Boredom indeed.

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“You have to be in solitude”, Mr Nwanpa, Danjuma’s counselor said as the clock ticked gently in the background. Danjuma exhaled, a deep releasing breath as if the room itself had given him permission to step away. After a few minutes of silence, Danjuma replied, “But boredom will kill me, I don't think I can last a day without going out,” he said hurriedly.
“ You listen”, Mr Nwanpa said softly,” you need to breathe, your body, your unspoken needs . Write if you like, walk in nature, rest. But leave time for you, not others”.
Danjuma slowly nodded. For the first time in years, the idea of being alone didn't feel like abandonment, it felt like relief. At this time, the office was calm, the quiet that invited you to breathe a little deeper was felt, and Danjuma stood up from a soft chair, he sat nervously on, picking at their sleeve. Across from Mr Nwanpa, who observed with gentle attention as his pen rested loosely in his hand after saying Have a good day.
Danjuma got home, which looked too quiet as he stepped away from his friends who always call for him, only to get him drunk, and from the constant buzz of social media and the exhausting chatter of people pulling him in different directions. At first, the silence felt like a gift, as no demands, no noise, and no chaos.

But by the third day, boredom began to creep in as he sat on his bed staring at the white ceiling. “ Is this what solitude is supposed to feel like?” he muttered as he tossed a pillow against the wall. The hum of the fan was the only sound he could hear. His phone lay untouched on the desk as it almost called out to him. He resisted because this time was supposed to be “healing solitude”. Still, every minute felt stretched like the clock was dragging its feet just to mock him. The boredom itched at him as he pressed himself towards distraction. He thought of sneaking back online, texting his friends, or filling the silence with anything but himself. Then something strange happened. Out of boredom, small thoughts began to rise. Memories of childhood. Dreams he had once set aside and a pain started sprouting out from within. A question he hadn't dared to ask himself, what causes this pain he is feeling, crept into his mind, and he realized that the boredom was a door. At first, it seemed empty, irritating, and suffocating. But sitting with it long enough, he found that behind his stillness were layers of himself he had ignored. He leaned back while his eyes were still on the ceiling. The silence was no longer punishment but a space that was big enough to hold his forgotten thoughts. For the first time, he understood why solitude was prescribed. Boredom wasn't the enemy but the teacher.
His eyes wandered upward. “The ceiling,” he said, as for years he had abandoned some deep aspects of himself there in a box. He pulled a chair under the panel, climbed up, and pushed the wooden square aside. A warm draft of dusty air escaped and he coughed but pulled himself up into the ceiling. Inside, it was cramped, dark, and filled with forgotten things such as old suitcases and boxes of newspapers. His flashlight flickered across cobwebs and thick dust, then he found the old box that stood out, which was small and carefully wrapped in fading cloth. He pulled it down, and inside were scattered pages of old letters, drawings, and a diary. He sat down quietly as he touched the diary, and then, with a trembling sight, he soliloquized, “ I put this away years ago… so I wouldn't break. But now I think it's time”.

Over the weeks that followed, he began to talk about losses and wounds that shaped him and about things he locked away both in the ceiling and his heart. Each story was heavy as Mr Nwanpa listened and noticed something strange that with every memory spoken, Danjuma grew lighter. The day the last story was told, Mr Nwanpa said, “This doesn't belong to you anymore. It is time to let it go,” and so Danjuma did. Not to erase the past but to release the weight of it. As the solitude and boredom had become the vessel of healing and now he is free again.

He stood up from his favorite position, where he liked sitting, and left Mr Nwanpa's office as light as a feather.