Diary of a pastor’s son episode 22 – 23

Diary Of A Pastor’s Son

Episode 22

Written by: Frank The Writer

~ Biola’s POV ~

I was finally leaving Ibadan for Lagos and I could tell there was some sort of relief it gave Aunty Bose. Before then, I went to see my brother, Gbenga.
Despite the fact he was disappointed in me, he still encouraged me and gave me some money.
Did I forget to tell you how much Femi’s mother later sent to me? Forgive me. She sent a whooping 40k naira to my account after she talked to me that day. I couldn’t hold my joy. I called her and thanked her for being so kind and caring. With her support, I was able to get some stuff from the market. I’m sure you’d be wondering if my brother’s wife (Bose) gave me any money? Well, I wouldn’t like to label her a bad person. She gave me foodstuffs and I could tell that was what she could afford. Besides, she had her son and Aramide to take care of. It was obvious she had many mouths to feed from the little earned.

***
Fast forwarding, I got back to Lagos Sunday evening. The school environment as usual bubbled with students here and there. Loud music from unseen stereos and stuff like that. Of course, my outlook already changed. Though my belly wasn’t that big and noticeable, someone could still tell I was pregnant by merely looking at my face.
One of my fear was being judged by lecturers, my coursemates, and friends. And the last thing I wanted was for it to affect any of my classes—and I didn’t want to have any kind of judgment on me. Truth is, I wasn’t the kind of girl everyone expected to get pregnant in school. I wasn’t religious either, but I had this kind of ‘ambitious girl attitude’ on campus. I’m sure you know what I mean. Yes, the type that was always attending seminars and all kinds of self-development programs.
That’s by the way. Well, I’m not going to go into details to bore you with every single thing that happened when I got back to school. I’m only going to share a few vital ones.

Back to classes, I told a few good friends. I trusted them and knew they would support me like Femi’s mother. I was wrong. Soon after telling my ‘friends,” I found out that some of them suddenly stopped speaking to me. I bet they weren’t able to deal with the fact they knew I was pregnant. And I was chastised for being immoral for having premarital s-× and for deciding to carry my pregnancy.

Well, somehow, I felt lonely. It was a very challenging time. A lot of people that you thought would be there for you, won’t. It was surprising because I had a few friends, but there seem to be nobody I could relate to except Seyi and Kemisola. Both were the ones who didn’t disappear completely. Then I remembered a quote I once heard on a radio station, and it went thus, “Before s-×, you help each other to get naked and after s-×, you only dress yourself. Moral of the story: In life, no one helps you when you’re ‘f*cked’.
I was emotionally drained. I knew I needed a shoulder to lean on but there was no one around me. I attended lectures about two-three times a week. My only hope was that I’d be free after exams.

~ Femi’s POV~

Biola went back to school and yet she didn’t want to talk to me nor changed her mind and answer my calls. It bothered me why she was keeping malice with me. I soon realized she was always talking to my mom over the phone. So one day I tried calling her with my mom’s phone. She picked up as soon it rang. Biola went mute the moment she heard my voice.

“Biola, what have I done to deserve this long silence from you? Did I offend you in any way?”

Silence.

“You keep ignoring my calls and texts,” I continued.

“Femi what else do you want us to chat about? I’m not in the mood for all these conversations. My mental health is paramount to me, please,” she said and paused.

“Yes, I know we don’t have much to talk about. Hearing your voice is enough. I still care. I really do. It’s only my father who has been taking the whole thing too far,” I added.

“Thank God you know he’s been overdoing things. Your father literally talked to me like I was a prostitute. There was nothing he didn’t say to me,” she lamented.

“I thought as much. And I’m sure that’s the reason you have been avoiding me. You wouldn’t believe what I went through in his hands.”

“Femi, whatever. I’ll be fine,” she hanged up speedily.

***

Well, I reserved my hatred for my father. For the being whose blood flows in my veins. He thought himself above mistakes and seemed like he was the most righteous man on earth. Whenever I talk to my father, I end up frustrated. My father and I began to have issues in our father/ son relationsh¡p. He messes with my mental health whenever I talked to him.
I honestly didn’t know how to stop getting so worked up over it. It’s usually him telling me something, giving me advice or telling me his opinion on something that I’m doing, or telling me something about what someone else has done and just trying to teach me something. I usually describe it as a lecture. One that I didn’t sign up for.

There were times that I decide to listen, and there were times that I get so worked up. When I told him about how I get frustrated when I talk to him, one of the things he said was along the lines of, “you don’t need to get so frustrated.”
I know I don’t like my dad because I get so prickly over anything he says plus I kind of try to avoid him, limit any time we can talk to each other which can make me feel kind of guilty because I know he means well. But, this doesn’t stop the fact that he gets on my nerves and how I don’t like talking to him.

