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      "body": "![image.png](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmcsryWtTSrGBzdMk3BCVKvxj7xDDryUoeiSeGdn8ugqnP/image.png)\nhttps://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Queen_Victoria_by_Bassano.jpg \n\nI have observed rather recently that people are not too interested in anything of the royal family in England. But, if need be, they are attuned to shallow ideas about them. Well, for the past weeks I have been reading, watching materials about the genealogy of the British royal family. And I will share all I have garnered with you all.\n\nQueen Victoria was born in 1819. Her father was king of England. She was not allowed to go out alone for any reason because she was the only child of her parents and thus, an heir to the throne. She was tutored privately by governesses and great teachers who taught her German and the English language, from the age of 6. Her mother was not really empathetic but she was more concerned about her safety. Unfortunately, her father, the King of the United Kingdom, died when she was just 18. Then she became Queen over England thus her mother became Queen Consort.\n\nShe fell in love with a German man, Albert. She bore him 9 children of which Vikky was the first. Much as she enjoyed love-making, she hated pregnancies. It was really traumatizing for her. Her second child, Edward aka Bertie, was heir to the throne. At the passing of each day, she became so disappointed in her son, Bertie. Her was aberrant to the principles of the royal family. Right from the age of 6, he was forced to read for 4 hours alone everyday. When it was observed that he became aggressive, they brought him a tutor. This even worsened matters as Bertie frustratingly threw stones and hard object at him. It was later reckoned that he suffered from dyslexia. Queen Victoria, however, wished Vikky became heir to the throne, but there was absolutely nothing she could do.\n\nIn 1861, Albert died. He suffered from gastric complications. Queen Victoria came undone. She wrote, ‘My world is torn apart’; ‘I will live because of these children he has left behind’. She took to a depressive mood and demeanour, wearing a black gown to denote her maelstroms of sorrow.  \n\nIn England, the owner of the throne is the King or Queen. Any person they marry—for a Queen—he becomes prince—and for a King—she becomes Queen. Queen Victoria did not abdicate because she inherited the throne from her father. Subsequently, she moved on. She had begun learning the Indian dialect until she was diagnosed with Rheumatism, which made it extremely difficult for her to see. Her last born, Beatrice, was her closest child. She didn't want her to get married. But, when she fell in love with her Prince Charming, she made it clear to her that if she chooses to marry, they must live with her in Buckingham Palace.\n\nThe trajectories during the Victorian era were well-projected. Perhaps because she was a writer, diarist and historian, she received full-legitimate support from the Britons. She could not walk because of her obesity coupled with recurring strokes and rheumatism, thus she was confined to a wheel chair. Her last public appearance was in 1900 in a horse carriage before she died in 1901. \n\nHer son, Edward aka Bertie took over the throne. He was the father of King George the fifth.\n\n\n\n\nReferences:https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Queen_Victoria_by_Bassano.jpg",
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      "author": "kachiwrites",
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      "title": "",
      "body": "Lol. It is actually my work, my story. I wrote it and decided to post it here. You'd say it is somewhat a fictional work. I don't see anything plagiarised here. It's all my brain-work.",
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      "body": "Here is my entry.\nhttps://steemit.com/hive-187593/@kachiwrites/t8mwa-from-the-world-beyond\nPlease read and upvote.",
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      "title": "FROM THE WORLD BEYOND",
      "body": "![Screenshot_20210714-224156~2.png](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmcPVggKNZS6ZHDX6sHS9kPuem9sAe1pZ4bD4RezGRor9c/Screenshot_20210714-224156~2.png)\n\n\n\nMother was strong and well until she was down with severe tuberculosis coupled with Diabetes Miletus, also taking its toll on her. She didn't know what was wrong with her. Perhaps a cough that would in no time go, she thought. The cough became so unquenchable even after she drank bottles after bottles of cough expectorant. It exacerbated all the more that it came out with streaks of congealed blood, floating on phlegm, drenched in tissue paper. It had drained my mother so much that she became a shadow of her former self. Inside her room was in mess-- tissues splattered on the floor--she faced down on her pillow in spasms of cough surfacing her throat as frequent as forty seconds.\n\nI was only nine years old and, in primary four. On Saturdays, in the house, I worried for my mother. The frequency of her cough, her tiredness to it, her weariness and all, gave me a pathetic concern despite my age. She would call me once in a while to pack the mounds of tissue well-nourished with phlegm into the garbage bin. Because I loved my mother so much it was always a yes for me: I would pick them up in joy, making sure she had a bottle of water close.\n\nAs a young child that I was, my hopefulness, harmfulness and forbearance into the bargain heralded my mother's recuperation even more quicker. I was really not in trepidation that something bad would happen to her. Something like death. My brother, strolling with me to the market, told me in my little obliviousness, that if mother dies we would become desolate, hand-to-mouth, selling all our belonging to survive. Just because dad was no longer around. I was as silent as a grave yard, intrepid as a lion and, in my little fierceness of hope, inundated with a reassurance that nothing could happen to my mother. She was the woman I grew up to know all my years in life.\n\nMy mother was very active in church; she never missed mass, not for a Sunday. Fully aware of her absence, parishioners were more than worried. The closest ones drove in their cars to our house to check up on her. Sir Okolo, basically, was the most concerned. His congeniality with my mother was apparent. After all parishioners came to wish her a speedy recovery he stayed back, as well as, one Mr Clement. They all knew each other from a catholic society in devotion to St Jude of Thaddeus, who was an apostle of Jesus.\n\nThey saw the perilousness of the sickness and how it had taken a taut hold on her being. They immediately rushed her to the nearest clinic in town that could give her start-up treatments before moving to the University Teaching Hospital for proper treatment. Seeing my mother go out from the compound made me swirl in greater hope that she would be fine, and soon her chronic whooping would before long come to an end.\n\nThree days later, my sister called home that the hospital was very expensive, yet they administered poor treatments. Shortly before my mother's collapse, she had bought a new car and the former one in the house was in the mechanic shop. Because my mother's new car was far away, we waited for the mechanic to finish up with the car on repair so that we might drive to check up on her.\n\nThe mechanic took so long. He was extending the length of time it would take him to finish up. He gave us a speculated date after so much persuasion from us. My sister and I, most of all, kept to the date. We planned with the driver to drive us to the hospital my mother was. He complained that he was having a little difficulty rounding off the repairs but we should come by evening, that indefinitely, he would take us there. We got to his place of work at evening. Chains gauzing the pillar of the gate, revealing to outsiders that it was improvised. He was out. We were only too disappointed--not for the fact that his name was Badmus or that he was a usual hungry tricky man but that we had set up our minds to see mother nonetheless.\n\nWhen it was certain that the car would take more time than usual for repairs, we had to go by bus to the hospital our mother was. She had moved to the Teaching Hospital. We entered the hospital taking glances at the nicely designed architectural infrastructures. Then we went further inside to the Women Emergency Ward. After a whole histrionic of rigmarole (the nurses telling me that I cannot go in to see my mother because I was too young) I finally saw my mother sitting by the window, seated on a plastic chair reading newspapers. Other patients lay on their beds with an aura of lassitude and worn-outness but there was my mother evincing her strength which was a reassurance, not only to my 17 year old brother and sister but to me.\n\nIt took the form of an outside home. Like she were reading in her room under the auspices of her own desire to scour the recent news about politics and intelligentsias in businesses. I was not surprised. I was still not awakened to anything new or cut to a jabbed corner. What I knew was that she would be fine because after all, she never fell sick and saw my siblings and me through all life challenges.