It started with me being on a flight to Oslo. I had a mild fear of heights which had resulted in a fear of flying, so I had opted out of a seat beside the window. And there sat a gaunt-looking business man fiddling with his wristwatch, constantly checking the time per second.
I shut my eyes as the plan chugged giddily into the atmosphere. “Fear of flying?” he asked, I nodded and looked away from the window.

He gave a small hum. “you would have been better off on the 2:30 flight to Stockholm. I was supposed to be on that godforsaken plane you know” he said with an irritated little groan, checking outside the window. I looked at him, trying to avoid concentrating on the clouds gliding by the window behind him and asked “what do you mean better off?”
“Literally,” he elaborated, “godforsaken. There was a terrorist on board.” My brow creased into a frown. “How could you possibly know that?”
He heaved an angry sigh, “the boss is going to murder me, the terrorist was off to Stockholm. 2:30.”
“Boss?” I tried to imagine what line of work he was in. “Hades” he muttered. I couldn’t help but feel curious, “hades, as in god of the underworld?”
“God?” he chuckled. “This is the twenty first century. We say CEO now.”
I was too nervous and tired to question the logic behind it. “So if your boss is hades, what does that make you?” I asked, a mixture of sarcasm and inquisitiveness etched on my face with a grin.
“Death” he replied cheerfully, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card. Where his profession should have been, it read, ‘Destroyer of worlds’. Nodding slowly I pocketed the card.

“Any last regrets?” he asked offhandedly. “You know, before you die?” “Die?” I repeated. “What do you mean die? You said the terrorist was on the other plane?”
The man shrugged, “By getting on this flight I screwed up Fate.” he said with a little remorse. At the moment, Fate is probably trying to fix things to ensure the terrorist gets caught.”
“That’s nice,” I said slowly.
“Yes, No its not really. You see, when the terrorist gets caught, the engine of this plane will fail and you’ll all die horribly.” “The boss will have me working overtime for days” he grumbled.

There was a brief silence between us as he silently lamented over his ruined free time and I anticipated a camera to pop into my view with chants of “you’ve just be punk’d”. At that moment life felt short and baseless.
“So!” he said, suddenly perking up as he remembered his previously novelty conversation starter, shuffling around in his seat to face me better. “Regrets. What’s you greatest one?”
Every time I thought of something to say, words failed me. I opened and closed my mouth, like a fish out of water. There were many things that I hadn’t achieved, no love, no extraordinary achievement. My life flashed through my eyes in HD. It was quite hard to narrow it down.
Glancing around I took a survey of the passengers enjoying their unknown last moments and, “I’ve never tried sushi”.

“That’s it?” “That’s your biggest regret? Ever?” he was curious. I shrugged. “Probably”.
He gave a small hum of acknowledgement. “I haven’t heard that before” he admitted.
My mouth managed a little grin, somewhat against my will. He was startled. Then after a little pause he asked, “Aren’t you afraid?” “Not really,” I admitted. “More disappointed”.
He was poised to reply, but his thoughts were cut short by a metallic ring and he dove into his pocket and fished out his phone.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, checking the screen briefly. “Fate’s just texted, the engine is going to blow in less than a minute.” He looked at me with a vague apologetic shrug.

There was a tiny pause in our conversation before I turned a
little to face him and asked, “Well, what about you?”
He gave me a funny little look. “What about me?”
“What was your greatest regret?”
An odd expression clouded his usual look of cheerful
disinterest. He scratched his chin slowly with his thumb and
said, “Well, I don’t know. No one’s ever asked.” He gave me
an odd, searching look and repeated, “No one has ever

I just looked out uncomfortably to the scene framed in the
aeroplane window behind him. I silently observed the drop
that would mark the end of our flight and lives.
He frowned deeply, pulling my attention back to the
conversation and away from my impending death. “I’ve
seen a lot. I mean, my intern period was during the Crimean
War. That’s a big question.”
In a quick, elusive little moment, I could see him consider
everything. Heroes riding into doomed battles, soldiers
brandishing flags heavier than a thousand words, and bullets
racing through back alley. The roar of the people as empires
collapsed, cities burned and martyrs fell all flickered by.

The man slowly twisted the lid back onto his empty flask of
coffee. “My biggest regret?” he asked, tucking the phone into
his pocket as a siren started screeching above us and the
plane’s left side jolted. “Probably getting on to the wrong

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White flag


I can’t come up with an appropriate preamble, I’m lazy. All I know is that this post is for us all. Its centered on indecision, confusion, and finally love. Its beyond feelings for a woman. It encompasses life and the dreams and desire we have for ourselves.. I give you Joel.

I know I’ll be scared this day,
Looking down that well-laid flowered pathway,
Thinking, is this the right choice?
Will it last forever?
Or should I wait a year more?

I know I’ll be scared this minute,
One step at a time,
Feeling like the whole world’s shaking under me,
And then I ask myself,
Is this how it’s supposed to feel?
Should I be confused?
Or should I wait a year more?

I know I should be scared this second,
But when I look straight up to her gleaming eyes,
Her wonderfully crafted smile,
I tell myself,
She has always been the right choice,
And it will definitely last forever and a year more.



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They were all there, every man, woman, child and animal had left their homes to gather at the square. They fought for the best places, for the best view, everyone wanted to watch. They battled but they were happy, happy and excited. They had gathered for their favorite entertainment.

It was not a long way from the dungeons of the City Hall to the scaffold in the square. The guards were smiling when they collected me.
‘Quite a crowd, lass.’
‘They are happy to see you.’ The other guard laughed heartily, thinking he had cracked a really good joke.

They secured my hands behind my back and didn’t care much as I gasped when the ropes hurt me. My dress was flimsy as it was and with my hands behind my back I could do nothing to prevent it from sliding off my shoulder. The guards looked at me and thought I was presentable.

I walked on trembling legs and as the door opened and I met the mob, my heart began trembling as well. The excitement and the cheer that greeted me almost encouraged me, almost made me as excited as they were.

The strong guards protected me as we made our way through the crowd. I hesitated at the stair to the scaffold but was pushed onto the stage. The guards were not late to lend a helping hand that made me aware of how thin my garment was.

As I stood in front of the crowd I felt small. They shouted at me, smiled at me, welcomed me. There was no friendliness in their smiles, no kindness in their words. They had come for the entertainment, they had come to see me entertain them.

I had to stand like that for a while. The mob became impatient, urged the guards to get on with the show. I could do nothing but stand there, bound and look out over the multitude of faces. Should I keep my head high and antagonize them, or should I bow my head and be humble? Neither alternative changed what was going to happen.

Then the crowd broke out in a frenzy. They were taken by their own madness, shouting and cheering and staring. I turned my head and saw what had sparked them. I saw him.

