new working environment is like a rite of passage. From changing of diapers to cleaning up other messes, singing of songs to identification of objects etc. I could barely survive for two months. It was an equivalent of being caged in cell or being thrown into the bottomless pit. You know what? I no do again...I QUIT!
I am back to the first square, and joblessness is fast becoming my middle name. My village people at work? Or just maybe the guy that designed my fate didn't include me having a paid job. Who knows!?
As I returned to my sobriety, more options flung in, but this time, with a mixture of negative and positive ones. I think I must try other options... They are much :- armed robbery, pimp, politics, music, magic show etc. Or should I end up being a gigolo?
What do you think?
My name is Ntemuse, my story never ends... But I must survive!!
© Joshua Books
