Thursday, 27 December 2007

Merry Christmas

when i'm in a mood i get sorta melancholy. But i still want to wish y'all a merry christmas. with a poem.

The Christmas Gift
Cashmere is a sweater
mere cash is much better.

Thursday, 18 October 2007

Hey, hi...bye!

The above subject refers.

In my not-so-many years of legal practice, and much longer years of letter writing and correspondence exchange, I have never once come across the Perfect Message. The Perfect message is hereby defined as one which has the following qualities: brevity, clarity and style.

I'd have to confess though, that my not coming across the Perfect Message (lets just abbreviate it to PM, shall we?) was not for want of trying. In term papers, examination scripts and theses throughout my secondary and tertiary education I hoped to achieve PM. I would carefully summarise all the answers to exam questions on, say, the Law of Contract as:

"someone has, the other does not.
the one who's doesn’t have
buys from the one who's got".

I didn’t get full marks for that one at school. If I remember correctly, I got the minimum marks available. The reason for this, I guess, was the Lecturer's lack of poetic instinct.

Or take, for instance, my well researched dissertation for an Anthropology course titled "Complex Relationships in Today's Modern World". To aid proper comprehension, my submission was simple and straight to the point:

"She loves me
and I love another
who loves the guy
whose girl loves my brother."

Come to think of it, I didn’t get full marks for that one as well...

Anyway, as you can see, I have searched for PM most of my life.

And then, yesterday, from nowhere, the PM dropped on my laps. More accurately, it appeared as a text on my phone - "Hey, hi...bye!"

The message had everything- salutation, inquiry about my whereabouts and a final greeting. Even the ellipsis conveyed wordless feelings. And it stopped with a conclusive Bye accentuated by as excited exclamation point.

My feelings since then, have been both of elation (finally a genuine PM!) and tragedy (I know what the message said but what did it MEAN?) and I promptly made up my mind to duly insult the sender of the PM. Better still, pay her back in her own coin. Reason being, though a fantastic message, it was way too cruel and cold. So I set out with the task of composing a PM to match hers, expressing my anger and disgust.

I came up with quite a few:

"Very nasty text you sent, why did you even bother?

which I then abbreviated to:

"Very nasty bother."

I took out the spirit behind it and did a final summary in the way of:


So now I was ready and raring to go. I typed the pregnant word on my phone and pressed the 'send' button. Then lay back and slept off.

I was awoken at night by a blinking light. My phone was blinking. A text message! Aha, my PM was better than hers, and it went straight to her heart. Now she's all repentant, isn't she? I smirked. I already had another response ready to her anticipated reply of contrition. She was going to beg for forgiveness for her thoughtlessness and ask me to take her back into my fold. I was going to reply with a well timed: "Bah!" I was elated. In one night, I had mastered the art of the PM. I could see myself writing a book about PM's in the future, being acclaimed internationally, meeting the Heads of State and the British er, PM, awards, cash, endorsements, cute models...

I picked up my phone. The light still blinked. I was indeed a text message. But not from her. The message went :

Message cannot be delivered. Reason insufficient credit...

For now Globacom has the record for the best PM…

Thursday, 27 September 2007

Chain Reaction

I wear a chain. And for some reason this has marked me out as a sort of deviant. Not just in church but also at home. I guess my mom has given up the idea of trying to convert me from the morally unacceptable practice. I’ve had the item for a little more than a year and have been without it only a couple of times. At church, where in a distant time I’ve given my life’s blood to, the staunch believers don’t approve of the chain. The more vocal of them express their views outrightly, while the others merely fix me with glances of utter disdain when I happen to pass by. To say the least I’m extremely depressed about it. People I have referred to as uncle, or aunty since before I was a teenager have now become my most avid persecutors. One, in fact, who my mom insists we should address as mommy (ugh!) grabbed me from behind with a well executed lunge and pinned me to the walls of the church a few Sundays ago.

“Never let me see you put this on, ever!” she hissed at me with stern eyes. I whimpered an affirmative answer, trying to prise myself from her grip.

“Take it off soon as you get home and when you get married give it to your wife.” This time she snarled and I could see the words curling out of her mouth dripping with menace. Marriage, for me, might be a while down the road, seeing as I have no fiancée now, and the only girl I’m ready to give my heart to is thousands of miles away in some other country. Besides that she’s currently in a much publicized liaison with former (?) rapper Jay Z so I’m kinda waiting for her to come back to her senses…
But I didn’t enlighten her on these plans. I just shuddered and nodded my head miserably like a sickened puppy. This tactic must have worked for at that moment she let go of me. I almost collapsed to the ground. She put on her beatific smile, the one she used to charm her way into an early Deaconnesship and sauntered off.

Now you might ask me, isn’t it easier to just discard the chain? Why would I subject myself to such killer moves more suited for the WWE just because of a little piece of jewelry? The object, I should add, is not only inexpensive; it’s also easily and widely available. So why do I still use it?

Beats me.

But as a matter of principle I leave it on. It’s mine. I got it legally. It’s not ostentatious. It’s pretty, small and barely visible. I forget it’s there sometimes. It’s comfortable to use. I haven’t got to take it off because I want to take a bath or anything like that, and it’s shown no sign of tarnish. Simply, I don’t see any reason to take it off.

Now I asked my mom why she was so averse to my adornment.

“Only women put on jewelry” she replied.

I pointed out that rings and some wrist watches were jewelry. I also pointed out that her statement was semantically incorrect because I had seen a number of men with jewelry including, obviously, yours truly.