He was the real performer, the one they had come for. He was the master and artist. They had come to see him work. They had not come for me. I was the clay he would work on, I was a tool for his skill. I was the one to be mastered by him.

He was an animal. He was clad in red trousers of leather, clinging to him like a second skin. He wore boots, heavy boots that would have crushed my bare feet had he chosen to. Around his hips hung a broad and heavy leather belt. His upper body was bare, his well tanned muscles glistening in the sun. He was at least a head taller than the guards, who, in turn, made me look small. His shoulders were broad as a bull.

His face was covered in a mask that left his mouth and jaw uncovered. He smiled. His lips were curled in a self assured and mocking smile. I saw his eyes glowing through the mask. This was his moment.

He was not a man but an animal, or if he was a man, he was twice the man compared to the ones around him. I could not look upon him without trembling and feeling faint. He was not a man you had an opinion about, he was a force of nature, far removed from sophistication and civilized life.

He was the master and this was his stage. I was to play a part in his performance. I belonged to him.

I stared at the whip that hung from his belt. It was a vicious thing, a wooden handle, worn and well used, and from that handle hung three braided tongues of leather. I knew he was master of that whip, I could almost feel the power from his body transmitted through the whip already. My body was shivering.

He had his moment, walking around the stage, bowing, smiling, raising his hands, playing the crowd with his movements, his body and splendor. They loved him.

Then he stopped. He made a gesture and the guards pushed me forward. I was stood before the crowd, at the edge of the scaffold, alone with the crowd.

I stood in silence, staring in awe at them. I was waiting, the crowd was waiting. I didn’t see the gesture, I felt it. The crowd felt it. The guards took hold of my flimsy garment and tore at it. I gasped as I almost lost balance and fell. The fabric was torn from my body to the cheering and cries of the crowd.

There seemed to be one violent movement that rocked my body and tore away my clothes and when I gained my balance, I was naked. I had been stripped before the crowd and they knew they would soon be treated to their entertainment.

The guards pulled me away from the edge of the platform and pushed me towards the sturdy pole set in the middle. They pushed me against the rough surface of the pole with such force I almost lost my breath.

The ropes around my wrists were loosened and my hands were pulled forward, one on each side of the wooden post. My wrists were re tied in front and to a rope that ran through a hoop at the top of the pole. Strong arms pulled at the rope and my hands were hoisted in the air.

I cried out in pain as my hands were pulled upwards. I could hardly breathe as I was lifted from the floor, only my toes in contact with the wood. When they were done, I was almost hanging from my bound wrists, my body tense and pressed to the unforgiving whipping post.

I was prepared. I had been made ready for the whip. Now it was time for the entertainment.

The man with the whip, the master of the stage, didn’t speak. He just held the whip out to me, made sure I could see it. It was as if he wanted to show me the whip that soon would fall on my naked skin.

He took a step to the side and I turned my head to look at him, but I could hardly see him. The crowd fell silent. No one spoke, no one moved. They were waiting. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead on the wood. My heart was beating hard, so hard that I wondered if not the whole town could hear it.

Then I heard the hiss of the whip. It was a short, menacing sound, sudden and merciless. My body exploded with pain in the next instant, together with a sharp and terrible report as the leather made contact with my skin.

It seemed like an eternity before I began breathing again. The chaos of pain and sound became focused and I felt the burning marks on my body where the whip had hit me. He had chosen to whip me across my bottom, but one of the tongues had bitten my thighs.

Then came the next lash. This one took more of my breath away, since it hit higher, a little higher. I cried out in agony and pain, panicking, terrified.

He took no heed. He showed no mercy. He let the whip fall, time and again, on my unprotected body. Relentlessly did the leather tongues of the whip dance across my skin. He hit high and he hit low, concentrating on my buttocks. The whip curled around me, stinging my belly, the front of my thighs, my breasts and even my sex.

I became a wriggling, helpless body, crying in utmost agony. I didn’t hear the cheering crowd nor did I see their cruel faces. The only thing that existed was the whipping post, my trembling body and the merciless whip.

It continued for an eternity but at last it was over. I hung in my aching arms, not believing another lash wasn’t coming. I realised it was over, when I was let down, when eager hands took hold of my body, kept it standing when the ropes were untied.

I could hardly stand, I fell, but was held. I was not completely aware of what happened, but I was taken from the platform, back into the City Hall. I remember a dark room, a hard wooden bench, my aching body on fire and drifting off.

What happened next is another story. I was given my torn dress and left the building sometime later. It was dark outside and the town square was not crowded any more. I hurried away, didn’t want to meet anyone, didn’t want to be found out. I wanted to hide. I was no longer entertainment, I was just a whipped woman.



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The numbing fog recedes from my heavy eyelids,
Slowly giving way to a blinding light,
Crudely revealing my every surrounding,
In an unforgiving epiphany.

A trembling creaking ceiling fan greets my vacillating vision,
Its structure crusted with a red-tint brown substance that I can only hope is rust.
My skin rendered senseless by blissful uncomprehension, it is only the increasingly nauseating scent of worn-out flesh that informs me of the thick leather strap, forcing upon my tongue its vile taste of decay.

My vain attempts at flailing in fear are brutally cut short
By a similar set of beastly binds, coaxing my limbs and neck and chest into helpless acceptance.

Realization hits.

Of my stark nakedness, indecently shoved against cold, hard metal.
Of my weary arms and legs, stretched far above the limit acceptable for sanity.
Of the relentless fetor of rotten meat, seeming much stronger than the simple odor of leather, and stretching way further,
All around the room…
And then…
Of the squeaking of the fan, rudely interrupted by sardonic laughter,
Growing louder…
And louder…

And then he catches the corner of my vision.
I stifle a gag of terror at the sight of him.
Of his torn apron tainted in unmistakable red,
Of his hunchback stature, a mockery of a human figure,
Of his ghoulish features, twisted in a crooked grin,
Growing wider…
As he comes closer…

His face now lies above mine.
He gazes at me with his bulging bloodshot eyes,
His poor excuse for a smile revealing jagged yellow teeth,
Reeking of disgusting decay,
Rancid crimson dripping at the corner of his outstretched lips.
Slowly, he brings his clutched fist to my eyes,
Exposing a small, stained scalpel.

My breath is coming faster.
Softly, he grazes my lips with the icy blade,
Then, lazily, he brings it lower,
Gently tracing the line of my neck,
And coming to a halt above my fluttering heart.
There, his pressure grows stronger,
His knife feels much sharper.

A terrified tear escapes me,
Matching the single scarlet drop he’s drawn.
Eagerly, almost affectionately,
He wipes it with his gloveless, bony finger,
Shockingly cold against my cheek, burning with horror.
“Don’t worry, my lovely”
He whispers as his blade goes in deeper,
“That beating beauty of yours
Shall make somebody quite happy.”

