24/04/2026
Traffic jam in the living room 🤣,
It was a bright Monday morning, the kind that screams “latecomers will not survive today.” The classroom was already buzzing—students whispering, some revising, others just pretending to be serious. Suddenly, the door creaked open slowly…
Enter Emeka.
Shirt half tucked, hair looking like he wrestled with a pillow and lost, one sock up, the other halfway down like it gave up on life. The whole class turned.
The teacher paused mid-sentence, adjusted his glasses, and looked at him like a judge about to pass a heavy sentence.
“Emeka…” he said slowly, folding his arms. “Why. Are. You. Late?”
The class went silent. Even the ceiling fan seemed to slow down to hear the excuse.
Emeka cleared his throat dramatically.
“Sir… there was traffic 🚦.”
The class immediately erupted in small giggles.
The teacher blinked twice. “Traffic?”
He stepped forward. “From your house to this school is just… what… 10 to 3 minutes walking distance!”
Emeka nodded confidently. “Yes sir.”
The teacher raised an eyebrow. “So where exactly did this ‘traffic’ happen? Inside your imagination?”
Emeka shook his head seriously.
“No sir… the traffic was inside my house.”
Now the whole class exploded in laughter 😂😂😂
The teacher tried to maintain discipline, but even his lips were shaking.
“INSIDE your house???” he shouted. “Is your house a highway??”
Emeka sighed like a man who had seen war.
“Sir… it was serious traffic. My mommy blocked the sitting room, my daddy blocked the doorway…”
The teacher leaned forward. “And why were they blocking the road inside your house?”
Emeka took a deep breath.
“Sir… my mommy was fighting my daddy… with my school shoes.”
At this point, one boy fell off his chair laughing 🤣
The teacher froze. “Wait… wait… your mother was doing what??”
“Yes sir,” Emeka continued, now fully committed.
“She was using my black school shoes—left and right—bam bam bam! like she was playing drum.”
The class was in chaos.
The teacher tried to stay serious. “And your father?”
“Sir, my daddy was dodging like he was in a boxing match. At one point he even shouted ‘referee where are you!’ but there was no referee, only me.”
“Then what were you doing?” the teacher asked, now curious.
“Sir, I was at the corner waiting for the traffic to clear. I couldn’t pass because if I enter, I might collect free beating.”
The teacher turned away, holding his mouth.
Emeka continued, adding more pepper to the story:
“At some point sir, my mommy even threw my school bag. It hit the wall and opened—my books fell like emergency landing!”
The class was finished 🤣🤣🤣
“And how did the ‘traffic’ finally clear?” the teacher asked, now fully invested.
“Sir… my grandma came from nowhere like a police officer.”
He stood straight, imitating her voice:
“‘Everybody STOP!’”
The class roared again.
“She seized the shoes, held my mommy, held my daddy, then looked at me and said, ‘You, go to school before they use you to continue the fight.’”
The teacher wiped tears from his eyes.
“So that’s why you’re late?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” Emeka said proudly. “Domestic traffic jam.”
The teacher shook his head slowly.
“You mean to tell me… instead of cars… your parents were the vehicles?”
“Yes sir. And my shoes were the weapons of mass destruction.”
At this point, even the teacher couldn’t hold it anymore. He burst into laughter 🤣
After a moment, he regained composure and pointed at Emeka.
“Next time, tell your parents to fight after school hours. This kind of traffic is not recognized by the school authority!”
“Yes sir!” Emeka replied quickly.
“And bring those shoes tomorrow,” the teacher added.
“I want to inspect the damage.”
The class laughed again as Emeka walked to his seat like a survivor of a family war zone.
From that day on, anytime someone came late, the teacher would ask:
“Is it road traffic… or home traffic?” 😂
Lesson: Sometimes excuses sound crazy… until you realize real life is even crazier 🤣
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