I am ZayZee

Mummy this or that…

2011-11-09T15:48:00.000+01:00

What is your name? Or what is in a name? You might want to ask. Growing up, mothers were called by the names of their first child (Mama Uzezi). As time progressed, mama was dumped for Mummy. These days, you hear Mummy James, Mummy Seyi and so on and so forth. It is okay. But does the woman’s name have to be forgotten just because she is now a mother?

Personally, it is okay for people to refer to you as Mummy (enter your son or daughter’s name). But those people should be people who know you a little bit. When meeting someone for the first time, shouldn’t the mother have a name? Even if you don’t want to tell your first name, than give Mrs. This or That. That is way more formal.

I remember the first time I met my neighbout; just before I moved in, I went over to introduce myself as her soon to be neighbor and asked her name and she replied ‘Mummy David’. Oh, okay.

I understand to some people, it is a thing of prestige. To others, it is because they don’t want people they feel are younger than them, to call them by their names without adding aunty, hence Mummy this or that…

Well, I guess it is a thing of choice. Personally, I want to retain my name. Even though you cannot stop people from calling you Mummy this or that once you have named a child, I doubt I will ever introduce myself as Mummy Uzezi.

2011-10-10T17:50:00.002+01:00

Searching

Hi guys, I know we have a lot of writers on blogville. Some published, some hoping to be soon. Anyway, I have a client who is searching for publishable manuscripts. If you write Christian fiction and can write stories for teenagers in secondary schools, then contact my client by clicking here.

In Times Like These

2011-10-03T16:57:00.001+01:00

We are living in very difficult times. Many of us donot even know or understand the magnitude of the terrible things that are goingon behind closed doors. Criminal acts are constantly been committed byauthority figures that are supposed to help us and the country.

Even the media cannot be trusted anymore. Many publishedstories in our dailies do not scratch the surface of the issues of this countryand nobody is asking, nobody is saying anything, nobody cares, because thoseyou are in a position to care, are affluent enough to protect their familiesfrom what the common Nigeria experiences. But for how long will they succeed atthis? Some of the most powerful Nigerian media who are supposed to be the gatekeepersand report to the public have jumped to the other side of the fence and formoney, will sell and are selling their integrity.

In all these, many believe there is no hope for Nigeria.As a young child many years ago, the adults will say ‘in our time or back inthe days when things were good’. Now, I am the adult, and I cannot look back toany time when things have been better except the time when I could save 10k outof my 20k lunch money, twice, and buy a bottle of 29cl coca cola.

The economy sucks and from the look of things, theremight be no hope. Unemployment has never been at its highest, but then, how dowe even know those who are unemployed, when the jobless will tell you he or sheis an entrepreneur when asked?

In times like things, when the prices of food commoditiescontinue to rise, how should the masses survive? Why should a cup of beans bemore expensive than rice? Price of every single food item or provision in thelast three months has gone up twice without employees getting any meaningfulincrease in income. School fees have continued to go up because the childrenmust be educated.

Then there is the issue of insecurity in the countryamongst other. When dwelt upon, it is easy to join the crowd who believe thecountry is finished and will continue to fall.

But even in times like these, I choose to stand onthe other side of the fence and believe that there is a time for everything. Weare here today, but who says tomorrow wouldn’t be better?

I see tough all around me. I see difficulties andhopelessness, but thankfully, in the midst of all these, I see opportunities ofa better tomorrow. And I choose to believe what I see. Even though the changedoesn’t happen in my lifetime, no problem, I will continue to pray for it forthis country, and thank the Lord for it because if not me, then my children andtheir children will have a better Nigeria.

Been More Than A While

2011-09-24T10:59:00.001+01:00

I don't have an excuse except laziness. I haven't been here like forever and cannot remember the last time I did blog rounds. So much has happened in my absence. Lots of new bloggers replacing infrequent bloggers. Anyway, this is a return to full time blogging. Henceforth, once a week update and blogrounds. In the meantime, here's a new blog www.me4initiatives.blogspot.com

For those of you who love reading and writing, you should visit the above linked blog. And as for writing, I will start uploading my short stories from years back, some of them previously published in newspapers and novellas, and most of them decorating my folders, yet to be read by anyone. Maybe that will motivate me to start writing again. Also, I think I might add a new blog to my blogs or just change this one totally, since I'm having laziness trouble, keeping up with just one. I don't know yet. But I'm serious about being back to blogging interesting and better stories. Not necessary about me. Who wants to read about boring me? Haha! Later guys.

Biz Avenue

2011-05-24T17:33:00.005+01:00

I have been doing some work and helping to put together a programme on TV for Business Avenue. Its still being worked upon but its a place where knowledge about products as well as making more money for oneself will be featured. Pls check here

There is also a facebook group here People are taking advantage of the group to advertise whatever they have to sell. It can be useful to you too.

The funny thing is....

2011-04-01T23:33:00.003+01:00

I know how to dance. I really do. And I believe I sing very well. The only person who thinks otherwise is the guy formally known as Caveman.

In my younger days, (over a decade ago) I was seriously writing lyrics because I wanted to pursue a career as a musician. And I knew all those Janet Jackson, Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera step dance. Nothing special there because I used to do step dance in school. Anyway, my ambition at 17 to go to New York to dance on top of tables did not come true. Thank God. But for me to think that, I must have been one hell of a dancer right? Nobody can tell me I don't know how to dance. Even won a price when I was 7 for good dancing.

But the not so funny thing is that, dancing in church is not coming out the way I want. Seriously. You know during praise and worship when they suddenly switch into these Yoruba songs and everybody goes konko below, swinging from left to right?

I know those steps and I even have these praise and worship CDs in the house. I play them and watch myself dig it in front of a mirror and it comes out well. But in church, I miss the steps and if you are watching, you might think I will fall down. Anyway, I no care o. At least I sabi shake body pass some people.

On a more serious note now people, I don't think there is anything wrong with me and languages but I am not just interested. I want to know how to speak Yoruba. I just can't. It is becoming embarrassing that I was born in Lagos, lived all my life here and cannot speak the language. I have very good excuse for my not speaking it due to growing up location and surrounding and boarding schools away from Lagos. But I spent almost two years in Abeokuta before returning to Lagos last year. What is my excuse now?

Any advice here? I have a yoruba dictionary, but it's too deep. What can I do and why are there no Yoruba schools like French schools anyway?

I never turn my blog to advice only zone o!

PS: INEC gave my offie only 3 accreditation to cover the election. Are they serious? Why will you give a media house just 3 accreditation? Some media houses got 4, but most got 3. It means tomorrow, or today rather, I cannot cover the elections due to no pass. I will just observe my surroundings. I hope there will be more to cover the presidential election. Pls guys, if you registered, go out and vote so that the ballot papers will not be wasted. For it is easier to rig when unused ballot papers are available.

Advice me on this

2011-03-28T23:14:00.002+01:00

My neighbour’s children do not greet!
It is crazy I have to begin a post with that line. But the sooner I find a solution to this, the better I would be because I am used to being friends and at peace with my neighbours whether young or old.

I am almost 2 months old in this compound and I have a particular neighbour with grown children. A boy and three girls. I’m sure there are others from the same flat because I saw a smaller boy sweeping their balcony yesterday. Anyway, my concern is with the big boy and other girls. Initially, the youngest girl would stare at me, but having realised I’m in the compound to stay, and probably realising we are no mates at all, she greets.

Now her sisters. At first, I always saw one frequently because we meet at the gate most times so I’m either asking her if she is going out or coming in so I could lock the gate behind me. I see it as nothing to say hi to anyone, older or younger than me. So when she and her brother passes me, I nod a greeting ‘hi hello’ at them or even good afternoon. But one day, I was spreading my launderings; she came, stared past me and walked away. And her brother does same. Since then, I stopped my ‘hellos’ or any greetings because they expect it from me and I think it is wrong. So now when we see at all, we just walk past ourselves. And I still think, that is wrong.

The other day, I returned from the market to meet the boy washing his dad’s car. He stared at me without a welcome or even offering to help with my obviously heavy bags. Now, I wasn’t expecting the help but it is the polite thing to do. It is what my younger brother would do. And it is left for me to say, no don’t worry, thanks.

It takes nothing out of me to greet or say hi, but I feel if I continue at it, they will see nothing wrong in their behaviours. And these children are no mates of mine! The oldest of them would be at least six years younger than me. Seriously, maybe if I was plump or bigger a little, maybe they would know we are not mates because people find it difficult believing I am an old woman. They think I probably left secondary school 2 or 3 years ago and got married because I wear jeans and Tshirts with them. And seriously, what will I wear, how will I dress that will make me look older or at least my age? I am being harassed constantly and it is neither funny nor complimenting. I guess I will have to learn how to harden my face or something. My only refuge will be going about tying two wrappers and gele. But who can do that anyway? Everyday cannot be a traditional marriage ceremony na.

I thought the next time I saw the girl who loved to stare, I would ask her her name (don’t know any of their names) and whenever I see her, I will mention her name and greet her, since that is what she wants. But I didn’t think that approach was nice. So if you were in my shoes, what would you do?

(Desperate Housewives) Before I lose My Husband (2)

2011-03-22T17:07:00.002+01:00

Bukola was in a desperate situation. She didn’t have anyone she could discuss the issue with because it wasn’t a topic she would be comfortable discussing. She always thought about how to begin such a conversation? That she lost her husband because she wasn’t comfortable with sex?

Abbey moved into the guest bedroom in the ninth month of their marriage. It was a Saturday and she had gone to the market to stock up the house with foodstuff. By the time she returned, he had gone out. Although when she was leaving, he didn’t say anything about going out. That has become a new habit, where he doesn’t tell her anything about his movement. He hardly talks to her in the house and when she greets him or asks him something, he answers under his breath. But that Saturday when Bukola opened the wardrobe to change and noticed all his things gone, she knew they were heading for the end of their marriage.

She broke down and cried wondering where help would come from. She had been praying for divine intervention into the problem and nothing has happened. This wasn’t what she thought her marriage would turn into, but then she never really thought about it or understood the institution of marriage. She could only judge with her parents’ marriage, and as far as she was concerned, that was what she was hoping to get.

Bukola made up her mind to attack the issue and immediately called Abbey on the phone. It rang several times, but he didn’t pick. Various scenarios ran through her mind. It wasn’t always she gets to call him on the phone but when she does, he picks, so where could he be? Bukola waited all day for him to return and when he finally did late at night, she asked him why he didn’t take her calls. Abbey said he was at a noisy place watching football and left her in the sitting room and went to bed in his new room. No dinner.

Abbey made it impossible for her to ask him any questions. They continued this way for a week before he travelled for a course that lasted 3 months. By the time he returned, Bukola had moved his things back to their bedroom. He said nothing about it, so Bukola took it as a sign that the answers to her prayers were at work. He even bought her gifts from the trip which convinced her more that things were going to get better. But that day of his return was the first and last day they conversed for over 30 minutes since their problems began. Because soon enough, Abbey made sure he stayed out late until she had slept and he left home early. The only time things appeared normal was when they had relations visiting for the weekend. Then Abbey came home early, ate in the house and pretended with her that all was well. But it was a lie she couldn’t change or share out of shame and fear. She continued to trust God, went for prayer meetings, and never missed church. She was looking for answers but wasn’t getting them until one Sunday morning, something happened in the house.

She usually left for church earlier than Abbey because her church was further than his, and they had different services. But on this morning, she walked into the kitchen looking for him when he wasn’t in the guest bedroom and noticed him all dressed up for church. Bukola had come to tell him she was going to church and would be out till evening because she would visit her parents. Asking why he was dressed, he answered he wanted to attend his church’s first service for a change. And at that moment, she felt a deep urge to ask to follow him to his church, but she couldn’t speak. She needed ways to spend more time with him. So with a heavy heart, she returned to the bedroom to retrieve her bag and broke down crying.

Abbey heard the muffled sounds and knocked on the door before he entered. Bukola, who was turned away from the door, felt him standing at the door for a while and just looking at her. After a while, he went and held her in an embrace, their first body to body contact in a very long time.

After she quieted down, he told her he had to get going else he would be late. “Can I come with you?” Bukola asked him and he looked at her quietly for seconds and nodded.

This week's edition of 'Desperate housewives'

Before I Lose My Husband (3)
“Can I come with you?” Bukola had asked her husband, Abbey. That day was also the first in a long time they sat together in a car. And the 20mins drive to his church was in silence. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing. She didn’t know what to expect. She had no idea what was going through his mind, as she continued to steal glances at him. But he wore a very serious countenance. One she had never seen before.

All through that day’s service, Bukola’s mind was occupied with her problems, so when Abbey asked her on their way home if she enjoyed the service, she shrugged. On getting home, he reminded her she was visiting her parents. She told him they could wait that she had things to sort out. Things like what? He wanted to know but she couldn’t frame her words. What happened this morning, Buki, what is going on here? He continued to question her.

Bukola was confused. She felt he ought to know she was making a move towards solving their problems and should take the steps with her. “I’m tired,” she told her husband and he nodded and said he was also and had been sad a long time he was going to be a divorcee. “What?” she asked. “We are not ending this marriage. It is against my religion!” Abbey laughed wanly and walked away into the guest room.

Bukola sat dazed for a while and hurried after him into the room without a knock. “Can’t you see I am trying to change? You asked what happened this morning. It is me trying to tell you and not finding the words that I am tired of living this way and want a change for us and admitting I need help. I don’t know what to do or who can help me, but the last thing I want is to end this marriage and it’s not just because of religion, which hasn’t helped me despite all my prayers, but I do love you. I am willing which is why this morning and your church happened, Abbey. Say something.”

Bukola was crying then and waiting for him to say something or even look at her, but he didn’t. She went and knelt by the side of the bed where he was sitting and touched him, willing him to raise his head and look at her. When he did, she discovered he had tears in his eyes. Bukola realised at that moment that her husband had also nursed the same fears she had. He asked her to sit beside him and they sat there quietly, saying nothing but just being together, each with different thoughts.

Eventually they went to the kitchen for a late breakfast and he asked where they could start from. She said she didn’t know but felt they were doing the right thing, talking and being together. He nodded.

That Sunday was the beginning to recovering for their marriage as well as their pains. They were together the whole day and he came to sleep in their bedroom but didn’t move close to her. While they discussed their work and mutual friends, Bukola’s was anxious about what would happen next or what wouldn’t, but she had made up her mind things had to change. When she got up to turn out the light, he asked her to leave the light on.

“I want to see you and want you to see me,” he said. Bukola’s fears were back. Abbey left the bed to stand by her. “Remember what you said about change? Let’s try. You don’t have to be scared. I am your husband, you are my wife and I love you and we cannot avoid this.”

She was scared and she was expectant and she was shy but she let Abbey take her on a road she wasn’t familiar with.

Bukola described that first week beginning the Sunday they went to church together as the best week of her life. The road has been bumpy but she is rediscovering a new Abbey, their friendship growing deeper by the day. Her parents who believed she would eventually bring Abbey over to their church were shocked when she told them she was joining Abbey’s church. Everyday has become a blessing of love and friendship and surprise.

It’s been four months since that Sunday morning and Bukola is still enjoying her new found love. In another two months they will have their second wedding anniversary, but Bukola and Abbey are marking that Sunday as the most special date never to be forgotten.
The End.

The story appears as it was published in the 'Desperate Housewives' column, in Business Hallmark Newspapers last week and this week. Stories are real and are shared to educate women and also for advice. Names are changed for reasons of privacies. If you have a story to share, yours or the story of someone you know, feel free to contact me.

(Desperate Housewives) Before I Lose My Husband

2011-03-14T10:50:00.004+01:00

The problem began on the night of her wedding and continued into the second year of marriage. She and her husband have become strangers living in the same house, not the two people who came together to be one flesh that day that everyone gathered to rejoice with them.

Bukola’s wedding was a big occasion because her family had almost given up on her when a man appeared. So when Abbey proposed, she was overjoyed and within a year of meeting each other, they were married.

She met Abbey at a singles function that was organised by her church. Being in the choir, she led the praise and worship that evening and he approached her after the programme to commend her voice. As they walked outside the church together, he told her his mission. He wasn’t exactly a member of her church but being in the media, he went around churches looking for good programmes he could get sponsorship for to air on TV. He wanted her to direct him to the right person and she did. They parted ways, exchanging information.

Bukola is a born-again Christian who basically grew up in the church because her father was one of the elders. Being a missionary’s daughter, she was brought up to understand what is proper and improper for an unmarried girl to do. Her mother always drummed it into her ears that her body was the temple of God and fornicators will be punished by God.

And in making sure that she wasn’t in any way soiled, she attended an all girls secondary school where her mother was a teacher and when it was time for her to proceed to higher institution, she was registered in the one close enough for her to commute from home daily because her parents didn’t want her to become like the girls they see, who become transformed the first year they get into the university.

Being born again, Bukola did not encourage boyfriends. Besides, she really wanted to remain a virgin till her wedding night and she could see and hear sex written all over the language of the guys who approached her. She trusted God to be faithful to bless her for trying to live a holy life.

The years after university were the most trying for her. Her parents believed she must have committed a terrible sin which was why God was punishing her by not sending her a husband. She was subjected to rigorous fasting and praying and deliverance exercises. Bukola couldn’t dare move out, so she prayed for a husband and waited.
When Abbey called her two weeks after they met to seek her opinion on a small job her church was giving him, she was surprised and glad and hoped he was a good person.
He turned out to be a good person. He was funny, outgoing and loving and she fell in love for the first time in her life. He invited her to his church but she couldn’t go because she led the choir and it shouldn’t be heard that the deacon’s daughter attended a Pentecostal church.

During their short courtship, Abbey liked to talk about very personal things she wasn’t comfortable with and he always laughed and called her shy. He even joked about his never having a virgin before and thus was encouraged to go along with her desires until they were married. He even got closer to God.

But when that night came, she remembered all she had being taught. He tried to make her relax and asked her to go along and enjoy sex. But she couldn’t. She was a Christian. She was told a lady who enjoys such pleasure is a daughter of Jezebel. All she could manage was to lie still and at the end she went into the bathroom. The next morning he tried to make her understand it was okay because they were married. Still, she couldn’t discuss such topic with him. She couldn’t be naked where he was. He asked they go for counselling in his church but she refused. His church was too different from hers.

In the early months of marriage, their nights were a repeat of their clumsy wedding night. Gradually, Abbey stopped touching her. Initially, she was relieved by it and her fears of nights were banished. But as months passed without him making any move towards her, she suddenly realised that she had lost him; the fun and outgoing Abbey was gone and replaced by a quiet and withdrawn man.

So one night, she cried her heart out to God.

To be continued next week.

The story appears as it was published in the 'Desperate Housewives' column, in Business Hallmark Newspapers last week. Stories are real and are shared to educate women and also for advice. Names are changed for reasons of privacies. If you have a story to share, yours or the story of someone you know, feel free to contact me.

I Didn't Go Away

2011-03-10T20:42:00.000+01:00

Blogging has become one other thing I have gotten so lazy about. But I am still here, and still want to blog and do blog rounds but I don't know why I don't. And I'm always online. I need to make a new month or new week resolution to blog more. Hope the blog family is still very much in tact. Miss you all and this is still my space and I am stil Zayzee.

I'm off to your blog now!

What About You?

2011-01-04T23:17:00.000+01:00

In an editorial meeting today, my publisher asked each person: 'if you were a PDP delegate, who would you vote for during the primaries?' 99% of us said Jonathan. 1% said Atiku because he is more confident.

And I was thinking that despite all the faults we have seen in Jonathan and all the mistakes he's been making, he still is the preffered choice. I pray come the primaries, the will of God will be accomplished. I pray in 2011 the graudual changes that God intends for our beloved country will become obvious for those who doubt that dry bones shall rise again. Nigeria will rise. And so will every person reading this right now. You shall rise and increase in every area of your life and the transfer of God's favour unto His children will find you in Jesus name.

Happy New Year Everyone.
And I put the question to you. 'Were you a delegate of PDP, who will you vote during the primaries?'

Desperate Housewives (When to Let Go )

2010-12-09T16:51:00.002+01:00

As published in the `Desperate Housewives`column. Extra Newspaper.

She had thought about getting a divorce several times. Each time she did, she quickly vetoed the idea for several reasons. It has been three years of marriage and the best she has gotten is her daughter. If Priscilla were older, maybe she would have decided long ago. But her daughter is only two.

Modupe drives a good car and lives in a beautiful house. She works as a secretary in a telecommunications company. She is an elegant lady to behold with a ready smile that attracts people to her. When men meet her for the first time, they are awed by her down to earth attitude. They tell her that her husband is lucky to have snatched her off the market.

Modupe met Larry five years earlier onboard an airplane on her way to Dubai with her friend Pat. They were going on a five day shopping holiday in preparation for Pat’s wedding. He had an aisle seat like Modupe and soon engaged her in a discussion. He asked to be invited to the wedding, saying he could be lucky to meet his future wife there.

Six weeks later, Modupe and Larry were testing the waters. She knew she wanted to get serious with him from the onset, but there were times he seemed uninterested.

Thinking it was because of a lady called Rita whom he once introduced to her, Modupe wanted to know what had happened to her. He said they dated a long time ago and were just friends. Later, it was easier for her to believe because Rita became engaged, married and moved to the UK with her husband.

They dated for two years before Larry asked her to marry him. She wasn’t expecting a proposal because their relationship wasn’t very serious. Larry was neither in it nor out of it. Although he was good to her and provided her with whatever she wanted, the emotional connection was missing. Yet, she agreed to marry him because he was different from all the other guys she had dated. He never promised her what he wouldn’t give. He always stood by his words.

Their marriage ceremony came and went. The first few months were an improvement on their relationship and she believed that Larry had finally taken a turn and she relaxed. She had her baby on their first anniversary. A week later, Larry traveled to the UK for business. The week he returned was the week her marriage ended.

He told her passively that he ran into Rita and was surprised to learn that she was divorced and had returned to the country. She waited for him to say more and he didn’t and she didn’t know what to ask.

The subject of Rita was a difficult one. All he told her about Rita was that they dated. The rest she found out from her sister in-law. Larry and Rita were together for six years. They broke up because her parents refused Larry who was from Edo state. They wanted an Igbo son in-law. It was two years after the break up that Modupe met Larry.

That week turned into months, and it is two years. Now, they live as housemates. He still gives her everything. He adores their daughter, but they don’t live as husband and wife anymore. Larry came home from work one night and said he would sleep in the guest room. It continued the next day until it was constant.

Modupe sat him down one day and asked what she did wrong. Larry apologized. He said he knew he wasn’t being a good husband. He told her that despite what she thought, he did love her. He asked that she be patient with him that he was going through a personal crisis. Having everything doesn’t mean anything to her anymore because her husband wasn’t hers.

She doesn’t know what Larry wants. He hasn’t said he would leave her for Rita. He spoke with Rita once in a while, but Modupe knew he wasn’t having an affair with the lady. Yet. Larry was the type of man who was faithful to a cause. And he went out of his way to let Modupe know about his movement because he did not want her thinking he was secretly seeing Rita.

Yes, she had thought about divorce several times. And each time she did, she quickly vetoed the idea for several reasons. For one thing, Larry was a very good man whose emotions were at pieces. It hurts her to think of it, but he was trying to make it up by making sure she lacks nothing. She had asked him if he wanted to leave her for Rita, he shook his head and said he couldn’t do such to Modupe because she didn’t deserve it. Again he asked that she be patient that what he was trying to do was get over Rita completely.

And there was their daughter to consider. She wouldn’t put her through a divorce. Modupe is hoping that Larry’s demons would be exorcised in time so she can have her husband and marriage back. How long will it take? Will she have to let go?
*Share your story with us. Names and locations will be changed.

Anything Wrong With This?

2010-12-03T12:43:00.002+01:00

Where I come from, it is common for people to be buried in their homes. When I was younger, it was scary to think about, but not anymore as both my paternal grandparents were buried in the sitting room of their houses. I am yet to hear about spiritual implications or pschological effects of this practice on people. Though renting the same house out to people who don't know about somebody being burid there, is wrong. These houses should not be rented out. What is your opinion?

And We Are One....

2010-11-22T11:06:00.002+01:00

We sat and watched the ceremony
Going on around us
We were at a marriage ceremony.

It began like a child’s play
I thought I was going in for a fling
What I got was a serious relationship
Very different from others of the past
We had our moments of joy and sadness
Intense disagreements that could
Have packed us up
But the Lord who made
Our paths to cross, watched over us

Lots of memories encased inside 32 months
Since our journey began
At a point, he became my number one treasure after Jesus
And he tells me how glad he is that I flirted and chased him
For if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be writing this
He wouldn’t be my caveman
I wouldn’t be his wife.

Yes, we watched the ceremony
Going on around us
He said it’s like being at someone’s
Marriage ceremony.
Well, it was the Caveman & Zayzee
Becoming one...

Desperate Housewives (New Edition)

2010-11-05T14:02:00.002+01:00

From my column in the Extra Newspapers. If you are in Nigeria, please ask a vendor for this newspaper, especially on Mondays. It is a weekly.

BEFORE & AFTER ‘I DO’
I once heard a story about a lady who, early in her teen years, decided she wanted to be a full time house wife. In achieving her goals, she took her studies seriously, left secondary school with good grades and got admitted into higher institution. She graduated and completed her NYSC in due course and got a good job. While working, she enrolled for a one year programme at the Lagos Business School. There at the school, she had various suitors, encouraged them all and decided on the one to go for. While he wasn’t a wealthy man yet, she saw the prospects of how fast he would rise and in less than five years after they were married, her prediction came true and she could afford to be a full time house wife.

I don’t know how true the above story is, but it does teach a lesson; that you have to work to get what you want. Unfortunately, most ladies today concentrate only on the days and time preceding getting married, and fail to plan for ‘after the marriage’.

Rita’s marriage invitation shocked everyone especially her close friends because they knew she wasn’t in a relationship. On incessant probing, she finally revealed that John was a guy she twice dated. They dated in and out of secondary school for two years and got back together when she was in her final year in the university. The second time did not last up to six months and in the six years since they broke up, had not seen each other. When fate made their paths to cross again, she believed it was destiny. She believed they never should have separated years ago. She believed that John was her destiny, the reason all her other relationships were always shipwrecked.

In less than two months after their reconciliation, plans for their marriage kicked off. It felt safe to rejoice with Rita because finally her prayers were answered. She had been looking for a husband for quite some time. She even went for her masters in a good school in Lagos, hoping to meet the perfect husband material. She just didn’t care of the guy’s tribe or religion, as long as she got a ring on her finger and changed her last name. She desperately wanted to become Mrs. Somebody before she hit the big 30. As a result, she settled for abusive men and relationships that always shattered her self-esteemed. And in a bid to appear as the perfect wife material, she tried to live a type of lifestyle she believed was humble and simple for a would-be wife. While she could afford to live in a very good environment and buy herself a car being a top staff at her place of work and earning good money, Rita played it safe. She lived in an overpopulated environment and compound where she couldn’t have her own privacy and refused to get herself a car. She didn’t want her success to scare men away.