It’s great when I don’t care and I’m not listening and just want him to finish talking. But, I don’t think I’m always going to be like that. Randomly, I’d decide that I want to actually hear him out but I get so worked up afterward that it’s difficult for me to concentrate on other things. That’s annoying! So I had to complain to my mom so she could talk to him but then my mom called me to a corner and she said: “You might feel he doesn’t understand you, isn’t supportive of you, or doesn’t give you the independence you need. The important thing to remember is that your dad is probably trying to do these things but in a different way from what you want. Have you tried to tell him how you feel? Imagine in your head the way you would like him to talk to you and then tell him your suggestions. If your dad does mean well, as you say, he will listen to you.” She said and paused. After some seconds, she continued:

“We can love people and be annoyed or dislike them at the same time. When you find these negative feelings to take over, remind yourself of positive memories with your dad and your relationsh¡p with him. This could be as small as him driving you somewhere or saying goodnight before you go to bed. Think of something you would like to do with your dad and let him know. Spending positive time with him may also help decrease your feelings of dislike.
When we are angry or frustrated, we often react rather than respond. This means we do and say things without thinking and often end up regretting them or feeling guilty. When we respond, we have had time to not let our emotions take over. It might help to try to respond to your dad rather than react. So when you are recognizing yourself getting worked up, stop, take a deep breath and either tell yourself some calming words in your head or take some time out by yourself.” Mom finally stopped.

That was the first time I watched my mom speak so intelligently and I was wowed. Through the help of my mom, we were able to convince my father to allow me further my studies. He accepted but he gave us a condition that he wasn’t going to spend on my unborn baby. He said Biola and I would find a way to carter for the baby. He would only fund my school and nothing more.
And that was how my dream of going to University was revived. In the next episode, I’m going to tell you what my life at the university was like. Till then.

Diary A Pastor’s Son

Episode 23

~ Femi’s POV

The thought of knowing that the University of Ibadan was a very competitive school always sent a chill pill down my spine as I awaited the admission list. Even though my Jamb score was high, I was uncertain of what it would turn out to be. The course of study I chose was also competitive.

That very day, I sat relaxed on the couch in the sitting room. My phone was in my left hand as I scrolled through my newsfeed on Facebook. Then came Shola’s voice from the bedroom. “Femi, UI admission list is finally out. Hope you are aware?” She said and dashed out of the bedroom with a half smile. “How did you know? Are you sure of what you just said? Please, don’t joke with me.” I turned in her direction.

Shola and I have been very close right from childhood, and oftentimes we do prank each other and play other expensive jokes too. “No. I’m not joking. Why would I joke about such a thing?” she looked me in the eyes, and then I could tell she wasn’t joking. “Why not check their website and see for yourself,” she said, letting out a smile. My heartbeat suddenly went faster. It seemed like unusual electrification went through my veins as I stopped what I was doing with my phone and quickly clicked on my browser.

Subconsciously, I was sweating. Deep down, I prayed to be among the chosen ones, just as if my prayer could have changed anything then. Since I already had my jamb reg number copied to my clipboard, it was very easy to paste it on the box wherein my Jamb reg number was to be typed. Shola was watching from behind as she stood behind me.

“Femi, your hand is shaking,” she teased me.

“You won’t understand,” I replied with a half smile.

She simply chuckled and had her eyes glued to my phone.

The University of Ibadan had been my dream school when I was much younger. It was a childhood dream to end up as a student at the prestigious university. I can’t really tell why but I grew up to fancy the school based on numerous positivity that emerges from there. Their students are quite intelligent; both academically and morally. I knew so many people who desired to be there but eventually didn’t reach the cut-off mark. Some ended up in Polytechnics, others opted for other universities the following year.

The network seemed so bad as the browser loaded very slowly. I just couldn’t wait to know my fate. I quickly turned off the data and turned it on again in a second. In the blink of an eye, I was wowed to see an offer of provisional admission to study Mechanical Engineering; my dream course. I s¢ræmed joyfully while embracing Shola that we almost fell flat on the floor, but the couch in the living room saved us. I was overwhelmed; my heart leaped up for joy. I felt a surge of happiness. That was one happy moment of my life.
“Finally, I will be leaving this house for you all,” I said jocularly. Shola busted into laughter.

When mom returned, I told her and she was happy about it. She congratulated me while she seized the opportunity to advise me to be prepared for the challenges ahead. My father was glad when I told him I made the merit list. For the first time in a long time, he was proud of Femi. I guess I was the happiest person on earth.