Beep. Red.





I stood at the Intersection between Heaven and Hell looking downcast. Sheila lay in her box, at my feet.
Life was hard, we had contemplated suicide, Sheila and I. Or maybe it was only I, only the fear of Sheila’s adoption put the noose at bay.

Along road T-9 ambled an old man who seemed cherry. Singing old folklore and a bottle in hand he made merry. Walked he to me and inquired about my lack of jubilation.
“hey there young lass, why do you seem so gloom” “evening kind sir, I replied. Alas, my fate has left me for doom.”

Chuckling like a cat that devoured the canary, he said “pray tell me your series of unfortunate events”. And like a sinner to a priest, my hearts woes did I vent.

He took pity on me or maybe it was masked hatred and said “play me a tune with your artful fingers and when you wake, these memories doth linger”.

I walked into the town hall of Nottingham amid hushed tones and whispered scorn. “the waif looks so skinny, what does she have to offer?”

There were “Ooohs” and “Aaahs” as I dug Sheila out of her box. She looked her best as always, black and golden flowers woven along the length of her.

We worked together as a unit, a team of two, Sheila and I, I sent my breath into her in rhythmic sequences and in an instance she changes them into soothing melodies. These melodies once warmed my heart and teared me up but now I could only feel sadness seeping through every tune we make.
My fingers moved. My solo had begun. There was a stillness in the hall as Sheila buried us with sonorous melodies, my eyes closed as I drifted into the realm unseen.
I was only awaken by the riotous applause that ensued. The audience loved me. I curtsied and stepped off stage. My work in Nottingham was done. Next town: Brighton.

As my carriage meandered into Brighton, I purchased a time. Front page in bold read. Headline: 400 die in Nottingham from widespread epidemic.
Sadness engulfed my being. I couldn’t stop playing and this seemed my curse. Wrapped in mixed feelings of satisfaction and guilt. “You have to continue or risk death” were the words actively running through my mind, it was my propellant, my deceit.
I looked forward to another wonderful concert and food for my belly as well as Sheila’s.

At the gate of Brighton, there was a man begging for alms.
As he walked up to me with confused steps it felt like I had met this man before. In a time when the world would stand still to listen to me I had felt this nostalgic feeling before. It had a darkness that exhumed me, it set me into an abyss of total bondage. Is this the same person in a different form, all I can tell as sorrow consumed me is that he had dark red cold eyes.
“Hurry” he said.


At brighton, I started off with an old familiar symphony and everyone was caught in a trance about 700 of them, men, women, pregnant, old, young, lame, rich, poor, they all were gather to listen.

It was going to be a feast.

Your turn guys, test yourselves, give me an analysis of this piece, citing the significance of the characters and places. Also citing why the main character was sad.



A little rant. Please Read. Drop your comments.

Dear holy Allium Cepa,

I rush into this letter with tears running down both cheeks. I seek your help because I know the fear your people have of you. I fear your greater than they do.
I would have asked how you’re faring but I know you’ve heard of my misconducts and you hate me along with the rest of your clan.
Your grace, I ask that you temper justice with mercy as I share with you my story and hope that you’ll understand.

The first time I laid eyes on Urneon, your daughter, I was with my mama, we had gone to buy groceries. I could have sworn as I swooned that my heart stopped and skipped a few beats. It felt like I was the last of my kind, she was the first I had seen of your kind.
She(your daughter) was the fairest lily that I had ever seen. She was purity personified. Her outer skin glowed white, shining brighter than a diamond. I could only assume the sumptuous beauty that laid on her insides. Mouth-watering.

I had a taste of her that day(when mama wasn’t looking). The way she had planted her lips on mine, our destinies became intertwined. I shed tears of joy as her tangy nectar had melted in my mouth. I heard the third angel blow his horns. I vividly saw the spider devour the fly in slow motion.
This was were my troubles began your highness, I had tasted the fruit that wasn’t forbidden. And I wanted more. I became a man. Enslaved by desire and wanton lust. I craved her worthy essence like I had scurvy and she was my 1000mg of Vitamin C.

I became Mad. And I devised means by which she could be mine. I premeditated her demise. Like Uncle Musa the butcher who stays down the road, I sharpened my knife.

The day the earth stood still for me, I had stalked her again to the mall, I genially requested another taste of her suppleness. Alas! I was refused. She curved me. And I struck out in fury.
Like Dr Hannibal, I wanted the finer tastes of her. The way I got her into my car, I cannot describe. But, I did.

I got her home in a hurry. She begged, pleading for mercy. I was too lost to listen. My desire at its maximum, I placed her on my chopping board and held her down with prongs. First I shaved her head, bare, like the butt of a newborn. Then I doused her with scented water, and I washed her orifices. Amidst her screams and tears I diced her. Into little squares, I diced. I used her body to garnish my eggs. I wasted no time in adding rings of tomatoes, and I fried my concoction over low heat, covering the delicacy and allowing it to simmer. Your holiness, it was glorious.

I’m writing this because she cursed me. Before she died, she cried and cursed me. And I also cried. There was an ominous odour. It made me cry.
The soul of your daughter has consumed the rest of your clan. Wherever I see anyone of them, I cry, my dreams are haunted with faceless onions. Dancing. They carry the same blade that I used on Urneon. The one I used to carve out her innards.

Your majesty I plead guilty to my sins.
Please lift this curse.

Yours in tears,


1) Allium Cepa is the botanical name for onion.
2) Urneon was my first onion.
3) Now, read again.
I decided to make a little rant about onions.

Angels Unaware


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It was a rainy night in New Orleans
At a bus station in the town,
I watched a young girl weeping
As her baggage was taken down.
It seems she’d lost her ticket
Changing buses in the night.
She begged them not to leave her there with no sign of help in sight.
The bus driver had a face of stone
And his heart was surely the same.
“Losing your ticket’s like losing cash money” he said,
And left her in the rain.
Then an old Indian man stood up
And blocked the driver’s way
And would not let him pass before he said what he had to say.
“How can you leave that girl out there?
Have you no God to fear?
You know she had a ticket.
You can’t just leave her here.
You can’t put her out in a city
Where she doesn’t have a friend.
You will meet your schedule,
But she might meet her end.”
The driver showed no sign
That he’d heard or even cared
About the young girl’s problem
Or how her travels fared.
So the old gentleman said,
“For her fare I’ll pay.
I’ll give her a little money
To help her on her way.”
He went and bought the ticket
And helped her to her place
And helped her put her baggage
In the overhead luggage space.
“How can I repay,” she said,
“the kindness you’ve shown tonight?
We’re strangers who won’t meet again
A mere ‘ ‘thank you ‘ doesn’t seem right.”
He said, “What goes around comes around.
This I’ve learned with time –
What you give, you always get back;
What you sow, you reap in kind.
Always be helpful to others
And give what you can spare;
For by being kind to strangers,
We help angels unaware.”