30 came, stared her in the face and went by, making her miserable. No amount of preaching or advice could help her. She clung on to religion the wrong way because she never went by the Word. Yet she couldn’t set out and get herself a man by being daring and in charge. When the real husband materials cross her path, they hardly last a month because she chases them off with her attitude and desperation. Then finally, along came John, for the third time.

He is good looking, tall, doing relatively well, a Christian and from the same town with her. And more important, he was looking for a wife, so he could settle down.
The ceremony was big. Friends and well wishers rejoiced with them and despite the ceremonies being far away from Lagos, where Rita had relocated for years, her colleagues from work all trouped to her home town to support her.

Two weeks after the marriage, John returned to his base in Ghana. Rita’s family had asked them what their plans would be after the marriage. Is she relocating? Is he relocating? How many months interval were they giving themselves before the final relocation? Rita and her husband brushed the questions away. While it was an issue that bothered Rita, she and John never discussed it prior to their marriage or after it, before John left. She was scared of getting him angry because she still remembered from years back how John would explode over issues he felt he should decide himself. So she kept quiet and prayed about it.

John being the one who likes to make the decisions didn’t make any. He didn’t say when next they would get together. The only decision he took was to move his wife into his parents’ house, so his parents and siblings could keep an eye on her.

Rita became more depressed as time went on. On the phone, when they discussed, John never said anything about his coming over, or her joining him. Granted that she made more money, she was ready to leave her job. Her friends tried to advice her on the step to take and Rita for once, listened. So she told her husband that she was due for her annual leave and would be coming to Ghana for a month. Without giving it a thought, he told her not to come over. Rita was shocked and hurt and did not understand why. Her in-laws were even concerned and spoke with their son, but nothing changed.

Eventually, John came to visit, nine months after their marriage. He stayed for five days. Before leaving, they had a heart to heart discussion and he revealed he had a live in lover who has a child for him and his parents are aware of the child. He doesn’t want to marry the woman. He thought marrying Rita would give the woman the idea to leave, but it didn’t. While he didn’t apologise for his act of deception, he said he would work things out. Rita didn’t have enough time to get angry because the discussion took less than ten minutes and he carried his bag and left for the airport. She was distraught. How could he not tell her before they got married?

She waited, but she didn’t know what she was waiting for. Could she trust John to work it out? And even if he could, will she ever trust him again? Unfortunately, she convinced herself it was safer to be married than single, and being a divorcee would make getting a man more difficult.

John could not work things out because when he left the house that morning to return to Ghana, he never got to Ghana. Nobody knows if he even got to the airport. Nobody knows where he is. He sort of disappeared from the face of the earth. His parents after some months were able to go through the passenger manifest of the day John travelled, but his name wasn’t there. He was nowhere to be found. Did he travel somewhere else, never to return again? Is he dead? Who could answer? And Rita? She was still his wife. Waiting and hoping and believing God.

Almost a year after the strange disappearance of John, his Ghanaian live-in lover contacted his parents concerning their grandson. She said John fooled her. The day he came to Nigeria, she left for the UK with her son. John was supposed to join them from Nigeria but he never showed. She had since returned to her country and had spent that long trying to contact them. She only wanted them to know where their grandson was, since John was no longer in the picture.

Rita got a place for herself and moved out of her in-laws house. On her second wedding anniversary, she took off her rings. She is single again and searching for a husband.

Is she doing the right thing?

It's Coming Again!

2010-11-01T15:50:00.004+01:00

I did a post just last month about the flood situation in parts of Ogun and Lagos state, which affected my office. It was due to some doors of the dam in Ogun state, being opened because said dam was full to bursting capacity. Anyway, these pix are from the flooding and see my office submerged to the extent that some staff had to use a canoe to access the production building. We have enjoyed two weeks of no water and dry land. This morning, we came to work and realised the water is coming back! Gradually. The crazy thing is, this flood situation from Ogun state, which always affects parts of Lagos, especially Mile 12, Owode and Ikorodu area, is not new. It occurs every two or three years! And the government knows! And yet, nothing is being done to channel the excess water somewhere for safekeeping untill it is needed. And ironically, there are parts of Ogun state that do not have water supply. In a matter of months, when the dry season comes, more areas and farmers will be in need of water, and here we are! If this situation isn't man made, then what is it? There are people in Ikorodu and Mile 12 that lost their homes to the flood. Its crazy really. I go do one man riot very soon

Desperate Housewives

2010-10-27T11:56:00.002+01:00

......So I write this new column called 'Desperate Housewives' in the new weekly ‘Extra Newspaper’ where I discuss issues that women are faced with which forces them to take actions that could either save their marriages or change their status from Ms to Mrs. The pains some go through in the hands of men, yet they struggle to keep the relationship etc.

Read the first edition below.

Have You Found It?

Over the weekend, I had the opportunity of chatting online with an old girlfriend whom I haven’t communicated with in over a year. I had actually lost her phone number when my phone was stolen.

Honestly, I should have left her offline messages because I was the only one with a means of reaching out, since I knew where she lived and had changed my phone number, making it almost impossible for her to reach me. Besides, I was living in a different state and she has never visited me there.

Seeing her online, I buzzed her and we got chatting. Catching up on news about us and by the end of the evening, I was all smiles because I was deeply and really happy to hear all the good things that have happened in her life in the short time we hadn’t communicated.

She relocated to the US. Halleluyah! She got married! Double Halleluyah! To an African American! Triple Halleluyah! That’s right. I thanked and praised God on her behalf and prayed His good favour in her life will know no end because if there is anybody who deserves to be really happy- and I could touch and feel the happiness from her words- she does because she has been through so much in the hands of fate and men. Hmm!

The society is full of activities. You never know what goes on behind closed doors of many homes. The grass has always looked greener on the neighbour’s lawn. You never know what lies behind that lady’s smile when you tell her how lucky she is to have found it.

What exactly is it? It has different meaning to many women. For some, it is a man with wealth. For others, it could be love or children, or the perfect career, or a combination of all. It could be winning a jackpot of marrying a foreigner and getting a quick visa to citizenship of a developed country. It could be more than I can possibly imagine or name. At the end of the day, it is peace and happiness and contentment. So the question is, how many women really have it?

A man with wealth, doesn’t guarantee that a woman’s problems are over. Marrying a foreigner and living abroad doesn’t either. We only need to look at the divorce rate in the western world to realise that it isn’t perfect anywhere for women.

Nevertheless, the society is full of desperate women and housewives who will do anything to have it. Desperation has given rise to the number of depressed women in the society in need of help.

There are some desperate women whose desperations are well founded. I cannot say the same for others who are still in a position to change their situation but choose to do nothing about it because of greed or very wrong orientation to what they feel they deserve.

The society even, is responsible to some extent for the situation most women find themselves in. When does a girl become a lady and when is it not proper anymore or respectful to call her a lady but a woman?

Why does it have to be a stigma not to be married after a certain age? Why does most men get away with so much evil behaviour with no regard whatsoever for the trauma they cause the woman with their actions? Yes. I call it evil.

A woman wakes up one morning and her perfect life is suddenly over. She had the career, she had the man, she had the children and most importantly, she had love. In just a moment, he says, it is over. He’s found someone else who is about to have his baby. What is she supposed to do?

A woman searched for so long to find a husband. Then she gets him, and in a matter of months, realised they cannot be together due to several factors, but they try to work it out. Or rather she does. Then all of a sudden, he disappears, with no trace whatsoever. Two years and still counting he is AWOL. What is she supposed to do?
He was her first love. They’ve been together since they were teenagers. They are ripe for marriage, but he keeps postponing. She doesn’t mind, because they are madly in love and she knows eventually they will tie the knot. She had no reason to worry because they were meant for each other. And one day, by accident she discovers he has a baby and still sees his baby mama and realises the reason he wouldn’t commit is because he probably wants to bring up his child with his baby mama. What is she supposed to do?

This is the world of desperate housewives. Whether you are married or not, this is your world to learn and to share your pains as long as you are woman and wife material, because we cannot help not being desperate, if we really must have it. It can come like all good gifts which comes free, but we have to work to keep it.

Eyes have not seen, ears have not heard, nor has it entered into the hearts of men the extent a woman would go to have it. We fall, but we rise again. We are hard pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed because we know, that as long as there is life, there is hope of finding it.

Share your story with us.

New Office, See Wahala!

2010-10-06T15:21:00.003+01:00

So I resumed work as a journalist. Coming to the office on Monday, I was shocked to see so much water flowing from beneath the Wawa bridge along Lagos Ibadan expressway (That long bridge before MFM Prayer City). And as my office is in the vincinity, I had cause to worry. The Turkish International School close by, evacuated all the boarding pupils gradually, using a make-do raft, and the staff followed suit. It was fun to watch some oyinbos pushing sticks down into the soil to pull the raft towards dry land, but it's no longer fun o.

The root of the problem is that Ogun state's dam is so full that failing to release the water can burst the walls or doors and cause serious calamity, so gradually, one by one, the doors of the dam are being opened and the water is trying to chase us out of the office! Communities have been evacuated and the latest news now is that Mile 12 and Ikorodu will be seriously affected because the water is flowing in their direction. How are we supposed to cope with this for the one month that this water problem is supposed to last? Is this welcome Uzezi to journalism? Maybe this is my chance to get one really good story and catch the attention of CNN. Really, news thrive in negative and painful situation and bring awards. Check those who have won awards for reporting war and genocide. This is wawa flood.

It's Happening Again

2010-08-13T11:22:00.003+01:00

I resigned. I am leaving Rockcity and returing to Lagos. Yes, I am returning to Lagos. I am returning to Journalism. Someone told me I am too restless. That I get bored so quickly and change jobs too often. Well, that happens when the job stops being challenging and I look forward to weekends and hate Sunday nights because it brings Monday closer. But then, I know what I am working towards, and where I am going. That is all that matters. Fortunately, the experience and skills acquired from working with an NGO will always be useful to me, so no regrets. Back to journalism. Back to reporting arts and entertainment. Back to getting free novels to review and new music CDs. Back to free invitations to events. Back to seriously pursuing that dream that must live, and the first step towards it, is returning to where I started; the publishing world.

And thankfully, I'll be back to full time blogging and doing blog rounds. I missed this! Yes!

Happy Birthday Uzezi

2010-07-07T13:01:00.002+01:00

I was a year older on Monday. My phone started ringing as early as 12:03am and the messages kept pouring in. I felt very loved by everyone and my family was awesome with love. My colleagues at work all forgot my birthday despite my singing it to them for the past two weeks. So as punishment, after accusing them 30 mins to close of work of forgetting my birthday, I refused to buy them anything. So the money I kept, that I wanted to use to stuff them full of goodies, I will continue keeping till next year.

On a good note, Blogville tenant, Florida, who is my neighbour here in Rockcity, spoilt me silly Monday night. I was really touched.

I'm coming home soon. Back fully to blogville. My internet story in Rockcity is crazy, which is why I am so absent. I miss blogging and miss doing blogrounds and keeping up. But soon, I will return 100%.

Happy Birthday to all July bloggers. Wish you all the best. Fantasy Queen, happy belated birthday. Sorry I didn't drop a note yesterday and I don't ve your number anymore.

ve a nice week all.

SMOOTH OPERATION

2010-05-14T21:57:00.000+01:00

The bus I travelled with last week on my way to Delta, stopped at Ore, their normal stop point for feeding when they are plying the Lagos Benin road. We all alighted from the bus and the driver locked up, each one of us fourteen passengers, parading and buying anything of interest. When we were ready to continue on our journey, we discovered that three passengers were missing. Three of them sat together at the back of the bus and were travelling together. We searched the place, sat and waited for another one hour, but they did not appear. A passenger noticed that a box they carried which was in front of them, wasn’t in the bus, meaning when we all got off the bus, they alighted with the box.

Another passenger said one of the three passengers- a guy, a talkative woman and a lady in her twenties- had said initially that when we arrived Ore, they would alight and return to Lagos, because the person they were going to see in Warri was on his way to Lagos. We all had our opinions, we thought they behaved wrong because they ought to have informed the driver to avoid the confusion we found ourselves in and avoid time wasting, since we still had a long journey before us.

The driver reported to his company supervisor who was stationed were we stopped, and we proceeded. On getting to our final destination, a woman carried her bag and was shocked that it was empty.

I thought the three missing passengers had mistaking taken her small carry bag, thinking it was theirs. But the woman said the bag she was holding was hers, because her face towel was left in the side pocket and the main zip was still locked with her padlock.

The only explanation was the three passengers were thieves, who didn’t mind paying the complete fare from Lagos because they had a mission. They must have had a master key to have robbed someone off her money and Holland wrappers. One of the thieves, the woman among them, was always on the phone with whoever discussing her good news – Yar ‘ Adua’s death. She was evidently happy about it. We all heard that morning at the park. She was apparently very noisy in the bus to distract others, while her colleagues opened bags that were under seats and on the walkway, while some passengers were sleeping. That must be why they took the back seat. That must be why they paid extra for an air conditioned bus. They must believe that their operation will be more productive in the AC bus compared to the ones that are not air conditioned.

Other passengers might have gotten home to discover some things missing from their bags, unlike the woman who discovered at the park because her bag was small and everything in it was taken.

Every time, thieves learn a new method of operating. It is only God that can save us.

DRUG EXPERIENCE

2010-05-04T13:56:00.000+01:00

It was Saturday and I felt I needed to go to the hospital for checkup, because I had some serious pains in a breast, and while I had to be positive it was nothing, some negative thoughts of breast cancer kept rearing its ugly head.

Anyway, I went and saw the doctor and after examination said no big deal that it’s probably pain due to cold. He said I should ignore the thought of cancer, that I am too young for it, unless it runs in my family or I am a mother and not breastfeeding. None of the above so he asked if I had ulcer and prescribed my drugs, which I bought from the hospital pharmacy and home I went.

Back home, I was furious. Looking at the drugs, I realised I had all of them at home. B.co, folic acid, vitamin c and that little red iron caplet (which I don’t have). I complained of pains and the guy packed me full of multivitamins?

Anyway, my friend and neighbour was a bit down so she went to the pharmacy to get a malaria dose. Because I had plenty multivitamins, I gave her the ones I was given at the hospital and forgot about the whole thing, me still struggling with pains I could feel but which location was still unknown.

Tuesday, I went back to the hospital because the pains persisted, and the previous night while sleeping, I had turn on my chest and screamed from the pain. I located the origin of the pain and couldn’t wait for morning so I could return to the hospital. I was more worried because the pain came from underneath my breast, the bone surrounding my tender heart. I didn’t want a cardiac arrest or anything to be wrong with my heart where it was, and I definitely didn’t want any pain originating from there.

So later that morning, my friend accompanied me for support. The doctor examined me and asked if I used the medication he gave me.

Me: yes I did and the intensity of the pains has increased.

Doc: the drugs ought to have worked. That is what it is for. Ok, I will give you a stronger one now.

I hesitated thinking that I actually didn’t take the multivitamins he gave. But how could those help with pain?

Me: which of the drugs was for the pain?

Doc: the little red one

Me: (confused. Isn’t that the iron caplet) I thought that’s the blood or iron drug. The red one.

He looked at me. ‘You didn’t take it?

Me: I thought it was multivitamins.

Doc: How long did you use it?

Me: once

Doc: ok. I won’t give you anything else, you still have it right?

Me: no.

He looked at me askance

Me: I gave it to my friend who was ill. I thought they were multivitamins?

Doc: Does your friend have ulcer?

Me: no.

Doc: you are very lucky for that. That drug is not recommended for ulcer patients.

So doctor prescribed more of the red little round caplets for me and I left to get my prescription. In the reception, I met my friend.

Me: do you have ulcer? I asked her.

She shook her head and I told her what happened.

It was very funny. We recounted it to anyone who cared to listen, but it wasn’t really funny. It was a dangerous thing and had she had ulcer, I would have sang differently. Back home, I collected the drugs from her. She insisted she had headache and needed two. I refused because they weren’t panadol. I collected my drugs. Later, while we were watching Bayern destroy Lyon, another neighbour said he needed multivitamins and the others said ask Uzezi. Seriously?

Anyway, I learnt a lesson. Before this, I never abused drugs, now, I am extra careful.

LOVE

2010-03-13T12:45:00.001+01:00

Once upon a time as a student, I was taught the use of appeal by advertisers to lure customers to a product and the types of appeal varies. There is sex appeal where girls are used, dressed sexily to attract men to a product. I remember the fear appeal that tends to bring fear to the customer, unless he or she uses a particular product or stops the use of a product. Health organizations for instance can use the fear appeal to promote the dangers of cancer and others. They can use it to also sell their products. eg ‘Malaria kills’ use Zayzeequin to treat yourself’.

Now, let’s talk about churches and the use of appeal. Love appeal versus fear appeal. The church basically is where Christians go to fellowship together and worship God. There are some who think that the church is a place only for the saved. How wrong. There are some church workers who would be uncharitable to some people, because they feel those people are not holy enough or are too worldly.

I remember an old episode of Desperate Housewives. Lynette Scavo went to church after the hurricane that almost destroyed all their lives. And she raised her hand in church to question the reverend. Bree Hodge schemed to make sure Lynette never returned to her church, until her reverend told her he found Lynette refreshing because of her questions.

‘Soul Winning Out Where The Sinners Are’, a book by T. L. Osborne said it all. He said that we Christians should take the church out into the world where the sinners are because we have made the church into a kind of temple that is intimidating to the ones we are supposed to be bringing into the presence of God.

Most times than not we have preached fear instead of love. Fear and love can actually make people do the right thing, but while one will be out of respect and sincere love, the other will be out of obligation because of fear.

I got thinking about this yesterday while driving down in a taxi in Ibadan. I saw a banner that said ‘Unending Punishment for Sinners’. It made me wonder. If I wasn’t born again and I am being preached to that unless I repent I will burn in hell for eternity, I doubt I will be convinced to accept God.

Love is magical. God is love. He loves you so much that He considered you worthy enough to be redeemed of your sins by sacrificing His only son for you. And forever the blood that Jesus shed on the cross, will cover you. Forever you have access to God because by the blood you have been bought.

We are mandated to preach the gospel throughout the nation. Not all of us can evangelize, but we can preach our beliefs and the Christian principles by the way we live our lives. Enough with the use of fear, in with love because that is who God is. He is love, and when that message sinks in, sooner than later, we will realize why we must fear Him, afterall, He is the Almighty.

This whole fear thing ‘Unless you repent, you will roast in hell’ should not be an opening for the unbeliever. It portrays God as wicked. The church is home for the unsaved. Where is the love?

In My Head........

2010-03-07T23:08:00.000+01:00

What do I understand and what don’t I understand? Recently I find myself asking this question over and over again. I listened to a sermon in church today titled ‘Holy Spirit my helper’. I understood what the pastor was saying. I especially understood when he said, ‘our Christian experience should not stop at our salvation because there are times we run dry and feel disconnected from God and can’t even pray’. I understood that perfectly, because for a while now, I have being disconnected from my Lord. I can’t remember the last time I had my quiet time in the mornings. I used to enjoy that so much every morning because I wake so early to get in His presence. I don’t even know how I got here. I can’t even say a simple prayer. I find lately that sometimes, I try to seek help from God, and I feel really guilty because I know I have broken our communication and I feel I don’t deserve His help. Yet He remains faithful and loving and still looks out for me and protects all that are dear to me.

I want to say a prayer, but I only stop with a few words. He knows I need help. I am crying for help. I need to move from this place back to where we were, so I can go deeper in our intimacy. Here I am, packing my load to return to rock city tomorrow, and I saw my bible. It pains me to note that it just occupied space in my bag and I didn’t touch it at all.

Now is not the time to be disconnected. Now is the time when I need You most. A period when too many decisions have to be made in many areas of my life. So I am crying, please help me Lord. With what specifically, I really don’t know, but I know I need help. And the type I need can come from You alone. Holy Spirit my helper, You know ......... and I am grateful and thankful for all You have done recently, and for helping us cross that bridge today ........ but the journey has just started ......... besides I don’t like thinking about issues. It makes me lose weight and you created me slim so ......... I still need help really. Please......

I AM BACK

2010-02-27T09:11:00.002+01:00

I have been gone forever, can you imagine?
Anyway, I am fully back to blogging. No more disappearing acts on my side. I will try and do the blog rounds. Hope Aloofar is still in the house. And everyone else too. Did O'dee go private? Anyone who can access her blog should tell her I need an invite o.

Blog more later. I am sure I have gist.

The 'Pastor Bimbo Odukoya in Hell' Story

2009-12-21T09:28:00.003+01:00

So I heard the rumour going round in the media that Rev. Obadere of CAC died and came back to life atter 4 days. And that he went to heaven and was sent back. On his way back he passed by hell and saw Pastor Bimbo there. She said he should tell people, that she is in hell because of her lifestyle, hairdos, miniskirts.

In the first place, she never wore mini skirts, so I refuse to believe the story. Anyone can be in hell but my stand is that the whole story is not convincing. Too many holes in what the media printed.

My stand again is that this could be the devil's way of rubbishing our faith and making us lose out faith and hope in a system that has helped alot of us grow spiritually and equipped us to defeat this world and principalities and powers.

My heart goes out to the family of the late pastor and the congregation of 'Fountain of Life' Church. Already they are spending money to advertise in the media against the rumour. Let us remember them in our prayers in this trying time that they face.

As christains, let us see this as a great temptation to the church. It is just one sign among many that the world is coming to an end.

And also, let this prepare us. We should live like the next minute will be judgement before God. We don't want to miss heaven. Nothing is worth giving up heaven for. Jesus can come at any time. Life could end at any minute.

This season, let us dwell on the significance of the birth of our Saviour. And let our hope and faith be renewed in an Awesome God who comes to dwell among us. The journey of life is not easy, but His Grace will see us through.

None of you reading this post will die before your time. You and your family will live beyond 2010 and you will accomplish the purpose for which God sent you.

Merry Christmas and a very Happy NEW YEAR

I Don Join Them

2009-11-28T16:46:00.001+01:00

been ages I blogged. did some blog rounds yesterday. hope everyone is fine and enjoying the weekend.

I don join people wey dey tweet sha. I'm still trying to get the feel, so follow me on twitter. For now, let me wish everyone big congratulations for making it this far into 2009. Na God o! He will see us all into December and 2010 in Jesus name.

Hmm! 2010 is just around the corner. I don old finish.

2009-10-24T22:03:00.000+01:00

Been a long while I was here. Thanks guys for ur kind and encouraging words. I'm very good and have moved on. I should do blog round soon.

I Was Robbed

2009-10-01T16:40:00.005+01:00

Sunday began as any other day. I went to church, from there to the salon and back to Abeokuta, just in time to watch the finals of MTN Project Fame.

Afterwards, FFF's neighbours from the next compound, who are my collegues at work, came over with another of my male colleague who came to visit and we were all gisting in my crib. I was in the kitchen cooking a native soup that my colleagues were waiting to taste. Besides, my male colleague was waiting for the rain to subside before going home.

One of my neighbours came to borrow my umbrella and said his friend, who was visiting will return it to me soon. It was 8pm.

Then someone knocked. Normally, I will ask from my window who it was before opening the main door. Better still, if I am alone, and there is light, which there was, my curtain will be down, and I wouldn't answer anyone who knocked, because we all have keys to either the front door or the back entrance, and when my curtain is down, you wouldn't know if I am in or not.

But while my male colleague was checking to see through the window, I already opened my door because I was staning behind it.
"Who?" I asked.
"It's me Sola," he answered.
"Who is Sola?" I asked. I didnt know the name of my neighbour's friend, and because of the light inside and outside, I couldn't see properly through the partial glass on the door because of my own reflection.
"It is Sola, open the door na?" he sounded a bit irritated I was still asking and that made me embarrassed because I then believed it was my neighbour's friend who was to return my umbrella. So I opened the door. He entered and I looked at him and my eyes followed his hand to his pocket as a gun came out and two other guys with guns entered behind him. I died.

My first instinct was to scream to alert the others. But I didn't. As I was pushed towards my room, I was thinking and praying. When I stepped inside, I tried to shut the door on them, but they were stronger. They asked the four of us to lie down. I was still standing. My three colleagues were already flat on the rug. I didn't believe it was happening. Then I was told again to lie down. I knelt down first, as I watched two of them descend on my wardrobe. The third one carried my two laptop bags to the bed. One of them went into my kitchen and turned off my gas. At a point, I was lying down too. But I was not quiet because I kept calling on Jesus and the Holy Spirit and the robbers kept screaming at me to shut up.

It was when one of them came to me and started dropping my ear rings on the floor around me, and a second one stood over me, touched my waist, where my jeans stopped, that it occured to me they could rape. I kept quiet and started to pray inward.
I was asked to get up and take them round all my neighbours. I tried to plead and I was slapped thrice. My face still hurts.

It was a terrible night. They found some rooms opened with easy access, and broke down doors, where the occupant was out. They left with laptops, every phone, money, perfumes etc. And they left scars on us all.

I kept questioning God why He didn't interrupt the operation. I kept asking Him to and He was quiet. That was how I felt. And remembering that I was the one who opened the door, I die all over again. But later, we all thanked Him, the incident took place when it did, else it would have been worse. I have a neighbour who always sits outside at night to make calls because the service is poor in her room. What if she was outside?
What if we were seeing off our male colleague who came to visit, and we were stopped by the robbers, who actually parked their car under a tree, watching the house? What if it was another neighbour who had a visitor too, and she was seeing him off? What if they had followed the neighbour's friend back, who was returning my umbrella, and I was alone? What if when it happened, we were all alone on our beds? As of when it happened, every one of us were not alone. We all had visitors. There are so many what ifs, but I feel terrible.

FFF had left for Lagos the day before, and her neighbours were with me. Later we discovered the robbers went to their compound first, seeing no one, they came to ours.

I do thank God for preserving our lives. All the material things lost can be replaced. All my stories and projects on the laptop, He will inspire me again to write better ones. But I feel very bitter because I lost so much of my office documents, including the flash I use as backup. I feel really bad and so confused because it was just two months ago I had a terrible accident and the car has been written off. I had recovered fine from the trauma of that accident believing God preserved my life for a purpose. And then getting robbed in my home where I should feel safe?

I try not to think about it, but when I close my eyes, I see the hand that went into the pocket and returned with a gun. And when I remember how one of those guys stood over me, I fight to breathe again, because I cannot imagine what I would have done if rape had been the story. I wont be here typing this.

I do thank God, but I'm still very shaken. Don't know if I can still remain in Abeokuta. And I am asking God to please help me. I don't want to crash. I'm so close to the ground.

What’s a Life Worth

2009-09-26T20:46:00.001+01:00

The dialogue below is once upon a chat with my brother, on yahoo messenger, last year.

Me: how far?

Brother: was attacked by armed robbers on my way home on Thursday

Me: hmmm. Ur phone again? (I asked this because my brother is so glued to his phone. He lost it one night when someone just reached into the car he was sitting in, in traffic, collected the phone while he was trying to place a call, and robber disappeared. My brother saved and bought same phone again).

