Something I wrote a while back.. Still makes sense now tho.

By Richmond Okezie

Disclaimer: The views and what have you, in this piece, are all my own...so that aint in no way a reflection of nobody other than myself and whatever else man. No other man, woman or child represented heretofore and such hereby is sharing the opinion of the gentleman who be saying the poo contained within.

I’m tired; tired of waking up every morning to the voices of my ‘Ogogoro’ drinking neighbors arguing over who is a better politician between Wike and Amaechi. Tired of Lai Mohammed’s lies. Tired of Niger Delta Avengers fighting environmental degradation by blowing up oil pipelines that further degrades the environment. Tired of paying thrice what I paid hitherto on transportation.

Tired of Fulani Herdsmen raiding villages – (because, you know, the cows won’t feed themselves). Tired of buying “four seeds” of tomatoes for N800 (tomatoes are so scarce now, they don’t even serve stew in the dream anymore, just white rice & yam) to cook a meal for my girlfriend who will eventually leave me.

Tired of APC/PDP “e-footsoldiers” fighting every time and flooding my social media feeds. Tired of banks laying off more staff than they employ.

Tired of hearing crappy music over the radio (every Jambite that fails the second attempt runs to the closest studio, smokes “weed” and makes noise over some beats, shoves it down our throats and calls it music); aren’t we all tired? We are. So then what do we do? Let’s all complain, whenever and wherever we can. I’m complaining right now, you should too.

The title of this piece may have misled you to think that this piece would be motivational or inspirational. It won’t. It’s not about statistics, verifiable or otherwise, nor is it about critical social commentary. I’m here to point fingers at you and blame you, for what? It’s all your fault.

In an era where content is the new crude; entrepreneurs and small/medium sized businesses are driving economies to development; youths are pioneering innovations and technologies in different global industries; green energy is rapidly gaining prominence; selfless leaders are creatively scheming to position their nations at the forefront of the global economy and power play; what stride could be more critical and contributory to the global economy for us than to complain and point fingers at the government. We should get creative about it. Let us hashtag it.

Call-in to radio and TV shows. Gather at local newspaper stands and exchange words about the headlines. We must excel at this. We have to. The world must hear our complaints and they will.

Let everyman point fingers and blame the next man and everyone else but himself for his woes. Let us collectively points fingers and blame the government for our troubles, because, you know, the government is a completely different institution and authority from the people and is responsible for all our problems as a people.

This has proven historically to be a very effective means of effecting positive change in the society. Let’s hold town hall meetings and forums to complain about how bad the government is, and how it’s responsible for all our problems; the more we complain, the closer we will be to our much needed positive results.

While we’re complaining about the government, let the government itself in turn complain about its predecessor; Let the self-vindictive government use all public relations tools at its disposal and propaganda to achieve this, after all, that is what it was voted-in to do.

While the government complains about the problems created by its predecessor, let the caricature of an opposition (Hello Fayose) complain about the government complaining about them.

Don’t we all love mantras and slogans, because, you know, their use somehow translate into reality whatever concept of governance they’re meant to drive? Haven’t you heard that a child’s name affects his destiny?

Industrialization! Diversification! Deregulation! Devaluation! Vision 20/20/20 (you can add more 20s)! 7 Points Agenda! Transformation Agenda! Change!

I bet the next administration is somewhere cooking up a catchy mantra, one which we would eventually welcome with open arms, because, well, it’s a proven fact that the fire is better than the “frying-pan”.

Let us not as a people and individually make efforts and take conscious and practical steps to contribute positively to the wellbeing of the society.

Let the youths not develop their minds to think creatively and infiltrate industries with their ingenuity, let them not learn lucrative skills and apply their efforts to innovation; let them instead complain about unemployment and whatever macroeconomic problem they can search on google and blame the government.

Let us spend time and other valuable resources at our disposal to complain. After all, complaint is the new patriotism – and many wonder why the president is undergoing treatment for an ear infection.

Have we complained today about the epileptic power supply we’re experiencing and blamed Fashola for it?

Have we complained today about the high cost and scarcity of petroleum products today and blamed Kachikwu for it?

Have we complained about the surge in forex prices and blamed Emefiele for it? I have. If you have not, you’re not being patriotic, and that is not Nigerian.

By all means, log into your social media accounts and complain about the system, blame somebody today.

Why shouldn’t you? You can do a better job than anyone already there; you’re presently a better husband, a better wife, a better administrator, a better professional, a better student, a better businessman, a better politician, than your peers. Touche, you’re even more religious than your Imam and Pastor.

You’re less hypocritical than your neighbor, who therefore is more qualified to criticize him and the government than your very humble righteous self.

By Richmond Okezie

Disclaimer: The views and what have you, in this piece are all my own...so that aint in no way a reflection of nobody other than myself and whatever else man. No other man, woman or child represented heretofore and such hereby is sharing the opinion of the gentleman who be saying the poo contained within. Grab a popcorn B.

