Dear diary,

Please keep this record for my sons.


My eighteenth birthday was 21 days ago. For over eighteen years, I have been home in a cage. “So I thought”. I dislike above everything else that my father consciously refused to allow me enough freedom to be the man I have always  envisage.

Each time I ask for my own space and territory without the burden of having to report to someone, he will always smile and say; not yet son, you are still too young. Can’t you learn from your elder brother?

That guy has his own life to live. I have always consider him to be a weakling and his constant show of humility has confine the “Favourite Son Status” upon him and he normally wear the crown with so much pride.

As for me, I want a different life, a life away from home. A life with women wine and may be little weed. A life with gin, games and pretty girls. A life without an underwear, a life of freedom with very little or no responsibility.

On this day, I had it all figured out.

I did not need a philosopher’s brain or a magician’s wand.

Alone in my room that night, I had all the time I needed to perfect my plans. “I am an adult now and as such I am now entitled to how I live my life”.

I told my dad the following morning to allow me enough time to travel to somewhere to start up my own life. After much persuading from me, surprisingly he agreed. Daddy issued me a cheque of four million naira and asked me not to go far.

I took the money and journeyed to a far country.

                                  ** ** **


It is exactly eight years today since I left home. I managed to sit down on a fragile bench, my head bowed, my gaze cast downward. A subdue glance met expressionless and hungry faces of pigs. I have eaten the food meant to feed them and so they gazed at me with so much disdain. If I wasn’t hungry and stranded, I will have no business eating food meant for swine.

I tried to look into the eyes of the pigs and I saw a reflection of myself in their eyes, shame and disgrace pierced my entire being like coals of fire. I wish they could say something, anything. It was better than the torture of silence.

A steadily rising sound of galloping horses caused a disruption in my head. In no time I was surrounded by horsemen gallantly dressed with brazen breastplates, silver headgears, and golden shields. “Hey” I heard a fine young man dressed in purple royal robe with neatly glittering rings on his fingers calling out to me.

My taunt nerves didn’t relax at the sight of him. Have they come to finally red card me from this world. “I asked myself silently”. My life has been a mess since the day I left my father’s house and journeyed to this far country. May be I will finally meet my end today

You are not alone! He whispered as his soft gentle hands rested on my chest, I have been there too. Go back home, go back to your father! He commanded

I cringed at his command, I shivered at the thought of going back to the man I abandoned , my hear mis-beat at the thought of going back to wear the underwear I once took off and abandoned.

Will my father accept me? I have had over twelve babies aborted for me in the past eight years, I have squander all he gave to me, I drink, dine and dance with the devil…….

It doesn’t matter. Just go back home. “He insists and turn to leave”

Please what is your name?  “I echoed”

He turned and with a wild smile he said: Those who knew me before I went back to my father call me the PRODIGAL SON but as you can see all that have changed now.

Go back and wear your underwear because your underwear is your mentor in the day of accountability , it is your chaperon in the day of stupidity. If you have an underwear, you will still have one more reason to fight. Even if you have lost the fight, with an underwear, you can’t loose the war.

GO BACK HOME because I too just like you went back home.


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