Brother: u won't believe they shot the driver and the passenger beside me

Me: what happened gist me

Brother: I took a bus from Orile. It was late and bus was scarce. I closed late from work.

Me: did u lose ur phone

Brother: so at Alakija some boys entered

Brother: they told the driver to stop the bus at Finiger bus stop (that bus-stop on Badagry express is one dangerous place that no bus ever stops there once it's 6pm).

Brother: but the driver refused so they shot him when he was on speed

Brother: so the bus swayed from one side of the road to the other

Brother: nearly killing all of us. so they told all of us to bring our phones and money out. the guy with the gun was sitting two people after me. so he collected phones from the guy close to him and came over to the guy close to me. while he was hesitating, he was shot in the stomach. by then I was confused of what to do cos I had already hidden my phone in my shoe and if I bent down to bring it out they might think I am hesitating too. so I just left myself to my fate. and guess what? The guy with the gun left my row and went to the next. I could not thank God enough

Me: hmmm

Brother: on the next row they broke somebody's head with the butt of the gun. so after that they left us

Me: u should thank God

Brother: so people were shouting at the driver to move

Me: driver that was shot?

Brother: when we checked him he just leaned on the steering wheel moaning, so I jumped through the window and ran all the way home with my phone safe and I was not hurt but my shirt was stained with blood.

Most thieves will kill for anything. Human life means absolutely nothing to them. We are in that period of the year when killings and robbing increases. So everyone, be careful. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

A Display Of Love

2009-09-15T09:26:00.001+01:00

It was a Monday night and my friend O was at the wheel. We hadn't seen in a short while so I was spending two days with her at Lekki before I left Lagos for Jos. To avoid the mad traffic on Lekki express, we entered Lekki Phase 1 and was soon trying to connect the express. There was a short traffic leading to the express. Suddenly, the Nisan Black Jeep beside us made to enter our front. O didn't let her because the Nissan's lane was moving, faster than ours, and O didn't want the young girl at the wheel of the Nissan to frustrate her own movement. When we moved past the Nissan Jeep, the two girls in the ride looked at us and we at them. Then I noticed her plate numbers 'JESUS LOVE'. I said wow. Almost immediately, we nicknamed her Jesus Love.

A few distance to the roundabout, Jesus Love went past us cause her lane was faster and she entered our front and got on the express and back to her lane. We laughed at the way she went past us, like she was proving to us that she could cut us off. Back on the express, we were back in traffic but our lane was still moving, as we approached Jesus Love, she decided to leave her lane and come in front of us, but O was a better driver and O's Land Rover brushed Jesus Love's mirror.

A bit free of traffic, Jesus Love sped up to us and started raining abuses on us, just as she cut into our front and stopped. But O already predicted her move and was out from behind Jesus Love and moving. It was so funny because Jesus Love was trying to prove something. She should have entered our front before we came up close to her. But because she saw us that close, she decided late, just to block us, because O didn't let her into our front earlier. So it wasn't O's fault that Jesus Love's Mirror was touched, though not damaged.

So I told O what I have heard about supposed missionaries. You have a bumper sticker that reads 'obey traffic laws' and yet you break them. The examples I can give are much. Anyone seeing a JESUS LOVE plate number, would expect a better display of character from our Nissan driver.

When Jesus Love drove up to us again, she and her friend still raining insults on us, we returned by hailing her. 'Jesus Love. Are you showing the Love of Jesus?'She was a bit taken aback but not put off, the insults continued and she wasn't watching her fast driving, cause she had worked herself into such agitation that even her friend who started calming her down, didn't succeed. Next thing we heard, Jesus Love rammed into a car in front of her, whose booth flew open on impact, that car hit another, which hit another.

In a split second she was out of her Jeep at the same time the driver of the first car she hit got down. Jesus Love was storming towards him and pointing at us who were gone but watching from the mirror that we were to blame. What? I would have loved to see how that ended, but we couldn't cause traffic.

It was so very funny and I can't capture it in writing. But what in essence I am saying is, we should mind the image we try to give ourselves outside. With our bumper stickers and personalised plate numbers, let us try and practice exactly what we are preaching.

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner!

2009-08-07T12:58:00.001+01:00

First of all, I want to say thanks to you all for the wonderful comments you left on my last post, thanking God with me for His mercies and goodness.You all have a very wonderful weekend filled with showers of blessings from God.

Okay, my recent update is here!

The Crash Picture (I Saw Death Yesterday)

2009-07-27T14:55:00.008+01:00

read the story below.

I Saw Death Yesterday

2009-07-27T11:43:00.002+01:00

I saw death yesterday, but God has better plans for me. He finally made me believe that there is a reason why He has been keeping me alive. It wasn't my first time driving down that road, nor second, nor third.

I can't thank God enough. I am still dumbfounded the accident happened, but to God be the glory. I was driving with three passengers and we are all alive. Only the person beside me had minor injuries and he has been discharged.

I am alive and I am proclaiming that the Lord is good and faithful. Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.

MARRIAGE SOFTWARE

2009-07-20T08:28:00.003+01:00

My boss forwarded this mail to me, it is so funny and at the same time correct that I decided to share. Enjoy.

MARRIAGE SOFTWARE

This is what a guy wrote to a systems analyst (Marriage Software Division):

Dear Systems Analyst,

I am desperate for some help! I recently upgraded my program from Girlfriend 7.0 to Wife 1.0 and found that the new program began unexpected Child Processing and also took up a lot of space and valuable resources. This wasn't mentioned in the product brochure.
In addition Wife 1.0 installs itself into all other programs and launches during systems initialisation and then it monitors all other system activities.
Applications such as "Boys' Night out 2.5" and "Girls 5.3" no longer run, and crashes the system whenever selected. attempting to operate selected "Saturday Rugby 6.3" always fails and "Saturday Shopping 7.1" runs instead.
I cannot seem to keep Wife 1.0 in the background whilst attempting to run any of my favourite applications. Be it online or offline.
I am thinking of going back to "Girlfriend 7.0", but uninstall doesn't work on this program. Can you please help?

.... AND THIS IS WHAT OUR ANALYST SAID:
Dear Customer,
This is a very common problem resulting from a basic misunderstanding of the functions of the Wife 1.0 program.
Many customers upgrade from Girlfriend 7.0 to Wife 1.0 thinking that Wife 1.0 is merely a UTILITY AND ENTERTAINMENT
PROGRAM.

Actually, Wife 1.0 is an OPERATING SYSTEM
designed by its Creator to run everything on your current platform. You are unlikely to be able to purge Wife 1.0 and still convert back to Girlfriend 7.0, as Wife 1.0 was not designed to do this and it is impossible to uninstall, delete or purge the program files from the System once it is installed.
Some people have tried to install Girlfriend 8.0 or Wife 2.0 but have ended up with even more problems (See manual under Alimony/Child Support and Solicitors' Fees).
Having Wife 1.0 installed, I recommend you keep it Installed and deal with the difficulties as best as you can. When any faults or problems occur, whatever you think has caused them, you must run the C:\ APOLOGIZE\ FORGIVE ME.EXE Program and avoid attempting to use the *Esc-Key for it will freeze the entire system.
It may be necessary to run C:\ APOLOGIZE\ FORGIVE ME.EXE a number of times, and eventually hope that the operating system will return to normal.
Wife 1.0, although a very high maintenance programme, can be very rewarding. To get the most out of it, consider buying additional Software such as "Flowers 2.0" and "Chocolates 5.0" or "HUGS\ KISSES 600.0" or "TENDERNESS\ UNDERSTANDING 1000.0" or even Eating out without the Kids 7.2.1" (if Child processing has already started).
DO NOT under any circumstances install "Secretary 2.1" (Short Skirt Version) or "One Nightstand 3.2" (Any Mood Version), as this is not a supported Application for Wife 1.0 and the system will almost certainly

CRASH.
Thank you.
System Analyst
Regards,
--

Oh Yes I Did

2009-07-09T10:35:00.002+01:00

I turned a year older on Sunday. I don dey young dey go o. Anyway, I thank God plenty for the many blessings in my life. For all the testimonies He has given me. For preserving my life and being ever faithful. For the Holy Spirit's guidance and direction when I found a scorpion in my kitchen sink. For giving me the strength to kill it before it hurt me. He never lied when He said He will give His angels charge over me. God has been good.

For keeping me sane when Satan tried to attack my mind and belief recently, wanting to steal my joy away. But thank God, because His gifts add no sorrows.

Thank you Lord again for your protection all through my many trips on the busy highways with bad roads, and under heavy downpours. You were in charge of my life and being faithful that accidents will not be my portion.

Thank you Father for many more blessings. They are much. If I pause a moment, I will remember more. Like that night I was so confused and lost and depressed and You sent the phone call that changed that situation. Can You remember that? Of course you can. And while I'm talking about this, please please please, I need some inspiration and motivation to write some really good stories. I unblock the writer's block in Jesus name. And while we are on this still, PHCN Lord, let them cooperate. Whenever I write 'The End', then they can do whatever they feel like with the electricity supply. And on this still, let notable politicians keep having reasons to come to Rock City, for one party, or book launch or celebration of life or whatever. You know when they come, we have uninterrupted power supply to prove the Gbenga Daniels administration is wonderful.

And thank you Lord for giving Zayzee Limited its very first writer. We will shake the world when that publication comes out. And while we are on this, help me find favour with my would-be investors. You know people need to read that book. Yes. Thank You.

And thank You his test results came out as AA. I wasn't scared cos I knew You are in us and with us. And had that result come out AS, then I woulda done another and it woulda come out AA, and I woulda known You have changed mine or I never was AS. You cure HIV/AIDS, genotype na small thing for You to change.

And of course I thank You plenty plenty for my driving skills. I know You are definitely with me all the way. That reversing to climb a hill, we will master it like we have mastered the rest. You too much.

This new year that has begun, it's You and I all the way.

WITH PEOPLE LIKE THIS

2009-07-01T18:00:00.001+01:00

"Her mother started to scream in the night. When she got to her mother’s room, she met the woman vomiting blood and immediately, she was rushed to the hospital. Hours later the family was told there will be an operation."

I met OG on June 10, less than a month ago. She had come into the office for an interview to fill the position of Office/Domestic Assistant.

We interviewed her and decided to give her the job and she resumed work Monday, June 15. She was told to bring in her credentials and referee forms, already filled, so her file would be opened. OG was hardworking all right. If I had any problem at all with her, it’s the fact that whenever she spoke to me, I had to strain my ears to hear her, she never speaks loud enough, not even on the day of the interview. We strained to hear her that day also. The only person OG could speak freely and audibly to was my assistance, D, through whom she came to work with us.

I got to the office June 19th and was told by D about OG’s mother’s illness. She was discovered in the night. I consoled OG and told her not to worry that she will be alright.

Later in the day, D came to tell me OG wanted to go check on her mother in the hospital. I said no problem. OG came to me to borrow N100 to use for transport fare. She said she will refund when she returned. I didn’t have a N100 change on me so I gave her N500.

OG said she would be back before the close of work. At 4pm I asked D if she was coming back, he said yes. At 4.30pm, I asked D to call her. She didn’t pick her call. When I was about leaving for home, I collected her phone number from D. He said he would go visit OG and her mother the next day.

Saturday morning, I called D to find out when he was going over to OG’s mum, so we could go together, since I had no idea of the place. D’s phone was switched off. I called OG. She didn’t pick. I tried later in the day, same story. D had forgotten his phone charger in the office.

Monday, she came to work and apologized about Friday. She said her phone was stolen from her. She returned my money to me. I wanted to ask her to keep it, but I didn’t. OG said her mother was still in critical condition and the doctor said she had to be transferred to the University Teaching Hospital, Ibadan for operation. I felt bad because she was feeling down. At a point I asked if she was crying because she looked like it, and I told her not to worry that her mother will be fine. She should trust God.

Tuesday, OG took permission to take her mum to Ibadan. I was in my boss’ office and heard her tell OG that from the description of the illness, it might be a spiritual attack and they should take the woman to MFM for prayers. Even my driver had advised OG that she should go take her mother from the hospital and not waste unnecessary money, that native medicine would cure her. I remember asking OG what exactly was wrong with her mum, and she told me she didn’t know the name of the illness in English. Okay.

She was absent from work on Wednesday, meaning she had gone to Ibadan with her mum. In the evening D told me she called saying she was back in Abeokuta and will come to the office. No show.

Thursday, she was absent from work, and D called the number she used the previous day. The guy who picked said she wasn’t around. On Friday, I told D to go find out what was going on. He didn’t know where she lives, that she had just changed accommodation and was about changing again. What?

Before close of work that day, D told me he got through to her and she said, she didn’t want to work anymore because she wanted to take care of her mother.

I felt there was no problem with that. But courtesy demands she comes into the office to inform my boss. Besides, she signed an agreement of six months probation.

Two days ago, Monday, My boss called me from Lagos. After we finished discussing, she asked after OG and I told her chick said she doesn’t want to work anymore.

My boss said she behaved badly. She asked me to tell D to get her to come in because her agreement contract stated a month notice on either side, or forfeit a month’s salary. So either she gives us notice or she pays a month’s salary. It is the company policy. In the case whereby this isn’t done, D, who brought her, would pay the cash.

D definitely wasn’t happy about the whole thing because OG was his church member. It was that day I knew that the address she gave us was unreal.

Yesterday, I came into the office and a whole lot of drama had occurred.
D told me the night before, he called the guy, whose phone OG uses to call D and begged the guy to take him to where OG lives. On getting there, D met a woman outside and told her he was there to see OG’s mum who is ill.

The woman said she is OG’s mother and she isn’t ill. D was confused. He asked the woman if she wasn’t transferred to Ibadan for operation. Woman said no. Then D told her everything and the woman was screaming. She promised to visit our office next morning to see my boss, which she did and I missed that. According to my boss, OG’s mother is very young and healthy. Why all the lies then?

D later told me that OG asked him for a loan of N10, 000 for her mother’s treatment and he said he didn’t have. So OG went to my boss and that was when my boss told her to take her mum to MFM. And later my boss told me she had planned to give OG N5, 000.

And I kept wondering why she did all that? OG had even moved out of her mother’s house months before. Why tell such lies about your mother who is very alive and healthy? Is she wishing her mother good or bad luck? I’m still in shock.

A Day With Jay Jay Okocha

2009-06-22T15:19:00.001+01:00

I have committed the greatest crime against myself. My disappearing acts have become so regular and I know you guys are tired of my apologies.

Na work and time cause am o! I dey tour every nook and cranny of Ogun State as if I be Britney Spears. Anyway, I hope you all have been fine. I will surely do my blog rounds. I know I have missed a lot, so na system I go use meet up.

Me and Rock City and Gbenga Daniels are very fine and looking forward to welcoming another blogger down here to rock with us.

Meanwhile, I met Jay Jay Okocha who turned into Mikel Obi. The drama unfolded one Saturday at Ogba. Me and Mr.'s (I avoided typing caveman because I need an appropriate name. We are not cave people. Abi Bible say the tongue is like fire and what we say tend to become reality. We are not cave people o and I am no longer a militant).

Okay, me and Mr. Uzezi's sister. Hissssssssssss Scratch that. Me and Spezzy's sister (Spezzy used to be Caveman. Now we have a name) had just left a wedding in Ikeja to pick up her wedding gown from 'Bride's and More' (no be advert be this o. But for those getting married soon, Bride's and More is where you should go. It's opposite Mr. Biggs on Allen Avenue, and another is opposite Excellence Hotel, Ogba. The service they render is off the hook and the CEO is so nice and attentive to her brides to be. And they have good IV cards too).

Sorry for my rambling about. We left to Ogba to pick the gown, and on our way to the Allen shop for the other things, we met Jay Jay Okocha. We wanted to navigate away from the Ogba road and met this commotion. Fine Boy Agbero and his people surrounded a Bentley. The Car was so fine I couldn't take my eyes away.

We were wondering why they wouldn't let the car go, and my driver said it was Jay Jay Okocha. Now, why that would catch our attention, I don't know, but we moved on and soon realised the Bentley had been released and was coming behind us. Told the driver to park so the car could go before us. I wanted a good peep at Okocha. As we stopped, Bentley too stopped and parked. We turned our heads, stretched our necks to peep at Jay Jay. The driver said, it wasn't Jay Jay, that it was Mikel Obi. So we were still stretching our necks. What is the difference between Jay Jay and Mikel? They are both footballers and earning thousands of pounds weekly abi? And we haven't seen famous footballers before. So we had no way of knowing if we asked for autograph, pounds will follow. It is possible abi?

While the driver quickly got down from the car and walking towards Jay Jay Mikel, Spezzy's sister and myself were waving frantically, giggling like some pikin i don't know. Next thing the Bentley driver's door opened and Jay Jay Mikel got down. My driver stopped in his track. Almost immediately, a chick got out of the car from behind and started harassing Jay Jay Mikel.

We were such mumus that all we could do was get out of there, drive away to finish our business of the day.

The Agberos stopped the Bentley because the car was fine, and they needed coins. It wasn't Jay Jay or Mikel at all. The guy driving had the bushy Mikel's hair, and dressed the part. But he was just a driver driving his madam and her friend, or oga's madam and her friend out.

I'm sure the two chicks would have wondered what was wrong with us.

Formula Four Driver

2009-04-26T17:32:00.002+01:00

I have become the most unfaithful blogger, I know. But trusting the family I have here, I am confident of being forgiven, else you won’t be reading this post. Abi?

I sure missed everyone and the style of writing that set each blogger’s post apart from the other. I can’t categorically say that I am back fully to blogging, due to my schedule at work, and a small writing contract I just picked up, and the loads of books waiting to be read, but I’ll do my best.

Okay, let’s get to my latest gist.

One Sunday in church at the car park, my friend had just parked when a Starguard (unit in charge of traffic in church) guy told a woman to park properly, so other cars could be parked. She quickly let down the window and told the guy she wasn’t a formula four driver.

That same day, I got a past message from church and in that sermon there was something about the difference between men and women when they drive, and how a woman would make a three point turn where a man would make just one. And men will be complaining about that. In a nutshell, don’t try to make someone into yourself. People are different. Don’t try to make me into the expert I am yet to become, because I am just a beginner.

This girl here is gradually becoming an Abeokuta chic and I don’t know if I like that at all. Imagine me looking forward to my weekends in Lagos, then weekend comes and just a day in Lagos I can’t wait to get back to Rock City. One major factor for that change is the fear of Okada and containers. And what I feel I might turn into if I don’t flee Lagos and the roads.

The only time I dared to drive outside in Lagos, I bashed my car. I never bash anything for Rock City o, na only ditch I don fall inside, and motor no get scratch o. Common small bash give me scratch. And that scratch turned me into a fine car sadist (excuse the word). Yes. Before, I used to admire fine cars that are obviously new. Now what I do when I see them is look at the body carefully for a scratch. And seeing one just makes my day; a confirmation that we in the club are much.

Nevertheless, that doesn’t make driving in Rock City for a learner any easier. The hills in this town are killing. The sharp bends, corners and alarming slopes on my way, makes Lagos roads a welcome paradise. What’s more, too many people are moving down to Rock City and congesting the roads for me. I love Lagos, but can we leave Lagos and the cars in Lagos so I can drive properly?

Accepted that I no longer am blowing off fan belts just to move a car; my heart still races when I have to go from gear 2 to 3 (I’ve made the mistake of moving from two to five before), after that, I can take you on a ride provided no check points or junctions to stop me sha, especially on a hill, else to move forward again, na back car dey roll go.

I know I will get there. After all, my friend drives a manual and she even travels from Lagos to Asaba, driving herself, and she moves smooth. She no get two heads. Yes, whenever I am about to give up and tell the driver to take over, all I need do, is remind myself of C, and how perfect she is with a manual car, and I get uplifted. And soon enough, while I’m chancing tankers and containers on Lagos roads, I’ll try not to pick up the language of most Lagos drivers.

So, if any of you need a formula four (or is it five) driver, I’ll deliver you safe and sound. My rates are considerate.

All that said, I’m looking for recipes people. I’m trying to acquire the
characteristics of the Calabar woman in the kitchen. Anyone you have please; no matter how simple, don’t assume I know it, just drop it for me. And does anyone know how to prepare any meal with very little of no oil at all? Recipes please.

You all have a blessed week. And did I say my Caveman had to remind me over a month ago that we were a year old? Hmm! A year! No wonder my knees don’t go weak anymore, and all the butterflies in my stomach have died out of hunger for rush.

Ghosts???

2009-03-31T21:14:00.001+01:00

When you hear ghosts, what exactly comes to your mind? Does a shiver run through you? Do you get goose pimples? I have watched movies like Ghost and Ghost Daddy before. Real fun, but then when it is real life, it definitely is no fun.

Let me tell you a ghost story.

Been ages I updated. So much to do that typing a post seemed like an additional burden for someone like me whom writing comes to naturally. The Lord will help me.

It was a beautiful day once upon a time. Really can’t remember the day of the week, and I had boarded an Oshodi bound coaster bus from Agboju, or Festac 2nd gate, along Badagry express way. And just as we were about to move, someone realised it was a straight bus, and because he had to stop before Oshodi, he begged to be let off. Trust passengers to talk all they want and ask if he was deaf when the conductor was singing Oshodi straight.

He got off, and because we were still at the bus stop, someone else entered and took his place. As we were about to move again, a woman from the back hollered she had to get off. Now the confusion in the bus started.

She begged and even offered to pay, despite the fact that the bus had not moved. Someone said she should be let of quick, since she offered to pay.

So she came down. We don’t know if she paid. And we didn’t move immediately because the conductor suddenly disappeared.

When he reappeared, he was laughing. He told who ever cared to listen, that the woman got off because she saw someone through the window. And when she got close to the guy, she packed sand from the ground and threw it at the surprised guy she obviously knew, and started screaming and crying that she was told he had died. Obviously, was he a ghost, maybe the sand would have made him disappear.

As we moved on towards Oshodi, I just knew I had another blog material. Actually, this really isn’t what I am supposed to blog about. It isn’t the turn of the ghost post, but I just need to get it out and away. I really have lots to blog about o! Should I do it all together, it will be so random, and probably will be the longest post ever to be blogged in the history of blogville.

I have become so crazed, that any little thing that happens around me, I just smile and say ‘I will blog about this’. I have used this phrase so much that my siblings now ask me if it is everything that happens around me that I blog.

To an extent the answer is yes, because when this next event occurred, I knew I was including it in my ghost post.

It is hard to say for sure where I was coming from; I really can’t remember that clearly. But again, I was in a coaster bus (I should stop entering these buses except the ones in my church). We were on the road that leads to Alaba International Market, Ojo. There was a bit of traffic, and I figured I could kill two birds with a damn stone, so I quickly alighted, leaving my bag on my seat and ran down the road to see someone in a shop. The traffic was a standstill, and I was sure to get back on the bus before it moved. So engrossed I was that I didn’t realise the traffic was free, and by the time I noticed, the bus was way ahead. Christ! My bag!

I stopped a bike, and told him to follow the bus. So the chase began. We chased the bus all the way out of the road into an empty road that led to a vast opening of land, we got to a gate and the bike said he couldn’t go in, and because the bus was stopping, I got off and went in through the gate, running to catch up with the bus. Just a few feet from the bus, it disappeared. And I saw my bag on the ground, resting on a bed of sand.

Yes. The bus disappeared before my eyes, and my bag, with a fall, hit the sand. Trying to comprehend what has happened as I bent to retrieve my bag, I noticed it. My bag was on a grave. I was standing on a grave. The name indicated a woman’s grave. The bus driver had been a lady. And every other person in the bus, just like her, were ghosts and they were returning to their home, the cemetery.

I was in a cemetery. And from then on, it appeared as though that particular lady driver of the bus always came around to play with me and friends. We knew she was dead, and it didn’t bother us. At some point, I woke up. It was a dream, and it was a kind of dream I have never had in my life. And it was still the middle of the night, so I prayed. I cancelled the spirit of death from around me and friends and loved ones. I prophesied long life for my loved ones and friends, I committed everyone into the hands of God. And I felt calm and I went back to sleep.

If it was you, what would you have done?

I have come to understand a truth as I continually grow in my faith and relationship with God. Visions come in different ways, mostly through dreams. We have the power to stop something negative from happening in our lives if we open our mouths and pray and prophesy because as the bible says, what we bind on earth is bind in heaven, and what we loose on earth is loose in heaven.

Being a Christian doesn’t automatically translate into not praying and not asking and not seeking, because we feel God knows what we want and how to protect us. He wants to hear us commune with Him, ask Him to do so and so according to His will. And immediately we ask, He sets in motion answers to the requests in His own time.
Growing into a deeper relationship with God comes with severe trials, temptations and attacks from the devil just to discourage us. But with God’s grace, we overcome he that is in the world.

I just feel like encouraging someone. There is something you really need, that God also feel you really need, and He is waiting for you to earnestly ask Him, so He can give it to you.

I also want to encourage someone who just discovered a relationship with God. Look beyond the problems that will come and with the help of the Holy Spirit, see the results God has given.

Yesterday I felt something. This morning, I felt it deeper. And finally I think I have stumbled upon the real reason why God brought me here to Abeokuta.

Please pray with me, that I will not falter, or be discouraged.

WONDERFUL

2009-03-05T22:42:00.001+01:00

Blogville rocks! In this amazing world, I got the best shrinks money can’t afford. Thanks everyone for the advice. Thanks for making me see the disguised blessing. I never thought of it that way.

Okay, now that the predicament is out of way, Abeokuta is in the way. Read my update here!

TWO MOTHERS’ PREDICAMENT

2009-02-24T08:26:00.000+01:00

When I did my two truths and one lie post, I ended by saying I had tons of gist to blog. This post wasn’t one of them. Truth is, I never knew I would ever do this post, and I really don’t know why I am doing it, because though I have always been me on this blog, this is the most personal post I will ever get to do. So don’t be surprised if one day I decide to take it down. I feel very vulnerable.

The trick question wasn’t meant to be in my two truths and a lie post, but somehow it ended up there, and somehow, here I am typing this very difficult topic in the middle of the night when all are asleep. And for once I wish I were an anonymous blogger because this is something I do not talk about. And there are less than five friends who even know about this truth.

Yes I have two mothers; the one who gave birth to me, and the one who brought me up, whom I call mummy till date.
I guess due to my two mothers’ predicament, I have subconsciously programmed myself to not wanting ever to have a big wedding, when eventually I am getting married. Neither do I want a party for my traditional marriage. I just want the dowry to be paid quietly in the sitting room and each family goodnight and welcome to a relationship.

I have said at times, that I don’t want to have a high table at my reception where there will be a chairman of the event and so on and friends ask me if I am crazy. But I have reasons you see. I have always wondered which of my mothers’ will play mother of the day? Biological- Who doesn’t know who I am or how I became me? Or Step- Who though, not the perfect mother, is the only mother I know, who brought me up, who is responsible for the person I turned out to be today, who together, we went through the laughs and the cries of changing times that shaped our family?

