C H A R A D E

Linda's Blog

This chapter is dedicated to ahanstasia for being a wonderful reader and supporter 😂

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I woke up in the dead of the night.

My room was pitch black and I could hardly see a thing, although I could hear crickets chirping and frogs calling outside my window.

Nigeria and her incessant power outage.

Yawning, I rolled out of bed and reached for my phone which I had kept under my pillow.

I powered it on and stared at the time.

12:30 am.

How long had I slept? I hadn't even had my dinner yet.

Just then, memories from our talk about my encounter with the Keke driver and Tony Lanre to the quarrel between Chelsea and I earlier this evening flashed in my head.

I let out a deep sigh, put on the torch on my phone, stood up from the bed and walked over to my table. I would apologize to Chelsea first thing tomorrow morning.

I picked up my laptop and walked back to my bed. Plopping down, I powered it on, deciding to do what Chelsea had told me.

Log into Linda Ibe's blog and see people chasing clout.

I logged into my Instagram account and searched for her blog. It took only a maximum of three seconds for it to pop up and I joined it immediately.

I read the most recent update in which she wrote on how Mr Akintola, a lecturer in the Literary Arts department was caught shagging a student within the school's premises.

Whoa, I had not seen that one coming.

The name of the student was Chechi Daniel, a 100 level student.

There were over three hundred comments bordering on how the girl had been naive, stupid and all that.

I read on to another update from last week in which one Mrs Adade, another lecturer at school, had been falsely accused of tampering with student's exam scores and scripts and had almost gotten sacked for it.

Damn, and I never heard of any of this?

Chelsea was right. Where had my social life gone off to?

I continued roaming through Linda's blog, having forgotten, completely, about the main reason I had logged into it at first—to search for the Bolanle Deji thingy.

I saw another post of how Rita Wunmi, a final year student had been found dead in her lodge about a month ago.

I had heard about that one. I was told that she had been killed from blunt force trauma, rigor mortis, and then raped afterwards. For almost three weeks since her death the police had no lead whatsoever of who could have committed such an atrocity, then, two days later, Dave Ikenna, her ex-boyfriend walked up to the station on his own accord and turned in himself, claiming he was the one that had murdered her.

It had been said that he confessed to her murder because he couldn't "stand hearing her voice everyday". Apparently, he confessed because he thought Rita's ghost was haunting him. Long story short, he was sentenced to life imprisonment at 23.

I went on to her next post, not minding that I was loosing track of time the more I moved on to a different post.

It was already one o'clock.

The headline of the next post brought me back to the reality of why I had joined the blog in the first place.

The headline read in bold letters,