The next man


Lately, my mind hasn’t been settled over issues. Over life.
I see so many things as wrong. Yet, people around, people involved just take it in stride.

Looking into the nation we walk on and the world which we hope to conquer. All I see is pain. All I see is tears. I see hidden fears.
To focus on people who have hidden their pain and sufferings beneath smiles and smug faces. And that is why I’m here.

You see, there really is more to life than we see to it. Do you see?
Well, I’ve seen.

I’m the next man, and I’m here to tell you what I’ve seen.

There was a day I was returning home from a stroll and I saw children running . My curiosity was piqued so I sort of followed at a distance. Then I didn’t see them anymore. Wondering, I walked forward.

And then, I saw them. In a gutter. Bathing. It had rained the day before so the gutter was half-filled. There was also a burst pipe from which they drank from and washed their faces from.

I was amazed, indeed, what I saw was new to me.

I was rooted to the spot. I didn’t mind that it was past 6 that evening, and I had plans to finish some undone work.

I watched as they splashed the unclean water on one another with reckless abandon. I couldn’t help but smile…

In all of this I noticed this particular girl who wasn’t in the ‘pool’, she was pale and malnourished(like the others) and dressed in a stained gown. I think it was light blue in colour but it was so stained that I couldn’t decipher it. Her hair was un-combed and brown from the acrimonious dust settling around in the evening light.

I could see a tear drop run down her left cheek. And even in the absence of a breeze(and water) she shivered.

I closed my eyelids for a few moments. Her pain was palpable. Weighing heavily upon her shoulders. Her pain, and that of the other kids bathing in the smelly gutter even though they seemed happy…

I stood still and continued to observe. The world seemed to fade. All I could see were their faces and all I could hear were the splashes of water.

She couldn’t have been older than 9 years. I tried to understand the sorrow of the child, as all the other children were somewhat ‘joyful’. Just beside her was a dark green bowl that contained three sachets of water popularly termed pure water, and as I watched from my end she kept counting the Naira notes she had with him over and over as though she was searching for a precious jewel.

I heard one of the other kids say, “Deola you no hot? Kan join us na, this water cool o, or you dey shame for your tear tear pant?” and the others laughed.

And with sorrow that could make G.I. Joe weak, she replied, “I no fit! My money short N15, you know say Mama go vex”.

One other kid yelled “but, your mama no too dey vex na, last week wey my mama flog me with the eba stick unto say I no sell one sachet of water. Unto N5 o. Why you Kan sad now? Abegi! God dey for us…”

Hearing all of this, I was moved by her pain so I decided to give her the money. And with trepidation she collected it. And squealed to her friends. With so much happiness, she undressed, leaving only her ragged pant. And she jumped into the water.

Shaking my head repeatedly in pity, joy and amazement.
I decided to head back home.

I was surprised when I heard one of the kids say: “Thanks for watching!” and the rest burst into laughter.

I turned to look. Indeed! They were referring to me! With a big smile on my face, I waved at them and turned around, homebound.
The words of beautiful nubia come to mind : “The little children on the street are working hard so they can eat, dem no fit do anything but cry, but one day the table will turn.

June 3rd


Today. We have Jennifer, gracing our ‘eyes’. Enjoy.

I check my watch for the umpteenth time. It’s 11:59 so I just watch the second hand make its way around the circle. 12:00! Finally! Like clockwork, my phone rings. No need to look at the screen for caller ID, I know it’s you; you always call first. “Hi baby” I coo into the phone. You proceed to sing me “happy birthday” with me smiling like a fool and wiping a couple of tear drops.
I always told you that you were an angel in human form; not only because of how special you are, but because of your voice that would put the birds, the American Idol contestants and a few angels, dare I say, to shame. Your singing ends and you say “Happy birthday baby! You are the light, the love and the joy of my life and I’m so happy you were born that fateful 3rd of June cos I don’t know where I’d be if you weren’t”. “Awww!”, I respond my voice shaky from holding back a few tears. We talk on and on. With you, I can never keep track of time. “Oh yeah, when are you coming to pick me for the flight?”, I ask. We’d been planning a getaway to Calabar for my birthday.
We planned to take the week off and have some alone time and I’d been looking forward to it for a month. You hesitate for a few seconds. “Don’t worry babe, let me call you back. I’m sure I’ve kept so many people who wanted to wish you a happy birthday waiting. I’ll call you later baby. I love you”, you say in one breath and hang up before I can even reply. I shake my head and smile at how weird you can be sometimes as I look through my missed calls to see who called while we were talking.

3 hours and loads of calls and texts later, I start to doze off when my phone buzzes. I’m about to ignore it when I see it’s a text from you. It reads, “Hey baby, happy birthday again. I love you. Please don’t hate me. I didn’t want to upset you when I called that’s why I decided to text now. About the Calabar trip, I’m so sorry but it won’t be possible. I have a series of super important meetings in Abuja, the first being at 9am today, that I CANNOT afford to miss and I won’t be back till Thursday. My flight’s at 6am. I’m so so sorry boo. Please don’t be upset, please”. I read the text a couple of times, anger building up inside of me.
I cannot believe this insensitive nonsense you are saying to me on my birthday. I take a few deep breaths and reply. “Sam, WTH?! This is so so so unfair. Are you telling me you didn’t know about these meetings long enough to reschedule?! I’ve been looking forward to this trip for forever! You know this so I don’t know why you’re doing this. What is now going to happen to the plane tickets and hotel reservation?”.
I wait 15 minutes before you finally reply. “Baby please don’t be upset, I beg you. I really am genuinely sorry. I’ve known about the Abuja meetings for a couple of weeks so I didn’t buy the Calabar tickets or make a hotel reservation. Baby, my promotion literally depends on these meetings. Please understand, I am very sorry. I promise to make it up to you with an even better trip when I get back”. “Wait, what?! He didn’t even buy the tickets or book a hotel?! Samuel Benson, you are a bloody bastard!”, I scream. I hiss and fling my phone to a corner of the bed. I cannot wrap my head around the reasons you’re giving me. I’m not even going to respond. I’m trying to sleep but I can’t because the anger in me is becoming a physical burning sensation in my chest and also because my phone keeps buzzing. I kick the phone to the floor angrily.