And even though mother one was absent due to no fault of hers at all, I hate the idea that the glory should be hers when I’m getting married. In the same way, I hate the emotions she will have, if she is denied a position that is rightfully hers. And is the position rightfully hers? I hate thinking about it.

During the traditional marriage, when mother of the bride is called for recognition, who goes? At the wedding reception, when mother of the bride is called to the high table, who goes? Her or her? When it’s time for bride’s parents to take a pose with the couple, how many people will be in the pix? Four or five and who stays on which side?

Females look forward to getting married and planning their weddings and enjoying that D day. I am not. Can we just skip ‘that day’ and let the holy matrimony begin?

Mother one, aka biological mother, is a stranger to me. We had just the first six and a half years of my life together. I don’t know this woman, but the thought of her pain makes me hurt. I don’t even call her mother or mummy or anything. It’s only some few months back we started a telephone relationship. And in six months we have spoken 3 times. I do not look forward to the calls, but do it out of obligation.

I do not have a relationship with her. None whatsoever. I avoided attending my beloved paternal grandmother’s burial, because I knew she would come to see her kids after over a decade, and I didn’t want any long time no sees. Not because she did anything wrong, but out of nervousness. I wasn’t sure how I would behave and I definitely didn’t want her to feel hurt or bad by the reception.

And years later precious granddaddy Warri died, and there was no escaping that burial at all. And she came like I knew she would. And I was indoors and mother two instructed me, to my fury, to go serve mother one refreshment. What did I do wrong that day? And later my dad as first son was dancing and been sprayed money and me as his first daughter was by his side dancing and picking monies from the floor, mother one came and started spraying me. I refused to watch the video coverage. Because I don’t want a remembrance of what I must face tomorrow. And most especially because of her expression; the joy in her eyes which translates into ‘this is my daughter’, it breaks my heart.

Unfortunately, this cup wouldn’t even pass after the days before marriage which I dread. If it would, I will bear it and make sure I enjoy my day. But there are other days which must run into weeks and at least a month right? I’m talking about the bride mother’s visit after she has had a baby. Who will come please? Her or her? Simple. I am having all my babies abroad and not coming home till they are two months old.

But before I face that, the main day must be dealt with. Do I just carry these anxieties till the day passes. Or does anyone have a plan that will save my sanity. I really don’t want to hurt any of my mothers. What do I do?

And The Lie Is?

2009-02-17T21:17:00.002+01:00

Despite the fact that I really don’t like this tag thing, I think this is one of my most enjoyable post because of the comments. I liked the guesses made and the reasons given why some answers were favoured as the lie.
I honestly wish I could withhold the suspense of revealing the truths and the lie, but strangely, even me, Uzezi, is waiting for this post. I think I must be going crazy.

Okay, no more long story, let’s get down to business.

My Caveman is a blogger.

We have some investigative reporters in blogville who know how to research this and find out if it’s true or false. And there is a particular blogger who knows himself, and knows this answer to the very bottom because he always suspected. Finally, his curiosity was satisfied when we minus me visited his office. Do you know what it means for a guy to tell you that your Caveman is a cool dude? I talk too much.

Number one is very very true. And I’m on a mission to stop him from blogging, and I really don’t know why I’m doing that.

I have two mothers. This one is very easy now, blogville. Naturally this is the perfect lie. Nobody has two mothers. Except Uzezi that is.
Number two is very very true. I have two mothers. I will leave the explanation for my next post.

Now you know the lie.
Subconsciously, I must have made some bloggers, who must have seen my latest comment on Writefreak’s thankful Wednesday post, think that I actually am a mother. I saw Writefreak reply my comment and ask if I had a 13 year old? I laughed like crazy. Then I scrolled up to read the comment I left, and instead of saying my 13 year old sister, I said my 13 year old. Lol. Imagine making such a mistake just when I have a lie I need people to figure out. So it was only natural for Writefreak to guess this as true.

I do not have a 13 year old, neither do I have a 7 year old. I do wish I had though, I tell you. My sister who turns 13 in April looks so much like me that had I had a child as a teenager, she would have been perfect.
And I have a 7 year old sister who looks like me too. I call her my baby. Actually, in the early days of Caveman and I, I told him she was my kid. He was sold. He believed. God, how I enjoyed that trick. He threw questions that I answered calmly. What made it so believable for him was that he was surprised I had a sister that young. Why didn’t you marry her father? He asked. God. Remembering that play is cracking me up.

Number three is my perfect lie. Though a lot of you wanted me to be a mother, worry not. God will answer the prayers at the right time.

PS: Every blogger is forbidden from missing my next post. Till Then I remain

your's sincerely.

Cavewoman.

Let’s See

2009-02-15T21:07:00.001+01:00

Aloofar had the guts to tag me. I’m only doing it as a special birthday present for him because he had the audacity to drag his mum into labour on Feb 14, when she already had other plans with her husband for valentine.

So let’s see who has the audacity to figure out my one lie and two truths. And please I really can’t tag anyone.
So if I break the rules, forgive me in the spirit of love.

My caveman is a blogger
I have two mothers
I have a seven year old daughter

PS: I have gist o. Seriously. Plenty. I just have to get this meme out of the way for the gist to come in. And I pray that gist comes in this month, and that I won’t disappear from blogville.

I’m Sorry Guys

2009-01-19T11:24:00.007+01:00

It’s a new year and I promised a new dawn to my blogging, but I haven’t updated. Shame on me. Just a lot of things tying me down right now. Work and other stuff. I promise to do better blogging once I’m fully settled in the rock city. And I haven’t even moved yet.

What happened to many bloggers who have suddenly disappeared? Well, not so suddenly but gradually rather? And others going private? Please I need all the invites o! I didn’t cause trouble on any blog so please.................... Too many have gone private I can’t even start mentioning them.

There is a new blogger Her Story who left a comment on my last post, I went to her blog and was disturbed. Concerned should be the right word. Please guys, just visit her and let your God given wisdom help you leave good comments that will make her see reasons differently and lean on God. If she found me on blogville, then she found some of you too, but I still don't see anybody's comments there.

And I said in my last post that I was deleting aroundlagos. I fitn’t do it. Don’t ask me why. So it will stay there for now. Will probably take Standtall's advice and rename it to cover the nation.

Okay, I just discovered I am ranting.

By the way, those of you in Nigeria, have you flown Dana Air? I have four times now, and each time, I was impressed. The passenger next to me yesterday from Abuja was flying it for the first time. And read this:

Him: have you flown Dana before? (We hadn’t taken off)
Me: yes.
Him: I’m really impressed.
Me: you flown it before?
Him: no
I laughed.

Him: no. From all I have seen. When I paid, I asked for my money back because I wasn’t sure. And it’s a 6pm flight. I wanted to go for another airline that had a 5.20pm flight, but the guy there convinced me and see, we are leaving early. The 5.20pm passengers for the other airline are still waiting for the plane from Lagos. Dana is early.
I start laughing.
Him: no don’t do this. You are saying they come late too?
Me: not really, but the first time I flew them they were over an hour late. But they are good.

He nodded and I returned to my book as we prepared for takeoff. When the plane was in the air-
Him: wow. Very smooth take off. Did you feel that?
I nodded.
Him: Jesus, I am impressed. Really. Smooth. I don’t mind doing free advert for them. I will tell everyone I know who is travelling, fly Dana.
An air hostess was passing and he called her.
Him: I’m really impressed with your services.

Hostess: (smiling like they teach them to) thank you.
Him pointing at me: I was just telling her I will advertise you guys for free. This is nice.
Hostess seizes the opportunity: you can feel out our form in the seat pocket in front of you.
Him: I will surely do.
Later, they served refreshment. When his pack was dropped, he opened it and went
Him: wow. And their refreshment is a better too.
I opened mine and looked: this is actually smaller snacks then they give.
Him: (amazed) you mean it’s usually more than this? Ha Dana has won.

Later, air hostess comes to ask if we care for tea or coffee.
Him: ha! You mean there is more? This is too much. Complete three course meals. I’m definitely telling everyone.
He finished his meal and filled the form and handed it to an air hostess. ‘They will do well,’ he said. ‘I just hope they leave the fare at N16, 200 for a while.
Me: they will. Because right now, they have competition. Afrijet is 16k, Bellview is 16k, Virgin Nigeria is 15K...
Him: (screaming) what! Virgin is 21k.
I said no that I flew it in the morning 15k and was shocked. Maybe they are doing a promo. (Aloofar should know)

So me too don do free advert for Dana.
To finish this Dana talk, the landing was as smooth and yes my neighbour was impressed.

Did I mention earlier that when we just took off, one disturbed man was making a phone call in the air? All the guys around him plus the one by my side so yelled at him till he cut it off and turned it off in embarrassment. Orie Fokasibe him.

And talking about Orie Fokasibe, LG, you should be proud of me o, I don decode the meaning just for you. Went to buy the whole Yaba market with my friend from SA who is returning soon and left with Orie Fokasibe for anybody that got in our way or anything we didn’t understand. Including taxi getting a flat tire. Orie Fokasibe means your head dey for there. Your head o!

Let me make you not laugh. Last Sunday, I begged my friend and namesake to help me perfect my driving skill. So we went to Ojo military barracks and I started to impress him. He probably forgot I said I had been learning at the prestigious Nigerian school of Motoring where I even bought a text book and while we learn driving four days a week, we do theory one day and the questions are not easy at all. One guy that was graduating was asked. ‘You are on high speed on the highway. Then you see a road block, and the only place you can pass will soon be blocked because on the other side, a blind man and a dog are crossing the road. What will you do?’ guy thought of it a long time and said he will hit the dog. He made us laugh a lot that day. But he was graduated.

Anyway, I parked and Uzezi was lecturing me on cars and all sorts when another learner came. I was in the middle of the road and we told her to take the other side, she did. The next time she came back, I had moved and come to stop by the side and she wanted me to move again, so Uzezi said I should go forward for her. I turned the key, it started, and it stopped. Three times. So Uzezi said I should step on the gas when it starts again, so it wouldn’t go off. I don’t know that style. I’m still a learner. So it started and I stepped on the gas it all the power in me and it went VOOOMMMMMMM then a loud noise and I panicked. He said the fan belt has cut meaning we can’t go home. We opened the bumper and it was two blades of fan that collided with the cone and they all cut. Can you believe that? Learners hit things and drive off the road and all sorts. I blew a whole fan! God, I am good.

And my laptop almost crashed o! I was enjoying my daily dose at Bossip two days ago and clicked on a link to read why Kim Kardasian was too lazy to take off her shoes according to step father. I thought her stepdad Bruce was saying, not knowing step father or step daddy or whatever is a porn site o. Closed it and it started popping up in numbers. Almost gave me a heart attack. If my brother who is into IT had not been home, na another grammar I for dey write o!

See me o, I just wanted to say forgive my not updating and I don do over 1320 words already. Nobody wants a long post on a Monday morning. Good week everyone. I’m surely looking forward to an awesome one. My countdown for Mr. Caveman’s arrival has moved from days to just hours away. Oh Goddddddddddddddddddddd. I’m singing Jill Scott’s ‘Is it The Way You Love Me Baby’ all through.

A LOT OF THINGS

2009-01-08T10:18:00.001+01:00

Happy New Year everyone. Hope you all had amazing celebrations. And that your seat belts are ready for the journey that will take us to the last day of this year. One of the things that occurred to me early this year is that not until 2012 will we have February 29. So we are a day short this year. Let’s do all we can do to make up for more than that one day.

Okay, on to my post for today.
I have two blogs as some of you know. This one, and aroundlagos (see it on the sidebar). I love aroundlagos a lot, but somehow, I let it rot away without updating it. I have decided to put it down, so I won’t have to say (it was so much easier when I had one, like Solomonsydelle. But seriously SS, do you mean the blogs or the kids? Blogs and kids are more than one for you).

Another lazy reason for dropping aroundlagos is the fact that my location has changed. For some months now, I have been commuting Lagos-Abeokuta, my new base because of work. In a week time, I would have moved fully to Abeokuta for another chapter in the book called Uzezi: from dawn till date.

Anyway, I couldn’t come up with a name that will capture both Lagos and Abeokuta, so it’s bye to that blog. If you follow that blog please jump ship. Everything I have to say about me or Lagos or Abeokuta or whatever, I will say here. And there are lots to say about Abeokuta.

Lagos is a Yoruba state, just like Ogun state. Here in Lagos, I can get away with not knowing how to speak the language regardless of the fact that I was born here and all my life has been here. But my new job entails that I work with communities in both urban and rural areas. There is no way I shouldn’t speak the language.

Imagine my organization was going to have a meeting with community heads, and I was in charge of that. God loved me so much that He made my boss available on the meeting day. And every single discussion in that meeting was in Yoruba. I just positioned myself at the door welcoming people. And I was called to introduce myself. I started and one elder went ‘speak Yoruba’.

Hey Oluwa. Anyway, I’m learning, which is exactly what I told them.

And I am serious about learning o, I already bought a Yoruba dictionary to show my seriousness. I am soon shopping for Yoruba home videos that are not subtitled. I will conquer the language in Jesus name.

(Don’t wonder how come I don’t speak the language after all these years in Lagos o. I was born in Ajegunle. And in the compound I grew up, the only neighbour we had were Isoko like us. The houses around us had Ijaw, Kwale, Hausa, Urhobo, Ibo and Isoko people. I remember only one Yoruba family. And then, it was easier to learn Isoko on my street than any other language. And there is school where you DARE not speak vernacular.
So off to Satellite Town we moved, where everyone minded their businesses in fenced houses and spoke the Queen’s English. And off to boarding schools in Delta and Cross-River-State. So Yoruba and I were constantly kept asunder, not knowing I will have to unite with the language one day forever).

But I’m getting there. God bless the dictionary and the Yoruba songs in church and Gbemisoke gospel blues. I am determined you see, if my last name will change from Isoko to Yoruba. Although that isn’t a condition. He speaks more Hausa than Yoruba anyway.

So if you know Abeokuta every well, tell me the must visit places. My very first day there I discovered Iya Sunday; most popular buka. And the meals are more expensive than fast food joints.

Did I say my Caveman is arriving soon from Gambia? I’m so excited the countdown has begun. If he forgets my blender and artwork, he is going back. Okay, I’m off shopping.

BACK WITH YOUR ANSWERS

2008-12-25T15:03:00.004+01:00

It began once upon a time that I became a blogger. As you all know, I didn’t go with a pseudonym, because I sensed that this could be a medium for me to express my creativity and prepare myself for my future as a writer. What more, I came into this blog world as a journalist and as a journalist; there is nothing that is much more important than your name. When I came here, I wished to increase the number of people who read my write ups in the newspaper. In those days, because I reported the ARTS, I used to blog some of my write ups and interviews which had already been published.

For those who don’t know, my name is Uzezi Ekere and I am 28. My favourite food is Starch and Banga soup. Although I had a science background and even got admitted to study Medicine at UNIBEN, God saved me that misfortune and Mass Communication became me at the Lagos State Polytechnic. I love to write and that is the greatest talent that I have which I treasure deeply. I wish I could paint or draw - I have a great respect for that class of artists.

My writing took me into journalism but I never intended to stay put for long. Even though I have said I will always be a journalist - and I am going back to it soon, though no more reporting – I am a person of many ambitions, and being adventurous helps me to pursue these ambitions. This of course is the reason why I went from being a journalist to being a marketer, even though it was really very brief.

I love honesty and admire honest people. I am not a secretive person, and I am truthful to a fault. There is nothing I wouldn’t share with the person I love. It’s better when it’s in the open. That way I know where I stand. Why live in fear of ‘will he find out?’

I am also quiet. As quiet as I am – though my friends say quiet does not define me – I can be crazy. Back in school then, there was this guy in my class I really liked. I flirted with him so much with text messages and he never found out it was me, though we were friends. I made him believe it was a friend of mine, and even told him once to watch closely on a certain day that he would see her with me because she really wants me to introduce them. That is naughty. But I guess my naughtiest deed was when as a columnist in a national newspaper, I made my readers believe I was a lesbian, when I wrote a lesbian series. Christ! The calls I got, and still get!

As a child, I loved to play. In school or out, I am queen of the play ground. So it really is very frustrating when someone tries to tie me down in the house so I don’t have time to play. In those days, when my dad was leaving for work, he would give me and my brother homework we would do after school so we don’t go out to play. 50 maths questions, 50 English language questions, 50 quantitative analysis questions and 50 verbal questions. All these from one mighty book meant to prepare us for common entrance examination into secondary school.

One fateful day, I got a revelation. By mistake I noticed that the answers to all the questions in the book are at the back. My misery ended. And play continued. After school, all I did was copy all the answers. They were all objective questions with options and what I submitted to my dad was the options, already shaded the way it is done at the Common Entrance exam. One day, my dad was marking my work. He was surprised I got a particular answer right, and called me to come and do solve it for him to see how I arrived at the answer. That day I was caught. And was beaten. Take that for a favourable event in my childhood. And then I grew up. Fast forward to 2008.

Yes. I should say that 2008 will remain the year that I will never forget in my life, because this is the year that everything started to make sense for me. This eye I actually fixed fake eye lashes. At the salon, they were glued to my eye lashes. Never again. Although I achieved 70% of all I set out to achieve this year, I have no regrets for the remaining 30%. This year gave me my favourable event as an adult yet. When I flirted unabashedly, I must add, with one very tall, handsome guy, that I was determined to have....... and I got him. Not just for the year, but forever. Wow! At times it pays to be bold. You just have to do what you have to do. How’s that for my motto in life? And if relocating to Gambia is what I have to do, then so be it.

A new year is around the corner and like everyone else, I have plans. I have more than three big projects I’m working on for 2009. If at the end of 2009, you do not read about me in the papers, or hear about me on the television or radio, then my plans failed. But they won’t fail in Jesus name, and I won’t reveal them here yet.

The purpose for my life is the most important thing to me. I don’t want to die without achieving God’s purpose for creating me. This year, I was truly blessed to discover God the way I never had before. I came to Him because I was fed up of doing it on my own and carrying the burdens and depending on mortals. I needed comfort and I needed unconditional love and I needed direction. Most importantly, I needed a relationship with God. Today, I have a different view of life, than I had during the first four months of this year. I realised that being born again is the best thing that could have happened to me, and I don’t miss the old me. I am not ashamed to talk about Christ because where I am today, is the biggest testimony in my life. At the beginning of this year, I never dreamt I will be where I am. I have entered into a covenant with God and the only power strong enough to tear me out of it, is God. But why would He tear me out when I can be a medium for Him to let people know about how good He is?

In ending this year, I am proud to say that the Young Professionals Impact YPI, the NGO I belong to, did tremendously well this year. First we had our Project Desiree to raise funds to sponsor orphans. And like Obama, Yes we did! We adopted three five year olds in an Orphanage, by taking on their educational responsibility till they finish schooling. We had a fund raising dinner last week Friday to support educational facilities at the Heart of Gold Hospice Home. And again, Yes We Did!

God is awesome. He gave His Son, the One who negotiated a better ‘covenant’ for us with His Father, by offering His Life, so we might live.

Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need. Heb 4: 16

PS: Incase anyone is wondering, I just answered the questions from my last post. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to You.

IT IS TIME

2008-11-25T05:09:00.006+01:00

I wanted to delay this post because once I put it up, it means as from my next post, I am fully back to blogging.

Okay. Blogville. This is where one door closes and another opens. This post makes me 100 post old. Yes. It's an anniversary.

So I'm off to figure out what my return will be all about, because, I haven't got a clue. I don too make mouth.

There have been lots of changes in my life lately, so I want my blogs (uzezi and aroundlagos) to be affected also by the changes.

And in the spirit of anniversary, you are free to ask me one question you have always wondered about me, and I will do my best to be honest. 30+ actually gave me that award as a honest blogger o! lol.

Alright. See you all on the other new side of me.

PS: This blog have always allowed anonymous comments, but anonymous questions won't be answered.

Not A Man

2008-11-19T22:28:00.002+01:00

My Return is two post away from this one. God don't let me be lazy.

Now to this post.....
After Obama won, Naapali robbed it in on how Obama’s convoy passed in front of him and stuff like that.

Last week Tuesday, I got a chance to do likewise so I could blog about it.

The German president was in Nigeria visiting and that Tuesday morning, the president left Abuja to visit with Gov. Fashola of Lagos state. From the international airport road down through Mobolaji Bank Anthony Road, into Toyin and then Allen and all the way to the Secretariat at Alausa, the German and the Nigerian Flags where together, designing the roads as they were tied to poles. I had gone to GLO’s office for something. When I was leaving, the party started.

The LASMA bike guys were out and parading. Sirens were on full blare. They cleared the roads that the Germans and their Nigerian escorts will take.

So I stood, cos I wanted to see. I hated the fact that my camera was so far inside the travelling bag with me. Had I gotten a picture, I would have done better than Naapali.

The nutshell is that I saw the German president as all the cars actually passed less than ten feet away from me. Better still; the windows weren’t so tinted, so I saw to my satisfaction.

Later in the day, I was having a very delicious lunch with a friend and couldn’t resist feeling so important and recounting how the German leader passed by me.

‘I actually saw him,’ I said. ‘The windows weren’t so tinted.

I was about to say another car carrying someone who must have been the German first lady was directly behind the German president’s car when my friend looked at me and said...

‘Uzezi, the German president is a woman’

LISTEN

2008-11-05T16:54:00.003+01:00

where the hell have you been? That seem to be the question that i am asking myself. Did i just blog to say blogville is the most wonderful family, and the next minute i am MIA?

I dey o! just things here and there happening. Very plenty exciting things going on with me and in my life, plus the fact that GLO is trying to frustrate me with their internet connectivity. God pass dem.

Anyway, I am planning my return. This is not it. the post after this one wont be it either. neither is the one after that. But it is near and you will know when I am fully back in the bossom of blogville.

I am still praising God for what He has done for America. They think Obama has inherited a failing economy. Well he has. But i believe that the failing economy of USA will be Obama's victory. God uses afflictions to lift the unexpected people and bring glory to Himself. That is what will happen. In the midst of the celebrations, there are the ones waiting for Obama's failure. Just so the race can be mocked. But God has spoken and it is final. He uses the little things, to put to shame very great things of the world. In Obama, the strength and hands of God is going to work like the world has never seen it before, because at the end of the day, God's name must be glorified.

And He is coming here too. Yes. God is coming to do the same in our beloved Nigeria. The economy of this country will work. I dream of the day Americans will want to have their kids here, just so they can be citizens of this great nation Nigeria. I pray I live to see the day.

Our God is an Awesome God. The 'In God We Trust' that the Americans chant, has never been meaningful as it will be henceforth.

I have said my piece.

This Is Not An Update

2008-10-14T09:54:00.004+01:00

Alright blogville, sit tight. I have just boasted about you guys, so make no one disgrace me o!

A friend of mine just sneaked into blogville's and even I was unaware, can you believe that?

His page I'm sure will be a welcome inspiration centre to me. And I'm sure to you too.

Anyway, Telekinesys reside at Notes To My God

A Wonderful Family

2008-10-03T23:07:00.002+01:00

We are different
From backgrounds diverse
And even in times
Described as terrible
And from a place
Labeled as corrupt
We have a bound.

We are generation today
Tomorrow to make
A better place
We strive towards
Because in us
Determination is defined.

From near and far
We came a family to make
In a place called blogville
Where freedom is born
And identity is discovered.

Dear blogville,
Before I found you I found me
But of you I know
My life wouldn’t be same
Had I through life
Past without an encounter

Different identities
You brought me across
Friends you found me.
More than in reality
I have in blogville,
Friends.

Dedicated to you reading this post.

© Uzezi Ekere
Oct. 3rd 2008

Telling the story of how blogging became a part of my life isn’t important anymore. In those first times, I use to wonder why people don’t read my blog and leave comments. It was sometime late last year and early this year that I began to discover other blogs and others began to discover me. You could imagine my excitement then when I see: ‘2 comments need moderation’, which means I probably wet my panties if the comments were higher.

And then I did the stupid short post about deleting my blog and got over 20 comments and nodded: ‘yes, I have arrived’.
Then I use to wonder how bloggers did it to get over a hundred comments, and concluded that just like life and business, only the tough survive. You just have to be so interesting and worth reading and blah blah blah.

This business of only the tough and interesting survive blogville even led me to create another ‘bad’ blog that only two people knew the truth about the author. The blog plus its name plus its post were so bad and (x) that me as Uzezi couldn’t go there to leave comments for other bloggers to see (and the post were all fiction incase you start calculating ok).

Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that, blogging today for me, has become another way of expression. A place where I can share whatever and get various views. In many blogs, I have learnt stuffs that I never would have learnt in a hundred years. In this place I have developed friendships that will last a long time.

It touches me a lot, the care and support we show when one of us is down (illness - uzezi, jarrai, fantasy queen ……………………- depression……………………….., heart broken ………………………….. etc), the joy we share when one of us is happy (getting married – oluwadee………………………, engaged – florida………………………, birthdays – bumight, aloofar………………..promotions – afrobabe……………………… etc) the advices we offer when one of us is confused (too much money as salary – doll, too many toasters – Aphrodite). The list goes on and on (the dots are there for you to fill in the gap. I want to post this now, so I can’t think).

How do you describe the kind of support we have in blogville? I don’t have the words. Just recently, I blogged about YPI (Young Professionals Impact) and the fact that we were doing a fund raising for an event.

You guys surprised me. From within and outside the country. Every kobo I raised came from this family of people I have never met. And because of your charitable effort, and other good Nigerians, the educational responsibilities of three orphans (all 5 yr olds) have been picked up by YPI’s Project Desiree, and by God’s Grace, these 3 will be the first university graduates of Project Desiree.

I am so proud that I belong to this family. This is a family that will become an institution tomorrow. An institution that will give our country and continental role models that we will be proud of. This is a family that is ready to change the perception of Nigeria and Africa. We will make it.

though it seems like ...

2008-09-28T23:32:00.002+01:00

im not gone........
a month is almost gone and im everywhere and nowhere. stuffs.....shit....work.....confusion.....illness...........

im still here and will do a post soon.

In Need Of Help

2008-09-05T21:31:00.002+01:00

Didn’t have time to do enough blog rounds this week and that is because I resumed work as Executive Assistant, Marketing Communication, with a pharmaceutical company, on September 1st. (yea right, big title. hehehehehe)

I got the job in the month of July in what I would describe as purely the hands of God, because I wasn’t looking for a job, rather, I was preparing for ‘Entertainment Planet’. If you remember my old posts, I had resigned my last appointment in February to rest and play and follow my heart to do what I love.

When this job came (which was actually offered to me on a plane by another passenger, who is now my MD), it came with an attractive offer that would benefit ‘Entertainment Planet’ and my dreams in the long run.

So I started work and I’m still settling in. So far this week, God has really surprised me with favours. More on than in another post.