It’s the social media generation.

Different people use social media to, among other things, meet people, for different reasons; identity thieves, serial killers & scammers need to find unsuspecting victims, some need to reconnect with their high school crushes, others want to stalk their exes, spammers need to find obese people to introduce their new awesome weight-loss products to, those in need of relationships want to find potential spouses so in the end their wedding gist would make it to Bella Naija, others just want to make new friends and “network”.

My interest is in the last two categories, and experience has shown that the success of meeting someone online who subsequently would become a critical factor in one’s life depends on the quality of the conversation that ensues after the initial meet and this brings me to the topic of this piece.

Sapiosexuals, who are they? They’re simply those who find intelligent and smart people attractive. There are two types of Sapiosexuals; The Mild – these are everyday Sapiosexuals, and The Extreme – these are the Sapiosexuals that feed on and off of intelligence/smartness displayed by the opposite sex, are easily bored by it and never get enough of it.

These Extreme Sapiosexuals are rare to come across, hence, my discuss would refer solely to the everyday Sapiosexuals, The Milds. What follows are what I, as a Mild Sapiosexual, consider to be the top five conversation killers, in their order of criminality severity.

1. “Have you eaten?”

Ladies and gentlemen, this question right here eats at the very essence of my being, it claws away at the arteries of my heart, it guts me open and leaves me bleeding out. This question should be criminal. This is the ultimate conversation killer.

Nigerians who ask this question, nine out of ten times, are not interested in the state of your bowels. They do not care whether you die of starvation or not. They would never offer to buy you lunch or dinner or cook one for you. They don’t even have any idea where you live. They care less about your work schedules. They are thousands of miles away from you. Why then would someone like this ask whether you’ve eaten or not? Because they simply do not have anything more to say or ask.

You’re not our (Sapiosexuals) mother, father, husband or wife. We’re not siblings or cousins. Stop asking what the “Dodo” we ate tasted like and whether the Pounded Yam we ate gave us indigestion. Stop asking us whether or not we have eaten. Thank you.

If you cannot directly or indirectly provide food or influence what, when and how a person eats, then you have no business asking whether they have eaten or not. That information is irrelevant to you.

2. “K.”

I’ve deleted and blocked people for less. Those who respond to questions and statements with ‘K’ should not only be deleted and blocked, they deserve to be punched in the face banned from social media.

Understand that the “K.” with a period is more evil than the “K” without a period. “K.”? What exactly does this mean? The symbol for potassium on the periodic table? Are we in a chemistry class now? Someone would often write two pages worth of text to another person, only for that person to reply with “K.”? If you do this, on a scale of sadistic to narcissistic, how psychopathic are you?

Next time someone hits you with a “K.”, delete and block them, well, because punching them in the face is still illegal.

The correct form is “Okay”, but if you’re feeling a little lazy, you can do away with the “ay” leaving only “ok” and that would still be ok. On no condition should you use the letter “K.” as a response to a statement or question when talking to a sapiosexual. We hate it.

3. “How was your night?”

Just like the first conversation killer on this list, this question doesn’t come as a show of care or affection, rather, in the chronology of shallow conversational lines, this comes after “good morning”.

Nigerians believe it’s very perfect after exchanging morning greetings, to inquire whether you had nightmares the night before, well, because, if for some reason you did and could not sleep well, their “Eiyaaa” and “Sorry eh!” would make you feel better, relieved and refreshed. What importance is the detail of someone’s sleep to you? Are you asking because you want to hear about the dream they had and possibly can’t remember or you want to know if they were able to kill the sixteenth mosquito that buzzed in their ears? Do you want to know if their bedsheets were soaked with sweat because the power was out (Hello PHCN)? Did you bewitch their night and is asking to confirm whether it worked or not? I really don’t get it.

Only time this question is okay, is if you slept with and or by the person in question, then you can ask how their night were (perhaps, you snored all through or talked through your sleep and hence, they couldn’t sleep well, in which instance, it would only be fair you asked how their night were).

4. “How was your day?”

In the fourth position is this one. This question is not as evil as the others, but nine out of ten times that Nigerians ask how your day was, they are not interested in the details of how many hours you spent in traffic, or how the “Ewedu” you ate in the afternoon sabotaged your stomach and had you spend half your working hours in the toilet, or how a customer was rude to you at work, or the challenges you faced at work, no, they are not interested. The people who ask this question often do not even know what you do with your day, they don’t care either, but they ask still, how was your day?

If you do not know what someone does with his/her day, the kind of daily experiences and challenges they face, and you lack the intention and ability to make an input that would subsequently better their day, then you have no business asking this question.

5. Unnecessary Shorthand & Abbreviation of Words.

This is at the bottom of the list and is a big conversation killer.

Like every other Sapiosexual, this puts me off, especially when it’s displayed by the opposite sex. Honestly, I can’t decide whether they can’t spell or they’re just too lazy to type the innocent words in full. How are people comfortable typing entire sentences in shorthand? What is the essence? To type faster? I just don’t get it.