I wake up at 10am from a dream about us having dinner at a really nice restaurant in Calabar and I’m so upset that my brain had the audacity to let me have such a dream. What would have been such a beautiful dream a night ago is suddenly a nightmare. I’m even angrier now. My phone rings from under the bed. I pick it up to see who’s calling. It’s my mum. 20 minutes and countless prayers later, the call finally ends and I look at my phone to see what I missed in my sleep. I have 30 missed calls. 20 from you! I roll my eyes and look at my messages. Mostly birthday wishes. But countless messages from you. “Babe, please reply”, “baby, please, I’m sorry”, “Baby please pick up”, “Jane, at least pick up so I can explain myself properly. Please”, “Baby, I’m in Abuja now heading for my meeting. I’ll call you immediately I’m done. I’m so sorry”. Please please please, I’m not even interested in anything you have to say. If you won’t be with me on my birthday like we planned, let me go and hang out with my girlfriends. You and your
true love, Work, can have a splendid time.

I call my friends, make lunch plans, get ready and head to the restaurant to meet them. I turn off my phone for good measure; you’ve already done enough damage so I don’t want you ruining lunch too.
When I get to the restaurant, I spot them at our usual table. They sing happy birthday in their horrible voices as I walk over laughing half-heartedly. We eat and have what I would call a good time on a regular day but today, I’m just not in the best of moods so through out lunch I’m pretending to listen and laugh. I even manage a few fake tears of joy for the camera when the waiters bring out a birthday cake from my friends and sing me happy birthday.
As we’re eating cake, I decide to turn on my phone to reply birthday messages before they pile up. There’s a voice mail and a bunch of texts from you. I decide to listen to the voice mail and you’re saying something about how you made a mistake and you don’t know what you were thinking and you’re coming back right now. I just roll my eyes. I decide to read only the last text you sent. It reads, “Jane, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be with you on your birthday. I’m so sorry about the trip, about everything. I’m kicking myself here because I don’t know how I ever thought to choose work over being with you. I hope you forgive me. You are my soulmate, my best friend, my lover, my life. You gave my life a new meaning and every second I’ve spent with you has been priceless. You mean the world to me and more. I have always loved you, I love you now and I will love you forever, in life, in death and beyond. Happy birthday.” then, I hear Rose scream “Oh my God” and drop her phone.
This Rose and her obsession with Linda Ikeji’s blog! I’m sure she was reading about some celeb! Maybe Tuface is having another baby somewhere. I look at Rose and she seems pretty shaken up. Everyone is asking her what’s wrong. I pick up her phone. I laugh when I see that she was actually reading something on Linda Ikeji’s blog. I decide to see what the blog post is about. It turns out it wasn’t about Tuface or any celebrity.
“Breaking news: Dana plane carrying 153 people crashes in Lagos”, it reads. “Oh wow, so sad”, I say. “What’s that Jane? The thing that is shocking this talkative Rose into silence must be serious oh”, says Bisi. “It’s a plane crash, my dear”, I reply. I scroll down. “Below are the names on the Dana air manifest”, it reads. Numbers 1-6 have the same surname. “Oh my God, you guys, the first 6 victims on the list are all related. This is so sad”. “Jesus!”, everyone says in unison except Rose. I scroll down the list and skim through the names when I see what silenced Rose. “20: Samuel Benson”.
I am frozen.
For more wonderful work from Jennifer, click on the link –»

Whispering Fingers


Okay, people, I just had the most freaky, hilarious and weird bus ride. And I’m quickly sending this in, so that if you don’t hear from me soon. You’ll know who/what took me. ( -̩̩̩͡˛ -̩̩̩͡ )

I just finished a long day of enlightening a tiny fragment of our beloved Nigerian children, and I needed to get home to relieve myself of some stress.

So, I eagerly and happily took a bus home. Before the bus took off one dude scurried into the bus and sat beside me.
So, we proceeded our 30-45 minute long journey.

Omo mehn, na so the guy start to dey whisper o. I was like, “erm, chairman, is all well?”, I said it in my head sha, although I think he heard, because he looked at me.. Still, the guy kept whispering and lamenting with/to himself.

All of a sudden, the woman beside him started praying, I was like Ope o. This guy will get his deliverance. Lo and behold, the guy started saying “amen”, he was flowing with the prayers ni sha.

All of another sudden(mehn, pardon my use of English), the guy started shaking his head like a fish that had been out of water.

Believe me, I was screaming(in my head), Even the woman that was praying was staring at the guy, she was still praying sha, with a grin on her face(I think she’s Cele. No mercy.), it was like a live exorcism.
That’s how the Chairman turned his head and smiled at me, as if to say, “guy, I just dey joke. I full ground.”
All this while I was staring open-mouthed.

The woman finished praying, the guy stopped shaking his head. I was relieved. But, my relief was short-lived, because, immediately that ended, he resumed his whisperings. It seemed as if his voice was even louder. And his fingers started touching my knee. I was like, “ye mogbe” /(‘0’)\
Then his voice started climbing octaves, like Celine Dion.
PEOPLE, I’M NOT LYING O!!!! This chairman spoke in tenor, soprano and in bass. He was about to speak in alto when the driver swerved into a pot-hole and the chairman’s head hit the roof. I swear I LOOL’D(in my head).

Like that wasn’t enough, the bus stopped. There was a car in front of us, not like there was traffic o… Just a car. And the occupant was receiving a phone call. The driver was chilling. Mscheew. The bus erupted and shouted on the bus driver, I shouted too(I was almost urinating on myself, because of the chairman).

The driver sha twisted the steering and tried to manoeuvre around the car. I swear the next thing that happened scattered my head.
The occupant of the car was a Hausa police man and he started honking and blaring his horn, the bus driver sha stopped. Their conversation is below, please note that chairman was still whispering and he had started making hand gestures.

Hausa Police man : eyyyss, you dey mad?

Bus driver : any problem oga?

Hausa Police man: yes. *straight face*

Bus driver : Wetin I do oga?

Hausa Police man : soooo, na only you get mind overtake me abi? You no see say I dey road?

Bus driver : LOOL, what? (he said it in yoruba)…

*everybody started laughing and he zoomed off* I was still laughing when I turned to check on chairman, only to see him staring at me.. HE WAS STARING AT ME O.

Finally, I was nearing my bus-stop.
Chairman was still whispering.
As we neared the bus-stop I quickly hailed the driver to come to a halt. Na so chairman sef follow me drop o. I swear I placed my hands on my head. And in my haste I forgot my 850 naira chang.☹
We were headed the same way. He still spoke to himself. I was almost running all the way home. I Sha out-walked(ran) him.

When I got home..
As I was about to open the gate…
I looked back and I saw..

I ran.

Now I’m sending this from under my bed.
Where I can’t be found.
OH LORD. Power has been taken.
I feel fingers pulling at my trousers.
Sharp razor teeth . .. . … .





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Amour Propre


I’d like to tell a tale of warriors… Culled from 1samuel 17.
See you on the other side

Do not be deceived by the smaller muscles of the nearest man, do not trust in your bigger muscles, pride goes before a fall.

This is an attempt on a re-tale of the famous battle between David and Goliath.

