August 27, 2007



So I awoke this morning at a quarter to eight a.m. I didn't know it was that far into the morning already 'cos it's been raining from late at night. I didn't even know when dad left for his trip this morning. So I laid back in bed, played some music and munched on some candy, trying to wait it off, but as it is, 9am there's no sign the rain is abating. Maybe the mistake I made was not getting up to shower and do other "get-ready" stuff, so I can leave when I wish. Instead, when I saw it wouldn't stop raining at 9, I started heating bath water and doing all the other stuff. 9:30, it's still raining hard on the roof, I pick up my umbrella and rucksack then walked outta the house.

Rode a bike to the bus stop, the streets are wet and of course muddy. Life in the 'burbs! Any how sha, no much vehicles on the road. I wondered how many people are like damning the consequences at that moment, snuggling their pillows or loved ones in bed. I fought the thought of regret from being out there in that cold weather. I miss my bed and the smell of my room, Snooky and Snookum lying idly in bed till I return, the jar of Chocolate spread beside my pillow, always there to console me when I'm feeling down. Aaarrgh, I tried to I walked towards the long bus, popularly called "El Rufai bus". It's the only one around headed for Abuja city at the moment, and I wouldn't waste time messing up my boots waiting for a car to pull over, so I jumped in. Looking about in the car, I saw faces numb from the cold sitting at the backseat already. I paid and then took a window seat. I hate it when someone else controls my access to fresh air when I'm going to be riding for over >10-20mins. I took out "Nighttime is my time" (which by the way is a frigging good thriller) from my carry-on and started reading, while waiting for the driver to move. Some dude just bumbles in behind with water dripping from his raincoats. I could've cared less if he didn't decide to sit beside me and grinning at me. I'm like, "Hey, you sure are making me feel warm..." and he's like, "Ok, sorry o! Oloyibo" He gets up, takes off the raincoats and resumes his grinning. I could see him from the side of my face. He takes his seat again and decides to look interestingly into my book, sighing "hmmmm, hmmm" every now and then. He then decides to make conversation when he noticed I was getting pissed and distracted. So I looked up and he's like, "Hmmm, what book is this?" I turned the back cover to him, waited long enough for him to have seen the title. When I try to turn it back and resume reading, he'd be like, "wait, wait, wait first..." He did it like thrice. Sheeesh, man, I feel like jumping u right about now just that with his height and the girth of his hands, I don't stand a chance. Maybe a kick in the groin will fix him...? Next thing he says, " it in volumes? Which volume is this one, 1, 2 or 3?" I'm like, it's just a novel, maaaan. Now if you can suck your thumb and let me be? No, I didn't say that sha. Maybe he could read minds, he did let me be till I got off the bus. Public transport self na wa.

I got to the client's site, 1hr 30mins late. Ho hum, fire me! Nah, I know you wouldn't even think it. You know you need me, your system will fail without me here and it'd take you months to recover...ego trip, ego boost, yada yada. Before I could settle down to work, the talk from last week about a laptop getting filched turned out true. So it happens that everyone that came within that building between the last day the laptop user was around, saw and used his laptop (Tuesday) and when it was discovered missing, after his trip (Friday) have to make some sort of statement at the police station. WT...? In the light drizzles, we were all packed into a jeep and rode into the Maitama Police station. At the entrance to the station, the faces seen look hungry and angry. One of them had this, 'Una don bring us chop' thing going, by the smirk on his face, perhaps smiling inwardly at the thought of more money-making from the stream of culprits, "bailers" and the sorts streaming in to the premises. All my life, up till that moment this morning I've never had to go into a police station. I only remember going in with a friend who went to pick up his car. He doesn't have a parking space in his crib, but decides to always park his car at the Police station. The building looked so unkempt on the inside. Safe for the signpost at the entrance, it looked like an abandoned structure where some vagrants put up temporarily at night. Such a huge contrast from the surrounding area, with the beautiful buildings in Maitama looming over with huge columns, colonnades.

As we stepped inside the building, I felt this whole elementary school scene buildup in my head. The whole corridors messy with water from the roof spilling inside, and feet splish-splashing as they walk over the puddle. Everyone was making small-talk, drinking tea or just trying to dry off their uniform. The rain touched lives this morning!
We were ushered into this room where stacks of "Office Flat File" folders spewed out paper brown from dust at the top of the shelves. I saw a sign somewhere that I couldn't be arsed to read, but I still managed a glance say that "...The Police is Your friend. Bail is free" line. There were "criminals" seated in for some sort of "hearing" and before I could say, "Star Spangled Banner", an officer of some sort hollered that they be taken back to their cells till "someone" who apparently isn't there "provides something" shows up. New customers have arrived, it seems. They were filed and hustled out of the room.