This post is not about me, but about Tena, a dear soul that 'YPI' lost in April. I belong to a non-governmental organization, Young Professionals Impact, YPI. We are just a gathering of young independent people who have a desire to offer change in the lives of less privileged children. Most of the time, we contribute monies and other stuff to donate to orphanages. Twice, we have organized events (a programme in collaroratiob with Segun Adefilia’s Crown Troupe of Africa, February lat year at Terra Kulture, and a walk in November last year, from Alagomeji to Unilag Sport Centre) in which the monies raised where used to sponsor the education of several children in the SOS village, Isolo, Lagos.

Tena Desiree Tebeakami - a dedicated member of YPI, whose passion for helping the less privileged made many of us sit up in our dedication to the goal and mission of YPI – died in the month of April in South Africa, where she had gone for some courses.

In her memory, YPI is organizing a programme to formally launch the ‘Project Desiree Initiative’.

The purpose of the initiative is to have a fund to cater for the education needs of selected orphans/pupils in selected public schools, up to the secondary school level.

We intend to raise One Million Naira Only, and the plan is to make this an annual programme going forward. Fund raising activities have commenced and the lecture/gathering, which is meant to formally launch the fund, will hold on September 21, 2008, at the Learning and Development Centre, Ikoyi. The amount raise will be used to start up the ‘Desiree Scholars Programme’, which will provide scholarships.

Uzezi Ekere (me) is one of the four members of the Project Desiree committee. Every member of YPI is involved in the fund raising, and it will be a shame for a committee member like me, not to raise enough.

This is where blogville comes in. I know I haven’t seen anything like this on any blog, but I can assure you this is no fraud. I wouldn’t dare. I like to believe that even if you all haven’t met me, you have an idea of who I am since I blog with my real identity and can even be traced to my village, courtesy my posts, and will soon become famous self. (Me and wellsbaba get plans.)

Please and please, I solicit for donations for this cause. The members of YPI cannot always do it alone, no matter how independent we are.

Send me a mail; uzak_uz@yahoo.com, call 08023929375, 018735463 and make me glad by requesting information on how you can help change the future of a child. That you are not in Nigeria, or a Nigerian is not an excuse if you want to help. Your names will not be excluded from our donors' lists.

I will appreciate if those bloggers who have heavy traffic on their blogs can please copy the necessaries of this post and post on their blogs.

Doll, you always wanted to do something like this, come join us and be a member. Others are welcome. Together, our dreams of being involved in helping the less privileged, can come true faster, than when we step out alone.

My September began very well, help to make it end wonderfully. More about YPI on www.ypinigeria.com.

Who Is He

2008-08-28T00:24:00.004+01:00

From afar, when I noticed the crowd, and the open car booth, I shivered. Please not a human head.

My yesterday was eventful. I had to enter a part of Eko I have never heard of.

Igbosere road is behind the Lagos High Court that is on Tafa Balewa Square road. Something like that. My mission there was to meet a printer yesterday morning, then we had to proceed to his operator’s house.

I was busy looking around everywhere. I saw a sign that said that road is Cow Lane, saw another that is Rasak Okoya lane and I derided myself thinking maybe that is where Chief Rasak Okoya and his popular bride, Folasade reside. That was foolish thinking.

I did admit though that I was in the real Eko, not this extension of Opebi or Satellite Town that I shuttle between. Then I remembered Sefi Atta and I remembered her book Everything Good Will Come, and I imagined some of her portrayal of Eko in her book, might be what I saw, since I wasn’t born in the era she framed that award winning book.

That place I went to, is not very far from Obalende, and it actually occurred to me yesterday, that Lagos Island has more one way roads than anywhere else I know in Lagos.

And talking of Obalende, I hate the place. Oshodi I can stomach; it’s a lesser devil. There is a particular part of Obalende that is always flooded 365 days a year, and I’m sure it rains there at night and no one notices. Not the kind of rain we know about - a different kind whose water is black with wonderful scent that will shame Chanel No 5.

Anyway, back to my gist. There was a crowd at one point in Obalende. They were watching a drama unfolding between the men in black uniform and an unfortunate driver who probably didn’t have his particulars, and this is what I imagined must have happened, before the crowd that I met.

Police waves the car to a stop

Driver stops and wait.

Police: vehicle particulars

Driver: take (he produces them)

Police: (after flipping through, sees nothing wrong with them, but he wants something) wetin dey your booth?

Driver: nothing

Police: come open

Driver: it is empty. You have seen my papers.

Police: (looks at him critically and notices driver is nervous. On the back seat of the car are some clothes scattered. Maybe rags. Not sure. He beckons to his colleague and they whisper together. Soon, one policeman turns into four). Get down.

Driver: (he is out of the car) I’m in a hurry. (He tries to squeeze N500 into his hands).

Police: you want to bribe me. Corrupt citizen. (Then with the other cops, the driver is forced to open his booth).

From afar, when I noticed the crowd, and the open car booth, I shivered. Please not a human head.

I saw in the booth, that three legged stand used in the village to hold big pots on fire, while fire woods are arranged underneath. What is it called? I saw, cashew nuts tied the way hawkers do, all scattered around in the booth. I saw plenty and different sizes of Agege bread. I saw a tray. I saw akara, scattered all around in the booth. I saw a piece of clothe that must have balanced the tray on a head.

Everything registered in my memory in less than five seconds. I didn’t stop of cause. But I couldn’t stop thinking. Who is the driver, and how come he has those things in his booth? What I refused to think of definitely is who the real owner/s of those things, is/are and where she/they is/are.

If you come across this, what will you conclude? Who is the driver?

MARRIED AWAY

2008-08-22T13:43:00.000+01:00

By the time Saturday August the 16th started, I was tired. Marriage is not easy o, the stress before the D-day is hell, then on the day, even with all the excitement, you just can’t wait for it to be finally over so that you can start a new life with your husband.

It began with the family morning devotion that was interrupted because the taxi that came to pick up the makeup artist to go home and change, kept blasting its horn as though announcing the second coming of Christ. The maid of honour had to take the first flight from Lagos and was early, but she forgot her second attire. Not the one for the first event though.

Then, everyone (the house was full of friends and relations who haven’t seen in a long time and who took wherever they found to lay their heads for the night, thankfully.) started working. Most of the women in the family – aunties and in-laws- were behind the house cooking, and I promised myself I will eat the Owo soup and Starch later – but that day and with everything, I forgot about food. My aunt had to carry a plate of rice and deposited it in my hand at a point.

The court marriage didn’t take time at all, from there we proceeded to a Photo world to take good pictures, by the time we returned home, the compound was transformed and looking set for the traditional marriage.

I was almost not recognised when I dressed so traditional for the first time in my life, but I got used to it after adjusting the wrapper for God knows how many times.

According to our culture, at the end of a marriage ceremony, the bride with her load, are escorted by some of her family members to her husband’s family, or the home of the most eldest member of the husband’s family in the vicinity, not the husband’s house. It is done that way to show that we have handed over our daughter to your family, and we recognise you as the eldest in the family.

Earlier in the day, my cousin had brought the very big box that will pack, if not all for the moment, most of the things that will go as load during the escort to the husband’s family.

By the end of the day, the compound was emptying, the rain was back and I was packed and ready to go.

And the journey back home to Gambia... hmm... I mean Lagos, was hassle free, compared to the journey from Lagos to the Niger Delta.

Happy Married Life to my sweet cousin Evi, and her sweetheart. I will get there someday.

My Gambia Experience

2008-08-06T13:42:00.004+01:00

I had absolutely no interest whatsoever in The Gambia, until I had no choice, but to be interested because at the moment that is where my heart lies. No! Not with the country.
Having a new found interest in The Gambia, made me open my map of Africa, then focus on the West Africa country that is smaller than my beloveth Lagos. Before going, The Cave Man had tried to impress me about the place and how much I will fall in love with The Gambia and the peace and quiet. I didn’t believe it of course. Lagos and I are still enjoying our transgressions.

One friend told me that the place is a great tourist attraction and that the country makes a lot of revenue from tourism. I visited their website and saw that much. The website also made me understand that certain things couldn’t be purchased there, so you have to come prepared.

The Gambians are very dark in complexion compared to us, but they appear very peaceful and the place is peaceful. So peaceful to the extent that it’s kind of boring when it isn’t the tourists’ season which begins from October to April.

Their major mode of transportation is a yellow and green taxi. Another kind of taxi, a green coloured one, is used only by those who work in the tourist area, just like we have different taxis at the airport.

One very intriguing thing is how most white women seem to love Gambian men. In the street I stayed was a bungalow occupied by a Briton woman, 72, married to a younger Gambian man. My neighbour where I stayed had a white chick. Age wise they looked okay, and I learnt he just returned to the country. Apparently he was in obodo oyibo. I heard what I saw was small compared to how it is during the tourists’ season. And most of the guys who attract some of these white women are Ras Kimono’s cousins. Hair locked to eternity. When you see guys like these around town, know one thing, they are tour guides. Tour guides wear locked hair and majority are also the taxi drivers of the green cabs and their passengers are only tourists.

Their girls are beautiful sha, though I wasn’t impressed with their hairstyles. A Nigerian hairdresser should go and open shop there.
Majority of their girls have hips. Even the young teenage ones. The Cave Man told me when their girls are born, beads are worn on their waist so that when they are growing, the growth of their waist is limited, that way, they have big hips and very tiny waist.

Unless you are someone who loves to experiment with food, if you are going to Gambia, go prepared. Their dishes in their restaurants are something else; I enjoyed only one and that was because it was white rice and shrimps. Oh, and I enjoyed their kind of suya too. They don’t call it suya and it is lamb meat, barbecued when you order for it, and served with onion.

I went to Bakau market because I wanted to cook. I noticed fresh fish is so very cheap and I regretted why I didn’t travel with spices for peppersoup. I bought rice I cooked but couldn’t eat because it tasted strange and the grains were shorter. I was told Serrenkunda market had more Nigerian food there, but I didn’t have the opportunity to go there.
Fruits are expensive. Infact, fish and transportation are the cheapest, because by the time you are buying something in their currency; Dalasi, and multiply by six to get the price in Naira, who will frown. Yes, the value of their money is higher than ours; one Dalasi to six Naira.

Lots of beach spots to visit and the environment isn’t as rowdy as Bar Beach or Kuramo. You stroll freely without concern of being attacked. But surprisingly, The Cave Man’s friend, S, whose mother-in-law is in town from Nigeria, because S and wife, B were expecting their first kid (they had a boy the day I left), had a surprise.

The Cave Man and I and another visiting friend where leaving the beach at night, and met S and family coming. We were almost home when S called to say his mother-in-law’s bag was snatched at the beach.

I refused to believe. In Gambia? With all the boasting about peace and all, I have heard? Apparently, S was telling his mother-in-law if she could imagine strolling at Kuramo by that time of night freely, without a care, when the bag was snatched and the culprit ran away.

I give it to Gambia, they have a constant supply of clean water. I would have added and electricity, because that is part of what The Cave Man boasted about, but I was there and power outage kept recurring. Anyway, it isn’t as bad as ours, and it was because they had a sort of problem.

I enjoy the way they speak English, and I envy how collected the Gambians are. There is hardly that complex situated we notice around us. They see themselves as equal to anyother person, black or white, rich or poor, and are extremely contented with how they live and what they have. For example, you might employ a Gambian and pay him wonderful salary, he might drop in one day and resign for no reason. He just doesn’t want to work. Simple. Heard their women are more hardworking.

Long and short, I enjoyed my stay. Even discovered NewAfrican magazine over there, and it has an interesting magazine insert, NewAfrican Woman. Wonderful magazine. There is Nigerian price on the cover but I have never seen it here in Nigeria. I will keep my eyes open. (Those of you in the US and UK should watch for it). 'Nice' magazine is to them what Ovation magazine is to us. And the other, 'Ambience', made a nice read.

Hope I’ve bored you enough.

Departing Gambia

2008-07-24T15:30:00.004+01:00

Sitting in the departure lounge at the airport, alone because only those travelling could be there, both of them kept contact through the phone as she waited to be transported away, far from him. And here are some text messages they exchanged in those few minutes, before the plane arrived.

SHE: Though my memory with him always is, the smell of me he dabbed around
HIM: And I’ve got part of you with me. Your hanky.

SHE: And that too. Stained with sand from my heels. Will you wash it?
HIM: Nope I won’t.

SHE: Does that poem fall under haiku? Haiku poems are 14 words. Not sure the number of syllables. Will edit it at home and blog it.
HIM: Haiku poems talk about nature as they relate to human relationships. 14 line poems are Shakesparean.

SHE: Naa. As long as it’s 14 words and a certain number of syllables, it’s haiku.
HIM: Thought you said 14 lines.

SHE: What will you do with a dirty handkerchief?
HIM: It still has your smell.

SHE: Ok. The face towel in the bathroom has my smell too. If I smell like that. Woulda sprayed you on the sweater and take you with me to Nigeria. What will you miss most?
HIM: Playing with you and the sound of your laughter. The sight of joy in your eyes when you steal glances at me.

SHE: I miss your winks and you peeping at me with one eye closed.
HIM: I miss that I won’t get to tell you I love you and watch your face lighten up.

SHE: Hmmmmmmm. Don’t worry sweetheart. The plane will soon be here. In movies, you will be here with me in the departure lounge. Then you will stand staring with your hands in your pocket as I board. Before disappearing, I will turn to look at you, before we can raise our hands and blow eachother kisses, one big van will pass by and block our views. When it leaves, you will heave a sigh because I’m gone. Then you will turn and walk away. I will open the door and come back in and say ‘let me ask you a question. Then you will turn around and look at me and say....
HIM: Will you marry me?

SHE: Lol.
HIM: And what will your answer be?

SHE: I will ask if you will let me name the kids the names they will be known as. If you say yes, I will say yes. Plane just touched down. I miss you.
HIM: Me too

Ps: so she found out she is an Olodo because Haiku poems are 17 syllables in three lines. But it’s almost haiku sha. 18 syllables. It would have been in three lines, had it not been texted.
And there’s a real haiku in the conversation. Check line 13:

‘ The face towel in the bathroom
has my smell too
If I smell like that’

Psps: 'The Gambia Experience' is coming in two or three parts. From my preparation to go, and going, and being there and returning. Beginning from next Thursday, I hope I will be bold enough to actually post it, since I have started writing it. So expect the gist of yours truly, and The Cave Man.

I'm Back

2008-07-17T16:19:00.003+01:00

Seven days from today and Uzezi is back fully to blogging. I promise. I have missed all you guys who missed me, and didn't miss those who didn't miss me. I have got loads of gist to blog about. Starting from the fact that this particular blog is coming from The Gambia, where I am at the moment with my ....( fill in the gap). Will be back home in no time and back to blogging.

While I was gone, I turned a year older on July 5, finished a programme at Daystar Christain Centre, meaning I am now a bonafide member of the church. I got more business prospect, and the big news...... wait for it but get used to this name please- Entertainment Planent - it means a lot to me.

Okay, my fingers got to rest, and in seven days time, I promise some gist. Missed you all and i'm not happy about the back load of posts I have to read on your blogs.

your blogger in kind,
Uzezi.

Absent

2008-05-27T16:51:00.000+01:00

I've been gone a while. And I still will be gone some more. Too many things are begging for attention and I need to sit up because for a while, I have been too comfortable that I have almost forgotten the reason why I resigned from my former place of employment. But I will be back soon, and I will have loads of gist for you all.

I will do my best to visit blogs now and then. And I hope I don't miss all the fun. I know I will. With 14th and Serenity and all.

I will try to catch up, but right now, my work needs my undivided attention because its coming like a new born baby.

So, while I'm gone, I will appreciate every prayers for Uzezi to succeed at whatever it is that has taken her away from blogging for now. I promise to tell about the work soon, when things are in better perspective, and I ain't confused.

Meanwhile, I noticed two things weeks back. First, the blogger called Doll, has disappeared. Secondly, Pamela went private, and I can't view her blog anymore. Pamela, is it because I tagged you?

Be good all. I will be back soon.

Childhood

2008-05-15T13:25:00.003+01:00

As a kid, I knew how play. Run around everywhere playing playing playing. We had different songs we sing and play with. We had different games also. Last night, while lying down, I started reciting some of them, and thought they will make a lovely post.

Game

If I say I kill my one star, you say you kill your two star, okay? Let’s start.
Me: I kill my one star
You: I kill my two star
Me: I kill my three star
You: I kill my four star
Me: I kill my five star
You: I kill my six star
Me: (screaming) haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! You killed your sister.

A song we play to with our hands

New money e don come
I buy garri for 10k
I give Mary to cook am
Mary cook am e no don
I beat Mary she no cry
I kill Mary she no die
Which kind Mary be dis o
Amina, amina toro
A lazy girl
Shina, agoro pepper
Ragarogo ragarogo
Simpe
Abele sam

I’m sure it sounded something like that, even if I might have missed some spellings.

I Got Tagged

2008-05-06T12:31:00.005+01:00

I have been tagged! Checked my comments and was informed by naijalines
that I am one of six of her newly acquired enemies. Then onome had to tag me too. Well, so as not to overdo and acquire a new name for myself in blogville, here we go with the rules:-

1. Link the person who tagged you – see I already did that in the beginning of the post.
2. Mention the rules in your blog- which is what you are reading now
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours- right after the rules okay?
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them- check at the end of this post.
5.Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged- alrighty.

I had to think and unthink, write and unwrite what I believe will fit into quirks for me. So, here are my 6 unspectacular quirks.

I can never be caught out without wearing a bra. I know they say never say never. But this is a never forever.

I’m not a crowd person. I’d rather be home with a book than hanging out with a crowd. Even if I know almost everyone there, I soon pull away and into myself wondering just what in hell’s name I’m doing there.

I fall in love with guys who share same first name often- as in back to back to back can be a name same as the last one.

I don’t feel comfortable with rain. I would be happier if it never rains. Once the clouds start gathering, it dampens my spirit and I tend to lose my concentration.

I love food more than you can imagine. But don’t blame me for that. Blame my middle name ‘Okiemute’. Real meaning is, there’s time for everything. But direct pronunciation of that name is – are u ready for this? Oke in Isoko means time, depending on how you pronounce it. Emu means food, Okiemute means time for food don reach, so I eat. I am the number one glutton in the whole world. I eat everything I can and whenever without a care in the world of putting on weight. And the weight or fat refuse to come. And strange as it is, I want that fat. At least small.

I have big fingers and toes, not just for a slim person, but for a girl and people use that to see a very big Uzezi in the nearest future. Back to senders.

There, six of them abi? I named my quirks so its time for these bloggers - soupasexy, abbie,pamela,tears,aphrodite,wellsbaba - to name theirs.

BROKEN HEARTED

2008-05-01T09:30:00.003+01:00

I am so sad. So fucking sad! I don’t know why this has to happen. Liverpool had such bad luck last night that I couldn’t even eat. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. I ate my noodles, but I didn’t finish it because I’m heart broken.

And truth is that I am not even a fan. That’s right, I’m a Gunner for ever, but you see, this damn football club called Liverpool took my Arsenal out of the Champions League, and if they could do that then they should win the others.

I know I ought to have sided with Chelsea because of what Liverpool did to us during the quarter finals, but then, I don’t like Chelsea, I can’t like Chelsea. No they did nothing to me, but their fans are too damn proud. Their players, Drogba especially, thinks he’s all that, he is too damn proud. There is no room for the Blues in my heart.

Liverpool had bad luck right from the first leg, when Riise put them behind with an own goal. Then that penalty of yesterday was just so fucked.

Why did Liverpool have to break my heart this way? Couldn’t they take the lead from Tottenham? During the Carling Cup semi, Tottenham had the audacity to take out Arsenal with 4 fucking goals to one. That done, they knew they had responsibilities, which was to beat Chelsea during the finals.

You see, they didn’t fail me. They knew, that to take Arsenal out of a competition, then all eyes would be on them to win, and that was exactly what they did.

Fuck Liverpool. I am not a fan, but I wanted you to win and humble the Blues. You just weren’t Brave yesterday. No you were not.

I don’t even know why I have to love football. What sport apart from shopping are girls really crazy about? Somebody please help me discover it, because this football is becoming something else, and I don’t want to die young.

I remember once admiring Wigan and Reading. I better find out about them since we are all hustlers, and their failures wouldn’t break my heart.

Oh! Just damn it. All these players who won’t do what I want. I hope Man United trash the living hell out of Chelsea.

What do I even care anyway? All these players and fucking competitions are heart breakers. They are just like men.

PS: added on May 2nd. Yesterday I discovered I'd been tagged. Not funny. My head dey hot, so I dey do serious thinking before I do that post. God help me.

RECONCILIATION

2008-04-29T16:24:00.005+01:00

Back in the days, I used to consider myself a poet. I even went to the extent of performing the poem below, before an audience of talented artistes at Jazzville, during the Open Mic of the Word n Sound programme organised by one Majek (can't remember his other name)and Beautiful Nubia. One notable talent that has continued her work in what she believes in from that place, is the rave of the moment ASA. Back then, just with her guitar, she blew our minds.

I had memorized the poem and learnt some gesticulations to follow. I even bought a new top and jeans for the night. I remember the top was red. My friend Pat accompained me there, and when I got on stage, I pretended not to see anyone, did my thing and left quickly, but the audience applauded sha.

RECONCILIATION
Let us perform
Some simple ablutions.
In the act,
Let us pause,
And lock eyes.
Let us see
Our inner thoughts.
Let us realise
What we want.
We have grown
Beyond the age of derision.
We have seen
Beyond the eyes of a precognist.
Only we can determine
If forever we should be.
Let us gather
The dust of yesterday.
And hand in hand
Let us walk,
The stream towards.
Let us stand at the shores,
And the dust we sprinkle away
-As though the ashes
Of the corpse
Of a bad man-
Our bad memories,
Let it flow down the stream.
Let us perform
Some simple ablutions.
To welcome reconciliation.
You and I,
We fit together.
I could love you again,
I know I can.
And before that day comes,
We have to wash the dirt
Of yesterday.
Wash and wash.
But, a simple ablution?
I don’t see you and I
Performing it together.

(c)UZEZI EKERE. 11th FEBRUARY. 2003.

African Insurance And Festivals

2008-04-18T15:05:00.007+01:00

For some time now, I have been thinking about festivals and what I have come to understand by the term, African Insurance.
The first time I heard about African Insurance, it was from a neighbour, when she was describing what happened when robbers attacked another neighbour’s family and shot at some of them. Of course the bullets bounced of the kids and wife, because they all had African Insurance.

Thinking of it, I then realized that at some point in my life, I also had an African Insurance, to ensure that I wouldn’t be harmed by a cutlass.

For those who know the Isoko people, they will understand why we are called Isoko Tolopia (The Isokos picks cutlass).

I really don’t know why the term is used for us, except that the Isoko’s use cutlass for a lot of things, including war. It is the reason why people will joke about an Isoko man chasing men sneaking around to see his daughter, with the cutlass he has under his bed. My papa no get oh!

A friend of my brother accompanied us to the village in 2003 to bury my grandfather, when he encountered a woman chasing her son with a cutlass, because according to her, she carried him for nine months, and before he kills her, she will kill him. So my brother’s friend said he now understands why the Isokos are related to the cutlass.

But I digress.

When I was six years old, I got an African Insurance during the period of the village’s yearly (or was it once in two years?) festival.

The festival consisted of three warring side, which represented the three quarters of the village, which again represented the three brothers, Urabe, Ukoli, and Egbo, sons of the king of Olomu, whom many years ago, left their land with their village god on their head, running away from God knows what and for the safety of their god, to protect it from whatever war was going on back in the days.

After journeying away from their Urhobo land of Olomu for many days, they decided to rest, so they dropped their god (owa olomu, which means Olomu’s load). After resting, they decided to continue but Owa Olomu refused to be carried, and they decided it liked it where it was among the Isoko people, and they settled there, married and bred and my sweet village- Olomuoro, out of Olomu, but renamed Olomoro by the white men, again- came into existence.

There after, before Olomoro’s festival, some sort of permission is taken from the king of Olomu and elders from Olomu attend our festivals. While the festival really wasn’t about the three quarters warring, they tried to relive the greatness of Olomoro, a warring town that bred a warrior like Owowo, my great grand father, and others. And also to pay some respect to whomever, and display what they are known for. Cutlass. (for the record, this isn’t entirely precise, but I know I am on the track, with a lot missing. I will save it for my book)

Anyway, I digress again.

Before the festival proper, the whole village prepares, farming ceases for a while, and priests prepare the warriors.

One fateful August, a break in my primary school, we traveled home and it was a festival period.

I woke one morning and saw one of my cousins with leaves in her mouth. She had gone to do a sort of medicine, so that if she pierces one cheek with a needle, it would come out on the other side.

I was intrigued. I think I was seven not six. I asked lots of questions and realized there were different types of medicines to do. Without telling anyone, I was off for an African insurance.

A new blade was used to mark thirteen marks each above my breast, and a needle was used to draw three lines on my chest. The medicines were robbed in and I was ready for the festival as long as I didn’t go near water the rest of the day (those med marks don go back to where them come from).

Another of my cousin did a different insurance and later was tied to a tree, just like some other guys, and shot at with a gun. Of course he wasn’t hurt.

My insurance, insured me from cutlass. The festival then, is full of cutlasses. At the village square where the parade holds, all the warriors fighting the fake war are busy throwing cutlasses left right and centre into the air. If you dare to look up, you will be so confused because all the cutlasses looked as though they were fighting in the air. What’s more, every cutlass thrown into the air is always caught by who ever threw it. They never fell to the ground, and there never were calamities, but just in case, the African Insurance protects one from harm. And the warriors are dancing as they throw, moving around, but still, a cutlass will locate its owner.

It used to be fun. I attended just one of such festivals, before they stopped holding them. And their reason for stopping, I know not, except I hear that once you are a Christian, you cannot attend such festivals anymore.

I miss the festivals really, because it is tradition and passing our history down to the next generation. It is our identity and our roots, and I wanted my own children to experience it, without the insurance of course, from a distance. And that brings me to wonder just how in the name of God, does all these medicines/African Insurance work.
I do wonder.

Nice weekend ya all.

My Sister And I

2008-04-02T09:23:00.001+01:00

My fourteen year old sister is almost driving me bunkers. I have no idea if what is happening is normal among sisters, because I never had an elder sister.

At fourteen, she is almost as tall as I am, 5’7``, and my clothes; tops and jeans, would fit her, although not so perfectly.

It began when I left home. Whenever I went back for a visit, I noticed that my sister who is going to be taller than me no doubt, and soon would look down on my head while I’m talking to her, has taken over some of my clothes. And I am still alive, and my stuffs are being taken over. First, it used to be my precious books that she and my almost sixteen year old brother, would give out as gifts to whomever they discover reads books, because their big sister has lots of books. You can imagine me outdoors, noticing someone, walking around or sitting down with an ‘Uzezi’ (When ever I buy a new book, I design it with my name at a corner, and most times, seeing all those books bear my name, make me so happy like the most prolific mother in the whole world).