Gehazi Lefthand: Ladies and Gentlemen you are looking
live at the Bank of Jerusalem Battlefield in South Israel where
today history will be made. I’m Gehazi Lefthand alongside
Isaac Herbel, happy to have you along for this historic
matchup between Goliath of Gath and David of Bethlehem.

Isaac: Yeah, you’d have to be a simple Canaanite to be
unaware of the storyline here. For over a month now,
Phillistines Head Coach Madgiv Thomas has been sending out
his 6-time All-Star Goliath to battle an Israelite. The 9-foot, 6-
inch giant’s continued taunting of the Israelites have earned
him a record has a foul-mouthed *#:5;##. For more let’s send it down to our sideline reporters Tafoya Miguel and Rahab Andrews.

Tafoya: Thanks Gehazi. It was not until today that Goliath’s
invitation to rumble was accepted by the unlikeliest of
challengers from King Saul’s army. And if you haven’t seen
David yet, well, picture a malnourished herdsman shaved head to
toe. For more on that story, let’s send it over to the Israelites
sidelines and Rahab Andrews.

Rahab: The Babylon Sportsbooks have the over/under on this
at 10 seconds, but I don’t see it lasting that long.
The youngest of 8 brothers, David the shepherd boy went
undrafted coming out of Bethlehem University last Spring.
Despite a slow forty time, his impressive defeats of a lion and a bear were enough to earn him a spot to fight for the Israelite army. King Saul took a chance on the young waterboy, who now finds himself facing the greatest challenge of his life. Back to you,
Gehazi and Isaac.

Gehazi: Thanks Rahab. Before we start let’s remind everyone
that today’s action is sponsored by Over Armor Sports
Apparel, Promised Land Iced Tea with new ‘Milk and Honey’
flavor, and Delilah’s Supercuts, “a great haircut guaranteed or
you can chain us to a temple pillar and poke our eyes out”.

Isaac: As Goliath steps onto the field of play, let’s go over the
rules with our viewers. Rule Number 1 is that there are no
rules. First person to kill the other person wins.

*Goliath steps out and taunts David*

Goliath: “YOU!!! You!!! Your faaaaaaather!” He throws a few punches in the air. “Wo! Mo ma pa e da nu.” (I will kill you finish).

Gehazi: Let’s also remind everyone what is at stake today,

Isaac: Well Gehazi, besides being able to hoist the coveted
Golden Calf Trophy over their heads in victory, the winning
side will also get to make slaves out of the losing team.

Gehazi: Actually I CAN picture that.

Isaac: Yeah, you know what? So can I. In any event, the
stakes have never been bigger than they are today.

Gehazi: Speaking of never been bigger, let’s not forget David’s
initial response to hearing Goliath’s taunts of his countrymen.
In a tirade that has gone viral on ThouTube this week, David
referred to Goliath as an “uncircumsized Philistine”, choosing
to mock the loins of the Warrior from Gath.

Isaac: Considering the size of Goliath’s sandals, that might
have been a mistake.

Gehazi: Indeed. But back to the action, Goliath has
approached the 50-yard line and he doesn’t look particularly
pleased with the diminutive size of his competition. I haven’t
seen anyone this angry since the time I painted my wife’s
kitchen with sheep’s blood.

Isaac: And you really have to wonder if rust will be a factor
with the long layoff Goliath has had between gruesome
murders. It’s been almost two years since he ripped off that
remarkable streak of 61 consecutive dismemberments. He
was untouchable until he lost a toe in a freak winepress
accident, but he swears he’ll be competing at 100% today.

Gehazi: Check this out, David is sprinting towards the 50-yard
line to meet Goliath, and he’s waving around a small piece of
leather that looks like, umm, an iPhone case?

Isaac: I think that’s a slingshot.

Gehazi: Whatever it is, Goliath is bracing himself for what
should be a quick kill and WOAH!!! David just hurled a
smooth rock at Goliath that found it’s mark right between
Goliath’s mangy, unkempt eyebrows! The stone appears to be
lodged deep into the skull of the giant, who just collapsed to
the ground like a sack of fossilized donkey excrement.

Isaac: I can’t believe what I’m seeing here! It is total bedlam
in the Valley of Elah as David has toppled the mighty
Phillistine. I hope you’ve got the DVR going folks, because you
are witnessing history right now.

Gehazi: David just mounted the Philistine giant and he’s
standing triumphantly on Goliath’s chest. It looks like he just
pulled a Sharpie out of his sandal and is signing his name on
Goliath’s forehead. Wow, this could draw a flag for
unsportsmanlike conduct.

Isaac: Kids these days could learn from the old schoolers and act like they’ve felled a giant before.

Gehazi: OH GREAT JEHOVAH, did you see that? David just took
Goliath’s sword and cut the head off the dead giant! Now he’s
holding it up and waving it around to the delight of the fans
who made the trek all the way from Jerusalem to take in the
action live!

Isaac: Blood is shooting from Goliath’s severed neck and
showering the battlefield. This is a gruesome scene.

Gehazi: David is making it rain!

Isaac: I find this to be completely unnecessary and a
disgusting act.

Gehazi: Necessary or not, it looks like David’s barbaric display
has made an impression on the Philistine army. Faced with
the prospect of doing David’s laundry for the rest of their
lives, they’ve decided to make a run for it.

Isaac: And that is already turning out to be a bad decision
with all that heavy armor they’re wearing. The Israelites –
wearing their ultra-light and breathable Over Armor clothing –
are chasing them down and savagely killing each and every
one of them. And what’s worse, some of the fans have
stormed out of their seats and have taken down the

Gehazi: Let’s throw it down to Rahab Andrews, who’s with a
beaming David.

Rahab: David, what a win, how did you do it?

David: First I want to thank Yahweh, I couldn’t have done it
without Him. You know, and all week long people were saying
that we didn’t have a chance, that I was too small, and that I
was a sissypants for writing poetry. I just wanted to come
out here and prove everyone wrong.

Rahab: David, my gag reflex tells me that you’re holding
Goliath’s bloody stump of a head only a few feet away from
me. Can you tell us why you decided to chop his head off
after you had already claimed the victory?

David: I don’t know, you know? I’m sure I’ll get fined for it,
but I got no regrets. It was just a heat of the moment kind of
thing, and sometimes I do that kind of stuff without thinking.
Hi mom, hi dad, hi sheep, I love you.

Rahab: David, what happens next for you? Talk is already
circulating about you starting a political career.

David: I don’t know. I just want to soak this one in. I’ve got
nothing but love for Saul, and I don’t have any political
aspirations right now. I just want to get this dude’s head
mounted on my wall, go chill on the roof of my building and
enjoy the view, restring my lyre, and maybe write some
canonized poems.

Rahab: Well, there you have it: fearless warrior by day,
sissypants poetry writer by night. Back to you, Gehazi.