As we took our seats, a lady officer came in and shouted to the officer-in-charge:

Lady Officer: Oga, na dem be dis o!
Officer-In-Charge: Ehen, una welcome. Dem say una steal laptop...

WTH? I had to try to keep a straight face. It felt so real, u know, those whole storylines from the Naija home movies. Pidgin English, uncouth and unprofessional looking officers, dressed hagardly.

Lady Officer: Oya, I wan share paper so una go write una statements. Na who no sabi write here? Na who no sabi write English? All of una sabi write?

She raises her voice as she kept making this announcement. Before she could embarrass herself some more, one "big oga" from a nearby office walks in with a frown and asks "what's going on here?" They give him a background of "these people" and he asks us into his office. In retrospect, I liked his "cut the crap" approach cos after some short introduction, he was able to narrow down his search to some "suspects" and my colleagues and I were asked to leave. For the moment, we are not "case material". I wouldn't be surprised if I'm called back for some reason sha, since I handle most of the hardware there.

What a way to start the day, not after I felt some reluctance to work self...

Barry White

I listened to my "Ultimate Barry White Collection" this weekend and being alone didn't just help. It stung inside me like frostbite, you know that numb feeling on the hand, after spending hours in very low temperatures. That's how it felt. You know, Barry sure has a way with words and his voice is soothing. I'm no lady nor am I trannie, but I know it'd have some wonderful, tummy-churning effect on them ladies, say, you are lying in bed with him and he's talking dirty or whispering those sweet-nothings in your ear, cooing warm air in your ear. *goosebumps* You know what I mean? YEAH. But thinking about it, with all those charm and allure in his personality and music, I wonder how often Barry got it. I mean, no offense to anyone really, i mean like really, and when I say really, I mean really: Not that he was that overweight and I know people who are much bigger than he is who get it and still get it, but my question is did he get it as often and as much as he deserves? Not that I should care, but it's just something that kept roaming in my solitary mind this past weekend as I sat down and listened to his songs. He probably got enough before he died sha and maybe he made the lady/woman or ladies/women happy.

These are the words to the one song I had on repeat most of the time. Like some of my friends say, it's a good baby-making song. Enjoy!

I’m Gonna Love You Just A Little More, Baby

It feels so good
You lying here next to me
Oh, what a groove
You have no idea how it feels
My hands just won’t keep still
I love you, baby
Oh, I love you, I love you, I love you
I just wanna hold you
Run my fingers through your hair
Outta sight
Uh-huh, right there, you like it like that
Come here, closer, close
Oh, baby
Oh, baby

Give it up, ain’t no use
I can help myself if I’d wanted to
I’m hung up, no doubt
I’m so in love with you, for me there’s no way out

‘Cause deeper and deeper
In love with you I’m falling
Sweeter and sweeter
Your tender words of love keeps calling

Eager and eager, yeah
To feel your lips upon my face
Please her and please her
Any time or any place

I’m gonna love you, love you, love you just a little more, baby
I’m gonna need you, need you, need you every day
I’m gonna want you, want you, want you in every way

Make no mistake for I’ll hold back knowin’
This time it looks like lover is here to stay
As long as I shall live
I’ll give you all I have and all I have to give

‘Cause please her and please her
Any time or any place
Eager and eager
To feel your sweet lips on my face

Deeper and deeper
In love with you I’m falling, yeah
Sweeter and sweeter
Your tender words of love keeps calling

I’m gonna love you, love you, love you just a little more, baby
I’m gonna need you, need you, need you every day
I’m gonna want you, want you, want you in every way


August 17, 2007

Let's Do It

DISCLAIMER: This is a spur of the moment post, so try and connect the loose ends.

I am Nigerian! From my childhood, there's been an endless bombardment of fear, which I won't bother listing here. But from those of us who grew up in the traditional family, you can identify with the whole conservatism. Fear of the unknown. Fear of being unaccepted. Fear of failure. Fear of this, fear of that. Most of our lives has been hijacked by fear and it impedes progress. But now, things are taking shape as I try to fight these traits I find unacceptable and unrealistic in step with the times.