\n\nThe next day was a Monday; I went to school. Around first break the proprietress ran into the class to call me. Then she changed her mind and decided to break the news to the class. The teacher in class stopped as we stood up to greet her. His mother is seriously sick, she told the class. Why didn't you tell us, she asked me, speaking to the head teacher at her back before they left to her office. I wasn't worried. But it was the air in me that nudged me into thinking that I was safe in the knowledge that anybody could fall sick at anytime. Even the proprietress had fainted in the school premises, as well as the head teacher. Sickness was a normal thing. My classmates smiled in their harmless innocence attuned to the normalcy of being told of something that, if need be, needed to be inevitable.\n\nMonths on end, my mother remained in the hospital. From our first visit we saw how resilient and strengthened she was. We pictured that she was well and alive. Little did we know that a greater sickness, even more direr than an ailment was crawling on its way. It was Diabetes. My mother knew she was Diabetic shortly after I was born. She had told me that it was after I was born that diabetes ate her down; she use to be very big. I would revel in regret, lost on whether to make an apology on being born in the first place or thank her for contending with the terminal sickness that ate her down, her obesity.\n\nOne morning my aunty, my mother's youngest sister brought her home, discharged. She looked pale, tired, lean and vey old. She smiled wanly holding me in the hand as we moved into our house. From that moment, she became well again, threw a party, made a thanksgiving in church and went about her usual business as a lawyer again.",
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      "body": "Here is my entry—[FROM THE WORLD BEYOND](https://steemit.com/hive-187593/@kachiwrites/t8mwa-from-the-world-beyond)",
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      "body": "Join this contest win 20 steem. This is contest link-https://steemit.com/contest/@hive-154681/contest-contest-contest-nature-photography-contest-20-steem-prize",
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      "body": "Don't copy other people's work, use proof of brain. Kindly complete your achievement 3 in the newcomers community to know more. \n\nhttps://steemit.com/hive-172186/@cryptokannon/achievement-3-mentor-by-cryptokannon-content-etiquette\n\nThanks.\n*Best Regards*",
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      "body": "How do I post without plagiarism, please?",
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      "body": "@kachiwrites kindly edit your post, your post is plagiarized and we frown at such in this community, this is totally unacceptable. Please be warned.",
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      "body": "Hello @kachiwrites, your work is 50% plagiarized. We do not encouraged plagiarized content in  steemit. This will serve as a warning. Next time we will mute you.",
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      "author": "josevas217",
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      "body": "Hello @kachiwrites\nVery good narrative, but this community is for content related to Technology, Blockchain, cryptocurrencies, among other things related to innovation.\nNothing to do with literature, fiction, or writings of that type.I recommend you locate communities that are dedicated to that type of content.",
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      "body": "I loved the story, you are a good writer and would be looking forward to more of your content",
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      "author": "kachiwrites",
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      "title": "FROM THE WORLD BEYOND",
      "body": "![Screenshot_20210714-224156~2.png](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmcPVggKNZS6ZHDX6sHS9kPuem9sAe1pZ4bD4RezGRor9c/Screenshot_20210714-224156~2.png)\n\n\n\nMother was strong and well until she was down with severe tuberculosis coupled with Diabetes Miletus, also taking its toll on her. She didn't know what was wrong with her. Perhaps a cough that would in no time go, she thought. The cough became so unquenchable even after she drank bottles after bottles of cough expectorant. It exacerbated all the more that it came out with streaks of congealed blood, floating on phlegm, drenched in tissue paper. It had drained my mother so much that she became a shadow of her former self. Inside her room was in mess-- tissues splattered on the floor--she faced down on her pillow in spasms of cough surfacing her throat as frequent as forty seconds.\n\nI was only nine years old and, in primary four. On Saturdays, in the house, I worried for my mother. The frequency of her cough, her tiredness to it, her weariness and all, gave me a pathetic concern despite my age. She would call me once in a while to pack the mounds of tissue well-nourished with phlegm into the garbage bin. Because I loved my mother so much it was always a yes for me: I would pick them up in joy, making sure she had a bottle of water close.\n\nAs a young child that I was, my hopefulness, harmfulness and forbearance into the bargain heralded my mother's recuperation even more quicker. I was really not in trepidation that something bad would happen to her. Something like death. My brother, strolling with me to the market, told me in my little obliviousness, that if mother dies we would become desolate, hand-to-mouth, selling all our belonging to survive. Just because dad was no longer around. I was as silent as a grave yard, intrepid as a lion and, in my little fierceness of hope, inundated with a reassurance that nothing could happen to my mother. She was the woman I grew up to know all my years in life.\n\nMy mother was very active in church; she never missed mass, not for a Sunday. Fully aware of her absence, parishioners were more than worried. The closest ones drove in their cars to our house to check up on her. Sir Okolo, basically, was the most concerned. His congeniality with my mother was apparent. After all parishioners came to wish her a speedy recovery he stayed back, as well as, one Mr Clement. They all knew each other from a catholic society in devotion to St Jude of Thaddeus, who was an apostle of Jesus.\n\nThey saw the perilousness of the sickness and how it had taken a taut hold on her being. They immediately rushed her to the nearest clinic in town that could give her start-up treatments before moving to the University Teaching Hospital for proper treatment. Seeing my mother go out from the compound made me swirl in greater hope that she would be fine, and soon her chronic whooping would before long come to an end.\n\nThree days later, my sister called home that the hospital was very expensive, yet they administered poor treatments. Shortly before my mother's collapse, she had bought a new car and the former one in the house was in the mechanic shop. Because my mother's new car was far away, we waited for the mechanic to finish up with the car on repair so that we might drive to check up on her.\n\nThe mechanic took so long. He was extending the length of time it would take him to finish up. He gave us a speculated date after so much persuasion from us. My sister and I, most of all, kept to the date. We planned with the driver to drive us to the hospital my mother was. He complained that he was having a little difficulty rounding off the repairs but we should come by evening, that indefinitely, he would take us there. We got to his place of work at evening. Chains gauzing the pillar of the gate, revealing to outsiders that it was improvised. He was out. We were only too disappointed--not for the fact that his name was Badmus or that he was a usual hungry tricky man but that we had set up our minds to see mother nonetheless.\n\nWhen it was certain that the car would take more time than usual for repairs, we had to go by bus to the hospital our mother was. She had moved to the Teaching Hospital. We entered the hospital taking glances at the nicely designed architectural infrastructures. Then we went further inside to the Women Emergency Ward. After a whole histrionic of rigmarole (the nurses telling me that I cannot go in to see my mother because I was too young) I finally saw my mother sitting by the window, seated on a plastic chair reading newspapers. Other patients lay on their beds with an aura of lassitude and worn-outness but there was my mother evincing her strength which was a reassurance, not only to my 17 year old brother and sister but to me.\n\nIt took the form of an outside home. Like she were reading in her room under the auspices of her own desire to scour the recent news about politics and intelligentsias in businesses. I was not surprised. I was still not awakened to anything new or cut to a jabbed corner. What I knew was that she would be fine because after all, she never fell sick and saw my siblings and me through all life challenges.\n\nThe next day was a Monday; I went to school. Around first break the proprietress ran into the class to call me. Then she changed her mind and decided to break the news to the class. The teacher in class stopped as we stood up to greet her. His mother is seriously sick, she told the class. Why didn't you tell us, she asked me, speaking to the head teacher at her back before they left to her office. I wasn't worried. But it was the air in me that nudged me into thinking that I was safe in the knowledge that anybody could fall sick at anytime. Even the proprietress had fainted in the school premises, as well as the head teacher. Sickness was a normal thing. My classmates smiled in their harmless innocence attuned to the normalcy of being told of something that, if need be, needed to be inevitable.\n\nMonths on end, my mother remained in the hospital. From our first visit we saw how resilient and strengthened she was. We pictured that she was well and alive. Little did we know that a greater sickness, even more direr than an ailment was crawling on its way. It was Diabetes. My mother knew she was Diabetic shortly after I was born. She had told me that it was after I was born that diabetes ate her down; she use to be very big. I would revel in regret, lost on whether to make an apology on being born in the first place or thank her for contending with the terminal sickness that ate her down, her obesity.\n\nOne morning my aunty, my mother's youngest sister brought her home, discharged. She looked pale, tired, lean and vey old. She smiled wanly holding me in the hand as we moved into our house. From that moment, she became well again, threw a party, made a thanksgiving in church and went about her usual business as a lawyer again.",