She sniffed. Once. “Only women should wear jewelry” she said.
I asked, in the most unassuming way possible why.
She looked at me like I had just laid an egg. She began in her most preachy tone.
“When men begin to assume the characteristics of women. Indeed when they begin using the clothing of women for themselves, it’s the beginning of perversion and the end of everything. Indeed every destruction in the Bible – Nineveh, Sodom and Gomorrah, the Tower of Babel and the Flood were occasioned by man’s increasing perversity and desire to change the normal order of things.”

I mulled over this for a while wondering how my little innocent chain would be the cause of the next life threatening catastrophe. It didn’t seem to add up. And the argument seemed ambitious, somewhat.

I pointed out, politely, that she had strayed somewhat off point as she didn’t address the issue at hand. It was at this point she got upset and sent me off on some flimsy errand.

It has become rather difficult, I have found to hold a proper conversation without distracting somebody.

“Is that a chain?” a team leader in my church asked one morning while we were discussing how the plans for the new library were going. I had noticed her staring at a space beneath my throat, trying to get a glimpse of it.

No it’s just a little space in my skin which has distinctive silver tinge and happens to glint when it catches light. Of course it’s a chain you ******!

I managed a weary “yes”.

She avoided my eyes the rest of the meeting and my entire person the rest of the morning.

I’m now hardened and used to prejudices like that.

The upside of having a chain is, in a gathering (not my church, obviously), people tend to see you as urbane, possibly rich and full of interesting ideas. And then girls think you a Casanova, which is ok with me. I’m absolutely thrilled by the prospect of being considered a playboy and have tried to live up to the reputation. I got a pair of ray bans, D Banj style, and have taken to sitting in bars and scanning the surroundings. There usually is some drunk giggly chick who notices me and we begin to make eye contact (I have to take off my ray bans for this activity though I keep them conspicuously displayed on the bar top) my pickup lines don’t seem to have the desired effect though:

“You wanna have dinner? I’ll be dessert”

“Hi, I’ve lost my phone number. Could I have yours?”

Usually they are dragged off by their irritated partners or just move on to meet another (this time a genuine) playboy.

The best thing about my chain though, is the permanence of it. I like that fact of it – a permanent piece of jewelry requiring low or no maintenance and which, if I may say so myself, really does go well with all of my outfits. and the spirit of it - strong, dainty, shiny and pretty.

Tuesday, 11 September 2007

Diary of a 15yr old girl

Another poem?! Ahh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's not that bad, really, just please read on. I wrote this a years ago and have a soft spot for it. (Rummaging through my stuff has made me see how obsessed with poetry I used to be) Enough said. Oya read. and comment.


The party: felt out of place
Clothes didn’t fit, no make-up on my face
Everyone dancing, having fun
Sat down and sipped juice till half past one
Guy walked up to me in rocawear
Platinum neck chain, blue dyed hair
The CD was blasting Notorious, Nas
He sat down and offered me a glass
And then a dance, but I declined
He shrugged and said he didn’t mind
I had a hunch
He spiked my punch
But I took a sip, and then some more
Seconds later we were on the dance floor
Whispering in my ear, he pressed close
Shoulders rubbing against my nose
Amidst the music dropping like U.S bombers
We sweet-talked and exchanged phone numbers.

Late night calls from 12 to 4
Furtive sneaking through the back door
I feel young and insecure
But he acts so strong and sure

DAY 12
Our first kiss: he smelt of beer
Tongues, spit flying everywhere
He slipped his hand up in my skirt
I went home feeling as cheap as dirt

Inevitably it led to sex
He said “it’s called making love
And it’s not complex
We are in love, and both want each other
Forget principles, why even bother?”

Quick, queer, stilted, awkward sex
Hard seats of his mom’s coupe
I was nervous afterwards
Didn’t know what on earth to say
He chain-smoked and fell asleep
The air was heavy with nicotine
Then I skulked home past midnight
Reeking of sex, cigarettes and sin

Candies and condoms and fast cars
Binge drinking at all night bars
Loud music, rocking raves
Teenage adults, sex slaves…

He used to say, “don’t leave me, please”
And now he’s traveled overseas
In the confusion in which I continue to sink,
I’ve always found someone to spike my drink…

You call all this the teenage blues
Our bodies are broken
Our spirits are bruised
Is this what love is,
Or did we get used?

Tuesday, 31 July 2007

Out of sight

Was rummaging through my meagre belonging this morning and saw this amongst them. I remember writing it ages ago. Funny, it still applies...

On Relationships

Out of sight is out of mind
Thats why I remain disinclined
To dating girls that I can't meet
At the convenience of the nearest street.

Wednesday, 18 July 2007

Management Meeting


I start the countdown from sunday.

I have a lot of stuff on my desk that I havent cleared up. I know. What makes it worse is I work four days a week. Fridays I go off for my NYSC community development (supposedly. what I actaully do is scurry round town for gullible females). Friday's activities have a way of spilling into saturday (if I'm lucky). And on sunday I feign some nasty infection of separate body parts to keep from going to church, then snooze well into mid day before I undertake the main chores of the day (brush teeth, eat breakfast, read a book, bath tomorrow) It is during this period of intense activity I remember monday. And the sickening management meeting we have to undergo. Sunday evening I'm a bag of nerves. Anyone who knows me will recognise the stress indicators: I bite my nails and anyone who comes too close, I refuse food of the 'swallow' variety, I engage the kitchen knife in carrying out regular stuff like switching on the television and persuading my younger sister to iron my shirts for work on monday... Monday!

I crawl to bed shaking like a puppy, my mind thinking all sorts of things - can't the ground open up and take me? (not beneficial ; in the debris after the event my family may discover my porno collection), or can't the Rapture take place sometime in the night? (not desirable: I probably won't even hear the trumpet above my own snoring) or can't I wake up and find that due to my superior brain performance I've been kidnapped by the Russians and taken to a High Tech Lab (not realistic, and I don't like the Russian language anyway-too much phlegm involved). None of these things happen and I drop off to sleep.

