My Warri Chronicles 7. Trekking

 

Trekking in Warri was not necessarily an indication of poverty or non-ownership of a family car. At, least, not where I lived. It may seem strange to some people in this era but in the time in which I grew up, your family could own several cars, but you would walk to school, or the neighborhood shops and markets. And very often you would walk to church or fellowship too.

Case in point: I had a schoolmate in primary 5, who was from a wealthy home. They lived somewhere on/around Idama street, close to the Rerri family, I believe. I do not have their permission to write about them so I will not mention their name but they were quite well-to-do back then. But we all trekked home from school every day.

We would trek from our school, close to the Warri library, through Ginuwa road, turn into Father Healy street, pass through Nelson William street and then go down Ogboru road till we got to Idama. From there, people began to turn into their various homes.

Trekking for us was neither poverty nor punishment; it was fun, and it was an accepted mode of transportation. We would tell stories, jokes, and riddles. And we would laugh with glee. Sometimes, there would be a quarrel and two people would break into a fight. And that was another form of entertainment. But we played much more than we fought. And of course, the language of communication was pidgin, the Warri pidgin.

In those days there was no DSTV, or any form of cable Television for that matter. And we did not have the freedom of going out whenever we wanted, so the time spent walking home from school was our time of bonding and deep friendships.

In my Warri, we had no issues of kidnapping, child rape and some of the evils that make neighborhoods so dangerous today. We were kids and we had the freedom to be young and carefree. And we trekked. No shame, no pain.

Of course, there were kids who didn’t trek. I doubt if the Mabiakus, Rewanes, Edodos and such other Warri “Bill Gates” did any trekking, but no matter; some of us did, and we thought nothing of it.

It was our Warri, our way of life. And it was good.

#WarriChronicles #MyWarri #HomeTowns #IAmAWriterByChoice#BornToWriteWell #ElsieWrite

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My Warri Chronicles 1.

 

I grew up in Warri-Okumagba layout. It was neither a slum, nor a GRA. Everyone had their level, and respected it.

But there were interactions and jealousies across the divide.

Let me explain.

If you were living in a flat or bungalow that had its own toilets, kitchen etc, you were an object of envy from the neighbourhood kids.

To avoid being ‘waylayed’ and beaten up, you had to allow the neighbours watch TV in your living room. Your close friends would come in and sit on the carpet or on the arms of the chairs, (the chair itself was off limits), and the others who were neither friends nor foes would watch from the window.

Sometimes you had upwards of twenty kids between the living room floor and the window side.

And when they got very noisy you just had to say, ‘shhh!’ The message was well received.

You were hated/envied for speaking ‘simple and correct English.’ In Warri, pidgin is king. If you didn’t speak it you were suspect. Speaking your language was an offence though, pidgin was the thing. That was Okumagba layout.

That was my ‘hood for a time. Soon, I shall make a literary journey back there, but not yet.

Some holidays, we travelled to Trofani (Rivers state then, Bayelsa now). I hear there’s a bridge that links somewhere to Trofani now. Back then, we made the trip by boat. It was terrifying, and fun too.

This time I returned to Trofani. Without going there.

That’s the beauty of the written word. You can go anywhere you like and be anyone you want.

#NewBook #Elsiewrite #BornToWriteWell #IamWriting #IAmAWriterByChoicemap of Warri