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      "body": "![Uploading image #4...]()\n\n\nMother was strong and well until she was down with severe tuberculosis coupled with Diabetes Miletus, also taking its toll on her. She didn't know what was wrong with her. Perhaps a cough that would in no time go, she thought. The cough became so unquenchable even after she drank bottles after bottles of cough expectorant. It exacerbated all the more that it came out with streaks of congealed blood, floating on phlegm, drenched in tissue paper. It had drained my mother so much that she became a shadow of her former self. Inside her room was in mess-- tissues splattered on the floor--she faced down on her pillow in spasms of cough surfacing her throat as frequent as forty seconds.\n\nI was only nine years old and, in primary four. On Saturdays, in the house, I worried for my mother. The frequency of her cough, her tiredness to it, her weariness and all, gave me a pathetic concern despite my age. She would call me once in a while to pack the mounds of tissue well-nourished with phlegm into the garbage bin. Because I loved my mother so much it was always a yes for me: I would pick them up in joy, making sure she had a bottle of water close.\n\nAs a young child that I was, my hopefulness, harmfulness and forbearance into the bargain heralded my mother's recuperation even more quicker. I was really not in trepidation that something bad would happen to her. Something like death. My brother, strolling with me to the market, told me in my little obliviousness, that if mother dies we would become desolate, hand-to-mouth, selling all our belonging to survive. Just because dad was no longer around. I was as silent as a grave yard, intrepid as a lion and, in my little fierceness of hope, inundated with a reassurance that nothing could happen to my mother. She was the woman I grew up to know all my years in life.\n\n\nMy mother was very active in church; she never missed mass, not for a Sunday. Fully aware of her absence, parishioners were more than worried. The closest ones drove in their cars to our house to check up on her. Sir Okolo, basically, was the most concerned. His congeniality with my mother was apparent. After all parishioners came to wish her a speedy recovery he stayed back, as well as, one Mr Clement. They all knew each other from a catholic society in devotion to St Jude of Thaddeus, who was an apostle of Jesus.\n\n\nThey saw the perilousness of the sickness and how it had taken a taut hold on her being. They immediately rushed her to the nearest clinic in town that could give her start-up treatments before moving to the University Teaching Hospital for proper treatment. Seeing my mother go out from the compound made me swirl in greater hope that she would be fine, and soon her chronic whooping would before long come to an end.\n\nThree days later, my sister called home that the hospital was very expensive, yet they administered poor treatments. Shortly before my mother's collapse, she had bought a new car and the former one in the house was in the mechanic shop. Because my mother's new car was far away, we waited for the mechanic to finish up with the car on repair so that we might drive to check up on her.\n\nThe mechanic took so long. He was extending the length of time it would take him to finish up. He gave us a speculated date after so much persuasion from us. My sister and I, most of all, kept to the date. We planned with the driver to drive us to the hospital my mother was. He complained that he was having a little difficulty rounding off the repairs but we should come by evening, that indefinitely, he would take us there. We got to his place of work at evening. Chains gauzing the pillar of the gate, revealing to outsiders that it was improvised. He was out. We were only too disappointed--not for the fact that his name was Badmus or that he was a usual hungry tricky man but that we had set up our minds to see mother nonetheless. \n\nWhen it was certain that the car would take more time than usual for repairs, we had to go by bus to the hospital our mother was. She had moved to the Teaching Hospital. We entered the hospital taking glances at the nicely designed architectural infrastructures. Then we went further inside to the Women Emergency Ward. After a whole histrionic of rigmarole (the nurses telling me that I cannot go in to see my mother because I was too young) I finally saw my mother sitting by the window, seated on a plastic chair reading newspapers. Other patients lay on their beds with an aura of lassitude and worn-outness but there was my mother evincing her strength which was a reassurance, not only to my 17 year old brother and sister but to me.\n\nIt took the form of an outside home. Like she were reading in her room under the auspices of her own desire to scour the recent news about politics and intelligentsias in businesses. I was not surprised. I was still not awakened to anything new or cut to a jabbed corner. What I knew was that she would be fine because after all, she never fell sick and saw my siblings and me through all life challenges.\n\nThe next day was a Monday; I went to school. Around first break the proprietress ran into the class to call me. Then she changed her mind and decided to break the news to the class. The teacher in class stopped as we stood up to greet her. His mother is seriously sick, she told the class. 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I would revel in regret, lost on whether to make an apology on being born in the first place or thank her for contending with the terminal sickness that ate her down, her obesity.\n\n One morning my aunty, my mother's youngest sister brought her home, discharged. She looked pale, tired, lean and vey old. She smiled wanly holding me in the hand as we moved into our house. From that moment, she became well again, threw a party, made a thanksgiving in church and went about her usual business as a lawyer again.",
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      "body": "Hello @kachiwrites, \n\nWelcome to the Steemit Nursery family! We are pleased to onboard you as a #Alumni in our community. \n\n> Please check out the [Steemit Nursery Community Announcement](https://steemit.com/hive-142140/@cryptokannon/steemit-nursery-community-announcement-updated-on-25-5-2021) before you post your next post in the Steemit Nursery. \n\nHave a pleasant stay in Steemit Nursery Community, Thank you! 💐\n\nBest regards, \nSteemit Nursery Team\n<center>https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmcbErdsg1UJmqePjCD3G9FsUKyBz6Jz1CBGSiNBmqrKG6/love-removebg-preview.png</center>\n\n#affable",
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      "body": "Ok",
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      "body": "Hi @kachiwrites! You tried. But you need to paragraph the whole content to make reading very easy. Though your content is devoid of plagiarism but you need to cite the source of the image used here, otherwise it sounds like you own this image used.\n\nOn second note, please use more than one or two tags for many Steemians and Communities to see your post.\n\n\nThanks for your attention.",
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      "title": "I have been alienated by Steemians 😢😢😢",
      "body": "Dear Steemians, I feel i don't exist on this platform any longer. Please signify if you are alive by upvoting this post of mine. Jah bless!\n![IMG_20210704_101751700.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmdNjYgybxyzZGDsTfu3Avi4f8LvyZ5F3sFakpkwrkTWH9/IMG_20210704_101751700.jpg)\n\n![IMG_20210704_101740156.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmQQ9yATCpMLn1K7sJ6gWjdMxkcyMSvWg2evT8dDGeazJH/IMG_20210704_101740156.jpg)\n\n![IMG_20210705_100718380.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmfPBjCYm5zHMEKHSUv5oYG16FtaCBVvRZUrHKKGxx6SpE/IMG_20210705_100718380.jpg)",