The next morning everything works - the shower, my deodorant can, the car, even the traffic wardens... I guess Murphy's Law really does exist.

Eight Thirty.
A bell strikes in my head
I walk into the conference room with dread
wishing to God I was dead...

We start with a prayer inviting the Holy Spirit to preside over our meeting. 'Witnesses', I think grimly, 'they want witnesses for my execution'.

We begin with an update. Pencils work on paper, corrections are made. And then we proceed to the business of the day.

I fumble, of course, like I know I would. I pray we skip bits I should have done. That doesn't happen.

"why didnt you complete the process?" my boss asks.

"Because I think a lot of the work we do here is pointless and results can be better achieved with some restructing and prioritizing" I dont say that, obviously. I mumble about uncooperative clients instead.

"what were you doing all week?" he asks again.

"reading fineboy's blog and sending my curriculum vitae to banks and oil companies" But I didnt say that as well. I mentioned instead the Shareholder's Agreement and the court appearance that took up so much of my time.

At last it's over. The blood reaches our elbows. We end with a prayer as usual. The Holy Spirit slinks away. Probably hasn't seen seen so much gore since King David and the Philistines.

"Make sure you tie up all the loose ends", my Boss admonishes.

I nod an OK.

Then sit on my desk.

Switch on my computer.

And write this post.

Monday, 16 July 2007

I'm back!

I haven’t updated this in a while. I’ve been content instead to exist in blogsville thru comments on my pages, substituting it, even, for my yahoo email addy. This has meant, obviously, that a lot of my communication is being exposed to the entire world! (that’s such a grand feeling, I had to stick it in there) I’ve noticed, this my weeks of silence, that I will not make a successful adulterer. I almost certainly would be caught. I’m somehow not so adept at telling believable lies to numbers of females, and I’ve proved horribly disastrous at hiding my tracks. If I decide to have affairs outside marriage (I haven’t made up my mind whether to or not, still weighing the pros and cons), my wife certainly wouldn’t need to hire private detectives to follow and find me. I probably will let it slip in a moment of indiscretion, say for instance before I go on a “business trip”, ask her what flavour of condoms to carry along…

But this is me, really. I’m probably the most unintentionally honest person you’ll ever meet. One just has to look at the comments on my page to see how I bungle the simplest white lie.

Enough of that.

Now, due to increased calls, flashes and not too discreet text messages form my avid fans around the globe, I have decided to finally update my blog. I know a lot of you guys have been waiting for this and I don’t want to deny you any longer. I came about this decision sometime last night in my bed while I was counting er…mosquitoes (I actually was supposed to count sheep the way they do in cartoons and fairytales but its easier to count mosquitoes than sheep, trust me, they being more plentiful and visible in the lekki peninsula at certain periods of the night) well anyway I couldn’t sleep and thought of all my disgruntled fans around the globe (there, I said it again!) I mulled a bit about what to post. Which part of my exotic, super/over indulgent, celebrity-like, worldwide envied life do I post for all y’all? My breakfasts on the French Rivera with some gorgeous teen movie star who’s just completely lost her mind (amongst other things, lol) to me, the high powered business meetings where I make cold blooded decisions with blue blooded Germans, the yachts, the gulfstream, caviar, champagne, cute blonds with shredded clothing…
Ok, ok, I guess Id better wake up. I’ve been dreaming too much these days. What I should tell you about was my weekend.

But that won’t be now. Sometime during the week. I need to get to work. My butt still hurts from being chewed at the management meeting this morning….

Wednesday, 4 July 2007

Plain Bored

These days it's been difficult for me to write anything.

It's not like stuff doesnt happen to me. A lot actually has been happening but putting pen to paper (finger to keyboard) proves a little difficult. It's been a week I blogged. A week or two. Stuff has happened in that time. And even between posts.

Stuff that has happened in recent times:

1. Met a neighbour (female, obviously) On friendly terms with her. Invited me for lunch at her hosue a couple of times. Wonder why I didnt know her before. She cooks a mean stew.

2. My nephew (baby F) has gone thru these baby stages - screaming his head off when hungry, getting hungry all the time, screaming his head off when bored, screaming his head off when angry, screaming his head off while everyone else sleeps and just plain screaming his head off. Now all this afects me very much because this little guy stays in our house now. Yep, his mom, my sis, has moved back in the meantime (her husband is on a trip and will be back in 2,3 weeks) so our house is full of baby things. For someone so small he does manage to have a huge wardrobe and customized accessories.

3. Getting extremely dissatisfied with work. Its been about 8 months in this firm and I havent acheived any of the following:
i) Outstanding accolades for a job well done
ii) stupendous wealth
iii) additional professional qualification (any profession would do)
iv) Mind Boggling fame
v) Hot sizzling affair with a member of staff

So i'm thinking of leaving. To a place where i'll get criminal sums of money for minimum work done.

4. Re established a fledging relationship with ?????. (I know she reads this blog so I'm putting this for her benefit)

5. Desisted from sleeping in the nude (due more to the prevalence of mosquitoes in my room than moral or ethical considerations)

6. Have stayed away from alcohol, almost totally. Drunk very responsibly for three months, er, except at my above mentioned neighbour's house on one of those aforementioned dinners (why the hell am i writing like a lawyer?)

That seems about all, come to think of it. Not so much I know, but on the upside, at least I've been busy.

Talk to you later. I need to get on with work.