Gehazi: Thanks Rahab. That’s all the time we have for today.

We’ll like to thank our viewers for joining us.

Have a good day(morning/afternoon/evening).

Be better


Happy people, today I want to introduce my friend(I’m famzing), a public speaker, and a Lawyer(to be), Rire.

To be better is to improve; to improve is to aim higher (by planning ahead). It involves putting our personal efforts to greater works, sleeping less, working more. Like a saying which I picked, it goes: “there isn’t much sleep for those who are best at what they do”.

It is okay to be motivated, but what is motivation without works? Rather put, where does motivation take one without action?

Once, a friend of mine who works at a radio station, in the course of a conversation, said to me: “you do not have mentors who are on the same level/position as you are. You have one/those whom you can look up to.” Those we look up to are still ‘up’ till this day because they kept working to aim even higher. “Good” is never enough, try being better.

In order to achieve a better self, we must know that it involves a lot of giving rather than receiving. It is about: dedication, self-motivation, trust in yourself and aiming towards a realistic vision. As well, you must learn to love yourself so you know how to love others; see yourself as worthy.

Also, if you work as a team, it entails trust of one in the other and trust in the leader of the group, have the right people in your team and direct the energies accordingly. Build well rounded teams, understand the needs of your followers and invest in their strength. Collective efforts make a strong team and in turn, form a strong organisation.

Its not so hard to be where you want to, if you’ll pick up from somewhere. At least, you attempt to do something. That’s how success begins.

Do what you love. Believe in yourself that you can meet up with the task no matter how big. Be patient when it seem to take too long. Patient but not lazy, perhaps you need to spend a few extra hours of commitment to achieve greater results?

Make small contributions to help those in need. Volunteer, rather than spend your time in front of the TV, choose to offer selfless services to humanity (starting with your local community). Practice random kinds of act everyday. Do these things and see how gratifying it is to help others!

Need I say more? Do not forget to ask that God see you through in all that you do. Make prayer, backed by faith a daily routine in your life. Start with God and watch how great, the end is going to be.

“A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else which he is just entitled” (think positive) – Carnigie

The month of March(too much)


Happy new month people. It’s the month of March(pronounced much). I’m sure what is running through your mind as you are reading this is that you think I’m about to give you a charge for the month of March. I’m sorry, but, No.

What I’m telling you to read is firstly a joke I read somewhere and a pure ramble(which is too much(March)).
Moving on, the joke.
A man was chatting with his friend on BB. He suddenly discovered that the man sitting beside him in the taxi was reading his conversation. Since he did not want to embarrass the intruder, he decided to change the topic of the chat. “Abeg oga, please tell Kabiru Sokoto or Abu Qaqa that I only took
two of the bombs we just manufactured for this operation. Let them know as well that I may find it difficult to get to the target place
before the bombs explode because there is terrible traffic jam now but nevertheless, I am sure casualty figure will be high since we are five in our taxi and all the vehicles in the
traffic will be affected too. We ‘ve less than 3minutes for the bomb to go off. Bye and take care of my children as agreed.” The intruder without allowing the taxi to stop quickly opened the taxi door and jumped out.

And the man, lived happily ever after.
Onto the main dish, I was listening to the words of a motivational speaker and being a good ‘scholar’ I decided to write what he was saying. I got carried away, one thing led to another and the piece below was born. It is filled with ‘un-comprehendable’ words(too much crap), still read and wonder. *switches to pastoral voice* As you enter this month and read this piece (._.), it shall be a month of TOO MUCH. Can I hear An Amen?

Skills by nature and nurture.
Success is not all about the degrees. But what makes you unique from others. I am of the acting world. pick the needle, pick the thread and sew your destiny together. Oluwasogo. The best way to acquire skill is to learn from the masters. Start that business enterprise. Erroneous task. Love, the faux pas. I miss my abs. Ability pronounced ‘abilily’. Neeh, pass the mic. can you be my placard? I was hit by a stray tracer. My punch was a sort of tracheotomy. Poverty alleviation. What’s your traction? Let’s reach that compromise. Such hurtful traducement. the tragedian. the traipse. I’m under a tranquilizer induced trance. My transcendent from normal to abnormally through transcendental meditation. I was born this way. My desire to live is innate. Such innocuous words with powerful outcomes. Life in it itself is an innuendo. In my opinion. I’m inoculated against love. I’ve been delivered. The inquietude of my soul alleviated by the potter’s hands. Insalubrious I know, but, what can the unrighteous do? Maybe a period of insemination? Your thoughts of me are insidious. Not like my gracious Father, who loves me despite my inadequacies. An insignia upon my heart. We stand tall. With an insipid life force, I still quench the thirst of the grueling demons. The throne is insitu and the King is in his place. Your insouciance appals me.. I’m so appalled. My intaglio still hangs on your neck. Still trapped between your bosoms. And there you stand questioning my doctrines, there you stand questioning my words.
Call me the uxorious being. Now bow.

Somebody pray for us… (¬_¬)

Night wars


My mind wanders far away
Straight to you on the wings of my dreams.
You smile and the lights come on in my head.
I roll over, and there you lay in my bed.

I reach for you, our hearts and fingers entwined.
It feels like an apparition, a tingle filled sensation.
We rode on the waves of our communication.
Rain falls, yet we hide under the pavement of our minds in thistles of dis-affection.

A tit for tat within our souls, a communion of our goals.
Cloud nine, we reached our point of ecstasy.
Do not fear, this is just my greatest fantasy.

The solace of wool


It was a cold and windy night in the land of dreams and mutated dragonflies. I tossed and turned trying to locate the warmest niche on my hard pallet. And I wailed about my misfortune in not tasting out of the wares that Amaka’s mother had tried and coerced to sell to me while I had lazed in the tavern. Her muffins always had that power to lure a man into a deep sleep, but I had depended on the warmth that my blanket offered in the solace of its arms.
I left the tavern and whistled screams by the breaking hearts band as I walked home. I approached the wisconsin bridge hearing shouts of what seemed to be a heated argument, I rushed there, to much chagrin to see ruff and tumble arguing about who should have the larger piece out of their bionic sun dew pie. So, ever being the pacifist, I slowed to a halt and hailed them… And tried to solve their problem, while all of this was going on, my house was being burgled(unknown to me), I solved the argument and moved on my way. On getting home I discovered my burgled home, broken windows and un latched doors. I search for what was missing and found nothing amiss. With sighs of happiness and relief I set about preparing for the night.
Clad in my power rangers pyjamas, I crawled onto my bed. Stretching my tense muscles, I reach for my blanket.
Behold. It. Was. Gone.
Desperately I clutched for it in the darkness. Behold, it was gone.
I struck a match and lit my candle in search for my companion of warmth. Alas, it was gone.
With tears running down my face and mucus out of my nostrils and palpitations in my heart, I Write an ode to my departed friend of wool.