As a people, unfortunately, that inborn fear is almost taking an intrinsic feature in our lives. It shows its ugly head more often in decisions we make. Just like any other proud Nigerian out there, I will love to see this country reach its full potential and exceed it. Giant of Africa this, economic/financial hub of Africa that, the efforts have to start somewhere. Just read this interesting and provocative article by Chxta and all that went with it. Funny how people tend to misread intentions (as is obvious by talkbacks to that post), but I'm not going to assail any of the opinions therein, here. The thing is efforts need to be collective. There's power in numbers. While there is definitely going to be differing opinions on how to get us "there", synergy is needed, not bad-talking.

I tend to be a groupie and while that word carries some negative nuances there is nothing wrong with trying to get things done with the help of others. At the same time, it is wrong trying to defer things to other people, to get the work done for you. That attitude doesn't help with progress. And that is another attitude prevalent in our society, trying to shirk responsibility. Why should I hurt myself and let others have the fun? You know, poke the task with a stick from a safe distance, no need dirtying my hands. In the end, we'd all celebrate the success. Now when there's success, we see people trying to take credit for what isn't rightfully theirs. That attitude does not help! I am not immune to this, some times, on some matters. It is a fight between what I am and what I am trying to be and striving to be it. When there's failure, I take responsibility. It's hard to be brutally honest, but how many people out there are willing to take the smear, even if it is temporal and would help make things better in the long run?

It takes time and an overall overhaul of our thought process and actions. Education is important (duh). Sacrifices HAVE TO be made. For those who have already taken up their lance and shield. Kudos, and way to go! And for the rest who are struggling, but are yet to be on the front line, but are making every effort to be useful and contribute meaningfully (in this category I fall in), may we muster enough gumption for what lies ahead. It would not be easy, but with unity and a common goal, we can get ourselves there. No need trying to outdo the other person or try to tear down his efforts. Where he is lacking, you try to help, but at the same time you watch your back so you don't break while helping.

A great number of Nigerians don't think. And when they eventually think, they are afraid of what the result of such thinking will mean for them. They'd rather deal with the status quo, no matter how bad it is. And still, even when the change does come, there will be a lot of bad-talking and resistance to change. It's good to criticize, but constructive criticism is what helps. "Patching up" will not help! It is time to "fix it", it is time to push for change. As Catty said in one of her posts, "...they are too busy with the business of surviving." There's too much struggling to do trying to get food on the table, to even have any time to bother about being creative. It's a vicious cycle! Of course it isn't an enabling environment, but there's no reason to despair or balk. There's much word around that motivates on "what to do", now there should be a shift to "time to do", which is NOW.

I'm a groupie and I'm game for change. I'm ready to do what it takes to help build a life for my society, myself, and my unborn loved ones. Let's do it!

A lovely weekend to y'all.

August 14, 2007


God IS Love
God wants the best for us
God loves us
God gave us life
God gave us freewill
God wants us to be happy
God is jealous
God wants us to love Him
God wants us to do His will
God wants us to use our "freewill", pleasing Him
God is gonna punish us for misusing our "freewill"
If we don't use our "freewill" as God pleases, then we are gonna get pwnd
Now how "free" is this "freewill"?
We shouldn't question His decisions and sense of justice, right?
Just a thought...

August 6, 2007


So I'm a year older today. Boy, it begins to get scary after a while. I've been stuck in this joint since a.m. Work trynna kill the joy of the day, but I'll resist soon and go have lunch/dinner with my friends. They are hosting me, so I can't say no!

Just a short one- for me!

By the way, I saw a lady this weekend and she had this sexy top on, which read, "My boyfriend is out of town". What should I have done? If I remember, well enough, I just gawked and perhaps I never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity.

"From this moment, on"

Every time i watch this video, I get goosebumps. It's so annoyingly sweet. Enjoy!

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August 2, 2007


In my blues the other day, my thoughts wavered in between different stages of my childhood. I'll talk about two incidents that came to mind, randomly. Since my page has been begging for an update and it is early August, heck, my month, I just thot I'd write something. Warning: This is boring so if you don't want to end up pulling your hairs off your scalp, just hit the "x" button, it's the first button at the top of this screen (window). Or rather, click the next available hyperlink [DO NOT CLICK, like, really] .