Tuesday, 26 June 2007

new picture

changed my profile picture.

feeling a lot freer already.

didnt realise the effect a picture could have on my writing. stops me somewhat, from saying things in a particular way.
stops me, mostly, from saying some things at all.

so anyway, its changed.

Let's see if the blog changes along with it...

Monday, 18 June 2007

Scary Dream

The eerie dream I had.

They came to me
In rows of twos
With freshly printed
They came for my soul
Is what they said-
“Its not mine to give
I’m not yet dead,”
I explained to them
In a quiet voice.
The leader looked up-
“You have no choice
Your life is half led,
The race already lost
You started it badly
And this is cost
We want your soul
Which you are bound to give
We own your soul
Though you may live”

“But my life is half led
is what you said
and though I’m ignorant
I know I’ve read
That half a life
Does not amount to a whole
There’s no way you can have my soul”

The leader, his grey beard
Twitching with rage
Said in a controlled voice
“Boy you have come of age
to know the life you live is not yours
your destiny is settled by dozens and scores
of people who come before you and after
now give us your soul
and lets close this chapter.
For we journey long and weary are we
From dispensing the wages of iniquity
And we have no respite, no place to come home
For sent forth are we, banished we roam
The dark side streets of hate and fear
The odor of which has brought us here
So give us your soul
And when you get to hell
Saluté our master
Whom we have served well".

I felt weak then
Crushed from within
The room around me tightened
And began to spin
And then I felt naked,
Empty and cold
And I started falling
I had to take hold
Of something…
But I fell to the floor
And watched silently as they walked
Away through the door.

They left as they came
Two by two
I saw my mother
And I saw you.

Tuesday, 12 June 2007

2nd Love Poem

I want to write a simple love poem
But I don't know how to
I want to tell
The reason I fell
So madly in love with you

But my thoughts all pale
Behind a veil
Of words which cannot convey
The feeling I feel
Inexplicably real
But destined Unexpressed to stay.

Tuesday, 5 June 2007


Excerpt from something I wrote:

At the Bus Stop

The humming wakes her up. It didn’t just start, it has been part of the background noise since she went to sleep. It doesn’t stop except for the minutes when she is taking a shower. Then she pumps up the volume of the radio, listening in muted wonder to the base pound through the powerful speakers. It becomes a hum again after her shower, when she puts on her ear phones, the ones she had on while she slept, throughout the night, throughout her life.

She wakes everyday at the same time, in her dinghy flat in the vast metropolis. Her flatmate, an insipid character with bad breath and of dubious sexuality, would be up already cutting up pieces of carrot, or some specie of flora for a vegetable breakfast.

Chop chop chop

She leaves the apartment before the sun is up, joining the daily rush for transport. Stands in the queue feeling like she’s been on one for every moment of her life, waiting, waiting.
She’s half listening to the sounds coming from her ipod. She watches the crowd with detached interest, highlighting the contrasts:

A well dressed bank worker
Eyes crimson from lack of sleep,
The beggar child and shadow
Playing in the rubbish heap

She thinks in words, large rhyming words. They occupy her head, squeeze all other thoughts out. She is often occupied with constructing her thoughts. Do you construct thoughts like you do buildings? With deliberation and concrete? Or do they float down like butterflies when we least expect?

She has been told, numerous times, by teachers, colleagues, pseudo-friends to stop being whimsical. They remind her of where she’s from. Dissuade her from aspiration. She barely hears them. In school she was asked to write a story about herself –

She came from the downtown area
The worst city strips
With Ambition
And lycra pants
Clinging to her hips

She sees him finally. He is in front of her on the queue, a scowl on his face. She enjoys regarding the contours of his face, the cut of his suit, evidence of his grace. He’s here everyday, just like her. She always sits two rows behind him so she can observe his profile the entire journey. He whistles and she lowers the volume on her ipod to catch the tunes. They are strange and lonesome. She goes through much of the day in anticipation of this time in the morning when she’d shuffle along, with a number of other feet, and they would both climb, one unaware but together nonetheless, into the breathing vehicle. Headed to one destination.

My red romance
When we’re there
There’s just us
And no one else
In the plastic seats
He hums a tune
My heart skips beats.

Wednesday, 30 May 2007

A reason, sort of

When I first began blogging (feels so good to say that, like I've been at it for ages instead of a lousy four months) I had visions of having a wide, diverse readership, of writing such powerful, thought-provoking pieces, influenceing the world with my ideas and ideals, providing a forum for the misdirected, uninspired louts from whose ranks I had risen, to be heard everywhere around the globe...(well, apparently, that ain't happening) But I did want to be able to write all the things that happen to me on a daily basis. It's such a damn shame to see that even doing that has been impossible for me. Not becasue of discipline problems, no. the main reason is me. Me being who I am. Everytime I post a new entry I rock some boat. Some boat in which I'm in, though I don't know in what capacity (sometimes I'm the coxswain, sometimes just a passenger happy to be along for the ride) . Thing is, I'm many things to many people, and even more dangerous, I'm the same thing to quite a number of people and that gets me in trouble a lot. For this reason I have refrained as much as possible from using specific names except where it is absolutely impossible not to. And I've left the juicer aspects of my life to comment on mundane subjects totally unrelated to my daily life.

I guess I just have to be stronger (and that, frankly, is not one of my, er, strong points). I've been a successful dodger much of my life. Facing challenges cause me physical pain. And I don't like pain. Mainly because it hurts.

Well gotta go now. (I can imagine the number of text messages I'm going to recieve for this)

the pen is mightier

you want commitment

take a look into these eyes...

do they promise
only Hurt
and Hate
and Lies?

do they tell you
that your Pain will be supreme
do they make you afraid
to dare
to dream?