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      "body": "@@ -1,12 +1,14 @@\n+I \n am a sunflow\n@@ -98,16 +98,16 @@\n  in the%0A\n-\n pejorati\n@@ -2012,17 +2012,16 @@\n nations,\n-%0D\n %0Aeven fr\n@@ -2112,17 +2112,16 @@\n ng a new\n-%0D\n %0ANigeria\n@@ -2121,17 +2121,16 @@\n Nigeria.\n-%0D\n %0AI know \n@@ -2230,17 +2230,16 @@\n  nation,\n-%0D\n %0Aif I ma\n@@ -2332,17 +2332,16 @@\n y. It is\n-%0D\n %0Acompara\n@@ -2435,17 +2435,16 @@\n ers. Let\n-%0D\n %0Aus remo\n@@ -2536,17 +2536,16 @@\n he speck\n-%0D\n %0Aof dust\n@@ -2637,17 +2637,16 @@\n l on the\n-%0D\n %0Agovernm\n@@ -2734,17 +2734,16 @@\n l to the\n-%0D\n %0Atechnic\n@@ -2835,17 +2835,16 @@\n nxed and\n-%0D\n %0Alongitu\n@@ -2931,17 +2931,16 @@\n nd other\n-%0D\n %0Atechnic\n@@ -3028,17 +3028,16 @@\n ooks and\n-%0D\n %0Acannot \n@@ -3138,17 +3138,16 @@\n rtening,\n-%0D\n %0AI must \n@@ -3150,17 +3150,16 @@\n ust say.\n-%0D\n %0ASo why \n@@ -3254,17 +3254,16 @@\n entioned\n-%0D\n %0Aabove)?\n@@ -3356,17 +3356,16 @@\n te Civil\n-%0D\n %0AWar of \n@@ -3460,17 +3460,16 @@\n t we are\n-%0D\n %0Aendeare\n@@ -3563,17 +3563,16 @@\n  efforts\n-%0D\n %0Ato make\n@@ -3667,17 +3667,16 @@\n ves from\n-%0D\n %0Athis sl\n@@ -3768,17 +3768,16 @@\n ry would\n-%0D\n %0Aremain \n@@ -3874,17 +3874,16 @@\n sing one\n-%0D\n %0Aanother\n@@ -3979,17 +3979,16 @@\n r power,\n-%0D\n %0Abecause\n@@ -4085,17 +4085,16 @@\n ation of\n-%0D\n %0Anefario\n@@ -4178,17 +4178,16 @@\n erments.\n-%0D\n %0AIt is t\n@@ -4291,17 +4291,16 @@\n at least\n-%0D\n %0Ait is a\n@@ -4393,17 +4393,16 @@\n e we are\n-%0D\n %0Apartial\n@@ -4501,17 +4501,16 @@\n ders pay\n-%0D\n %0Aobeisan\n@@ -4605,17 +4605,16 @@\n matively\n-%0D\n %0Aagree. \n@@ -4714,17 +4714,16 @@\n at their\n-%0D\n %0Aformida\n@@ -4817,17 +4817,16 @@\n ymore as\n-%0D\n %0Adid we \n@@ -4920,17 +4920,16 @@\n  that be\n-%0D\n %0Aenough \n@@ -5135,17 +5135,16 @@\n parts we\n-%0D\n %0Afail to\n@@ -5246,17 +5246,16 @@\n orically\n-%0D\n %0Asaying \n@@ -5350,17 +5350,16 @@\n proof to\n-%0D\n %0Aexude f\n@@ -5454,17 +5454,16 @@\n  for the\n-%0D\n %0Aevoluti\n@@ -5560,17 +5560,16 @@\n nsigence\n-%0D\n %0Aof our \n@@ -5667,17 +5667,16 @@\n oretical\n-%0D\n %0Aaspects\n@@ -5775,17 +5775,16 @@\n l system\n-%0D\n %0Awill th\n@@ -5852,17 +5852,16 @@\n rrected.\n-%0D\n %0AI must \n@@ -5950,17 +5950,16 @@\n  of West\n-%0D\n %0AAfrican\n@@ -6041,17 +6041,16 @@\n n States\n-%0D\n %0A(GIABA)\n@@ -6144,17 +6144,16 @@\n  Senegal\n-%0D\n %0Aand Nia\n@@ -6250,17 +6250,16 @@\n ckets of\n-%0D\n %0Alawyers\n@@ -6354,17 +6354,16 @@\n ms to be\n-%0D\n %0Aenormou\n@@ -6458,17 +6458,16 @@\n tinental\n-%0D\n %0Abanks. \n@@ -6565,17 +6565,16 @@\n n public\n-%0D\n %0Afunds t\n@@ -6673,17 +6673,15 @@\n e in\n-%0D\n %0Apoint.\n-%0D\n %0ALau\n@@ -6780,17 +6780,16 @@\n ce. They\n-%0D\n %0Aare emb\n@@ -6883,17 +6883,16 @@\n (god) as\n-%0D\n %0Adid the\n@@ -6992,17 +6992,16 @@\n ut still\n-%0D\n %0Apress a\n@@ -7070,17 +7070,16 @@\n istance.\n-%0D\n %0ANigeria\n@@ -7173,17 +7173,16 @@\n  that is\n-%0D\n %0Arife. A\n@@ -7283,17 +7283,16 @@\n obility,\n-%0D\n %0Apoor re\n@@ -7375,17 +7375,16 @@\n  primary\n-%0D\n %0Arespons\n@@ -7490,17 +7490,16 @@\n itution.\n-%0D\n %0AUnfortu\n@@ -7595,17 +7595,16 @@\n ction of\n-%0D\n %0Arapacio\n@@ -7692,17 +7692,16 @@\n otecting\n-%0D\n %0Acitizen\n@@ -7702,17 +7702,16 @@\n itizens.\n-%0D\n %0AIf for \n@@ -7800,17 +7800,16 @@\n deserved\n-%0D\n %0Aimmunit\n@@ -7901,17 +7901,16 @@\n ion. The\n-%0D\n %0Astructu\n@@ -8009,17 +8009,16 @@\n nomalous\n-%0D\n %0Aleaders\n@@ -11452,17 +11452,16 @@\n power or\n-%0D\n %0Aanythin\n@@ -11557,17 +11557,16 @@\n dia with\n-%0D\n %0Atheir p\n@@ -11658,17 +11658,16 @@\n srule of\n-%0D\n %0Ablood-t\n@@ -11695,17 +11695,16 @@\n eard of.\n-%0D\n %0ACitizen\n@@ -11798,17 +11798,16 @@\n owing to\n-%0D\n %0Adiminis\n@@ -11902,17 +11902,16 @@\n are then\n-%0D\n %0Aimposed\n@@ -12006,17 +12006,16 @@\n tudes is\n-%0D\n %0Auntramm\n@@ -12019,17 +12019,16 @@\n ammeled.\n-%0D\n %0AIn conc\n@@ -12122,17 +12122,16 @@\n here are\n-%0D\n %0Abeacons\n@@ -12226,17 +12226,16 @@\n rough of\n-%0D\n %0Aeach da\n@@ -12330,17 +12330,16 @@\n  ordeals\n-%0D\n %0Aand try\n@@ -12434,9 +12434,8 @@\n rong\n-%0D\n %0Alik\n",
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      "parent_permlink": "hive-187593",
      "author": "kachiwrites",
      "permlink": "what-is-life-s-trajectory",
      "title": "What is life's trajectory?",
      "body": "am a sunflower and I will never recoil from calling myself one. Sometimes (I mean occasionally, in the\npejorative sense), I want my heart to be carpeted with surging happiness as I would analogize\nmyself to a leaf fluttering, dancing in the wind. The glamour of it all is to see myself ensconced\nlanguorously. I am not interested in anything of this world again, this earth. It would be a ‘dream come\ntrue’ that one day I wake up in a utopian world of perfection where I am not under any responsibility but\nin considerable latitude. The whole blah of it is contending to stride towards nothingness, mere\netherealness. Life in its entirety is full of discombobulating conditions that can push scorpions out of your\nskull in no time. Okay, hearsay has it that it is a modernized world. I acquiesce, but not without\noutweighing the immense consequences characteristic of our generation.\nIn the forties, just when things were considerably easy, the Britishness of it all, education was a ball of\nfire. This outright appellation ‘A Second-Class Citizen’ was inconsequential, if I may conjecture. Yet, we\nare in Nigeria where from the womb, girlhood or rather, womanhood is diminished, aren’t we? We are in\nNigeria where there is the marginalization of the rights of citizens even more than it purports to be\nintrinsically, aren’t we? For how long will these dire infightings of anthropomorphism and animism\ncontinue decades on end: north of Nigeria deifying animals? Oh, banish the thought! We have kept silent\nfor too long because we are accustomed to this silence. Where are our fathers who instigated the fight,\nand where are they today to keep the ball rolling? They have all chickened out, to say the least.\nI strongly believe that we can rise above taunts and channel our inward polemics until we ultimately\nreturn our heritage. Nigeria may need rehabilitation, yet where do we start from? Is it the labyrinthinegeographical distancing, inward loathing of multi-faceted ethnic cultures, the mire of insubordinations,\r\neven from where I fret to start from? All these are an anathema to our contentions to forging a new\r\nNigeria.\r\nI know for sure that this cascading problem in graduated parameters is infused in the chassis of our nation,\r\nif I may encapsulate. The quotidian progression of each day, of a truth, gallops exponentially. It is\r\ncomparatively easy to apportion blame on the government when on our parts we are gross defaulters. Let\r\nus remove the log of wood from our lives and be law-abiding then we can concertedly remove the speck\r\nof dust in the eye of our government. Perhaps it is expedient to do the former — blame it all on the\r\ngovernment. Why do we deign to consider other contributive problems? Paying scarce detail to the\r\ntechnicalities in this regard, why do we think the basic structure of Nigeria is not also jinxed and\r\nlongitudinal assessments of economists would be exponential? Where are our law-makers and other\r\ntechnicians acting under delegation who have spent umpteen years toting voluminous textbooks and\r\ncannot now put all they have garnered into play, but capitulate on established polities? It is disheartening,\r\nI must say.\r\nSo why then do we have to cram and cram the long materials and not put them into practice (as mentioned\r\nabove)? Espying the striking analogy of the Cameroun-Peninsula palaver of 1953 and the ultimate Civil\r\nWar of 1967, I suffice it to say Nigeria is better off under martial laws. How ironic is it that we are\r\nendeared to espousing our enemies and despising our ‘mean-well’ friends — we deplore all their efforts\r\nto make for the betterment of our nation already consigning into oblivion. Unless we tap ourselves from\r\nthis sleep of sheer ignorance, this charade to improve what we yet do not know of, our country would\r\nremain leached out underground, in the chassis. I ponder pathetically with oodles of thoughts chasing one\r\nanother in my mind. In this government of injustice, I wonder why the military has not taken over power,\r\nbecause Nigeria is in a state of disarray, dishevelment, extreme abeyance of sense, quasi-perpetuation of\r\nnefarious crimes, gagged mechanisms of expression, i.e. Twitter, bitter-sweet decipherments.\r\nIt is tacit to know that intra-cephalous clamourings is just a tip of the ice-berg of our problems, but at least\r\nit is a means to our end to re-organizing Nigeria from amorphousness. I still strongly believe we are\r\npartially colonized, this time not by the British but by developed countries that our so-called leaders pay\r\nobeisance to seamlessly. The United States is placed on a pedestal to all nations. Yes, I affirmatively\r\nagree. But, do we divert our credulous-looking eyes to the façade of their attainments and forget that their\r\nformidable anatomy today boils down to their perseverance in years. We don’t read their Law anymore as\r\ndid we during the aborted transition to civilian rule — we read that of the British. Shouldn’t that be\r\nenough verisimilitude to clarify our discomfiture? We keep ranting about this, that, those, but all are to nopossible avail. Be that as it may, we unabashedly continue this rudderless behaviour when on our parts we\r\nfail to do the right things? It is sheer hypocrisy; or what shall I presumably call it? I am not categorically\r\nsaying that they are not contributing to our problems. The callousness of our hands has enough proof to\r\nexude for this, but in this fight, our fathers have passed down to us, our parts are invaluable for the\r\nevolution of our Frankenstein-ish nation, the mere anatomy of our nation. Over again to the intransigence\r\nof our leaders, we should sit back at home rather than go to school to learn the impracticable theoretical\r\naspects of the polities of our country rather than to leave it moribund. But if not, the pedagogical system\r\nwill thrive while our country will be marginalized. I stand to be corrected.