Someone I had never met had actually come over to make a proposition for one of my Steven Kings. I said I don’t sell books. He said he knows, that he is a collector of Steven King, and the one I have is the only one he doesn’t have, and was surprised when my brother told him I had the big King bible, and he has searched everywhere for it. Where did I get it? Really? I ended up borrowing him to read and threatened to have my kid brother’s head, if I don’t get the book back. It came back thankfully, with some obvious surgery having taken place, because while the book was with me, it had no reason to go into intensive care and come out with stitches of cello-tape. From their giving out of my books, they entered my CDs and DVDs, because they soon realized that when one book misses from my shelf, I notice, because I know how I arrange my stuffs. I had even locked two of them once, outside, till I get my missing books. I think I got some back.

Anyway, I digress. So she was looking chic in my clothes, and I screamed and all that; ‘you can’t take what does not belong to you! It’s stealing. If you try it again, bla, bla, bla.’

Another visit, I noticed the same thing. I never announce when I’m coming, so she never had the time to hide the clothes. I would scream, my mum would scream, but apparently, her ears have a life of their own, and she will do it again.

I buy her clothes, I even pass some of mine down to her that always make her the envy of her friends. At fourteen, I wasn’t into fashion and stuff, but this babe knows more than me. Even the handbags I gave her, I can swear she doesn’t have one of them left.

The last time this happened, I couldn’t scream. I started to think it is probably what younger sisters do with their big sisters’ stuffs, because I have reasons to believe she is experimenting with some makeup I left behind. All my threats of don’t make me so angry I will take a harsh decision towards you are very empty. I know that. What will I do? Not buy her stuff or pass some down to her? I know I will always do that, she is my sister. But she should have more respect for my stuffs now. Abi?

Talked with a friend and she can’t tell me what to do, cause she is an only daughter. Another friend says she and her sisters – they are all closer in age – wore each other’s stuffs all through their growing up days.
Now really, what do I do? Those of you female bloggers with younger sisters, or big sisters? Is this a normal thing among sisters?

I cannot put a restriction stopping her from entering the room, cause when its empty, it cries to be visited. I believe that even when I was putting a new lock on the door to save my last books, they might have been thinking I am only wasting my time.

I will start wearing all my clothes at once oh! Because once she takes over any, I can’t wear it anymore, before all those her friends that call me aunty will start smirking that I am wearing my younger sister’s clothes. Maybe I really should just thank my stars that we don’t wear same size of shoes. For now, she deals with mumsie’s own. I adore my heels, although I know she did something real terrible to one of my favs. I mean, who else would have done it? My mum won’t wear such heels, and my eleven year old sister who could have been a suspect, cause of the size she wears, is out of town.

Anyway, I just don’t know. I better don’t lose it.

FAKE LASHES.

2008-03-24T15:56:00.003+01:00

So I did say I got me some fake lashes that looks quite natural. Well, it's over a week now, and I'm still rocking it. Though truthfully, I am tired. There are times I want to scratch my lids, and I can't to my satisfaction. They are supposed to fall off on their own. It's over a week now, and they don't want to fall off. I will find out about lashes remover. There should be something like that.

Yesterday and Yester-Years.

2008-03-20T13:10:00.004+01:00

This is a 3 in one post.

ONE
Me posing above, in school two years ago with the very first gown I ever purchased with my money.
The school that I try not to regret that I attended. Two years after, no results. Stupid.

TWO
What I love most about my face are my eyes, and I love to make them up.
Last Week Friday, I almost freaked out. I went to the salon and decided it was time for a new look. I got out of hair extensions, so my hair can breathe. Fixed eye lashes for the first time!

I was so scared. The first thing that jolted me when we began was the girl screaming at me. 'Dont Blink!'

Imagine seing something coming at your eyes and you are told not to blink! At the end, I had tears falling from both eyes. The lashes were beautiful and so real, worth the stress, but my eyes were red, and someone told me sorry later, thinking I had apolo.
Since my lashes, I imagine that everytime I pass by, people are staring at my eyes and wondering. Oh sexy!

THREE
Yesterday I Had Fun!
I don’t drink. But one in a while, I like to get tipsy. The last time that happened was December 29, where I almost emptied a bottle of Irish cream. I was so wasted I promised never again will a sip of anything alcoholic touch my lips. Then good yesterday, at my friend’s place, her fridge was well stocked and she introduced me to a cheap red wine that turns her head. I got a full glass and swallowed it in two gulps. She nearly fainted. “What? You took that like water! I’ve never taken even half of what you took.”

I smiled. “I’m cool.”
She laughed. “You are so finished. Just don’t move.”
I bragged. “I be Warri babe. Drink no dey catch (pronounced cash) me.”
And it was morning, and I’d not eaten anything. She quickly brought me bread and butter, and while eating to save my senses, so I don’t get taken advantage of to confess my past and recent sins, we relaxed watching Playboy TV.

And I used to think ‘The Girls’ Next Door, Of The Playboy Mansion that is – Holly, Bridget and Kendra were the ultimate.
Jesus Christ! What didn’t I see? Imagine all those girls, American sex star, the ones who host the private night calls, etc. It made me remember that I once had a longing to go to New York and dance on tables. I was seventeen then. And I don’t know if I still just don’t want to do that.

And my friend said there’s a club on Victoria Island, and that the owner pays his strippers very well. Ok stop! I ain’t going that far! At all! At all!

Birthday Parties and Rice

2008-03-17T14:16:00.004+01:00

I was home over the weekend to spend time with my folks and siblings, since I’ve not seen them in a while.

Later in the day, I was going through my picture box when I saw the above picture that inspired this post, about birthday parties and rice.

As a child, I attended enough birthday parties where a birthday cake was absent. In place of the cake is salivating jollof rice, dished onto a tray, dressed with onions, tomatoes and lots of meat. On both sides of the tray are soft drinks.

Then the celebrant and the well wishers, stand behind the tray of rice on the table, and pose for pictures, with the celebrant holding onto the spoon on top of the rice hill.

After the pictures, the adults stand and watch us children eat the birthday rice together. And I don’t remember having up to three spoons, because the rice gets finished in a second. Another tray is brought, and same thing happens, because there are stronger hands with wider mouths, who swallow rice instead of chew, thus their spoons make regular trips. And the saddest part of these (rice tray) parties is that the rice is usually so delicious and I never get to enjoy it.

Those types of birthday parties were never fun for me, unlike the one where I get a plate to myself (pix above. I’m second from the left, the only socks wearer).

And eating in one spirit wasn’t just a birthday thing alone because I count a Christmas spent in the village, where visiting children to a house had to wait for more children to visit so that they all could spoon into a tray of rice together. Extremely gross.

And that aside, I’ve heard tales of families with lot of children, having to eat from the same place, and it is always the stronger ones that get filled. As in everything around us, it is the survival of the fittest.

Warri Means More

2008-03-10T17:07:00.004+01:00

And one other thing, you know back in the days, parents named their children according to circumstances in their lives.

My great great-grandfather, Owowo was a known warrior who killed lots of people at war. One day he went to war. After causing lots of spoils, he was surrounded by the enemies. They were all shouting in our language that he should be surrounded because Owowo knew how to disappear. Surround him in my languaue is ‘wadeware’.
So, Owowo was surrounded and just as he was about to be captured, he disappeared.

On getting home, he learnt that his wife had put to bed a baby boy. So he named him edeware – meaning ‘to surround’. A war memory becomes his son’s name.

After another war, people were describing Owowo’s killing acts and said he killed so much that blood was flowing like ‘ekere’ – meaning a ‘stream of water’.

This man went home to meet a new born son, and named him ‘ekere’. Another war memory.

Ekere, my great grandfather, grew up to have, I don’t know how many wives. But his last wife, was my great grandmother, and she had just one child. A boy. My sweet late grandfather. On the day he was born, was the day white men, journeying around Nigeria, entered Warri.

So he was named Warri. Accordingly, I am supposed to be bearing Uzezi Warri. Somehow, we all escaped it and still go by Ekere. But my father wants to make sure his father’s name is not forgotten, so he answers Warri.

So you see, Warri means much more than that city to me. It is my late Grand daddy’s name and I can’t say Warri or visit Warri, without remembering that sweet man who used to speak correct English to me anytime we were together, not because I couldn’t speak Isoko – I can, but because he loved to speak English.

Wow! Is It Really Warri!

2008-03-10T17:02:00.001+01:00

The break was so much worth it.
I went out of Lagos to a place I have always called forsaken, Warri, for four days!
The reason I agreed to attend the marriage ceremony wasn’t really because the bride was a friend – she is a friend of a friend – it was because I wanted a change of environment, and wanted to keep my friend company.

Leaving Lagos, I knew what to expect. Bad road from Ondo all the way through Benin, and I wasn’t wrong.

One of the high points of the first leg of the journey was almost spoilt by the driver of the Expert, who drove into the park of Sizzlers for us to eat.

“Hey!” I went. “Sizzlers no dey sell starch and banga soup oh!”
The guy by my side was like; “Oga abeg carry us go Ofosu where we fit get some native food. One of the things we enjoy about traveling is eating our native food.” Then he told me most times, on his way back to Lagos, he buys food in a take away plate for his wife.
My friend added her voice while the remaining five passengers said nothing. The driver, God bless him, moved on and Ofosu we got to and I was ready to do justice to the starch and banga soup with bush meat. The soup was ok, the starch was too soft! Heartbreak number one!

We got to Warri and I was dumfounded. “Is this Warri?” I asked. The roads were sooooo fine and wide. Then we took a cab to our lodge and I was open mouthed. I thought I was in Ikoyi for real. The houses were so beautiful, the roads so clean, the electricity so stable that I found it difficult believing where I was. It has been over five years since I visited Warri.

I finally believed I was in Warri, when I heard the people speak. Of course, everyone in Warri is a comedian and their accent is sooooooooo funny. I actually sat down watching three women talk and I thought it was home video. They take their time to talk and their pronunciation will make Ali Baba appear old.

You are walking down the road, and someone you don’t know goes like, “Sister I hail oh! I greet oh!” my friend and I just smiled. We were really in Warri.

I noticed that more constructions were in place in Warri and also Ughelli, were the marriage held. I passed by my old school, AGGS and ohhhhhhhhhh! Can’t I just walk in and see?

Not to mention the road blocks we passed by that were actually used during the recent war or fight of the tribes. I felt like a reporter in a post war area! But I was too late to see the destructions cos all I saw was fine, fine, fine. All this beauty covering the mess of the government.

That does not mean I am now at peace with my state oh! I’m still so mad cos Ibori put his cousin there as governor. Ibori built a hospital in a place called Agbero and named it after his wife. The natives refused for the hospital to be opened cos they gave the land and he had the audacity to name it after one woman that is not even from Delta state!

But like a passenger said on our way back to Lagos, Edo government should learn from Delta state and do something about their roads!

Coming back, heartbreak number two occurred when our driver stopped us at Sizzlers to eat. All the fast food in Lagos and I have to eat rice and chicken on the way from home? Jesus me!

Anyway, I recovered and we continued the journey to meet the heavy downpour that blinded lots of driver. In Lagos, the jeep in front of us lost control, did a 360 degree turn before our eyes, skidded to the left pavement, bounced onto the road again, facing us and halted.

It all happened so fast that we didn’t know what to expect. Luckily, our driver wasn’t on high speed, so he could stop very fast as the drama unfolded, else we would have slamed into him, and another slam into us from behind.

The driver of the jeep was open mouthed, unable to believe what just happened. Luckily, no car was on his left. The luxury bus to his right also applied his brakes on time.

I was so thankful to God for journey mercies and the fact that I came back with a cooler of Owo soup and raw starch to go with it. So for the next one week, I am so game for my starch.

Just Asking

2008-03-03T14:10:00.003+01:00

I went to my profile for lack of what to do, after singing Daddy Showkey on Diary of a G. Beneath is 'Delete Blog'. if I click on it, will it ask 'are u sure u want to delete' or it will just delete. I feel like trying it.

My Bit Of Remembrance

2008-03-03T10:58:00.001+01:00

….and she died. It is one event in my life, I will never forget.

I believe I don’t like looking back because there are memories that I would rather want to suppress. I think that is the reason why I find it difficult to remember some names and people when they come up in conversation, or I get to meet them. At a point, I pretend to remember and go ‘okay, yes. I remember.’ Then when I am told of something that happened, I quickly nod my head so there will be peace.

Some memories from secondary school can NEVER be forgotten. The first is the death of my cousin’s school daughter – we were in the same dormitory. The second is my sixteenth birthday, cos I almost lost my life. Kidding.

Anglican Girls Grammer School Ughelli, was fun after school hours, because we run relays everyday. Immediately after lunch or during dinner or prep or even when we are sleeping, someone might scream, ‘BOYS’ and the race begins because on girl wants to be caught by the BOYS. Who knows what they will do.

Behind the school is this thick wood that I never ventured into. And there were lots of shortcuts to and from town, so the town boys and some Government College Boys, used to come and have fun, trying to see if they will see some naked girls. They saw plenty.

Usually when we hear boys, whether at night or during the day, there is only one place we run to, the closest house mistress place.

On this afternoon in December, while the state schools were contemplating going on strike, we were in the dorm when the shout came. But it wasn’t the usual shout of boys that we run from. It was an excitement because the boys were caught by the guard. They were two.

From every corner, we ran and poked to get a better look. We picked whatever from the floor and threw at them. The security man kept telling us to move back. I was standing between Onome and Ufuoma.
“God don catch them,’ I remember Onome saying excitedly. She was a class my junior and thus calls me whom she was bigger than, Sister Uzezi.

I think there were talks about taking the boys to the house mistress place while we were warned to stop throwing things at them. We refused to stop because it wasn’t everyday we get to catch these people who make us run from our prep and hostels and dinning hall. They gave us hell, so we wanted to give the scapegoats, hell.

Something happened, I can’t really remember. We all had different version of what happened next, then the security man’s gun went off.

There were screams, then everyone was quiet. I thought I was shot because I felt stuff on the back of my hands so I looked closely. I later realized it was gun powder. At the same time I was looking at my hands, I saw Onome jump up and scream ‘My God, I am dead.’ Then she hit the floor. Then the commotion started. The bullet passed my front and entered Onome’s side – beneath her ribs.

People were at her side. She was being carried to the house mistress place, when my cousin, who was her school mother, also called Onome, came around. She was coming from town and passing to go home (her family lived in the premises cos my aunt her mum, was one of the teachers and house mistresses).

She quickly took over her school daughter, crying like the rest of us who had surplus fluid in our eyes. Outside the school gate, the bike man was scared when he saw all the blood.

So there was a picture of Onome, carrying Onome, that dead weight and running to get to a hospital, the rest of us, following behind. Eventually a bike took them. At that hospital, they had no equipment to operate the girl who was fast losing consciousness, so their ambulance took her to another hospital.

Back at school, we were all aloof. Will she make it or will she not? The other girl that was standing by my side, Ufuoma, was called by one of the house mistresses and sent to Warri to bring Onome’s parents, since Ufuoma knew her place. She and Onome’s mother came back together that night. By that time, Onome was in the operation room.

We later heard from people who were there that immediately the doctor came out and Mama Onome saw him, she started crying that her daughter was dead. And she was dead. They couldn’t even find the bullet in her!

The news got to school and we cried and gossiped and whatever else we could do.
Then the stories began.
One said, “she saw it coming. Onome knew she was going to die today which is why she arranged all her stuff today. She had gone to the house mistress for an exit note to pass the gate and go home, but was refused.’ Then they were like, assuming she got the note, she might have had an accident on the way, or gotten home, slept and exit the world that way.

Another gist said, her mother had been dreaming of it, that she kept saying something was wrong with Onome, that she was actually preparing to come to school to visit when she saw Ufuoma coming from afar and recognized the uniform. The news was that she had grabbed Ufuoma and screamed what has happened to my daughter?

Then we heard that Onome who was actually the first born child, was born after thirteen years of marriage, that her parents had done some native things with you know who, to get her, and that she wasn’t supposed to live long, which was why they had about five more kids after her. Bullshit.

That night, we all dreamt of Onome. I saw her running around the field.
A day later, the much talked about strike happened and we were asked to go home. Two days later, they came for her things on their way to bury her. The things which Onome took her time to arrange. We could only stare at the coffin, knowing she was in it. How did she get there?

I remember her hair to be really bushy then, and she said she was keeping it for Christmas, so she could braid. She never saw that Christmas.
She was very beautiful and could make people laugh.

The one consolation we all had was knowing she went straight to heaven, because after the bullet entered her and after her scream of ‘My God, I am dead’, immediately she hit the floor, Onome started praying. While my cousin carried her, all through the way, she was praying and asking for forgiveness. She kept praying till she lost consciousness.

Just A Baby

2008-02-28T11:09:00.003+01:00

check. the most beautiful baby in the whole wide world.

When I was little,

• I used to wonder if adults took off their clothes in the bathroom, before taking a bath.
• I wondered why I was born to be little and not as an already grown adult so I could do all the things adults do.
• I had great imaginations. I told a story of the creation before the creation of the world, when there was wind, one hand was blown here, another wind brought another hand, then a leg, another leg, finally a body, then God was made.
• I believed NEPA lived in the ceiling.
• I used to breastfeed my doll and make a face as though she bit my nipples, like I see nursing mothers do.

So Embarrassing

2008-02-25T18:15:00.001+01:00

I have missed church and fellowshipping among the children of God in God’s presence.

Yesterday, I was ready on time, though we got to church late, we were in time for the sermon.

When the pastor came out and told us we had a visiting pastor who would minister to us, I frowned, cos I always like any sermon from my pastor.

So the big shot is the zonal pastor from Ikeja and he immediately led us into prayers that were REALLY uplifting, and I apologized to God for almost not accepting His representative. The sermon was about the Hands of God.
Pray for the Hands of God to lift you out of the island of loneliness, of poverty, of failure, of blah, blah, blah …. Because when the hands of God are upon your life, you cannot go wrong. And we were given bible verses to support the mighty Hands of Gods.

To cut a story short, I enjoyed everything, until the last few minutes before the visiting pastor left.
“Is brother Lekan here?” he asked. “Please come forward.” Then he said something that made me think brother Lekan was about to be rewarded for something, because when brother Lekan passed by, I saw this surprised look on his face.

But how wrong I was, or maybe not so wrong. Definitely surprised was I that I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t lift up my head anymore, and definitely not to look at him when the pastor asked him to return to his seat.

The pastor said, brother Lekan is a worker in the church. He transgressed and has to be punished. So he was demoted, and transferred to the zonal pastor’s church where the pastor could keep a close eye on him.

What! We weren’t told what he did, but the bottom line was that he did something that a Christian isn’t supposed to do and was brought before the congregation. We were asked to pray for him, and pray for the Hand of God to take charge of his life.

My heart went out to him. I was confused. I have been enjoying God like never before then this has to happen? Does it mean that what the church has come to is spreading out our dirty laundries in public?

Doesn’t the verse, ‘he who is without sin cast the first stone’ apply in churches? If he sinned, and that sin is known to a few, is it right to bring it in public? What is the lesson? That if you sin and get caught, you will also be brought out for all to see?

I really don’t know. For some months now, I have been enjoying these worships and thinking that I was probably moved in this direction to experience something entirely different from what I am used to as a Catholic. I have been entertaining maybe finally leaving the Catholic Church for the Pentecostal. A lot of people criticize Catholics saying why do they confess their sins to Reverend Fathers.

A while back, a sister went to her pastor for help, when she felt she was under demonic attack, and she too was brought before the congregation for fornicating, and was also demoted from being a worker in the church.

Our problems taken before God’s representatives ought to be confidential, like a patient doctor thing. If things go on like this, there will be no trust, and should one be embarrassed in church, it is a matter of changing churches right? How long can one change churches. We are all in search of love and acceptance from God and shouldn’t be made outcasts.

And this year alone, I have gone to church more times than I went through out last year, and I really think our relationship has improved.

Please God, help me. I don’t know what to think anymore. I am also a sinner. Have mercy on me. I do not want to be brought before a congregation if caught in the act of sin.

BECOMING A LESBIAN

2008-02-20T15:35:00.005+01:00

In the days when I used to be a journalist, I ran a column titled YOUNG & FREE where I wrote some very nasty and not too nasty things. Some of the articles got me into trouble. Others didn't. One thing it did that I know is that it created an impression of who I am to some, that is teh fake me.

Anyway, this is one of such columns that angered so many and brought so many girls calling me. My only regrets of writing it was when a principal from the north called to tell me he was very disappointed. That his school library buys my paper and his students read my column. 'Imagine what you are telling these young girls?'

Enjoy.

BECOMING A LESBIAN

Is there a girl out there that has never thought of having a go with her fellow girl? Okay, of course there are some boring geeks like that and I wonder just what they do in their lives that give them a kick. Don’t they know that once in a while they have to catch some excitement?

People keep frowning at talks about gay and people who are gay. I frown also, but only when it involves guys. For the life of me, I cannot understand how a guy and a guy can actually give themselves pleasure, with all the girls around. But lesbianism is different. I understand it to an extent that a girl doesn’t give her entire life to it and going all the way to become a couple with another girl. At that point, deliverance is welcome. But what I am talking about is when out of want of a different kind of pleasure, girls have a go at themselves.

My girlfriend in South Africa called me almost at the end of last week to do some girl talk, and talking about her boyfriend, she said she suspects that everything is not alright with them, that perhaps it was her imagination.
“Sweetheart, that is how problems begin, from your imagination,” I told her.
“Abeg, I don tire for everything,” she said. “In fact right now, now lesbian I wan be.”

I couldn’t hold the laughter. “At your age!” I screamed. “You didn’t do it when you were still schooling here up north, where it is more popular, it is now?”
Anyway, she was serious about it, and after she rung off, I thought about it and why not? That is exactly the answer I have been looking for to all this boring days I seem to be having and missing Krys so badly. All I need is a female lover to blow my mind away.

As a matter of fact, I already did.
This thing between girls is so freaking cool and enjoyable, that you could drown in it. I pity guys who let girls go because the world these days have become such that a girl can actually do without the guy.
If she wants to get down, sex toys are there. Give me a nice vibrator and one of those strip teasers if I won’t forget about Krys.
Making the decision wasn’t so hard because I know it is so easy to get female lovers. I already have one whose affection I refused last year, when we met at a mutual friend’s house.

It happened that she was staying the night like me. I took her interest in me for granted till later at night when three of us had to share the big bed.
Miss Lesbian already took position in the middle of the bed so that one way or the other, she will have either one of us, or both of us.

I was just lying down and still talking with her, our mutual friend fast asleep when she made her move on me. In all my life, I have never been so turned on by a girl.
At first, I thought it was my imagination that she was tracing her fingers lightly through my thighs, and gradually the fingers would move up. When I didn’t feel her touch anymore, I concluded it was my mistake. But when out of the blue her hands went under my nightie, I knew it was no imagination.

Probably because she was unsure of what my reaction would be, she took her time. If she touched, she did it so lightly and stopped, maybe for me to make up my mind if I wanted her to continue or if not, I would just turn away from her.
But I didn’t make up my mind. No, maybe I did because I didn’t stop her. I didn’t turn away. If anything, I readjusted myself so that she could have easy access.

Call me anything, but that was one adventure I had no intention of missing out on. I was intrigued and wanted to find out just how far she could go and how good she was.
Miss Lesbian was good. Believe me. Unlike the usual where both the guy and the girl have to go through all the preliminaries to get turned on, we skipped them, or she did, because it was a one sided show, she giving the pleasure and I receiving. And did that girl know how to get me weak or what? And with just her hands; those magic fingers.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I stopped her by leaving the bed in an excuse to use the loo. On returning, I pushed our mutual friend to the middle and slept on her other side, so that Miss Lesbian couldn’t reach me anymore.
It wasn’t like I was offended. I just didn’t want her to have any illusions that we could do it. Although she is a friend of my friend, she was a stranger to me.
The next morning, she took my phone number saying she would be in touch. I nodded knowingly.
I never thought of her again, till she called me days back just to say hi. I invited her over and the rest is history.

Then I got this mails from readers.

RE- BECOMING A LESBIAN

Hi people, I am taking a break to let you readers write while I respond a little.
If your comment didn’t make my list here, next time. Thanks for being ardent lovers of Young & Free

Hi, I just read your column. Honey, lesbianism is no different from what a guy does with a guy because as you put it, there are guys all over town, why go for girls because you want something real and natural, you want to feel the ecstasy that no woman can ever give you. So dear, likewise with us guys; we are not crazy but adventurous. Please stop speaking badly about us. The world hates us already. Bk
Ok, Bk, I promise to stop saying bad about ‘you’ guys

Quite a risk you are taking writing about lesbianism. You know how society views all gay issues and those who publicly advocate it. I admire your boldness. Sam
Thanks Sam.

How can you be so bold?
Because mister or miss no name, only the bold can succeed in life

Hi, I like you really. Love the way you meander through the difficult terrain you have chosen to write. I like the choice of words and the skips. Keep writing about the absurd. Its another yet unexplored field in our native world. You might hit a jacky of the literals soon. Thumb up for you. Im Bashir
Thanks love. I will definitely hit that jacky.

Uzezi, why be a lesbian when I can take good care of you and give you the real thing not the fake lesbians give with the finger. Please do get in touch and let’s start. Ayo.
And what are we supposed to start, Ayo?

I invited her over and the rest is history … I long suspected you to be a lesbian, Uz; with the way you always pounce on guys. True, as your fan out there, I always knew ‘Sugar Stick’ meant nothing to you until your confession on Becoming A Lesbian. Yes I will call you anything. But those girls out there engaging in lesbianism, educate them that by that way they are still prone to AIDS. No escape route. I will tell you how, that is if you care to know. But if you don’t, I wouldn’t bother much. I still remain your fan. And guess what, a friend just told me that his wife of six years with two issues, has been hiding her true age from him. Why are women lying about their age? UZ, it is about time you tell us why. How old are you? I am Krys, too. But not the one you are missing o … but I still want to know your age. Bye.
Oh Krys, so you suspected me uh? Anyway, I will educate the sistas. About your friend and his wife, wow. I don’t know why people lie. People love hearing lies because truth hurts. How old I am? Are you contesting the fact that I am young as my column suggest?

I’m a lady of sixteen old. My name is Indo. I’m Fulani by tribe residing in the north. It’s just that I read your article. Please I want to become a party to you. I hope you will give me a chance. My sweet lady, I’m a virgin and I hate to interact with guys.
Indo, first of all, I think you are too young to be reading this column. Secondly, God created the man first, for a reason.

Hi Uzezi! Pray you are hale and hearty today. Got a little confused reading through Young and Free of this week. We’re left to imagine what transpired between you and Linda at the end of the previous column. Hope you may not end up confusing us the more next week. Cheers and more ink to your pen. Your fan and admirer.
Dear F&A, I only got into the full gist of what happened, after she called. Don’t be confused.