I do not need to say
"I love you"
because I do

or that I want to be with you
because you know that too

I chronicle my feelings for you
before we drift apart
when I cannot speak my mind
I write my heart...

don't ask
what I cannot yet afford
don't pre-empt
my pen
than your Word

Tuesday, 22 May 2007

Broken Resolution

I got to work early this morning with a burning resolution - I'm not going to do anything frivolous today, I'll meet all my deadlines, go through every damn document I'm supposed to, make the necessary comments and recommendations I'm supposed to, meet with clients without procastination on my part and definitely, most definitely and importantly, not go online to do any of the following: blog, chat, check my gmail for mails from overeager young girls, look through Hi5 or facebook or google such alphabet combinations as xxx in the hope of hitting on something mildly erotic.
It gives me so much grief to report that it didn't take long for me to jettison these very noble ideals. What really happened was the internet icon was blinking when I turned on my computer signalling extraordinarily fast connection. It took me all of 2 minutes to throw aside the Vessel Charter Agreement I had piously decided to study and buzz about 5,6,7,8,9 friends on messenger. Annoyingly they buzzed back. And then it begun.
Now I'm usually not this fickle. I usually make a resolution and stand by it without fear or favour, whatever the consequences and all that. But these days it's getting more difficult. It's something, I guess, to do with my compulsive consumption. I can't seem to get enough of what I take a fancy to. Which, these days, have become alarmingly numerous, and not proportionate to my available resources. So now I'm in all sorts of trouble - financial trouble, relationalship trouble, physical trouble, everything. For a normally well adjusted individual its driving me up the wall.
But I shouldnt bore you with my misadventures. It seems thats all I ever do.
Lemme get back to my

Monday, 21 May 2007

Half Drunk

My friend, Tolu (will tell you about him later) took me out after work yesterday where he proceeded to fill me up with Guinness. He insisted on me drinking despite my heated protestations. I hadn't had anyhting to eat all day and everything went straight to my head. I sauntered home at past 11pm, barely alive. This was the outcome...


This is me –
All muscled and strong
Conquering the Earth
And traveling beyond
This is me –
A knight in the wild
Rescuing from dragons
A lady and child
This is me –
The pretty girl arises
He looks in her eyes
And soon realizes
It’s Nia Long
She holds out her hand…
This is me –
A part of the band
Singing the songs
The rolling stones sang
This is me –
Star of the game
The soccer crowd cheers
Screaming my name…

The strong muscled traveler
At night in the wild
Rolls the stone
Off the pretty girl child
` a part of the band
who conquered the Earth
screaming the name
for all she is worth…

this is me –
warm and tipsy
dozing in front
of cable T.V.

Thursday, 10 May 2007

Writer's Block

The real reason I haven’t blogged in a while (save our recurrent internet problems at work) is cos lately I haven’t had much to say. Or maybe what I mean is, I have got things to say but I don’t know how to go about saying them. A million or so times in the past week I’ve opened up this page and started to type something, then watched in hopeless confusion as my words became inadequate, my expressions clumsy and my meanings fuzzy. Typically, at this moment I’d lean back in my chair and take a deep breath, humming the tune from Aaliyah’s Try Again. Then I’d sit forward and plonk on the keyboard in a cool manner suggestive of self confidence and the assurance that I’d conquer anything I undertook (it’s a trick I learnt from one of those meditation books, one by a certain fellow Mahitri Jan or something like that). With a smirk on my face I’d recline again and study the huge amount of type on my screen. My response to the results at this point was almost always the same – I’d blanch. Almost collapsing I’d stare in pure horror and total terror at the gibberish I’d written. Besides the worst examples of spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, the text was usually peppered with overused clichés and plain, incontinent reasoning. Urgency overtaking my senses (and the lessons of Mahitri Jan) I’d rush the keyboard again, typing feverishly in an effort to drum up the Muse. But by then it was too late. My head already felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool and my tongue felt thick and heavy.
Sinking into instant, readily available depression I’d bite my nails and claw at my head.
It’s a wonder I haven been fired yet as these incidents have been occurring with maddening frequency. My colleagues still haven’t got used to my sudden splurges of near insanity. I console that these are the travails of a not-so-young writer trying to cut his teeth (and nails and hair) on cutting edge prose (and the office console). My paranoia comes only when I fail to express myself the way I want, or say things different from the way I intended them to come out. Which, oddly, I’m kinda feeling like now. Hmm.

Well here (hair) goes the bite-the-nails-and-claw-the-head routine…

Wednesday, 9 May 2007

My weekend

I'm getting weary of events and occassions. A few weeks ago it was my birthday. I'm still reeling from the after efffects of that, and then comes my mom's birthday AND my uncles's wedding on the same day. Needless to say, it was a daunting prospect I faced as I gravitated towards Ibadan that Friday morning, like almost all my family - matrilineal, patrilineal, extended, distended and all that. I had a major part to play in both events. For my uncle I was the Bestman(thank you, thank you, thank you, you're far too kind) and for my mom...well, she's my mom so I guess the obligations are more obvious. I didnt know whether or not I'd live up to expectations. To be frank I didnt even know what those expectations were. I had a vague idea -

BESTMAN: stands behind the groom all through the ceremony mimicking him ridiculously and swatting flies off his head.
SON OF BIRTHDAY MOM: Call mom very early in the morning and make cooing sounds.

I implemented both with as much aplomp as I could muster. My uncle's wedding was by far the more spectacular, with dancing bridesmaids and sexy guests. I was trapped though. For the most part staring at the back of my uncle's head and wondering what my friends (circa, Deolu, Eroms etc) were up to. I for one, was totally inactive throughout the entire weekend. I didn't get a single phone number. The girls I spoke to didn't seem to be favourably disposed to me and I inevitably found myself conversing with species with a preponderance of pheromone.