\r\nI must really commend the scrutiny of regional organizations like the Economic Commission of West\r\nAfrican States (ECOWAS), Government Action against Money Laundering in West African States\r\n(GIABA), among others. My mother was graciously invited to partake in their yearly meetings at Senegal\r\nand Niamey respectively. They, however, were saddled with the responsibility of funding flight tickets of\r\nlawyers to and from countries all over West Africa. The outpouring of funds surreptitiously seems to be\r\nenormous that they salt away national funds in the guise of their personal earnings in intercontinental\r\nbanks. It ostensibly is not having your cake and eating; it is also Janus-faced in that they siphon public\r\nfunds to the detriment of indigent citizens dying in drudgery. Abacha’s loot investigation is a case in\r\npoint.\r\nLaunching into the religious realm, human beings are likened to be co-pilgrims on a heavenly race. They\r\nare embittered with worries, cataclysmic traumas, and orthodox beliefs about their chosen God (god) as\r\ndid the Israelites rebel against God by worshipping Baal intermittently. We lumber on tiring knees but still\r\npress ahead with our eyes glued to the Star of David haloing in the distance.\r\nNigeria is oxymoronic of lethal ghoulishness. One cannot walk in calm, owing to the insecurity that is\r\nrife. A visit to police stations emphasizes the inefficiency, lack of infrastructural facilities, immobility,\r\npoor remuneration, and the saga of the gross endangerment of citizens. The police’s primary\r\nresponsibility is to protect the lives and properties of citizens; at least that is how it is in our constitution.\r\nUnfortunately, they neglect their responsibility of protecting susceptible citizens to the protection of\r\nrapacious governmental officials. Quasi-executive bodies are even more concerned with protecting\r\ncitizens.\r\nIf for nothing, we are operating a democratic system of government, we should not give undeserved\r\nimmunity to guerilla governmental bodies that in their orgiastic tantrums put us in trepidation. The\r\nstructural system of education in Nigeria is a living-dead on account of the fact that our rather anomalous\r\nleaders do little or nothing to improve its barriers. In the interim, they send their children to schools indeveloped countries, i.e. America, Ukraine, England, even more so, Canada meanwhile, our children are\nfaced with grim-faced realities. It is not A-OK to think that with the established agencies of education,\ncandidates are dissatisfied to be patriots of Nigeria, a country that does not truly appreciate their little but\nworthwhile efforts as a matter of fact.\nNigeria is attenuated by modernizations of revolution which in fact, makes our languages and underlying\ntraditions silhouetted in the scheme of things. English language meanwhile our children ought to be\nequipped with our native language through and through. What we need is the English Language since we\nhave not fully resurrected our culture so that it may at least be principled in our way of life and remember\nus of our progenitors who in anachronistic days showed us the ways of their own fathers that we may\nfilter down to our children. Why then is the chain broken? Why is it crooked or stolen from us by\ncolonization? Why have we brushed away the need to forge our old times? They are now to be seen as\ninconsequential, unimportant and outdated times in the annals of modern history. Do we fail to think or\nconsider that our mire-soiled cultures would one day be sun-baked and it would be an indelible part of our\nbeing? We mostly forget our heydays of joyousness. If our culture remains jaded as it is, then we are not\nready for a new Nigeria, a sacrosanct Nigeria to remain unchanged despite undulating envisions of our\ncolonizers. Nigeria is super-rich but too often that we do not recognize this matter-of-factness.\nIn years to come what shall we call our children? Yet we feel we need to continue this Britishness\nand abandon our culture, the innate way of life of our fathers? Severally have we tried and tested\nthis to be a thorny issue. We are controversial; we never try to de-skill our children in the acquisition of\nAfrican cultures, for it is because of the obstreperousness of our country. We ululate ‘Let peace reign!’,\nyet our chosen leaders in government do not have our full-fledged legitimacy to govern.\nPolitical processes in Nigeria are not free and fair. Nigeria is practising gerontocracy — government by\nthe old or experienced. Why then can young men or women not take over governmental offices like\nFolarin Falana and Aisha Yesifu? Why does our vote amount to nothing? Yet we ascribe our success to\nthe government that we did install in the first place. After all, Nigeria preaches components of democracy\n— rule of law and all that jazz — but why then do we not practice free and fair election, the election by\nthe majority with recognition of the rights of the minority? It is all vain gloriousness in what seems to be a\nleviathan, too large to express in plain words. We are silenced but never timorous. Though we are under\nsiege, we refuse to be incapacitated of what we already have by the marauding hyenas in the corridors of\npower whose chicanery is all to enchanting to our ears. We shall continue to grapple with our colliding\nideas until we are able to ascertain what we truly want, a sense of direction. The gulf between the\ngovernment and its citizens is ineffably broad because of lack of genuine accountability. People aregauche, and so are their mentalities. They, the government are actually in power not to maintain power or\r\nanything of such but to feather their nests robustly. Citizens are clamouring everyday on the media with\r\ntheir plaintive throats, ridden with water. Their wilderness-cries in consonance with the misrule of\r\nblood-thirsty rogues are unheard of.\r\nCitizens can barely feed their families because of the outrageous prices of foodstuffs. Is it owing to\r\ndiminishing returns or something? I can barely elocute, at least for words. Estranged policies are then\r\nimposed on citizens who are indignant to have themselves filthily suffer. The pain of all multitudes is\r\nuntrammeled.\r\nIn conclusion, well I am not jumping to the conclusion that these problems are irredeemable. There are\r\nbeacons of hopes for the development of Nigeria to a giant sentinel of a tower by the wading through of\r\neach day. I believe that the day of reckoning is awaited when we will all become attuned to our ordeals\r\nand try to unclobber pressing problems ravaging our somnolence. And we shall in no time grow strong\r\nlike a rock of Gibraltar to contend with our lot, our problem in whatever dimension they come in.\n![Screenshot_20210710-205544~2.png](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmSrwVYdhccMktn32prcFFa6eypY6Xo2TyAGjjjosGktWD/Screenshot_20210710-205544~2.png)",
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      "voter": "partitura.life",
      "author": "kachiwrites",
      "permlink": "yours-truly",
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    {
      "parent_author": "",
      "parent_permlink": "lifestyle",
      "author": "kachiwrites",
      "permlink": "yours-truly",
      "title": "YOURS TRULY",
      "body": "I am a sunflower and I will never recoil from calling myself one. Sometimes (I mean occasionally, in the\npejorative sense), I want my heart to be carpeted with surging happiness as I would analogize\nmyself to a leaf fluttering, dancing in the wind. The glamour of it all is to see myself ensconced\nlanguorously. I am not interested in anything of this world again, this earth. It would be a ‘dream come\ntrue’ that one day I wake up in a utopian world of perfection where I am not under any responsibility but\nin considerable latitude. The whole blah of it is contending to stride towards nothingness, mere\netherealness. Life in its entirety is full of discombobulating conditions that can push scorpions out of your\nskull in no time. Okay, hearsay has it that it is a modernized world. I acquiesce, but not without\noutweighing the immense consequences characteristic of our generation.\nIn the forties, just when things were considerably easy, the Britishness of it all, education was a ball of\nfire. This outright appellation ‘A Second-Class Citizen’ was inconsequential, if I may conjecture. Yet, we\nare in Nigeria where from the womb, girlhood or rather, womanhood is diminished, aren’t we? We are in\nNigeria where there is the marginalization of the rights of citizens even more than it purports to be\nintrinsically, aren’t we? For how long will these dire infightings of anthropomorphism and animism\ncontinue decades on end: north of Nigeria deifying animals? Oh, banish the thought! We have kept silent\nfor too long because we are accustomed to this silence. Where are our fathers who instigated the fight,\nand where are they today to keep the ball rolling? They have all chickened out, to say the least.\nI strongly believe that we can rise above taunts and channel our inward polemics until we ultimately\nreturn our heritage. Nigeria may need rehabilitation, yet where do we start from? Is it the labyrinthinegeographical distancing, inward loathing of multi-faceted ethnic cultures, the mire of insubordinations,\r\neven from where I fret to start from? All these are an anathema to our contentions to forging a new\r\nNigeria.