Hi, Harry is my name, and an ardent reader of the Mirror newspaper. I must tell you your article about ‘Becoming a Lesbian’ is soooooooooooooooooo great and interesting, infact I had to read it over and over again, cos I guess it takes guts and professionalism to actually write stuffs like that in Nigeria. This is cos we are great pretenders in Nigeria and we have also been blinded by parochial tradition. There are so much of your view I share, such as the fact that guys have no reason to indulge in such act, personally I dislike guys that are gays with a passion and can’t even stand there presence, cos I think it is disgusting and sick, but for lesbians I feel and know they have all the reasons in the world in as much as they can still get involved with the opposite sex.
Harry, I had to cut your mail cos I believe the rest of it is between us alone, since you revealed some secret about your friends. Well, I am still expecting to hear from you. And thanks for enjoying what I write. I rock.

The Case Of An Ex

2008-02-20T14:20:00.001+01:00

…. and when the phone rang and I saw the number, I thought it was one of those cranks who call me after getting my number off the newspaper. I was putting little Anabel to bed as I answered, expecting my caller to either hang up or say, ‘baby how now? I see ur advert for magazine and I wanna know you. Baby how can I see u?’

“Who is this?” I asked again, getting ready to tell him never to call again.
“Tayo.”
“Who?”
“Wetin dey do you? U no dey hear? It’s Pius.”
I paused and checked the number again. “Pius?”
“Yes.”
“Are u in Nigeria?”
“Came in yesterday?”
“Welcome back,” I said, hoping that I sounded nonchalant. “So you still have my number.”
“Always had your number.”
“How come you never call?”
“We don’t have anything to talk about?”
{Can u believe the shit!}
“Where are u?” he asked.
“Opebi.”
“Are u serious? I’m in Opebi too.”
I smiled. “Really? Where in Opebi?”
“Cottage. What are you doing in Opebi from Satellite Town?”
I told him.
“Come and see me now. Cottage is in…”
“I know where Cottage is. I have chiken pox?”
“Abeg no come. No come give me disease. Anyway, I came for my grandmother’s burial.”
“When is it?” I asked.
“On Saturday, I’m going back on Monday. Come and see me now?
“With my chicken pox? When are you leaving for Delta?”
“Wednesday.”
“Ok. Will try and see you tomorrow then.”

Ok. We said goodbye and I picked up my book to read and repeated one sentence a thousand times. What the hell am I thinking of? Not him! After four fucking miserable years?
So I was asking myself what he looks like now. Finer, bigger? I shall know tomorrow. I refused to think of the good old days, because really, that relationship was a classified fling as far as I was concerned. Told him so then. A fling that lasted six months till he jetted out of good old Naija. And communication once or twice, after that, out of sight out of mind. Move on, life goes on.

Tomorrow came and I changed tops like ten times. I wasn’t dressing for him, I just wanted to cover some chicken pox spots not yet healed on my arms and majority of what I wear are sleeveless. So I settled for one with a countess Dracula sleeve and went to see him.
Thankfully, he had company. A mutual friend. Then they had to smoke and I politely asked them to do it in the loo.
“Since when Uzezi?” Pius asked. “Can u imagine. You used to light up for me in those days.”
“Never!”
Anyway, I was spared the smoke till another friend joined us. We were all talking but all I wanted was to jet cos I don’t trust him.
Can’t remember what I did that made him almost choke me to death because I refused to say ‘mingwo’ to him. His Urhobo greeting.
And they are like, say it now. I was screaming cos he was hurting me, but I wouldn’t say it.
“I am older than you,” he reminded me as if I didn’t know that. “So you can’t greet me in Urhobo.”
“How many years you take senior me? I don’t greet my elder brother that way,”
“Okay, we shall see.”
Eventually my stubbornness prevailed.
But I was reminded how much weight I have lost. Really! And I thought I was adding. “Did you miss me?” he asked when we were all leaving.
I smiled. “Just a little.”

And trust me later on my way to wherever and later in the day, thinking thoughts I shouldn’t. Just can’t wait for Monday to come so that he can return to his obodo oyibo and I can quench those wandering thoughts.

And later at night, on the phone, I asked him on the other side of the phone, “Guess which of my ex just got into town yesterday?”
“His name starts with P. is it Peter, no Pius.”
I smiled. “You can’t forget.
“So he’s back?”
“Just for a burial. He’s going back on Monday.”
“Okay. He came and couldn’t wait to call you …..”

All this going in circles, Uzezi. I need to wake up.

POST CHICKEN POX

2008-02-20T14:06:00.002+01:00

So, it has come and gone that I suffered chicken pox, and celebrated my valentine from the purse that the foul brought for me. Not Bad.

One week of being indoors was no joke at all. I read my novels at the slowest pace that I have ever read because I had to pause here and there to scratch that itchy place, to the extent that I got out of bed one night, switched on the light and chopped off all my nails before it rains disaster into my life in the form of sores.

Thankfully, the pox was wise enough to leave my face the way it is. So no spots. Thank God! As for the others scattered here and there, I am waging war of all sorts I can get my hands on.

OH My GOD!

2008-02-12T12:38:00.001+01:00

It is appointed unto man to suffer chicken pox once in a lifetime, after that, no more.

I am screaming and this is not funny. How come I woke up today to discover that I am coming down with chickenpox at my age! Spoke with my dad on the phone to confirm if what I had was chickenpox. I asked if I had it as a child and he said no! Why the hell not? WHY NOT as a child???

They are not much yet, but I itch like hell. What will happen when they start puting to bed? And when they are through with me, hope they will take the spots away, because I scare to think about it! My skin oh oh oh oh. My Face! Sweet Jesus. WHY ME???

Finally I Walked Away

2008-02-12T12:15:00.001+01:00

I have been saying I will, I will, since last year. Then finally like Brandy in that her 'Finally' song, I did the same. But while the R&B singer was singing about walking away from an abusive relationship, I am talking about walking away from my job that has been my only source of income for almost three years.

Yes. It is certified, I am so indeed, crazy. But I did it and I don't regret it. NOT even the fact that I am so cashless, totally broke changes the fact.

Before I walked, the rumour had already gone round the newpaper house that Uzezi has left. While some said I have resigned, others said I have started work elsewhere as if they are the ones that gave me the employment, others still, said I left to get married, then others reasonable said, I left to return to school.

Because through out January, I didn't work, they assumed I was gone, whereas, I was struggling to stay alive.

A day to the day I was to resume work, a Sunday, I went to the office to re familiarize myself with the environment, but I didn't feel it.

On Monday, Feb 4, I went to work, attended the editorial meeting of my desk and after the meeting, made up my mind I was leaving.

When I announced on Fed 7, that I had resigned, some where like, 'I knew it'. Most wanted to know where I was going, I said nowhere and I could tell no one believed that, becasue it would be crazy to leave your job for the unknown. But I am crazy, and I did leave my job for the sooo scarrrry unknown which I have been planning for almost two years.

I spoke with my bosses and they all had kind words for me. My publisher and eidtor gave me good advice and I was glad. It was even made better when I was told anytime at all, if I feel the need to return, I will have a job. Ain't that great. But me know says, me no dey go back there. Got to move on and forward right?

Outside my former office, on my way home, I looked heavenwards and said. 'I did it Lord, now You really have to rescue me because right now, I am approaching that point where there will be no turning back, so let's do it.'

I have a passion to pursue and while I know it will succeed, the preparation and planning is driving me bunkers with confusion. But, no, I won't be walking away from this new path, anytime soon.

Back From The Dead.

2008-02-12T11:58:00.001+01:00

I have always heard that malaria kills, but I never believed it till I was bedridden 4 two weeks due to that damn illness.

It started like every other malaria and I quickly sent it to hell. Then a week later, after dinner, I threw up and continued vomiting all the through the night. By morning I was so freaky weak and totally dehydrated. First treatment began after the pharmacist prescribed, after three days of no changes, I thought I was going to die. Really. It was then I realised I really wanted to live. I remembered the verse from the bible that asked God of what use the dead were to Him since they cannot praise Him from the grave, and I asked Him the same question. In my weakness and sickness infected body, me myself and I did some serious prayers and binding and believing that by morn, I will be healed.
Then I was found in my room one evening crying because I was tired of being ill. i couldn't do the simpliest task for myself. I couldn't eat anything and the drugs made me sicker. One week and no improvement. There's so much more I need to do on earth. The next day, that treatment stopped and I got admitted for real. Three and a half drips and I was still a vegetable. Jesus.
Anyway, I am alive to tell the tale. Doc said I had it bad when the test came in. Said if my genotype had been AA, that it would have been worse for me, that becasue I am AS and have some immune whatever jargons he was speaking, I could fight it. I was like, 'really'. After this hell I have been through?
And the day I could walk round the house without panting, I thanked God for my health and prayed, please Lord, I never want to be ill again. Not even headache. I don't want it. Thank You for saving me.

New Year, New Friend

2008-01-07T14:53:00.000+01:00

It must be a sign of new beginning for many good things to come this year. Last Friday, I was on my popular mode of transportation in Ikeja - Okada- when my phone rang and it was a Tolu on the phone. I could barely hear her, so I told her to call in another twenty minutes. Before she hung up, she asked my name and I told her, and confirmed she was calling from her office.
The first thing that came to my mind was that it was a call for a job interview, either for me, or my brother, because it's a number I don't give out at all. So I called my brother and asked if he submitted my CV anywhere. He said yes. Is the starcomms number included? he said yes. what if the call is for you? I asked after explaining the call. he told me what to say and I returned the call to Tolu.
It wasn't for a job, and I wasn't dissapointed because I'm not looking for one. Am I? She saw my number in her phone and wondered. I collected her number, crosschecked it in my starcomms phonebook, zero match, so I called and told her so. I asked if she knew my brother. she said no. So somehow, my very private number got into her phone.
We laughed over it and said goodbye.
Then I did something I have never done before. I called her yesterday to chat.
I opened with, I thought your call was to invite me for a job interview. She was sorry to disappoint me, but I told her it wasn't for me. I am not looking for a job. You have one? she asked. Yes and no, I said, because I am resigning. Where are you headed? she asked. Nowhere. Just tired and bored of routine and want to relax for a while. I told her. She was stunned. We talked about little things people just meeting talk about, how the weekend went and first sunday in church, and I ended promising to attend her church, Daystar, sometime soon, since another friend has been inviting me. When she asked about my church, I said Catholic, though I went to Redeemed that day (I have been going to Redeemed since December, since moving temporaly to Opebi and I do enjoy it. No I will not dump my Catholic. Till death do us part). I told her I was anxious to attend her church because of the carry bag they give first time comers to the church. Saw the bag at my friend's place and loved it. Very naughty reason to go to a church. I know.
Anyway, I got a new friend. Me who doesn't make friends easily, made one. Good move Uzezi. If I continue this way, I will have quite a number to buy my aso-obi for my wedding when the time comes. As for buying my books, frieds, always want it free. LOL.

It's Bye To 2007

2007-12-28T12:44:00.000+01:00

I am not so glad the year is ending, because certain things refused to happen for me. That notwithstanding, I am glad it is ending, because with it goes the unpleasant sides of the year. Thinking back, I wonder, would the year have been more exciting without the unpleasanties? Maybe Yes, Maybe No.
With time, I have learnt to cherish mistakes and failures, for their abilities to teach what I never can acquire from all the books. Like Alicia Keys sang in her new album, I call them, lesson learnt.
As the year gradually raced towards these last days, there was a time I experienced serious boredom in almost everything that has anything to do with me, and toping the list was my work.
The meditations and placements of my priorities in order of importance helped me understand the reason I dragged my feet for so long, and I sought for solutions.
I am unsure if the solutions I arrived at are it, but I feel consoled and happy that once again, I can summon that boldness, I had years back, and go forward for what I want. Some of my close friends do not think I am doing the right thing, but an adventure free life is what brings boredom.
I am about to enter the world again - I vacated for a while - while I feel excited by the rush of andrenalin, I am a little scared of all the 'what ifs' that are jumping at me, trying to tame me back to being the docile one, accepting what I am given, instead of what I can give myself.
So, as I say goodbye to 2007, I remember the moments of sadness, and thank God for helping me through the dark days. I remember the broken dreams I prayed about and understood the reasons they became broken. I remember the moments of joy that helps me differentiate between my wants and my needs, and I thank God for bringing me back on track, telling me never to forget to ask his opinion again, before venturing out, and with that, I am telling 2008 to bring it on. I am ready! By His Grace!

Telling The African Story In Paintings

2007-12-21T14:20:00.001+01:00

Already published in the National Mirror Newspaper

By: UZEZI EKERE

For centuries, visual art has been a strong tool of communication as it tends to portray the mind and thinking of the artist as well as the situation of the time.
Today, it is not so different because more artist have become more open minded about their works.
In the first week of September in Essex England, Redbridge Museum and Central Library will be exhibiting the works of Titus Agbara in a solo show with theme Scapes from Africa.
Art is life and the message it communicates in different languages and manners depending on the viewer is what makes it unique. Hearing tales about Africa can never be as enthralling to Africans resident in Africa as it will be to blacks in the Diaspora, people who have visited Africa, and those still yearning to hear about the continent that is preceded by more negative news than positive ones.
The Nigerian born artist Agbara is on a mission to deliver a message with this exhibition. “As an artist I always enjoy the fleeting essence of nature on our environment,” he said. “It gives me a glimpse of perfect happiness in this life of uncertainties, which is why my future goal is to touch the lives of people, and if through my painting, someone can be emotionally balance in the soul, mind and body, if I can bring joy into their hearts and it is cherished, then I’m happy.”
The artist who says he enjoys combining traveling with art, draws his inspiration from his environment, as is reflected in the works that he will be exhibiting in the show that begins on September 3 till 8, 2007.
“All my life had been in Africa. Moving to an entirely different geographical area in terms of climate, culture and race, definitely bring nostalgic feelings. There is this saying "home sweet home", so I always reminisce home. I have chosen the theme "Scapes from Africa" to reach out to the blacks in Europe and tourist who have visited Africa, through my paintings to see what they have left behind.”
Titus Agbara presents very colourful works that leaves little doubt in the minds of his viewers regarding his statement, as each painting has a story to tell.
Born in Lagos, Agbara is a product of the famous Auchi Art School, graduating in 1999 and honoured for his outstanding performance as the best graduating student. Since then, immediately after his National Youth Service Corporation, NYSC, he decided on being a full time studio artist.
The artist, who was part of last year’s Mydrim Gallery Annual Pastel Exhibition show, sees his coming show in London as an opportunity. “Painting is a visual language, it is what you see and appreciate,” he said. “The galleries in London are there to promote artists and their works if they meet up to their standard and requirement. Most galleries have a definite house style or policy regarding what type of art work they are interested in and it’s a good idea to research this carefully so you can present your work professionally then your success rate will be high. Moreover, there are a lot of opportunities here for artist to explore their talent.”
Just before going to London, Titus Agbara spent a couple of months in Ghana for a residency programme.
“That happened through applications and interviews. I was selected for an art residency programme to Ghana for three months under the tutelage of Prof. Ablade Glover and it was sponsored by the Ford Foundation through Terra Kulture, promoting cross cultural experience between Nigeria and Ghana.”
He described that experience as an avenue that helped to establish links with other artists, organisations and art professionals, establishing a mutual exchange of ideas, experimenting and trying new approaches.
“In the course of the art residency in Ghana, as a landscape and figurative painter, I used it as an opportunity to search for natural places that intrigues me. And to this, arose some of the paintings I have done for this coming exhibition.”
Nevertheless, Agbara isn’t in London just to exhibit for the fun of it and move on to other things or projects. He hopes that with his paintings as a medium, he can communicate effectively and give back to Africa, what is due her.
“For the period of time that I have been in the UK, I have attended workshops, talks and concerts. Some aim at tracing blacks back to their root. And I found out that many have forgotten where they come from. I personally interrogate few people about their background, and really it’s been a long way from home, believe me. Putting up this exhibition will enlighten them and portray natural places in Africa as site where you can find peace and tranquility.”
Although he has had twelve selected group exhibitions, this will be Agbara’s first solo show, after which he will be heading for South Africa, later in the year, for another solo exhibition.
“I’ve been nurturing the idea of a solo since 2004, it lingered till 2006. And when the time came, the exhibition took place but had to be a duo show because I was away in Ghana.”
According to the artist who says he has chosen palette knife painting, he describes himself as an impressionist with a tendency to realism. “People get fascinated by the unusual textural effect, different knife strokes and the variety of interesting edges I could achieve with the knife.”
Getting inspiration is usually no problem for this artist. “My heart is glued to beauty nature has bestowed on human environment. Due to the hustle and bustle in the city, seldom do people take cognizance of the fleeting essence of nature. All these get me inspired in my search for natural places to express my inward mind with colours.”

Rising To The Masters

2007-12-21T13:56:00.002+01:00

This piece has been previously published in National Mirror, written by Uzezi Ekere

After twenty two years of being in the art industry, after lots of remarkable group exhibitions, one of the last hosted by the Embassy of Greece in Nigeria, Funsho Omojola, cannot be regarded as a road side artist.
Although he displays his works along the road and has come to be known by a lot of people through the exposure that being on the road side offers, Omojola is more than a class above those other artists who work and display by the road side, because he is the most exhibited artist you will find by a road side.
“You can’t call me a road side artist,” Funsho Omojola said. “One thing about art, since I knew art and learnt about art, I haven’t heard that you cannot display your works anywhere you want or can’t make your money anywhere. The real meaning of road side artists is those people who know absolutely nothing about art; that they are just doing whatever they like, copying and imitating other people’s work. I do my own work and I have proved myself. If I can be called to showcase my works alongside the president of Nigerian artists, to showcase with my lecturer and renowned artists, it means a lot to me. You can make your money anywhere and display your works anywhere as long as you are comfortable.”
Omojola is one of the most accessible artists in the country considering the fact that he chose to do his business of displaying works of art, along a very busy road, in Ikeja, Lagos state.
The painter, native of Ekiti state, has come a long way in the arts from his humbling beginning to stand side by side with those considered as the masters of the game, and in his own right, he too has become a master. If not, why else would he be featured in an exhibition tagged ‘Hellenic Images and Fifty Four Nigerian Masters’, and while else would other artists be tripping to his door, believing that he can help them to break through the doors into the mainstream of Nigerian art?
Omojola’s whole life has become his art which is the only thing that he does for a living, and what he is known for. In 2007 alone, he has featured in three group exhibitions, including one organized by the African Art Resources Centre, AARC, and is preparing for more that are coming up shortly.
“People come to me and I learn more through these interactions,” he said. “That is how I discovered myself. I didn’t have money to rent galleries, so I created a place in other to fend for myself. I thought of it, that if a collector can be making money in the field of arts, I’m an artist, why not make it my own business, so it worked for me. My style is different because I work through what I hear and see, then I put it in practice.”
Although in his own right a successful artist, he has no plans of abandoning displaying his works by the road, where he started from, to go take shelter in a roofed gallery. “I can’t leave this place,” he said with a smile. “This is where I discovered myself. Rather than me leave this place, I will use the place to let people know me more and use that opportunity to showcase other artists. There’s a building close by where I’ve already taken a place for my gallery that will open soon this year, but this place will continue to run because when people move around, they get attracted to what we showcase and they come. From here we can tell then about the gallery and they will come.”
As a painter, his works cut across various media. “I’m more into abstract but my style is changing now to basic designs. It’s a form where by colours are interwoven into one another.”
Omojola can be regarded as offering a huge service to the country, because not only one person has approached him on the grounds that they also do what he does, and most of the time, he shows them the way. But then, majority of then are usually after quick money in the art business. That apart, he is using the sight appeal to get people passing by, interested in art and the beauty in it.
“There are many talented people around, but because of their shyness, they just drift away somewhere and can’t work. They will be telling me that they are artists. Some of them even bring their works to me, but most of them do not believe in art as a work that can sustain them because they want fast money. Art shouldn’t be about money first, they can never get it right that way. I tell them.”

SO Forever

2007-11-07T16:38:00.001+01:00

Oh Uzezi, where have you been all these years? Blogging has become a burden for me due to so many reasons that i can't put down. But, I'm trying to see how that will change, beginning from now.

The Ring Thingy

2007-07-24T19:58:00.001+01:00

i copied this from www.poshbuki.blogspot.com
and decided to share. i will write what i feel on this issue sometime soon.

"my friend Abiodun got married some days back and it was a beautiful day, she and her groom got their papas to spend plenty money and we all cooed over every single detail except the groom, “what is a fine looking sista like Abbe doing with him?” was the question on our minds, but spinelessly not our tongues.The groom, who apart from being just 18 years older than stylish and beautiful Abbe was peculiar, he didn’t behave as if he was getting married, didn’t smile at the bride or anyone, didn’t look longingly into the bride’s eye! Didn’t look excited!...
DIDN’T LOOK LIKE HE WAS THERE!I asked if anyone knew how they met and nobody knew, it sounded a bit odd as Abbe had always enjoyed flaunting every aspect of her life to every one of us.I was beginning to think there could be an X-FILES theory somewhere when one of my girls said,
“It’s the ring thingy you know”“What thingy?” I asked.“Buki, that’s the new virus in town, some of our friends are frenzied with it and have become harmful to chaps, while some others have taken too large a dose of the anti-virus.”“WHAT?” I asked dumbly“We all wanna get married, some of us more than the others while some don’t, don’t be surprised if some of these girls spring up creepier grooms than Abbe’s” and with that she laughed and left me gawking.I wondered what the frenzy was all about but as I looked into the faces of my girlfriends, I felt their fears, some of them had partied too hard, some had been too reclusive, some are ultramodern (like me). I don’t want the virus or thingy, but I’d like a normal ring sometime in the not-so-far-not-so-near future."

A Poem?

2007-07-19T18:29:00.001+01:00

STRANGE

At his touch, I loosen.
At his caress, I melt.
As the lone finger
Finds me and knows me,
I loss.
But at insertion …
SHIT! This is rubbish.
He’s failed.

(c) UZEZI EKERE. 8th DECEMBER. 2002.

An Amateur's Poem

2007-07-19T18:24:00.001+01:00

this is the very first poem i wrote in my life, and whenever i read it, and compare it with recent ones, i tell myself i have improved, but really, have i? why haven't i published? fear?

CONFUSION

Infatuation is a foolish love at first sight.
Foolish because you are loving blindly.
Blindly because you are loving what you can’t get.
What you can’t get, because you are unsure
If to you he can belong.
Relationships are journeys one embarks on.
The outcome sometimes your destination.
On the wrong lane the bus sometimes drops you.
To be content it’s best today’s blessing.
And tomorrow’s for itself leave.
But unabsorbed at times is a day’s blessing,
Because of confusion.
Of him, alone at home I think.
Tons to tell him I want.
I see him, and dumb become I.
For him to hear,
A trillion and one sweet things.
My words,
The sound of his voice distinguishes.
What, I ponder, do I await?
Scared I am. The answer.
I know risks go with life,
And without one, on further I go.
Should be strong I know.
Fragile is the heart.
Of loving I’m confused
Because I am scared.
Too much on my mind it seems.
Don’t know how to handle anything.
My way, nothing I want comes.
Two opportunities,
I know, are different.
Tight I should hold when one I have.
And with courage handle.
At the door, my burden place.
Maybe that could help.
Then maybe,
I can be a good friend.

(c) UZEZI EKERE. 17th AUGUST. 2001

Interview with Lekan Balogun

2007-07-18T19:07:00.001+01:00

This Interview was published in National Mirror in April.

My Friends Think I Must Be Crazy To Live As A Dramatist-Lekan Balogun

Like his contemporary, Wole Oguntokun, Lekan Balogun belongs to a new generation of Nigerian playwrights, prolific and focused, whose contributions to the growth of the Nigerian theatre is considered by critics to be invaluable and worthy of commendation. In this interview with UZEZI EKERE, he talks about his career as a dramatist and what lies ahead. Excerpts:

How long have you been involved with the theatre?
We are talking about fourteen years, and its been one long and adventurous one.

What has the journey been like for fourteen years?
It’s been very enormous really, because quite a lot of people do not know that I didn’t start as a playwright. They know me as a writer but I actually started as a stage actor, after a while I got into research, which I still do, and it is in the course of my research that my flair for writing sprout into the open.

Did you encounter challenges down the journey?
Basically, in all works I’ve done, except a few, I have had to start to do most of my work from zero level without having any support whatsoever, But because I have a very strong passion for what I am doing and the arts, I have never considered any work I want to do to be difficult or impossible. And as fate would have it, I’ve always been able to come across support of some sort. For someone like me to have been able to get to a level that is now well recognized, I think I can give myself a pass mark.

You said you started with acting?
Yes. I started when I was a student of English at the Federal College of Education, Abeokuta. That was in 19993. when I finished in 1996, I joined the then Centre of Cultural Studies, which is now Creative Arts Department, University of Lagos. I joined as an associated member, under the late Professor Bode Osonye. I was a member of his troupe, and I also belonged to other theatre organizations like that. It was actually at the centre that I was given my professional training because I had the opportunity of working with some of the best crop of actors and actresses in the field, dancers, singers and several of them. People like Tunji Sotimirin, Norbert Young, Ernest Obi, Jude Orhara and several other guys that are now outside the shores of the country. And for quite a lot of people that passed through Bode Osonye,, it was a total theatre thing, like you are an actor or singer, writer or others. For me being the most prominent of his students that took after him in terms of writing, I have been able to record quite a number of successes. I won NANTAP award, then Festival of Nigeria Plays 2002, with my entry ‘Moremi’. Even before then, some of my plays have been given recognition like in 2002 when I was adjudged the most promising playwright in University of Lagos. After that I have won other awards. ‘Oya’ was selected by the jury for the Univeristy of Jos Festival of Theatre in 2006. the same thing with ‘Beyond the Sunset’, the play was eventually used as the University of Lagos convocation play in 2006, and as a result of that play, it was taken again by the National Troupe to the National Theatre, a form of collaboration. There’s been a lot.

Is there any particular role you played that appeared the toughest for you?
Yes. I remember sometime in 1999 that I played ‘Odewale’ in The Gods Are Not to Blame’. Actually it was the first time in my acting career that I was given the lead role and it was very challenging. It took quite a lot from me. But I was able to record an outstanding performance, that a couple of people who came to see the play even mounted the stage after the performance to give me money. Very amazing. I have done several like that all over.

How many plays have you written?
I started writing ten years ago and today I have written close to thirty plays, and I have had the privilege of having close to 18 of them performed on the stage. In Lagos, Ibadan, Jos, Abuja, even outside Nigeria and I have five published works. The sixth will be coming out every soon.

What work play are you working on at present?
I’m working on the ‘Olive Branch’. It’s a play I’ve been working on in the last four years. It has transformed and has gone through several stages. I’m trying to look at using drama to preach peace. I’m someone that is grounded in the Yoruba culture. I try to bring certain traditional functions to fit into the concept of my play and that’s what we are working on and by June it should go on stage.

Which of your plays was the very first to be performed on stage?
It was ‘Onikoye’. It was performed at the National Theatre in 1999.