Lemme get back to this post. I'm losing my thred of thought.

Monday, 30 April 2007

happy birthday to me

My birthday was on Sunday. I got a total of 29 phone calls, 3 text messages, 3 e-mails, one facebook greeting, five birthday cards, a bottle of groundnuts, a cake and a pair of socks.
Now I don’t know if I’m wrong but I couldn’t help but think that for an individual of my standing and stature, especially given my invaluable contributions to Mankind as a whole, I deserved more than that. Worse still, a whole array of people, including some I class among my best friends, forgot about it. Needless to say I was highly depressed and sought solace in liquor and raucous laughter.
Yep – I took some of my friends out. The ones who showed up at my house, that is. There’s this place somewhere on the Peninsula: waterfront, green grass, cool breeze, tush patrons and all. We were there for all of 3,4 hours, a motley crew of young adults with nothing in common besides me. Thankfully though, the conversation at the table regulated itself. I, for the most part, watched with involved interest as each individual unraveled somewhat. I was thinking all sorts of things…

Birthdays, you know, used to be for me just normal days of the year when I hid from persons who wanted me to throw a party, and hoped for gifts from the rest of the wider world. I can’t remember any of my birthday wishes ever coming to pass (they consist, in the main, cars, preferably brand new and German, bottles of exotic perfumes, the death of a resilient girlfriend/all of my enemies, spontaneous wealth and international fame) what usually happened though was less exciting and consisted of some form of debauchery: me and some friends drinking irresponsible amounts of alcohol at some unmentionable location, and then nightcrawling Victoria Islands’ rotten streets with evil intent.
I never however engaged in sober reflection.

But Sunday was different.

Besides the random thoughts that swirled around my head about the others on the table - (Bayo: how many more bottles between the three empty ones in front of him and violence? Tunde: what grisly confession does he have lined up for tonight? Claire: I can tell she really doesn’t enjoy these outings but today I can’t be bothered. Chioma: lapping up all the adulation but still keeping her ears open for titbits of my infidelities, Deolu: what the hell is he thinking? And Damie: she’d better not expect me to drop her home), I began to have other thoughts. You know, the ones with titles like WHAT IS MY ROLE IN LIFE?, WHAT ROLE AM I SUPPOSED TO PLAY TO MY FRIENDS? AM I LIVING UP TO MY EXPECTATIONS? And such associated thoughts. Thing about sober reflection is you’re never where, in any calculation, you’re supposed to be. And it leads (in my experience) to more depression, which I’d then have to stave off with more drinking and laughter and the cycle continues…

Which, I should add at this point, is exactly what happened.

I ought to have posted this entry earlier. Just didn’t get round to doing it. Luckily I didn’t, which is alright since I’d filled the concluding part of the above with childish invective and unrestrained curses directed to anyone who didn’t give me a gift. But that’s besides the point of me talking about my birthday.
What I really wanted to bring out happened almost before we left. My friend, Deolu, gave me a rousing eulogy. He talked of my strong points, my commitment as a friend and all the support I give those I come in contact with. He also said things along the line of me being a good all rounder – combining spiritual, secular and school life with amazing ease and dexterity. He said again –
But lemme not tell you everything he said. It brought tears to my eyes, really it did. It didn’t matter to me that he’d exceeded his normal limit by at least two bottles. Or that the tears in my eyes were from the effort of trying to keep at bay alcohol induced sleep.
What mattered to me was the principle of everything. I have a strong respect for principles. At the end of the night what happened was everyone spoke generally of my amazing good behaviour, my will and zeal in helping people in distress, et cetera. I watched through a haze as my cousin rounded up his not-so-elegant tribute. The moon was peeping out of the lagoon and nightflies had crowded into the stars…

I had a good birthday.

Thursday, 19 April 2007

Flower Power

"some got Gold and Oil and Diamonds
all we got is Mary J"
- Sean Paul

"Legalize it
and I'll advertise it"
- Peter Tosh

Friday, 13 April 2007

Friday 13

I ought to have known from the very first sign I got today - my dream. I dreamt I was bitten by a malnourished mangy haired dog. Trust me, I bit it back with no compuctions whatsoever and watched it race off, howling into the darker recesses of Slumberland. I felt triumphant after that, was gloating to my imaginery self, but I should have known. Last time I had a confrontational, violent dream was...the week before bar finals so I should have learnt my lesson.
But I didnt.
I woke up somewhat elated and and with the taste of dog hair in my mouth, and promptly set about coming to work. Why I bothered sef I dont know as my game of solitaire has not significantly improved.
The streets were ominously quiet, the emptiness like a prelude to movie violence. I got to Tbs in record time. There was no electricity, the complex was deserted. The office was hot and unaccomodating. Dark shadows and strange shapes loomed in the darkness of the inner rooms, retreating eerily when I approached. By the time I had taken my seat and peeled off my jacket I was soaked in sweat and my breathing was uneven.
I sensed something in the air. Something, a shadow?, a shape? just beyond the corner of my eye.
I reacted fast, spinning to get a catch a glimpse of It, perhaps in the middle of death lunge on me.
I began tidying up my books into some order when - I felt It!
Bearing down on me with purposeful intent! It's dark shape enveloping the entire room till I could see nothing! I felt It's fetid strangled breathing, waiting to do something....
It was Andy, my colleague. He told me in his low, humourless monotone that he'd observed my Michael Jackson spin and was wondering why I was creeping around the building like a common criminal and moreover and more importantly there was no fuel in the generator so could I lend him some money to buy some on terms that the sum I loaned him would promptly be refunded to me as soon as he recieved delivery of same from source (he actually talks like that).
Somewhat mollified and a litte peeved at being caught out I gave him the money and turned on my computer.
That was when I saw the date...
I'm still at the office.
with bated breath...
for the day to expend itself.