\r\nI know for sure that this cascading problem in graduated parameters is infused in the chassis of our nation,\r\nif I may encapsulate. The quotidian progression of each day, of a truth, gallops exponentially. It is\r\ncomparatively easy to apportion blame on the government when on our parts we are gross defaulters. Let\r\nus remove the log of wood from our lives and be law-abiding then we can concertedly remove the speck\r\nof dust in the eye of our government. Perhaps it is expedient to do the former — blame it all on the\r\ngovernment. Why do we deign to consider other contributive problems? Paying scarce detail to the\r\ntechnicalities in this regard, why do we think the basic structure of Nigeria is not also jinxed and\r\nlongitudinal assessments of economists would be exponential? Where are our law-makers and other\r\ntechnicians acting under delegation who have spent umpteen years toting voluminous textbooks and\r\ncannot now put all they have garnered into play, but capitulate on established polities? It is disheartening,\r\nI must say.\r\nSo why then do we have to cram and cram the long materials and not put them into practice (as mentioned\r\nabove)? Espying the striking analogy of the Cameroun-Peninsula palaver of 1953 and the ultimate Civil\r\nWar of 1967, I suffice it to say Nigeria is better off under martial laws. How ironic is it that we are\r\nendeared to espousing our enemies and despising our ‘mean-well’ friends — we deplore all their efforts\r\nto make for the betterment of our nation already consigning into oblivion. Unless we tap ourselves from\r\nthis sleep of sheer ignorance, this charade to improve what we yet do not know of, our country would\r\nremain leached out underground, in the chassis. I ponder pathetically with oodles of thoughts chasing one\r\nanother in my mind. In this government of injustice, I wonder why the military has not taken over power,\r\nbecause Nigeria is in a state of disarray, dishevelment, extreme abeyance of sense, quasi-perpetuation of\r\nnefarious crimes, gagged mechanisms of expression, i.e. Twitter, bitter-sweet decipherments.\r\nIt is tacit to know that intra-cephalous clamourings is just a tip of the ice-berg of our problems, but at least\r\nit is a means to our end to re-organizing Nigeria from amorphousness. I still strongly believe we are\r\npartially colonized, this time not by the British but by developed countries that our so-called leaders pay\r\nobeisance to seamlessly. The United States is placed on a pedestal to all nations. Yes, I affirmatively\r\nagree. But, do we divert our credulous-looking eyes to the façade of their attainments and forget that their\r\nformidable anatomy today boils down to their perseverance in years. We don’t read their Law anymore as\r\ndid we during the aborted transition to civilian rule — we read that of the British. Shouldn’t that be\r\nenough verisimilitude to clarify our discomfiture? We keep ranting about this, that, those,possible avail. Be that as it may, we unabashedly continue this rudderless behaviour when on our parts we\r\nfail to do the right things? It is sheer hypocrisy; or what shall I presumably call it? I am not categorically\r\nsaying that they are not contributing to our problems. The callousness of our hands has enough proof to\r\nexude for this, but in this fight, our fathers have passed down to us, our parts are invaluable for the\r\nevolution of our Frankenstein-ish nation, the mere anatomy of our nation. Over again to the intransigence\r\nof our leaders, we should sit back at home rather than go to school to learn the impracticable theoretical\r\naspects of the polities of our country rather than to leave it moribund. But if not, the pedagogical system\r\nwill thrive while our country will be marginalized. I stand to be corrected.\r\nI must really commend the scrutiny of regional organizations like the Economic Commission of West\r\nAfrican States (ECOWAS), Government Action against Money Laundering in West African States\r\n(GIABA), among others. My mother was graciously invited to partake in their yearly meetings at Senegal\r\nand Niamey respectively. They, however, were saddled with the responsibility of funding flight tickets of\r\nlawyers to and from countries all over West Africa. The outpouring of funds surreptitiously seems to be\r\nenormous that they salt away national funds in the guise of their personal earnings in intercontinental\r\nbanks. It ostensibly is not having your cake and eating; it is also Janus-faced in that they siphon public\r\nfunds to the detriment of indigent citizens dying in drudgery. Abacha’s loot investigation is a case in\r\npoint.\r\nLaunching into the religious realm, human beings are likened to be co-pilgrims on a heavenly race. They\r\nare embittered with worries, cataclysmic traumas, and orthodox beliefs about their chosen God (god) as\r\ndid the Israelites rebel against God by worshipping Baal intermittently. We lumber on tiring knees but still\r\npress ahead with our eyes glued to the Star of David haloing in the distance.\r\nNigeria is oxymoronic of lethal ghoulishness. One cannot walk in calm, owing to the insecurity that is\r\nrife. A visit to police stations emphasizes the inefficiency, lack of infrastructural facilities, immobility,\r\npoor remuneration, and the saga of the gross endangerment of citizens. The police’s primary\r\nresponsibility is to protect the lives and properties of citizens; at least that is how it is in our constitution.\r\nUnfortunately, they neglect their responsibility of protecting susceptible citizens to the protection of\r\nrapacious governmental officials. Quasi-executive bodies are even more concerned with protecting\r\ncitizens.\r\nIf for nothing, we are operating a democratic system of government, we should not give undeserved\r\nimmunity to guerilla governmental bodies that in their orgiastic tantrums put us in trepidation. The\r\nstructural system of education in Nigeria is a living-dead on account of the fact that our rather anomalous\r\nleaders do little or nothing to improve its barriers. In the interim, they send their children to schools indeveloped countries, i.e. America, Ukraine, England, even more so, Canada meanwhile, our children are\r\nfaced with grim-faced realities. It is not A-OK to think that with the established agencies of education,\r\ncandidates are dissatisfied to be patriots of Nigeria, a country that does not truly appreciate their little but\r\nworthwhile efforts as a matter of fact.\r\nNigeria is attenuated by modernizations of revolution which in fact, makes our languages and underlying\r\ntraditions silhouetted in the scheme of things. English language meanwhile our children ought to be\r\nequipped with our native language through and through. What we need is the English Language since we\r\nhave not fully resurrected our culture so that it may at least be principled in our way of life and remember\r\nus of our progenitors who in anachronistic days showed us the ways of their own fathers that we may\r\nfilter down to our children. Why then is the chain broken? Why is it crooked or stolen from us by\r\ncolonization? Why have we brushed away the need to forge our old times? They are now to be seen as\r\ninconsequential, unimportant and outdated times in the annals of modern history. Do we fail to think or\r\nconsider that our mire-soiled cultures would one day be sun-baked and it would be an indelible part of our\r\nbeing? We mostly forget our heydays of joyousness. If our culture remains jaded as it is, then we are not\r\nready for a new Nigeria, a sacrosanct Nigeria to remain unchanged despite undulating envisions of our\r\ncolonizers. Nigeria is super-rich but too often that we do not recognize this matter-of-factness.\r\nIn years to come what shall we call our children? Yet we feel we need to continue this Britishness\r\nand abandon our culture, the innate way of life of our fathers? Severally have we tried and tested\r\nthis to be a thorny issue. We are controversial; we never try to de-skill our children in the acquisition of\r\nAfrican cultures, for it is because of the obstreperousness of our country. We ululate ‘Let peace reign!’,\r\nyet our chosen leaders in government do not have our full-fledged legitimacy to govern.\r\nPolitical processes in Nigeria are not free and fair. Nigeria is practising gerontocracy — government by\r\nthe old or experienced. Why then can young men or women not take over governmental offices like\r\nFolarin Falana and Aisha Yesifu? Why does our vote amount to nothing? Yet we ascribe our success to\r\nthe government that we did install in the first place. After all, Nigeria preaches components of democracy\r\n— rule of law and all that jazz — but why then do we not practice free and fair election, the election by\r\nthe majority with recognition of the rights of the minority? It is all vain gloriousness in what seems to be a\r\nleviathan, too large to express in plain words. We are silenced but never timorous. Though we are under\r\nsiege, we refuse to be incapacitated of what we already have by the marauding hyenas in the corridors of\r\npower whose chicanery is all to enchanting to our ears. We shall continue to grapple with our colliding\r\nideas until we are able to ascertain what we truly want, a sense of direction. The gulf between the\r\ngovernment and its citizens is ineffably broad because of lack of genuine accountability. People gauche, and so are their mentalities. They, the government are actually in power not to maintain power or\r\nanything of such but to feather their nests robustly. Citizens are clamouring everyday on the media with\r\ntheir plaintive throats, ridden with water. Their wilderness-cries in consonance with the misrule of\r\nblood-thirsty rogues are unheard of.\r\nCitizens can barely feed their families because of the outrageous prices of foodstuffs. Is it owing to\r\ndiminishing returns or something? I can barely elocute, at least for words. Estranged policies are then\r\nimposed on citizens who are indignant to have themselves filthily suffer. The pain of all multitudes is\r\nuntrammeled.\r\nIn conclusion, well I am not jumping to the conclusion that these problems are irredeemable. There are\r\nbeacons of hopes for the development of Nigeria to a giant sentinel of a tower by the wading through of\r\neach day. I believe that the day of reckoning is awaited when we will all become attuned to our ordeals\r\nand try to unclobber pressing problems ravaging our somnolence. And we shall in no time grow strong\r\nlike a rock of Gibraltar to contend with our lot, our problem in whatever dimension they come in.\n![Uploading image #1...]()",