Did you write and direct the play?
No. I wrote it and I played one of the lead roles. I played the chanter. It’s something a lot of people don’t know I can do. Of all the plays hat I’ve written, I’ve only directed about two or three. I always giving them out to a director, trying to see their interpretation, whether it will be different from mine, or very close to it, or just what I have in mind. I so much love the idea of watching people give their own interpretation of what they think I have mind. It’s exciting to me, to see other people do it.

But you are directing the Olive Branch play?
Yes. I will work on that myself. I’m going to involve a kind of technique that people don’t do in our theatre and I wouldn’t want to say much about it. When you see the play, you will understand what I mean.

Which of your plays would you consider the most popular?
I think ‘Moremi’ is actually the most popular for the fact that it has won awards and has done the highest level of performance for the festival of Nigeria Plays organised by NANTAP and then having it done again by the students of University of Lagos. The one I think that has come that close is ‘OYA’ that has enjoyed enormous success in terms of cast strength and performance.

People actually associate your name with ‘OYA’. Like someone trying to name good plays will say ‘like Oya by Lekan Balogun’.
Yes. That’s because of the success the play has recorded. To quite a number of people, ‘Oya’ seem to kind of cloud the kind of image that ‘Moremi’ has. The play was enormous, and it has everything that you can call an African play, dialogue, poetry, dance, chant, music, everything. Coupled with the storyline, it was fantastic. For the first time, you see an African playwright bringing gods to the level of human beings who can have emotions, and gods too can fall in love and be jealous. It’s the concept that made it so popular. People still send messages that they want me to stage it again. But it’s extremely expensive to put up.

Does that mean you won’t stage it again?
I definitely will. Maybe one of these days, if somebody walks up to me with a million, a sort of sponsorship, I will do it.

Do you have your own theatre troupe?
Yes. But it’s not a troupe. It’s an organization called Renaissance Theatre Company. We have quite a number of talented young people. Some of them will be part of the ‘Olive Branch’ play, and you see most of them every time in my productions, apart from the fact that I always try to see new people in my plays. Anytime I give my work to a director, I tell them I want to new people. I’m not that kind of dramatist that will say I need established actors, because I believe there are a lot of vibrant young and talented artists out there that people need to see beyond the regular faces.

What impact generally do you think plays make in the society?
Quite a lot. From the ages people have always known that theatre, drama, plays are veritable tools for social commentary and very strong weapon for change, for education, for information, for re-orientation, anything. The enormous strength of plays as tools for social mobilization change can not be over emphasized.

Do you have a particular venue for your plays?
Everywhere. It depends on the particular mood and temperament of the play. I have done plays at the MUSON Centre, National Theatre, International Conference Centre Abuja, University school theatres. Everywhere. It also depends again on the demand of the plays. There’s a play I did ‘Birthday Present’. It was taken to the Refugees Camp in Ogun state to tell you that the plays go anywhere.

Can you judge the reaction of your audience to your plays?
I think that without actually blowing my trumpet, everyone of my plays has been accepted because I develop a style where I don’t play around with words. I try to make it very simple so that you can always go on with the dialogue, with the message and every time you realise that people seem to identify with it. for in stance, in 2004, I wrote ‘St Dominic’ to mark the 50th year of St Dominic Church in Nigeria, and it was greatly applauded, by both the parishioners and priest of the church to tell you the level at which my work is accepted. In fact, that play even got me a commissioned job. A Rotarian saw the play and I was commissioned to write a play on Rotary club because 2005 was the 100th year of Rotary club, and I wrote the play, but unfortunately, we didn’t get to stage it because the conditions they were giving was not that palatable to me, so I didn’t do it. maybe one day I will stage it as a charity show.

For someone who has been in the industry for fourteen years, you should be able to tell us the kind of challenges the industry is facing in Nigeria.
Very serious ones. You see, to put up a play is quite expensive except for quite a few number of people that have had the opportunity of having people sponsor them. And for some like Wole Oguntokun that, has been regular at MUSON centre, it’s once a while that we venture out. I think it’s because it has more to do with the way I write. I’m a kind of person that writes epic stories, and most times, I need quite a large cast to do them because of my pan africanist orientation. Even when I write some modern plays, you will always see my pan africanist in them and I try to bring it down to our environment and tell our own stories about ourselves. So basically, the challenges have to do with funding, then of course the home video environment. Quite a number of good stage hands have abandoned the stage for the big screen. Sometimes it’s ridiculous to rehearse a play for two months, and at the end of the day, if it’s not sponsored, you might go home with N5,000, compared to someone who will shoot a movie in one week and take good money home. But then, for some of us that are die hard theatre practitioners, we still want to go on. I produced a Yoruba movie recently. I wrote and produced it but I tell you, I didn’t find the fulfillment I get from stage.

How do you pay your huge cast then?
Luckily for me, most actors, the moment they read my scripts, they get the passion, they want to do it. I don’t know. I have tried asking myself why and haven’t gotten the answer yet. It’s something like that. Even when I tell the, I just want to do a reading that I’m still trying to find sponsors, they will tell me we should go on. And some of them make effort to get sponsors, and at the end they all enjoy themselves. Some even return the next day to ask if there’s any other work next. Like this recent audition, I wanted to do it a month from now, but some where like ‘let’s do it now, let have a feel of the script and from their response I think I want to do it now. I believe that I will get a lot of support for this play.

What help do you think the industry needs?
I think the industry needs a lot of support. Then the industry itself needs a lot of re-orientation for dramatists. Some dramatists think it is a kind of avenue to flaunt some very undesirable attitude. That’s why some people feel that people who go into this thing are riff raffs and the rest. I feel they need to be educated about what it’s all about. For example, if I don’t tell you, you can hardly know I’m a practitioner. I believe in whatever you do, you need some level of decency. And of course every other profession has its own hazard, but then we shouldn’t make ours look as if it is out of this world and beyond curable proportions. It’s just a matter of been wise in every thing we do and of course get the needed support; financial and moral, everything, to bring back the lost glory of the profession.

What amount of courage does someone need to remain in an industry that has such enormous challenges?
A kind of courage that makes them seem crazy to others, because of the faith they have in their work. A couple of my friends call me crazy. Even though things have not been that fine, I have been happy in it. it has to do with your level of commitment. That’s why you see that we have committed practitioners, and there those in it who just want to get some money into their pockets. Beyond that it’s pure commitment, and that’s what has kept me going.

So you do basically nothing but theatre?
That’s what I’m saying. Writing. I’ve written for the stage, television and radio. In the last ten years I’ve been able to pass through all media. And in those years I have picked four awards and eight recommendations or nominations, it says enough for me.

Do people really read plays?
People read plays of course. You will be amazed they do it a lot, else we won’t be publishing. I’ve published ‘Street Children’, ‘Tomorrow Today’, ‘The Rejected Stone’ and others. ‘Oya’ will be published soon.

Apart from drama, what else do you write?
I try my hands on poetry also. That is why you see that most of my lines are usually poetic. Then I do a lot of reading.

Where do you see yourself in another five years?
I see myself getting well established and moving beyond this level. I’ve been able to start some relationships with some foreign organizations. I want to believe in a year or two, I should be able to bring that to bear on my work and profession.

Sammy the Sage

2007-07-18T19:02:00.001+01:00

I have a friend called Sage. When I met him in 2001, he was Sammy Hassan. He writes wonderful poetry and I am yet to see any one present a better poetry performance than him.
I experienced him at the book launch of ‘War in the Sky’ by Busola Elegbede, where he performed ‘The Weather Man’.
Sage definitely brought down the house.

Judging a book by its cover

2007-07-05T14:08:00.002+01:00

This article is culled from The Saipan Tribune

JUDGING A BOOK BY ITS COVER
By Rik and Janel Villegas

“You never get a second chance to make a good first impression” is an adage that stresses the importance of looking sharp so that people won't think you're dull. The saying also holds true for places and things, such as buildings.

Early one Saturday morning we drove our son, Daniel, to PauPau Beach to meet with some other teenagers so they could go on a hike. As we was leaving, we looked at what used to be the vibrant La Fiesta Mall and reminisced the times my family and we would go there to eat at Tony Roma's, visit stores, and listen to the musical group that provided live entertainment on weekends. Some will remember that La Fiesta used to be the only place on Saipan where kids and adults could play in the snow and have a snowball fight because snow was flown in from Japan once a year. It was once a lively shopping mall that entertained tourists and locals, but the rapidly deteriorating façade has masked any history of life that once existed.

Do people judge a building, a city, or a community by its external appearance? You bet they do, and some will not walk through the external façade to taste the food in a restaurant or shop at a store because of what they see.

It also can have the same affect for your employees going to work everyday. Rik was once recruited to be the president of an organization with almost 200 people. Morale was low among people, and it did not help that the interior and exterior of the buildings were worn and weathered. Some of the florescent lights did not work, water pressure was poor, and some toilets did not flush. Besides being an OSHA concern, it was a physical and emotional concern for everyone there.

Before making any management changes, the first order of business was to make some quick equipment changes by replacing the water pump and buying some ballasts and fluorescent tubes so that there was proper lighting. It noticeably made a difference in the physical surroundings and definitely made a difference psychologically so that other more positive changes could take place.

As we headed home from PauPau Beach, we noticed that the CHC hospital had a fresh coat of paint on what used to be a deteriorating façade. What a difference it made from the peeling paint and weathered look that it once had. We also noticed the well-manicured lawns, immaculate buildings, and cleanliness of McDonald's and the Coca-Cola bottling plant on Middle Road. However, these examples were contrasted with the hodgepodge buildings and chaotic look of the buildings just across the street from them.

It's not enough to have just a few buildings that look good, when we have a plethora of buildings, vacant lots, and beaches that are littered with trash, rundown, falling apart, and just an eye sore for tourists and those who care on the island. Beautify Saipan has made a big step to cleaning up the mess of others; however, when those others dispose of their trash faster than concerned people can pick up after them, it becomes frustrating. Taking care of the symptom doesn't cure the cause.

If you're a business owner, take a walk outside and look at your building, as a customer would see it. Is it inviting? Would you recommend people to visit your place based on the way it looks on the outside? If you have a lawn and shrubs, are they cut and manicured, or are they overgrown and out of control?

Now step inside and ask yourself if your place is organized, clean, and designed so customers can find things easily. Do you have placards and directions that are easy to read and understand? If you cater to tourists, are they written in a language that your customers can easily read?

Next, take a look at your staff and ask yourself the following questions: Are they neatly dressed and well groomed? Do they have friendly body language, and welcome each person that enters your building? If they smoke or chew, do you require them to do it only on breaks and not in the presence of customers?

As an aside, did you know that Walt Disney was a chain smoker, and died of lung cancer at an early age; yet he never allowed workers to smoke in front of guests at Disney Land because he knew it created a negative image. In other words, if you are the boss, don't take executive privileges just because you are the boss, but consider the views, feelings, and values of your customers before you light up.

Like it or not, people do “judge a book by its cover,” and the look of you building and employees will make a difference whether a person becomes a customer, or just someone who passes you by.

2007-06-05T14:54:00.001+01:00

Miss MLGN

Help and applaud Miss MLGN, the Most Laziest Girl in Nigeria. I have been to the four corners of Naija and it has been certified that no body can take the crown from me, else, how did it happen that I have failed to blog for like, God knows how long? Very simple answer: pure laziness, and when I go absent again for a longer time, it means I have gone for the International Edition of Laziest Girl in the World. If I win, I won’t be on this blog for more than a year, because I will be busy reigning and concentrating on my pet project of promoting procrastination.

For now though, as the reigning queen in Naija, I got lots of prizes which includes four complete seasons of Desperate Housewives, to make sure I don’t have time for anything, like work and books and kitchen, so that I can enjoy the exploits of Gabrielle Solis in DH.
Also got the complete four seasons of Sex and the City on the corner, so once I am through with DH (Desperate Housewives), something else will take my time.
I also got me a PR as a prize also. PR stands for something I cannot give its full name else I will be suspended as queen due to bad behaviour.
Lots of girls were jealous of me when I won the crown, but I only smiled. One has to be absolutely lazy to win this crown. When I say lazy, I mean lazy at every single thing, and I intend to keep this crown for a while, and enjoy my gifts. No pet project picked yet.
I am too lazy to think properly.

Am I Vain

2007-03-26T13:04:00.001+01:00

One of those wears that I am crazy about.

At Busola Elegbede's Book Launch

2007-03-26T13:02:00.001+01:00

YPI (Most of Us)

2007-03-26T12:56:00.001+01:00

The War In The Sky

2007-03-26T12:43:00.001+01:00

This write up was first published in National Mirror.

The War in The Sky
by Uzezi Ekere

Over the years, historical events have served as great inspirations towards the making of masterpiece works of literature that did more than just entertain, but helped in educating people, and even opted them to do more research on the topic, just to know more. In 2006, a fiction work on the Biafran war, Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Adichie, brought back the war into discussion, and some young people who had no idea of it, had to try to understand more. February 22 saw the birth of another work of literature, where the sun and the moon had to take centre stage as the main acts in a poetic work of drama titled The War in the Sky. The formal presentation of the 35 paged book saw a gathering that cut across the literature circle, into other fields, as people came to find out what Busola Elegbede, the author, had to offer. As it appeared, it was a lot that came in a small package. Making this discovery was only made possible, when the Onile Agbon theatre troupe, led by Amos Femi, came up to do a drama presentation of The War in the Sky. Soon enough, like the title of the book, there was soon war as the sun (queen) and the moon (king) couldn’t resist fighting each other. With a compilation of casts; Morayo Ajani, the narrator, the sun, the moon, four moon dancers, four sun dancers and four cloud dancers, the audience got engaged in the flirting and mockery of the moon towards the sun, and the unbelievably rage and temper of the sun, whom, the reviewer of the book, Chike Ofili, would later describe as having the temperament of a man, and should have been the king, instead of the queen who ruled by day.

“A blinding but watchable SUN shines brightly down on Nigeria,” says Morayo. Throughout the presentation of this drama, it is obvious that both the sun and the moon are trying to show who has the more important throne over the earth. Although the sun got away mostly because of her aggressiveness, the moon has the last laugh when he was able to block the light of the sun from falling on the earth, and thus, an eclipse.

The work Busola Elegbede presented is an event which, even though happened in many other countries, is strictly based on Nigeria. Writing on the eclipse of the sun, she did justice to the constant fight between the sun and the moon as at the same time, funny enough, her work could be interpreted to address the political situation of the country, with the constant fight between president Obasanjo and his vice, Atiku Abubakar. Although the book is a work of literature, which will also serve as an avenue for entertainment, the writer sees the work of the book as going further.
"The book is the challenges Nigerians face,” Busola Elegbede said. “It’s a human experience where there will be a dark time and a time you will shine. And to deal with the misconception of what some people around here still think about the eclipse, when they regard it as a spiritual thing.” Earlier on, the chairman’s opening remarks to the audience had expressed the sadness that not enough youths were present at the book presentation, that it would have been worthwhile to have that audience, since the book is actually addressed to them from one of there own. But later on, Elegbede cleared that notion, saying the book is for everyone. “The chairman meant it in form of a school book that they could use in their studies, but it’s for everyone really because there are people who buy books just to read and enjoy. Not necessarily as a school book.”

“
Elegbede who has been writing since her secondary school days, and who once wrote for her drama club in school, co-wrote a play where she played the lead actress during her NYSC in Adamawa state. “It was about two years ago that I started writing for the stage so I have been active and involved in it.”
Just like many writers, she yearned for a break, to come out and be read, but it was taking too long to happen, which then prompted her to self publish.
“A climate of the state of the book industry in this country which made the writer, the editor, publisher, event planner as well as marketer, when she should be using such precious time to nurse other creative ideas,” the reviewer, Chike Ofili said.
On the book, he emphasized that if there had been an editor, the author would have been given more light and insight towards her work. “It is my opinion that the book is a well thought out plan, but it would have needed more imaginative stretch if she had a good editor.”
Elegbede said she did seek the help of publishers and actually have some deals. “I have so many manuscripts and I am tired to looking at them, so I had to do something about this one. “I even have the synopsis of this book out for foreign publishers,” she added.
And knowing fully just what the industry is like, Elegbede has her marketing plans that she hoped will work for her. “I will take this work and showcase it as much as possible. It’s not just writing it, I’m going to dramatized it with the help of drama troupes. I plan to take it out of the country, but I’m taking it round the country first. Besides, exporting this work is part of my inspiration,” she said. “Because the eclipse brought people last year – foreigners - to Nigeria, so I decided I was going to write about Nigeria and about an event that brought people to Nigeria, which was why I chose the eclipse of the sun.”
Elegbede’s title for her book is partly influenced by the fact that her father, is a retired military man. Already, with this work, she intimated that she has been nominated for an award, but refused to talk further on it till the time is right. Already, she is working on other projects. “I write for comics and some websites, so I’m a very busy writer. But I am bringing two new works out soon. One of them is titled Despair in Her Eyes. I want people to praise and criticize.”

WHEN THE CULTURE RETURNS

2007-03-26T12:39:00.001+01:00

This write up was first published in National Mirror

WHEN THE CULTURE RETURNS
by Uzezi Ekere

It is surprising that in a country where the culture of reading has been described as dead; people still have mountains of hope as they keep saying that our literature is growing.
“I think that our literature is growing,” Prof. Akachi Ezeigbo said. “New writers are coming on board all the time, and even the older names are still writing, and the quality of some the works being produced is encouraging, even though there is also a lot of improvement to do, but one expect that some will be very good, some will be good, some will be not too good, and some will be bad.”
When Okome Onookome had to say something on the growth of African literature, he said it was definitely growing.
“Nigeria Literature is doing well, as far as I can tell,” he said. “African Literature is doing well, but I think that Nigeria Literature stands out. I can give the example of Canada, where I have been for the past four years, teaching African Literature.”
With this view then, one would expect that all aspect of the industry would grow together; publishing, reading culture etc. Unfortunately, that hasn’t been the case.
Regardless of the fact that they say the publishing business is a non profitable one, more people are going into it, and even if there are not more, those there refuse to quit. In talking about the publishing business, it will be wise to differentiate between the publishers of educational books, and literature. While the former is a striving business, the same cannot be said about the later. For this, many people believe that a lot of factors could be responsible for it while others have ruled it to pure marketing strategy and a
passion for the business.
Sefi Atta once said that one problem facing the industry is publishing. And the difficulty of getting quality works to readers.
The compliant about the dwindling or dead reading culture, does not stop the releases of new books into the market, and whether they sell at all, is a question that demands an honest answer from the publishers.
Surprisingly, the publisher of Farafina, Muhtar Bakare, revealed that after getting the right to publish Chimamanda Adichie’s Purple Hibiscus for West Africa, he had an initial print run of 13,000 in 2004, and as of September last year, had sold twelve thousands copies, while ordering for more to be printed.
In as much as this figure might seem small compared to the number of copies of books sold in a week in the Western world for them to make the Best Sellers list, 12,000 copies sold in Nigeria of today, is an achievement, because most publishers wouldn’t publish more than 5, 000 copies of their first production.
Today in Nigeria, more and more writers are being discovered everyday, although some of them are yet to come out with a certified publication, the media recognizes them as upcoming talents with abundance of talents.
Unfortunately, despite this vote of confidence, very few or almost no publishers are taking interest in these writers, unless of course they get an opportunity to publish a book abroad, and make publicity. And with such publicity, it is then guaranteed that the reading Nigerian public will listen to them.
Publishing nevertheless, has always been a problem in this country, according to writer, Prof. Akachi Ezeigbo. “Even in the time of Achebe, it wasn’t anybody who scribbled anything that got published, even though it was easier for people who wrote well because there were publishers who were actually looking for writers, especially the African Writers Series. Today there are many publishers than was the case in the past. But then, many of them are publishing text books and things that will fetch money, such as biographical writings etc.”
Although, even if publishing has always been a pain in the neck, it has gotten worse today, despite the fact that there are more writers.
“Things began to fall apart for the Nigerian publishing industry when the military first intervened in the political arena in the early sixties,” said Muhtar Bakare in a presentation in the UK, in 2006. “They went on to destroy all social infrastructures. They mismanaged the economy and entrenched a culture of corruption. They added little to the infrastructure of commerce and allowed whatever existed hitherto to fall into disrepair. Of particular significance was their destruction of the educational system. This is would have wide-ranging consequences for a country where the language of the inchoate national culture, English, was not indigenous, but learnt in school.”
With this said, it becomes almost understanding when people argue that the slack in publishing also resulted to the waning interest in reading. Adewale Maja-Pearce said that if something has to be done, it should be done properly. “We don’t have standards,” he remarked. “We have the best in the world and very little belief in actual standards. I am very interested in trying to get books up to international standards but we don’t seem to be committed to doing that. Book publishing is not as it used to be. Taking the process from manuscript to a published book is a big step. You have to work on the book. Proper editing and packaging are very critical issues in the market. I am also aware that people have been saying for a long time that there is no reading culture in Nigeria. The problem as I see it is that books are expensive, so they are out of reach for many. Affordability is therefore a basic problem. Also, there is not much infrastructure on ground. It should indeed be possible to print cheap editions of books.”
Gradually, the reading public is beginning to wake up to the news of new and good writers, books properly packaged and affordable, as Farafina opened the doorway for others publishers to follow, by publishing well put together books that are affordable. As the culture returns, there are hopes that things in the publishing industry will change; that more writers living at home will be given an opportunity and foreign publishers will come buying publishing rights from Nigerian publishers. And fortunately, there are possibilities considering how the literary circle of Nigeria and Africa has changed in the last ten years.
Finally, when this culture of good writers, good reading public, and good publishing is achieved, the old generations writers, like Achebe, Ike, Soyinka, can relax, that what they started will not wither away once they are gone.

A CAUSE FOR CHARITY

2007-03-26T12:05:00.001+01:00

This programme held on February 18 at Terra Kulture Lagos, when YPI, Young Professionals Impact, collaborated with Crown Troupe and Terra Kulture for the Bukhateria show.
While I am a part of YPI, I also covered the event and reported for my paper, National Mirror, and this was how it appeared in the paper.

When people gathered to enjoy the performances of stage artistes on the third Sunday of the month of February, it was more than just entertainment that was happening. It was also new hopes for some children somewhere. It was an evening that saw the ‘Crown Troupe of Africa’ mount the stage again, as they have always done on the third Sundays of every month. Bukhateria No. 12 was more than the usual Bukhateria because the original organizers where joined by Young Professionals Impact (YPI). The audience came prepared for an evening of exciting performances, and where not disappointed as one artiste to the other succeeded in inviting reasonable applause from the audience. The show began with an opening performance by Footprints, a theatre group of five young people who thrilled the audience with their choreographed dance play to put them in the mood for the rest of the activities yet to come. Taking over from them are The Goodies Flavour Melody. Then came Aro-Merin, as they performed the jazz side of a popular track by Asha. They were in their performance, able to hold the complete attention of the audience, who listened with rapt attention and possibly nostalgic feelings. Quickly bringing the audience back from the melody of divine feelings, Oteega, the MC, couldn’t stop cracking jokes. Soon enough, he explained the reason of the gathering. In as much that ‘Crown Troupe of African’ has always done the Bukhateria show every month, it was a welcoming plan to do a show that was totally dedicated to charity. The Young Professionals Impact (YPI), is a non-governmental organization that comprises of young professionals, employed in different fields, who came together, because of the common dream they have to help the less privileged ones in the society. YPI’s ‘Live The Dream’ project involves a series of activities that will enable the body to raise funds for charity, as well as take up the responsibility of sponsoring the education of certain children.

Their decision to join ‘Crown Troupe of Africa’ and ‘Terra Kulture’ in organizing the Bukhateria No. 12, is to enable them have a beginning for the task ahead of them, since some of the activities the organization plans to initiate, includes art presentations such as exhibitions and drama presentation.
In that note, the creative works of the evening was of interest to the organization whose project Live The Dream will also encourage young ones on living the life that is right for them, a life they dream of and which can be achieved through the various talents that God has given to them.
‘Crown Troupe of Africa’s first performance of the night titled ‘Cycle’ is written and choreographed by Segun Adefila, the leader of the group. Basically, what the contemporary dance piece tries to convey out to the audience is the fact that there is nothing new under the earth: ‘follow a print and leave a print as done by those who lived before’. They chanted, as they described through well choreographed steps, how it is important to live a life that is meaningful, so as to be remembered for the good addition to the generation of a people.
Another highlight of the night was by four little boys who knew how to speak with their drums. Ironically enough, they go by the name of Drummer Men. To the delight of the evening, they played a popular commercial track called ‘Baby Konga’.
Humour unlimited was also part of the occasion. Not to forget the fact the Oteega, a popular stand up comic was the MC of the evening. Wherever he stopped, Oteega was soon to bring on stage another of his colleagues (soul snatcher and Kofi), to help brighten up the occasion. Then not forgetting Salem whose song cry of the politics of the country eventually matched the main performance of the evening.
The main performance of the evening, by ‘Crown Troupe of Africa’, was Olu Obafemi’s ‘Night of a Mystical Beast’ a poetic play on trust and betrayal which tells the story of how the black man got colonized by the white man. What’s more, was the presentation of the reality in which we live in today, all in the name of democracy; the fraud of the politicians and the pledges of empty words which are never redeemed.
Although at the beginning of the play, we see the kind of community that the black man exist in, and in the contentment in all that he have. But gradually, with the coming of the white man, who artistically ridicules the ways of the black man, and leads him to lead a life different to one he knows, the believes change to accommodate what he learns from the white man, who overnight, turns from being the enemy into the friend who will loan the people money to carry out various constructions.
It is strange that when the learned children of the land tries to warn their king from listening to the deceit of the white man, the king is unsure of what to do, as there lies lots of promises by going the way of the white man. And just as commotion arises in the face of war, the king obviously in need of guns to defeat his enemies in battle, turns to the white man, who already seem to have succeeded in starting a commotion.
“This is our condition,” the white man say,” you will have guns to fight and conquer your enemies, but you will give us your men to help us fight and conquer our enemies in the white man’s land”, the beginning of slavery.
Obviously the play tries to identify who the beast is among the people for all the calamities that befall them, as unknowing all through selfish reason, they take decisions that favours themselves and which hurts the people. It is a play that intends people to think of the other person before making a decision.
At the end of the day, YPI had a successful first outing and were very grateful to all those who helped to make it happened. As all the monies raised goes to charity, the organization will soon be back to launch their project.

The Sound of Your Voice

2007-03-15T11:28:00.001+01:00

It was more than the sound of your voice
That vibrated in the innermost
Chambers of my heart
As the echoes refused to seize.

I looked forward to seeing you again
Wondering what you really were like
Because when we met
I didn’t take notice really.

There was something alike
That emanated from you to me
Later I knew it was
Our same nature of mind.

As always my head
Began its many fantasies
And I wish not
Because I fear that road.

Twice I took it
And twice I went in deeply
And twice I was wounded
Terribly.

Now you are before me
As I peep through a window
Into your mind
And I fear, I fear.

I fear of digging deep
I might have the strength not
But everywhere I turn now
I hear the sound of your voice.

December 2006