***

Weeks later, it was finally time to move out of Ondo to Ibadan where my journey as an undergraduate would set in. I received tons of advice from my father: “Femi, don’t forget where you are coming from. Femi, don’t do this, don’t do that.” I responded positively to everything he said. Well, I was already a changed person; my mind was made up to turn a new leaf after the encounter with pastor Ben. I decided I was going to live right as soon as I step my feet in UI.

My mom was like, “Femi, don’t allow anybody to pressure you. Be contented with what you have.” I was just nodding my head like an agama lizard. I was going to miss them all and it was quite an emotional moment for me. Bidemi was equally around. She was back from school for the long break. I would miss her too. I told them I would miss them and they were honest to admit they would miss me too. Shola teased about coming with me so she would be cooking for me. Everyone busted into laughter. Indirectly, she made jest of me for not knowing how to prepare meals.

My black echolac bag was filled with my clothes. The other two bags contained my foodstuff and other home appliances and accessories I’d be needing in school. It was on a Saturday morning, and I was to go with my father in his car.

~ Biola’s POV ~

Three months of pregnancy and all I can say is, that it hasn’t been an easy ride. Yet, I was keeping up by the day. I thank God for Femi’s mom who was steadily checking up on me. She was there like a mother to me. She was the person who informed me about Femi’s admission status. Femi didn’t call me again after the very day I ended the call on him. I realized I was being harsh on him, but that was how I felt then. He truly didn’t deserve any form of rejection from me because we were in that mess together. Maybe I was tensed up because I was the one carrying the load.

After some days, I decided to call Femi. At least to congratulate him on his new feat. He was surprised I called, and at the same time, he was happy to hear my voice. It seemed there was something about him that I can’t get off my chest. I still liked Femi and I missed him too. Yes, I do. Femi and I got talking on the phone, and he told me he had changed from the old Femi I used to know. We laughed over it while he added that he changed from being nonchalant to being a very ambitious guy. He also talked about his challenges as a fresher. He confessed it hasn’t been an easy task. The call lasted for ten minutes and I was glad we got talking again.

~ Femi’s POV ~

As a new student of the University of Ibadan, I guess I was the newest ‘Jonny Just Come’ on campus. The school environment was new to me and there were so many things I needed to adapt to.

I wasn’t staying off campus. My father wanted me to live in the school hostel. He believed that would curb my possibility of living a wayward life on campus. Living in a school hostel wasn’t actually what I wanted, but that was my father’s decision for me. Nevertheless, living with people I barely knew in a room was something that really bothered me. But since we weren’t more than four in our room. I believed I would cope, I consoled myself. Although the room looked congested, I had to manage.

The University of Ibadan is also a very big school with a serene school environment for study. They have good infrastructures and good lecturers too. Though some people believed that the school is boring but I don’t agree. It’s generally up to you if you want to be bored.

I met lots of people and faces I barely knew would turn out to be my friends and coursemates. But just like my father had advised, I was conscious of the kind of people I relate with. Well, I’m definitely going to bore you if I begin to narrate in detail every single thing that happened in UI. So I’m just going to be brief enough.

One of the challenges I faced was stretching my intellectual prowess. I have never read in my life the way I read in UI just so I could meet up. I had to learn to strategize, learn smartly, discuss with a few coursemates, and collected lecture slides from people too. I was told they don’t set simple questions. On average, I can say a typical UI student is a bookworm. The majority of them are bibliophiles.
My early life at UI was kinda boring because I avoided night parties and all sorts of social gatherings that were held at night.

***

One fateful Friday, Biola called me on phone. She didn’t mince words before telling me why she called. She wanted me to pay her a school visit. She was literally craving my presence. I could feel her loneliness in her voice and it melted my heart. It was her first pregnancy and I felt she must be going through a lot.

Me: I will come around whenever I feel we have lesser lectures ahead.

Biola: That will be in a very long time.

Silence.

Me: Um, I don’t know yet but I’ll try.

Biola: Anyhow shaa. Just try and come.

Me: Okay. I’ll.

(Call ended).

From the look of things and how Biola sounded, I knew she must be missing me badly. I couldn’t feel well when I dropped the call. She could be facing some challenges, I had pondered. Throughout the night of that day, I didn’t sleep well. All my thoughts were centered on Biola. I had to call her on phone the following day being Saturday.

“Can you text me a proper direction? I’ll be coming today,” I said when she picked up the call. I could feel she was elated to hear I was coming to see her.
“Wow! Today?”
“Yes, today.”
“Okay. I’ll send it as a text message,” she excitedly responded and hung up immediately.

Ibadan to Lagos is about two hours plus trip. So even if I decided to leave Ibadan later in the day, I’d still meet up, but because of security reasons, I left around noon, having informed two of my roommates, Kunle and Ifeoluwa.

To be continued…
© Frank The Writer