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  "trx_id": "8b853b7e69db9661277efedb37f581c1becf9ced",
  "block": 55457716,
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  "timestamp": "2021-07-13T22:55:24",
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      "parent_author": "",
      "parent_permlink": "steemit",
      "author": "kachiwrites",
      "permlink": "my-delicious-itinerary",
      "title": "MY DELICIOUS ITINERARY",
      "body": "![burnt-1-768x532.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmP32XQJJbTipvaNHNCRmmEFMVDztnSqm7ZqKXAFG8DEx3/burnt-1-768x532.jpg)\n\nI really don't know how this came to a reality, and is now a memory to be looked on at from my \nperspective, living in the present. My mother never wanted me to go on this excursion for no \nspecific reason-maybe probably because it was a 2-day journey and on a long distance.What \nactually happened was this: after begging her incessantly to allow me partake on this excursion\nher reply was \" o di ebe i je\" which means \"you are going no where\". When she saw that I was \nkeen on going on this excursion she told me to call my Father and if he gave me his consent \nthen I would go. So I called him, but , he didn't know the excursion was a 2-day trip, so he \nconsented as me to go. I was in cloud-9. Being a child who hardly travels, there was this kind of \nexcitement in me. And that my friend and seat partner (in the front seat), Gift Phillips and myself \nhad anticipated on the items to bring along with us for the upcoming excursion. Unfortunately, \nshe didn't join us on the excursion but I did. And these are my memorable experiences:\nOn Saturday morning, my mother, her driver and my elder sister, Aunty Cherechi dropped me \noff at school. My mother came into the school with me inquiring about the arrangements: the \nvehicles, the drivers and other preparations for the trip on that morning. When she was satisfied \nwith the preparations laid down, she left me giving me a gaze of peace. We waited on the floor \nnear the assembly ground which was plastered; awaiting when we would be called into a queue, \ncalling our names as we entered into the 'tear rubber' bus. As planned, we got into the bus, \nlooking stagnantly and inhaling the odour of the newly-bought-bus. After everybody got into the \nbus, we had a short prayer which was said by Mr Fashina, my class teacher,then our pilot (the \ndriver), Mr Tope, ignited the key, fired the engine and drove off. \nHowever, our excursion was to Ife through Ibadan. We got onto the Lagos- Ibadan expressway \nheading towards Ibadan. On the way, our teachers told us to sing rigorous songs which I didn't \nsee as an A-okay. We were really uncomfortable because we were more in number than the \nseats in the bus. So we had to lap ourselves ( most especially those of us seated at the \nbackseat). I happened to lap Victor Olasupo, our computer teacher's son, the smallest boy in \nour class then, along with our class captain, Ayomide Popoola.\nFurthermore, the journey was a long one, most especially when we headed towards Ibadan. \nFinally, we entered the urban area of Ibadan where we have the zoo and opposite, the \nmuseum. The ambience of this city was really delighting. We came down and walked into the \nzoo. At the entrance, we saw an antelope who we were told was to be killed for the lion in the \nevening. We were told to hold our hands in pairs of two before entering the zoo. We did,and \nmoved on. First, we saw a trio of hyenas, chuckling as usual. Next, was a kind of monkey that \nwas kept in a deep pit. So we, sharp students, used our discretion to get that it could jump. \nThen we moved to the cages of the lions, the crocodiles, the ostriches, the pythons, the cubs, \nthe elephant and lastly, the turtle. I know we saw other animals but these are the ones I can \nremember.\nIn the nick of time, when we were done seeing the animals and lectured on their botanical \r\nnames in which I wrote every part of, we walked to the museum, which was abaft the zoo. \r\nThere, we saw the skeletons of the dead animals which we could not see in the zoo, embalmed. \r\nWe were told not to touch anything but just take a cursory look and walk on. We moved into a \r\nroom which was a laboratory-cum- study. Erstwhile, we were shown the artifats of the Oyo-\r\nIbadan culture and the images of the colonialist who made tremendous developments in the city \r\ngenerally.\r\nAlso, having to go on an excursion with a Proprietress who was an explorer, made us to go to \r\nmore places than we thought, before going on the excursion, was ever possible.\r\nWe got into the bus and continued our excursion to Ife. when we arrived the urban areas, we \r\nheaded straight to the palace: the Ọọni of Ife's palace. We were shown the graves of the past \r\nkings, their achievements and who they were. Their graves were painted in blue.\r\n As if having gone to all these places, as mentioned above, was not enough, we went to the Ifa \r\nshrine. There, we saw a long pole-like structure on which a white linen was tied unto. We were \r\nlectured a bit by the chief priest of the shrine. \r\nIn conclusion, it was already evening and we unanimously decided to rest our excursion-filled \r\nheads in a motel. At the entrance of the motel, there was a balcony which was a rendezvous for \r\npeople (most especially youths). Entering our motel, we had a short prayer then we were served \r\na savoury and delicious meal.\r\nTo cap it all, the next morning,we were woken up very early to pray after which we were called \r\nout for workouts by our gymnastics teacher who we fondly called 'coach'. After workouts,, we \r\nwere all tired to the extent that we managed to walk into our motel. We bathed, ate and moved \r\ninto the bus dressed. On our way back to Lagos, we stopped by the gate of the University to \r\ntake some pictures as a way of remembering this escursion. Up till now I have not seen any of \r\nthe pictures we took. There and then, I told myself that after I became a lawyer (my dreamed \r\nprofession), I would return to Ife after staying in Ibadan for a while.",
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  "block": 55457563,
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  "timestamp": "2021-07-13T22:47:45",
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      "parent_author": "",
      "parent_permlink": "hive-139765",
      "author": "kachiwrites",
      "permlink": "my-baby-my-love",
      "title": "MY BABY, MY LOVE",
      "body": "![FB_IMG_1625595824965.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmNkGBqyozLf66jZGLty3U1p9q5sJqqgPPaXwzK4v3zVvw/FB_IMG_1625595824965.jpg)\n\n\nI felt in my bones that something bad was going to happen. I had hallucinated the throbbing of\nthe tambour to a threnody of rich texture in melody. I swallowed hard; I tried to ram saliva down\nmy throat. Even the weather was menacing as it blew so harshly that I moved in a hectic rush to\nbuy the drugs Maami's nurse told me to get. I was wearied by the bureaucracy of the hospital in\nwhich Maami was. The onus of burden rested on my small shoulders with uncertainty. Maami\nsuffered a severe diabetic ulcer which was malignant and her leg would subsequently be\nablated. Despite the fact, I did not want Maami's leg to be cut off, there was no other feasible\nsolution for her to live and this got me worried to death. I quivered in fear; my spirits quailed; my\nheart throbbed; my heart thumped in my chest and I soon began to lose my bearings. Everyone\nthat passed at sight looked macabre and I was angry that they smiled. I was on the horns of a\ndilemma - I did not want Maami's leg to be amputated neither did I want her to go. I was in utter\nmelancholy as I trod back to Maami's ward. My legs seemed heavy as I dragged them like a bag\nof human bones. I ran up against a nurse whose face was peculiar to Maami's ward; she came\nand patted my shoulder tersely getting a hang of my bewilderment.\n''What ails you, Hafiz dear, just be yourself, okay?'' , she said more than once.\n''I am fine, My mom has been on drip ever since and was being injected insulin today, what's\nnext'' , I summoned courage to say, not minding how shaky I was, like a terrible medusa.\n''We would give her Ampicillin,she would be fine...What do you think about that, eh?'', she said\nas we parted ways in adjacent directions.