NOSTALGIA

Without change there can be no nostalgia.

Change makes everything become antiquated. And over time, change has been identified as the only constant in a complex of variables.

For a while now I have been feeling this nostalgic sensations about my past, and how I have traversed through different stages in my life up to this point. All the changes I have made and all the different mistakes, successes, pains, joys and frustrations.

Thinking back I must say it has been festering for a while. People have asked me, friends that is, about my childhood. Strangely, I never say much. Why, I really don't know. Possibly because there is so much to say or maybe I try to run away from leaving myself too "open".

Early this week I thought of one of my friends from childhood. He is Idowu Gabriel. Lovely chap. One of the first to summon enough courage to want to be my friend. Chap just walked up to my front door one day, so that we could walk together to our summer school classes (not to glamorize too much: LESSON) together.I was completely flabberwhelmed.

However, all through primary school and secondary school we were fast friends. But, I guess we moved on somehow.

I remember that time when I went with a group of naughty boys to swim in the Idi-Araba canal. It was just newly constructed then and it was really clean. I can't swim u see, but I nevertheless went to "feel among". It was going fine until another group of boys from another school came along.

One thing led to another and stones started raining from both ends, at the end someone from our camp was successful with a very good throw. Next thing I know blood was spilling everywhere...we ran like the demons were after us. Those boys however traced us to our summer school, and started fishing everyone out. I was missed out though as I had removed my uniform leaving just my inner shirt.

Then there was that time when one boy almost closed down the whole school. You see, I went to Birch Freeman High School, a public boys only school. And teachers are always insisting on instilling discipline on a bunch of boys just looking out to have fun.

So that day, a particular teacher decided he was going to teach one of the "big boys" a lesson. He forcefully cut his curled air and humiliated him...kind of. He shaved the student's hair clean right in the middle, so he looked like Abija wara (you know in that popular Yoruba series Koto Orun). It was so funny that other students laughed at him and called him exactly that.

And true to type of the character in the series, he went home to Mushin (yes, the dreaded Mushin) and came back reloaded, with a horde of terrifying looking thugs. We all trembled that day o. Those guys were looking so fierce, but thanks to the quick intervention of police from Alakara police station.

Yes, I remembered all these incidents and many more. All the way to my days in Ojere, Ogun State. But, I must say, nothing is more troubling to me than the fact that I have lost so many friends along the way. Friendships to me are sacred and I am always careful how I make friends and who I call a friend. For  me friendship is to be jealously guarded.

When I remember all of my so called "friends" I become so disappointed. Is it me or is it just that they weren't good enough in the first instance?

I am still feeling it. I am in a really nice mess. Thanks for reading this.