As I said in the previous post, my story started in Lagos. For reasons unknown to me, I was an alone child. I loved the company of people but I preferred my own company. I was quite loud as a child. I could talk and I will go on and on. But my precious moments were when I would sneak at night and stay alone at our compound to watch the stars.

In Africa, things like that weren't understood and I knew from a child. You were considered strange to 'think than you talk'. So in the day I made sure I did a lot of talking.

Those "night times" were my times. I had learnt to dream wild awake!. I would sit and allow my imagination fly so high. I thought literally about almost everything. I thought about falling in love, visiting lush gardens, travelling to distant places. I was just seven then. And I had told my Class teacher boldly that I wanted to become a Writer. My classmates were amazed at such ambition. Perhaps to them, it wasn't even an ambition.

But for me it wasn't just a craft. It was beyond it. I had fallen in love one Time with Aminat and later Deborah. All in different life times. All with their peculiar stories. All in my head. I played the stories first in my head or I just got to writing and the words wouldn't stop.

That's how it started for me. I rushed at any thing I could lay hold on to read. And by twelve, I had my personal library. I looked hard to improve my diction. Cause I discovered some times I was lost for words to describe the feeling I had.

Writing for me is sacred. She's like a gate-away ticket to any planet or life I wanted. All I had to do, was make a story line!.