Yet again my blog has been listed by another blogger for another award. This time a published writer has identified with my work. My gratitude goes to Kellie Larsen Murphy: ; a writer, mother & books enthusiast, for nominating me for the Lucky 7 award. This indeed is a very special honor.
Like most other awards of this nature, the award’s primarily objective is to publicize the work of bloggers. The Lucky 7 award specifically provides a forum for writers to showcase a piece of their work and pass it along to other aspiring novelists. This piece of their manuscript; whether it is prose or poetry, novels, short stories or essays, could be part of a complete work or just part of something they are still working on.
As it is customary with most blog based awards, the nominated person is expected to nominated others too. The nominated writer does the following:
• Go to Page 77 of your manuscript
• Go to line 7
• Copy next 7 lines, sentences or paragraphs into your post
• Give the award to 7 more writers
I’m not a published writer Yet! I’ve three complete works ready and I’m a third way done on a fouth. I’m very hopeful I’ll be acknowledged and duly published in the near future. Unfortunately, the oppurtunities on offer for publishing are not exactly over flowing and dripping down the forearms of budding writers, especially on the African continent. My blog has done well. The commendable Following (Over 230), Viewing & Hits (Over 2,600) & Awards (3) I got in just five months is most encouraging & quite reassuring.
Thank you all for veiwing, commenting & following my blog!

The excerpt I chose for the purpose of this award is from my unpublished novel. This excerpt is from an over 740 pager titled: FEVER! Below are 7 paragraphs, starting from the 7th line of the 77th page & beneath that is a synopsis of the novel.

The first dock worker that came up the placed gangway, after it had been properly fasten to enable the briefly delayed passengers to leave the docked ship, was visibly stunned to come face to face with the returning young orphan. At first glance, the older man thought he had been mystically transferred back in time and was instead facing the much revered late chief servant of the long departed colonial elder statesman.
Such was the likeness of the son to his late father’s younger features, that the stunned old dock worker’s alarmed expression said as much. It was as if an old mirror had mystically transverse the superficies of the two separated, decades apart times, bringing back the reflection of the father with it to the present. Though startled by his instant unexpected recognition of the young returnee, the old dock worker had remained calm and tried not to give away his thoughts. But his initial reaction had already given him away.
The plan the young man initially had was to slip back into the coastal town unannounced and unnoticed, so that he could privately and secretly assess the prevailing situation and take complete possession of his entire inheritance there, before ultimately commencing the execution of the elaborate scheme he had fashioned out, based on the spelt out written brief of his late father. But he now had to come to terms with what would be his complete inability to show himself around freely, without being identified for whose son he is.
It would certainly be impossible for him to freely go around unrecognized because of those unique facial and bodily features distinct to his family and which his father had already made easily recognizable by his prominence in the coastal town just over three decades earlier, when he looked only a shade older but was indeed much older than his returning son. He had looked much like the boy does then.
Responding to an instant brain wave, the boy quickly called the old dock worker aside and after a very brief introduction to explain his obvious resemblance to his famous late father, he summarily offered the old dock worker a mouth-watering deal. He asked the old man to be his personal assistant. But before the old dock worker replied, he had requested for a few minutes to attend to the crew of the docked vessel first, like he was duty bond to.
After he had waited for the passengers of the ship to start disembarking, he rejoined the young man in his private luxury cabin to get more acquainted with the job he was being offered, the same job he would subsequently do for the rest of his already considerably advanced age. It is the kind of work he appeared quite suited for with his vast international exposure, experience and current vocational knowledge.
The old dock worker was a very likeable chap, whose tale was a list of missed opportunities and that of endless patience which characterizes persons unwilling to take any kind of risk to achieve their fantastic dreams; those many dreams they have nursed for so long. And when they fail in pursuing these dreams, they still have the audacity to blame everybody else but themselves. As an orphaned young lad too, the old dock worker had followed his holidaying uncle back to the coastal town to work as a bellhop in the hotel where his uncle worked as an old kitchen-help. This was in the earlier years, just before the amalgamation of the colonized regions.




The family made up a nation that approved and doled out its versioned justice to all its number, but appeases none of them really. It fostered its own colossal failure in combined efforts. It made that of its constituent membership insignificant and trivial in an unimportant way.

There is the honest triumph of labour, the hugely varied effect of wit against diverse hardship, and the effectiveness of corruption where all other approaches have failed. But the lingering damage it leaves in its wake is too tasteless to be edible and yet must be wholly eaten.

There is the highly proclaimed effect of diverse personalities on their orientations and these aren’t disguised in the blatant tribalism, regionalism and ethnicity that surround it all. Everything merges into these vastly imitated robustly parochial ways that are too alike to be sincerely different, revealing a rich nation with a fever it resembles.

Fever is an exposition of a heady, but not inscrutable abstract story, conceived on the telling likeness in the revelations of evident bodily symptoms to a practically dysfunctional well knitted family which has managed to coexist like the administrative and geographical national entity the family is indigenous to, resembles and lives in. It points to its entire nature in an elaborated seemingly fictional story. It likens every aspect of it entirely and symbolizes it with such inane clarity.


Below are my own 7 nominations for the Lucky 7 Awards.

Thanks for everything.


  1. Congrats and again, thank you! I wish you the best of luck in the publishing world, and continuing with your manuscripts. It’s a lot of hard work, but it will pay off. You are a gifted soul 🙂

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