I hope I make it...

Thursday, 12 April 2007

My Nephew

This is my new nephew. He came around, oh, some six or so weeks ago so he really is kinda brand new. He's also my only nephew (see how I'm bandying about the word - the concept of being an uncle excites me, sort of) so I'm going to teach him all I know, which isn't much admittedly, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do...
This is his picture anyway. He's more beautiful now though. Has filled into the folds and layers of skin, and has this really exotic pretty mouth. He looks a lot like me, as I've heard on good authority. Apart from blistering good looks, we have a few obvious differences - he's scottish, of yoruba/brazilian ancestry, I'm whatever-the hell-I-am, he cries a lot at night, I usually prefer sleeping at nights even when it means ignoring his yells, he's into all that new age nudity stuff, while I like keeping my privates private and he's addicted to boobs and the bottle. Um, that seems to be something we have in common...

Free day

I must really look like a fool now - I certainly do feel like one. Ha! holiday indeed! I'm at work, as usual, writing this 'cos i've just finished my 7th solitaire game this morning. It's an odd thing though - I don't seem to significantly improve on past performances...
I haven't got much work to do today (an euphemistic phrase for I'm totally jobless and bored sick to the eyeballs) and I'm beginnnig to wonder why I'm here. My Boss seemed rather alarmed yesterday when he asked me what I had on my desk and I tactlessly had answered "Nothing". He seemed to ruminate on the problem for a while then got caught in some internal discusssion with himself. When he thinks, my Boss that is, you see the wheels turning, his lips pursed or shaped in some impossible way and the thought processes somewhere behind his eyes. Now what he was thinking when he decided we should all come to work today I don't know.
The text message was sent to my phone at some ungodly hour of the night. "There's work tomorrow" came the Edict.
And I dutifully woke up this morning feeling unusual, as usual, wore my work clothes and set off to join the daily suburban rush.
I really must have been dumb to think I'll have a free day. You must be dumb I guess to get anything for free, that's why it's called free - dom...

Thursday, 5 April 2007


I have friends, people I speak to on a daily basis, and people who think they know me well enough to predict my actions, pre-empt my speech, vouch for my character... But these people see only what i let them. And I let them see what they would be comfortable with. I'm not deliberately hiding anything from them, just narrowing down their perception of me to agreeable views.

I wonder why I feel guilty about this sometimes.

Sometimes, I think there's much more to me than you'll ever know
much more in me than I'll ever show.

Am I mortgaging true friendship then? For acceptance?

But I don't act like what I'm not. I may not show you all of me, but the parts you see are not false. They are fragments of the total being.

I don't want anyone to see everything. Life will lose meaning then.
And I want to experience true friendship.
Do I want too much?

Wednesday, 4 April 2007


There once was a time called the Middle Ages
A time of dungeons, of caves and of cages
Of warriors and battles, of Knights and of Horses
And Sorcerors and Demons and wild witches’ curses
The Inquisition happened to be in this era
Machines hadn’t come though their time getting nearer
There were lords and queens and Kings in palaces
And treasures in chests (there were no valises)
And peasants grew corn and wheat and drank mead
And chanted long prayers (‘cos they couldn’t read)
Their Priests did that, monks also read scripture
There were abbots and chapels… well, you get the picture
The point I am making is that I’ve forgot
If I wanted to write about the Middle Ages or not

Wonderful month of April

Man, I love this month!

Besides it being the month yours truly was born in, it's usually the month where Easter falls on. And that, (to all my overworked, underpaid, grumbling city-dwelling people) means a holiday!

It really has been a ball - first there was that funny moslem holiday which no one knew existed till the day before, and course we all stayed home (we have to show solidarity to our moslem brothers, you know) Then tomorrow is Good Friday (thank God it's Friday, thank Jesus as well for dying at such a convenient time) and the weekend comes, and we have Easter Monday (which is when He arose. Wouldn't it have been nice if He had delayed His resurrection by a couple of more days, then we get almost the whole of next week off work) Well since we can't turn back Time and ask Him to do a more lengthy job (I heard on good authority that that first experience was horrendous for Him) we'll just take what we have. No worries that most people are going to celebrate His Death and Resurrection with alcohol binges, frantic promiscuity and deliberate sloth. Or that as anyone who stays on the Island will tell you, the Mornings-After Good Friday and the entire weekend we will wake up to ruins of ghastly motor accidents on the lekki expressway. It's the thought that counts. But I'm digressing somewhat. The point is everyone loves a Hoilday, Lagosians more than others, and myself am no different. I've gotten to the point that I scan my calendar feverishly, hoping for some frivolous excuse to declare a day a work-free day. There's no other religious holiday this month, I think, so I'm looking to politics.
I heard a rumor some days ago about the upcoming April Fools, sorry, April Polls. Elections are on the 14th and 21st, both saturdays, and I heard we might get the fridays before them off...Now isn't that wonderful!

Monday, 19 March 2007

no title

frankly the only reason I'm writing this is because I'm tired of seeing the same line on my page again. To make it worse, the subject matter isn't all that inspiring. It's kind of embarassing - I can't compare my page to Enuka's, which is chockful of content (it's replaced solitaire as my daily office distraction) Mine is more of a pitiable attempt at constancy - sort of like an abandoned project (we've got many in the part of the world where i come from)

Monday, 5 March 2007

Argument Against Suicide

this is my consolation for monday mornings when work starts and i want to kill myself.

Argument Against Suicide

razors pain you
rivers are damp
acids stain you
and drugs cause cramp
guns aren't lawful
nooses give
gas smells awful -
you might as well live.

