I searched every nook and cranny of my room. Inside the cupboard—I hurriedly opened each shelf. I saw nothing but every other irrelevant thing I kept there. My secondary school results; From SS1 to SS3. The main reason I conserved the unessential records is to brag about it when I give birth a brilliant child like me or to use it as an evidence of my evergreen intelligence so my future wife would be in the know that none of my children should be dull-witted, and if that should happen, perhaps such child resemble the mother, not me.
I checked underneath my bed—I flung away the silkie blanket, I stridently threw away the pillow and it hit the casement window benignly. I half-raised the single bed, then I raised it totally and made it lean against the wall. The wall was painted two colours and one part of the four sides of the room was designed artistically. I did not see anything except dust that I had no idea of how it got accumulated there despite how I would painstakingly sweep the room every five hours.
Then I started parking down my books, text books and exercise books, from the mini library shelf that I situated an inch to my wooden brown door if it is widely open and not just ajar. I began to open each page of every book, one after the other, yet I saw nothing but the everlasting and living words penned by the dead but unforgettable and renowned authors.
I started feeling heat under an old ceiling fan that used to offer my slim body the coolness close to that of a Haier Thermocool air conditioner. I began to swim in the whirlpool of my sweat. I didn't know where exactly my handkerchief had been thrown to when I was frustratingly unpacking my clothes from my big brown baggage.
Then I realised, when I wanted to wipe the sweat from my face with my bare hands, that I already wore the glasses I was searching for.
— Moshkur Ajikobi,
LASU chapter.
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