\nIt was August 5th, 1991. I got into the ward, dropped the drugs and busied myself with things\nthat could have been done by the happy-go-lucky and gossipy nurses, who went into a huddle,\ndiscussing an old man on life oxygen, how they pitied him to remove it for some minutes, one\nchuckled rather gleefully. They were all nothing to write home about, as they kept horsing\naround. Belligerent up to the hilt, I went to them all at once and admonished them to attend to\nMaami, I tried not to put up an ugly Frankenstein on my tear strained face. I could no longer\nbear Maami's throes of pain from her ulcerated foot which its foul-smelling compounds called\ncadaverine and purescine released anaerobic bacteria as part of the putrefaction of the tissue of\nher foot. The nurses passed the buck of work to the doctors, to whom they said, would be\naround soon. I was ridden up of appetite, tired, and still could not help hearing Maami call\nanyone, with her blurry sight ''Doctor, doctor, I am in pain!'' , she cried. I had never seen any\nwoman as resilient as Maami, she suffered a stoke three years ago, but still, she bounced back\nto go about her activities without a hitch. I had not slept when the doctor arrived in from Kano,\nhe prevaricated Maami's treatments and instead carried her leg up. ''Doctor please help her, she\nis in pain'', I said nervously, hardly had I uttered these words than I began to regret them.''If you\ndo not keep your mouth shut, i'll have no other option than to send you out'', he said furtively.\nMaami was helpless and I could no longer see her suffer any longer, I bore out the vividness of\nthis thought in my mind as I rested my head on the iron rails of a nearby bed without mattress\nand I did not know when I answered the call of nature. I woke up out of impulse, someone was\npuffing oxygen on Maami's chest while the other pressed her chest so hardly. I sat upright on\nthe iron rail looking at them and all of a sudden a troop of young baccalaureates of Medicine\nburs-ted into view. One of the doctors said, ''Go out of the ward'', thrusting his index finger to the\ndirection, he wanted me to go and continued pressing Maami's chest. I looked on her face asshe gasped for breath, engaging her mouth and nostrils. ''Was he expecting me to just go out\n\nlike that, crazy man?'', I belaboured in my mind. I went to sit on a chair near the bed I slept\nwhere I had a sparse view on Maami, she was on the brink of death. As he pressed Maami's\nchest harder, she breathed her last. They stopped to check with a stethoscope as the oxygen\nwas going back and the so-called-gossipy nurse began jotting something. The doctors had\ngiven the others a cue so they dispersed while I sat back looking at the semblance of Maami's\nface. I was underwhelmed, I found it hard to twitter in fear. I was ultra-peaceful as I plucked a\nhandful of courage.\nThe day Maami died, it was like I was carrying a cauldron of hot water. Nevertheless, I had\npeace; I did not give a damn if things, fell apart. Home was not a place to stay at that moment,\nvisitors trooped in, to condole us while some came to hear ''gist'' .They aired their incongruous\nopinions to Maami's sister - some said Maami could have gone on an amputation and stayed\nalive for them, while some said it was better she went. Our home became a hub for discussion. I\nwent to sleep abandoning the crowd with their annoying cacophony,when they saw nobody\ngave them attention,not even grandma, they went one after the other, in sheer disappointment\nas they wagged their heads like a lizard. Maami for certain, bulked large to me and I take solace\nin the fact that she died honourably and in remembrance, I shall hark back to her in peace.",
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  "trx_id": "633140ac9dde567dbe1bab790526e19d2db1d6c6",
  "block": 55457444,
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  "timestamp": "2021-07-13T22:41:48",
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      "parent_permlink": "hive-171319",
      "author": "kachiwrites",
      "permlink": "there-was-still-time",
      "title": "There was still time",
      "body": "Sheila looked at her swollen leg having a diabetic ulcer with utmost disgust. She was\nuncomfortable at the sight of the leg. She had just returned from a private clinic—who\nhas diagnosed the cause of the swelling to be as a result of microorganisms growing on\nher already developed wound, which has now become a sore. She is a mother of two:\nClinton, her younger son and Ken, her older son. Phillip works in an accounting firm\nwhile Clinton is in 300L, OAU, studying Physiotherapy.\nClinton's heart throbbed when he heard that his mother has a sore on her leg. He came\nhome immediately. Nobody was at home except from his mother. He headed straight to\nhis mother's room.\n\"Mummy, how are you?\" He said.\n\"Clinton! You came home to see me.\" Sheila said.\n\"Yes, mummy\" he says.\nHe looked at the leg, the intensity of the state at which it was. He could not help rubbing\nit to ease her of the pain. He touched the ankle of the leg.\n\" I can't feel that place, it is dead\" she says. He reassured her with a knowing smile.\n\" Mummy you know what, let me\nbuy you Ampliclox for you to take. I took it and it healed me, oh\" he said.\n\"Go and buy it then. Take my ATM. You know the pincode.\" She said.\nHe goes to Benco way pharmacy. A tall, fair Lady, in a white apparel attends to him.\n\"How can I help you?\" She said.\n\" Please I want to buy Ampliclox\". He said.\n\"Do you have bandage?\" He asked almost immediately.\n\" Like someone has a sore on her leg and it is swelling up, can I use a bandage? He\nsaid.\n\" Since you said \"a sore\", you have to open the wound to heal. She said.\n\"Okay\" he replied nodding.\nOn getting home, he helds his mother's hand and this time he is surged to pray for her.\nThey made plans to go to another private clinic, the next day, the one Clinton was born\nat. They get to the hospital. The doctor was not around. His assistant, a dark, tall lanky\nman with noticeable cheekbones attended to her.\n\"Good day Ma\" he said.\n\"Good afternoon\" she replied \" Please I am on appointment with Dr. Ted.\" She said.\n\" Is he around?\" She asked.\n\" No Ma… he is not around Ma… he comes late on weekends, non-working days\" he said.\n\"Okay\" she said.\n Please where is your ward? Anywhere I can rest. I am weak. She rested on the bed,\r\ncomplaining of pain. Clinton massaged her legs with a Robb. She felt better at least and\r\nslept. A fat, round man, stout man with a built-up stature, came in. He is Dr. Ted.\r\n\" Is this not Engineer Sheila? He asked rhetorically.\r\nShe fluttered her eyes open and tried to sit up, but she was laid to rest back by Dr Ted.\r\nShe does not reply. He cleaned her wound and wrapped it with a bandage to reduce the\r\nswelling. He left allowing her to sleep. She was unable to sleep as the bandage has\r\nbecome too tight on her leg as her leg swole up the more. Clinton called for Dr. Ted. He\r\nunwrapped the bandage, blisters have erupted all over her leg. He used a needle to poke\r\nthe blisters(a blister caused on your skin after it touches something hot). He applied\r\nDermazin to the opened surface of the earlier blistered places to dry it up. The next day,\r\nthe blisters erupted in more places all over her feet(on the affected leg), this time, it\r\ndripped a liquid that gave a sharp offensive odour. He referred her to a public hospital,\r\nLASUTH, as her condition was beyond his ability being a medical practitioner. On getting\r\nthere, there was no bed space. So they gave her injection to stop the spread. They\r\nreferred her to LUTH, Idi-Araba. At LUTH, medicine students were gathered, two doctors\r\ncame to their car asking her questions pertaining to her sore\r\nwhile another doctor checked her blood pressure and sugar—her blood pressure was\r\nnormal but her sugar is high. She was told to sit at passengers-wait while Ken, her elder\r\nson paid for a ward. She was trolled into the private ward( it looked refurbished: it looked\r\nmore of a public ward). Very early the next day, the nurses looked for her vein, but they\r\nwere all hidden. The major nurse adviced Ken and Clinton to buy a central-lining which\r\nwould be channeled directly to her heart, as she had been needled severally with no\r\nresult of finding a vein. They buy the central-lining. As they entered the ward, another\r\ndoctor had found her vein. She was constantly on insulin and re-dehydration drips\r\nmajorly to rejuvenate her. She was preempted from eating anything till noon. At noon,\r\nshe was fed beans. The doctors told her go for an x-ray before they started treatments\r\nproper. Clinton moved helter skelter looking for the prescribed drugs he could not find in\r\nthe regular private pharmacy. She complained of her in ability to breathe and see. The\r\nx-ray test results of her legs and her heart would be out the next day, unspecified.\r\nFlorence gasped for breath as she slept. The duo doctors tried to resuscitate her using a\r\nmanual oxygen. One of them pressed a foamy ballon with an oxygen mask, the other\r\npressed her chest so hardly. Young medicine students were gathered watching. All of a\r\nsudden, they stop and put a stethoscope in her chest. She is no more. They do not make\r\nit apparent—they communicated it among themselves logically. They left Sheila's bed\r\nspace.\r\nClinton felt relieved—he knew they'll subsequently amputate her leg, in which he was\r\nagainst of totally—Ken didn't mind if they amputated the leg, he was just after her life.\r\nClinton knew that the doctor's would resort to amputating her leg, causing pain and an\r\neternal sorrow to Sheila, his mother.\n![Screenshot_20210709-183201.png](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmYxcCRbnr9gABZPTzhrV6kdv4WueBoq9WyPEW38DRbXNV/Screenshot_20210709-183201.png)",
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