An Ode to My Blanket.

When I was born, I was given this blanket
Knitted together by loved ones, through love and sweat.
Now you are gone far away
To a place of no return, you are there to stay.

I remember when we first met
I was entranced by your glistening fabrics of blue and violet.
Within minutes of slipping under you, you transformed from a cold stranger into a familiar warm old friend.

I wouldn’t forget you my harbinger of peace
How could I forget the wonders of your solace
For into your tresses of wool I cried my tears
While the skies rumbled outside, you shredded all my fears

Sleep charts a tricky chasm underneath us, but, you oh blanket was there like a fishing net, keeping me tangled in your firmament.

The only fear I had is now here, my companion is now gone.
My superhero cape,
My cloak,
My Blanket.

my 2012.


It isn’t to early to put my past year into words is it? Join me as I walk the path of forgotten days.

This is my first trial at a memoir.

I’m here laying on my bed and I’m reminiscing or at least trying to reminisce. I don’t do that often, thinking that is. 2012 seems like just another Year. There were moments of pain and moments of gain. Moments filled with tears and moments when I was crippled with fears. Moments of love, of pain, of insecurity, of indecisiveness. For easier scrutiny I shall ruminate by category. Being a man of little speech and even one of less action. This is an horrendous task. When life gives us melons we squeeze right?

Education firstly isn’t all about books. I’ve learnt many things this year. on and off the record. I’ve actually become a better cook. And I’ve slain some demons. So, Well, this year I finished from the university with a degree in chemical engineering. With a second class upper degree. Below par. Below the expectations of those that believed in me. I didn’t care. Too much fuss over irrelevant things these days. At least, that was my line of thought. Life is short right? I mean why burst an artery all in the name of extra grades…

Haha. This was an interesting aspect of 2012. The year started with me being a shy and ‘timid’, man of little speech tramp. Like let’s all mind our business kinda guy, the ladies were tired of me. My male friends accommodated me. They knew my happy side afterall. It’s all changed though. After my convocation. I lost my real first chance at love. I danced to the gong of shame. I was fed up with being the silent dude. So, I’ve become an observer. A great difference. After I observe I start chattering. Its fun now to meet random people and be able to hold a conversation for at least a hour. Life is good afterall. Although I did ‘lock up’ during my nysc camp. Wasn’t interested in weird curve-balls. I know I still have more opening up to do though. Stoicism is still present somewhere. Latent energy not ready to be shown. I made new friends, acquaintances and fellow cohorts. Twitter was instrumental. That world is very deep. Interesting paranormal activities in my opinion.

Sigh, I think my folks are tired of me and my perpetual solitary confinement when I’m at home. I cherish my alone time. The folks don’t get that. Not like we’ve ever been on the same page. But, well, this year my eldest sister got married. Fun times. Not my kinda show, but, I was happy for her in a way. She’s left my hell-hole. I eagerly anticipate when i’ll move away. I’m too independent. I know.

The year has been very downhill. I’m not pleased about that. My Master is displeased too. I know I haven’t struggled enough. I’ve sinned even seconds after I prayed for forgiveness. All sins are equal, so I won’t try to justify myself for any of my iniquities. I anticipate greater heights. Being in the choir helps a bit. I love worship so, that’s not too bad.

All in all, it was A year. I’m a better man. And I’m approaching my golden sceptre. We must realize that no matter how bad you think you have it, there’s someone next to you that has it worse.


After writing all this I must say writing or err typing isn’t easy. Especially when you try to put your life in perspective.
When life hands you melons you squeeze right? Well, that’s my plan for 2013. I dunno what or how. But, I’m gonna squeeze real hard. That’s one thing I’m sure of. For next year I would have expectations. And with God’s grace I would plough through.
I don’t believe The cliche that life isn’t a bed of roses because I intend for 2013 to be just that. The gut tells me that. I know I’m heading somewhere. I actually don’t know where exactly. I can’t be judged for that.

The quote below seemed appropriate. Read it on a blogspot.

“The true beginnings of many natural and earthly things are often steeped in hope. Like a new born child, or a budding seedling, they come, thrust towards us, dripping with expectations and awash with “forward looking thoughts” and the promise of good things.”
That’s my 2013. I’m hopeful.


I apologize for my lengthy absence. Please enjoy this try at a short story.

It had been raining heavily for the last three hours. The incidence of the raindrops on the roof was music to her ears. Ada had places to be, wares to sell. She was huddled beneath a shabby wrapper that also served as a bedsheet for the threadbare mattress in one corner of her mother’s shop. The roof provided melody in metal buckets that had been strategically placed along the length of the room, which would subsequently serve as future cooking and bathing water.

“Ada!! Ada!!!, wake up o! You’ve started dreaming again”, her sister Vanessa said as she shook her awake. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” Ada replied as she wiped the sleep from her eyes.
“I wonder where you’re always drifting to. Your name should be Josephine. Get up or you’ll be late for your wedding!” Vanessa chirped. Ada was jolted awake immediately and she paid attention to her sister for the first time in ten minutes.
Her eyes drifted across the room as she took in her surroundings- a cream painted room with pink laced curtains. Everywhere smelled of lavender. The sun was up on the east and as the blinds were opened it irradiated the room with its rays changing the shade of the room, bright yellow.

“My wedding!” she squealed, “come on, let’s get me ready for my wedding!” she added with a throaty laugh to the confusion etched on Vanessa’s face.

Ada  —
We had arrived at the church right on time, all that was left was the procession of the bride and her maids. The organist started to play the classic “here comes the bride” as soon as the door behind the hall creaked open. The procession of the bride and her maids walked down the aisle as her husband-to-be stood at the altar waiting with a grin on his face, her crush of years past. The boy who ran down her street like he had all the world’s answers. Bryan was his name.

As the Priest in charge droned on as he read our marriage vows only pausing for breath when Bryan and I intermittently slotted in our “I do’s”. I felt giddy inside. There was a nagging voice saying something was amiss but once I looked at Bryan’s smiling face, my fears were dispelled.
Finally the priest got to the point of “if there be any man or woman who has any reason why this couple shouldn’t be joined in holy matrimony, please speak or forever hold your peace.” as I heard Vanessa giggle. I just shook my head.

“You may kiss the bride” he said. Smiling widely Bryan lifted my veil, looked towards the people in the pews then back at me.
I lifted my face and puckered my lips and suddenly he slapped me.
I was confused. I looked towards the priest, he was smiling. I looked at Vanessa and she was nodding like it was a normal thing to get slapped instead of kissed at a wedding.

Again Bryan slapped me, as I was about to protest he screamed in an angry voice.

Wake up you useless child, who do you expect to sell these plantains?”