So, here goes:


I created a shelter for myself as I grew on the Lagos mainland. While I never got to understand why the class distinction at that early age. But I knew one thing: most kids had what I didn't own. I protected myself, in my way, something that's stil part of me hitherto. Back in elementary (primary) school, I remember this ajebota kid, Bode. He gets chauffeured to school every morning, with his mom sitting by his side. As he gets out of the car, his mom leaves him with a food flask and a parting hug. Bode and I rarely talk about academics, it was like a routine: He comes in every morning, sits down and eats his breakfast in class. The teachers knew him so there's no punishment for eating in class. Next thing I turn to his direction and he motions me with his head, I walk over and sit by him, open his flask and gobble down the leftovers. The kid seemed to be anorexic cos really it doesn't look like I had "leftovers", he barely touches his food so I eat the bulk of it. Even after all the warnings I get from home about witchcraft transfers, I could resist Bode's meal pack. And Bode didn't look like no ogbanje kid. Na correct boti and at that age I knew I was safe. After the meal, we settled down to read comics he smuggled out of home: Green Latern Comics, The Incredible Hulk et al. Like a planned show, I return to my seat without any remorse from either of us. Kids are meant to be that way, no hard feelings. I don't even get to play with Bode during the lunch break in school. Heck, I couldn't tell where he usually is. All I could remember is that he sits in solitude during those times. Not like he cares either. The next day, we'd resume our schedule. It was fun while it lasted. I guess his parents wanted him to mix up with the local kids so they probably enrolled him for just a term. Bode and I parted without any close bond whatsoever. It was just the food and comics, no sense of attachment. I guess we weren't meant to be friends for that long. He left just as he came in to my life - the transience of innocence.

Face me, I Face You

You know those compounds that feel like barracks? You have it almost everywhere on Lagos mainland, except for some housing estates in places like 'lere, Ikeja and the like. Sha, except for the eldest bro who got born in a bush somewhere in Delta state during the Nigeria civil war, dad and mom rolled out the rest of us in an apartment somewhere in Shomolu. As grown ups, we sit down together sometimes and recount those days. Every one in that building had a nickname. The only four characters I can remember from that experience are:

1. Iya Ewe: The woman who sells ewa olo'mi and amala at the entrance of the building, with smoke from her activities coating the whole building in a grimy black, no kidding. You could touch the wall outside and your palm will be like you soaked it in black paint.

2. Jato: The alfa (abi is it alufa) that lives in the room, at the extreme of the building. I never knew the effect of penis meeting vagina at the time, but I knew something was amiss with the amount of female traffic in and out of his room PLUS he's never the friend of the older gossip folk in the compound. There's always a reason for fights every Saturday. Oh, I remember also, my big bro watches football in his room, to the chagrin of my parents, of course.

4. Alhaji: He's a closet herbalist. Gets all sort of visitors coming in to his room everyday for "help". He buys loads of weird things to make concoctions: live chameleon, crocodile egg, black soap, turtle, snails, shells, eggs of different creatures, he burns incense at night .

3. Baba Liyadi: A quick run down of what the compound looks like: In the toilet, kitchen and loo, you could hear people walking past the street behind, talking. It is an open house. No kidding, there was no drainage there, it was 1 general loo and 1 general bathroom for 15+ tenants (15 rooms of course, but counting heads in each room; families [father, mother & children], bachelors with their hobo friends, you know what I'm talking).

Bath water and other dirty water flows out of this gaping hole on the wall, at the lower part of the bathroom. The other disposal alternative was the big open gutter that runs through most streets in Lagos, in front of the building. People would have to carry the whole mess through the main building's passage until they reach the outside gutter and pour. This is the only one time in my lifetime, up till now that I ever saw my dad in fighting mood. It wasn't a funny sight cos I was scared shitless, but my dad held his ground. Baba Liyadi is usually in and out of the police cell and the period the scuffled happened, gossip had it that he's been in the cell for 1 week +, so he was a free but still frustrated man. What caused the fight? As the story goes:

Dad was in the bathroom. Iya Liyadi did her dishes and poured the dirty water into the bathroom floor, fully aware someone was having a bath at the time. So this was seen as a deliberate act by popsi.

[*-splash-* dirty water from Iya Liyadi's dishes flows into the bathroom]
Dad: Who is that crazy person that poured this water? Didn't you realize someone is bathing?
Iya Liyadi: Ehn? Who are you calling "crazy person"? Woo, ogbodo jade o! Woo, waa ro go [Look, you'd better not come out, you'd see "hell-glory"] *hiss*, useless man!