Tuesday, 27 February 2007

Poem: The Secret

wish i wrote this myself, but alas someone beat me to it. i still like it a great deal though. i can't remember the poet but here it is... it's called -

The Secret

we dance around in circles and suppose
but the Secret sits in the middle - and knows.

Monday, 26 February 2007


i haven't done this yet and this is as good a time as any. Want to say Enuka was the person who got me to start this blog. she didn't force me to do it, mind, she didn't even tell me to, all she did was constantly tell me about her blog, and recommend i read it, which i did, and the rest, as they say...
so here's three happy cheers for Enuka (one for the inadvertant prod, one for her birthday which i responded late to, and one for her finally agreeing to date me to the exclusion of all others - she wishes!)
by the way enuka is one of the few friends i made in nysc orientation camp. she's a pretty nice girl, screwed up in her head and mostly honest about it that's why i like her, and she's about the world's worst flirt. she, incidently, happens to know my big sister, which put a stop to the initial sparks that had flown between us. i had had harboured this secret desire of an illicit affair with her till i realized if we did have an affair there was no factor to make it illicit. but then i'm digressing. anyway, enuka got me involved in more things than i thought i'd be. she had me cooking beans for my platoon, giving the girl who eventually won ms. nysc lessons on catwalking ( i got her number so i can't complain), she gave me this nickname that still gives me goosebumps all over my body whenever i hear it, and then i got to meet her whole crew (she had this clan made up of females fanatic to her Cause - don't ask me WHAT her Cause was though it seemed to include dissing guys, using guys and fooling guys, in that order). now i'm digressing again. the point is enuka is a wonderful personality and i'm not just saying that because i'm expecting something from her for my birthday on the 22ND of APRIL. she has a loving heart, wonderful, if volatile spirit and distinct perspective on every imaginable topic. whatever she does, whether conducting the beans- making team at camp (which she did very well) to parrying amorous advances from our instructors at the FRSC club (which she did very rudely) she's about the sweetest most sincere person you're likely to meet. she even helped me sign my name in when i was late for community development. oh sh**, i hope the Z.I doesn't read this...

Poem: On Success

Poem for the Day
(to all the harried go-getters in the corporate world of the Lagos Metropolis; a development of the saying by Oscar Wilde)

It is not enough that I succeed,
my friends also must fail
for Success, once shared by more than one
is then to no avail
the true measure of Success
is not who does it best
but how far the difference is
between the winner and the rest.

Thursday, 22 February 2007


The trouble with my bed is the size. Yeah, I know, most girls in magazines will tell you size doesn’t matter, but they’re wrong. Mine is big. Way too big. I mean football field kinda large. Maybe I should be happy for having such a large one. I know a guy whose been managing this really little one for a while. He complains every day in class. He’s too ashamed to bring girls over to his room. I mean, it’s really embarrassing. They get there and wham! - it’s this little limp piece of ___. Anyway back to mine. Every morning I wake up and guess what I see? All huge and ready in all it’s glory. I’ve long ago given up the idea of pounding it to a smaller size. Or even my hare brained scheme of getting it smaller through over use. I did that for three semesters but it still looks none the worse for it. I know I shouldn’t complain but let me explain to you the exact nature of my grouse. The thing with having one as big as mine is that there’s so much to do with it that you never get around to doing it. Let me use a not-so hypothetical situation. You have a girl in your room (yeah, I know, girls again. The world began with girls and guys) so you have a girl in your room and she, of course sees it. With an excited whoop she launches on it, bouncing around and all, trying all the while, to keep you somehow detached from the entire proceedings. That is theoretically and bodily impossible. So you join in the fray. Then comes the problem with size. I mean, it’s simply so large that there’s plenty of space for meandering. Even you, the owner, haven’t gotten complete mastery of the equipment. By the time all the running around has been done, lots of energy has been expended with no result. You collapse in a weary heap. She does too. And there’s strength left only for the perfunctory kiss, which you do between taking large gasps of breath. Invariably, you fall asleep and she lets herself out. You wake up late into the night. You’re too tired of sleeping to sleep again, and it’s too late to go anywhere. You go over the room sniffing places she touched, held, thinking of how unfair it all is...
I probably do complain too much. Life, after all, is not a bed of roses.

Wednesday, 21 February 2007

The Real Genesis

many people (assuming of course, that many people are goin to get to see this) are goin to want to know why i'm giving my blog this name (for those of you who don't get the pun, well, thats just too bad) So i thought of starting out with an introduction. it's a bit like what rap artists do - at least one song in the their debut album features an explanation about themselves (check out snoop dogg- "whats my name?" eminem- "the real slim shady" kano- "typical me" etc)
Just because I have a name like this don’t mean I have to contain profane stuff. I could very well be used for normal every day, witty sh**. Like what has four wheels and flies? A garbage truck. Of course that joke’s a bit over used and under rated and it’s the perfect example of what I intend to do with this column. School the public on the art of words. Reminds me on a reading I gave at my secondary school titled “Let Not Schooling Affect Your Education”. I virtually schooled the school on my school of thought in the comic genre. I was eventually told to school it down. Ok. Weak joke. Any way this reminds me (again) of something I heard a little recently. A sophomore asked her male colleague. “so why’d you decide to come to astrology class?” and the guy replies, “’cos I wanted to get to ur anus”. Now that sh** ain’t dirty. It’s just words man…

begin at the beginning...

well, let's see how this goes. I'm no catholic but decided to open this blog on the first day of lenten season (i'm into gestures that way). don't have anything exact to say but i guess i'll be seeing you folks pretty much soon (or the other way round, i forget which)