Popsi stormed out of the bathroom, walking straight into the bait. Before he could reach Iya Liyadi, cursing, Baba Liyadi jumped out of his room into action, seizing my dad by the neck. Dad had his towel by his waist, totally taken unawares but he managed to resist. He managed to knock Baba Liyadi on the tummy, with the man almost keeling over. Then the neighbors came to the rescue. To cut the whole shindig short, Baba Liyadi took the case to the Police and somehow, it was resolved sha. Both heads of families became good friends after that incident.

The only reason we left that place was 'cos of the Local Government Council's quit notice to all the residents of the building. Mom teases dad about it, a lot! Like most houses on the mainland, there's no plan whatsoever for erecting them, this house doesn't fall short. The building was actually built on a road and then there was X, you know, that huge, red X mark that the civil authorities mark on disapproved buildings. We had to move on short notice, I think a week or two before the demolition. No, not really a demolition, it was more of a re-structuring, cos it was the fencing that got trimmed, to allow passage for the road. Other than that, I think the building still de kampe.

No. 30, Olaleye Street, Shomolu, Lagos.
Landmarks: The Shomolu central mosque and the Local Government Council, both on Durosimi str.

I never went back to that place since we moved, not like it mattered. Dad and mom lived there, before we also came to the world - 30 years, accumulated.

So just a run down of what it is like to live in a "face me, I face you" apartment. Those of us who were privileged to grow up in such hard-knock environment have a lot to share:

a. Bathroom: You wake up early in the morning before the rush hour period of 7-8am, where about everyone else in the house (students and workers alike) are struggling to use the 1 and only bathroom and toilet. Sundays are worst depending on where you live, cos almost everyone is getting ready to attend morning service. A lot of the time, you have to queue to bath and you won't hesitate to outsmart the next guy who's waiting to do the same, but slacks.

When you use the bathroom next after some people, you'd find soap lather on the wall and sometimes, uh, on the floor, phlegm that wouldn't be carried off by the running water.

b. Kitchen: Your neighbor knows when it's just kpomo your wife is using for your soup, or crayfish. Whether or not you guys have rice on the weekend. Some houses don't have kitchens, so your corridor is converted into a mini kitchen. As you pass Mr. Simeon's door mount, you perceive rice & stew, Mama Aboy is making Ofe achi with okporoko etc. At any given time, you know what your neighbor is gonna have for supper or their daily/weekly meal cycle.

c. Toilet: I lost count of how many times I've been hard pressed, making a run for the loo and when I get there, someone is comfortably spraying the environment with what he's got. Don't even let me start with how tidy the place is left after some people get done with it. It's a miracle I didn't get no extras from my growing up years.

d. Washing: Again, you work against time here. Saturday, everyone is doing laundry and there's just one to three washing lines in the whole compound (depending on the space available). You need to outdo your neighbor by starting out early to occupy more space for your clothes to hang on once you are done. Else, you are on your own. You wash and leave 'em in the buckets till someone else' close gets half-dry. Other times, you throw them on the fence and you watch lizards have their way mating on your washed clothing. :)

e. Child rearing: You children will have friends they take turns beefin at at different times of the week. As a parent, you'd be gung-ho over whose child your kid would flex with and what child's mother is a witch, and therefore, you don't want your child eating anything in their homes, under whatever circumstance.

f. Interactions: Gossip, there's no better way to engage in it! Most women who live in "face me, I face yous" are home-makers, so they have all the time in the world to know why Mama Nkechi had a miscarriage or maybe her mother-in-law was responsible for it. You'd know why the man next door has been loitering. No, he's not on leave, He was fired. You'd know how many abortions the landlord's teenage daughter has undergone etc etc. And you don't want to see a fight going on in a "face me, I face you". U know, the whole loud swearing-dirty boxers-kpata-brassiere stripping type.

I think I'll stop there for now. Next time you are in Lagos, take a ride into the mainland (Ebute-Metta, Shomolu, Mushin, Mafoluku-Oshodi, Agege, Ketu-Alapere) and get a firsthand sighting for yourself. And when you can help it, step out of your car on the roadside for a stick and feel it. It's fun from the outside. For those on the inside, it's a beautiful struggle! :)