The only short form texts that are acceptable are those synonymous with social media such as “LOL, LMAO, IDK, IDC, FYI, BRB, etc.,”. Do not shorten your words when chatting with a Sapiosexual, we do not read gibberish.

There are more of these conversation killers, but these are the top five. People have lost potential jobs, friendships and opportunities simply because they cannot carry on simple conversations. Guys, there are deeper subjects that interest ladies other than what they are wearing and how tight it is on their skin. Ladies, there are deeper subjects that interest guys other than “taking you out” and liking your bathroom selfies on Instagram. Sapiosexuals are intellectuals and creative, they love to discuss among other enlightening subjects, groundbreaking ideas & innovations, developments in the domestic and global economy, art, entrepreneurship and business, career. They love to talk about these things, and once in a blue moon, talk about parties and social events.

Say no to conversation killers, say no to shallow conversations, say no to shallow mindedness.

There are probably a few raised eyebrows at this title, not that it’s scandalous in and of itself but because it’s coming from me, the worlds anti-swearing advocate.

It’s 1.33 am, I should be sleeping. Honestly, I was heading to dreamland when I received an email from a friend, it contained an interesting excerpt from a letter. Did he send it because he believed my neurotic soul needed it or simply a continuation of our article trading tradition?

The excerpt he sent was taken from “Letter From Sol LeWitt to Eva Hesse”. Please click on this link to read it Letter from Sol Lewitt.

However, since I know most of you are inherently lazy and will not click and read, I’ll share some paragraphs I found powerful.

Learn to say “Bleep You” to the world once in a while. You have every right to. Just stop thinking, worrying, looking over your shoulder wondering, doubting, fearing, hurting, hoping for some easy way out, struggling, grasping, confusing, itchin, scratching, mumbling, bumbling, grumbling, humbling, stumbling, numbling, rumbling, gambling, tumbling, scumbling, scrambling, hitching, hatching, bitching, moaning, groaning, honing, boning, horse-shitting, hair-splitting, nit-picking, piss-trickling, nose sticking, ass-gouging, eyeball-poking, finger-pointing, alleyway-sneaking, long waiting, small stepping, evil-eyeing, back-scratching, searching, perching, besmirching, grinding, grinding, grinding away at yourself. Stop it and just DO!

Did he crawl into my brain? Say “Bleep You” to the world? I’m simply praying that I won’t chicken out after a night’s rest and change the post title. The closest I come to saying “Bleep You” to the world is putting my phone on silent once in a while and ignoring everyone from boss to best friend.

Stop thinking? Worrying? I believe I have an artists soul but a researchers mind. I’m always thinking, planning, analyzing, saving the world, there’s rarely a quiet moment in my head. Yet I have to wonder if I do anything more than “Grind away at myself”. Every time I get into a crazy rigid routine and take away my ability (limited as it is) for spontaneity and fun, I become overwhelmed by a feeling of bleakness, I find myself straining against the reigns of responsibility that hold me and find myself longing to rebel. I live in constant dread of being the 40-year-old woman with orange hair and the micro miniskirt, making futile efforts to reclaim her youth. Yet these fears negate the advice given here or do they?

I’ve tried to practice mindfulness and failed woefully, to free my mind of thought, live in the moment…so hard. I did make some progress with this post, I did not Google Sol LeWitt or Eva Hesse, I’m dying of curiosity to learn about them, I want to know if they are people I should pay attention to. In my over analyzing way, I’m worried about taking advice from someone I do not know, but I’ve stopped myself.

Try and tickle something inside you, your “weird humor.” You belong in the most secret part of you. Don’t worry about cool, make your own uncool. Make your own, your own world. If you fear, make it work for you – draw & paint your fear and anxiety. And stop worrying about big, deep things such as “to decide on a purpose and way of life, a consistant [sic] approach to even some impossible end or even an imagined end” You must practice being stupid, dumb, unthinking, empty. Then you will be able to DO!

I honestly think he is trying to screw me over. What if the most secret part of me doesn’t want to come out. Have you ever wondered about who you really are? Can you honestly stare at your reflection in the mirror fully admitting your failures, dark secrets and non PC (politically correct) desires and be happy? Or do you need the self you wear for the world to find satisfaction within? I’m not sure if I’m terribly concerned with being cool or cool, but I do live in this world, the idea of creating mine even through my work is exhilarating yet terrifying. How does one start, what’s the line between narcissism and a world of you own? When do you know if you’ve lost touch with reality? Is reality relative?

The idea of making fear work is fascinating, it answers my earlier question, my fears aren’t wholly negative, they could potentially work for me. I can’t draw or paint to save my life, no level of residing in my own world can change that fact, and I don’t know that I can really stop worrying but I can change how I perceive my worrying. We actually all can do that, everyone draws and paints, maybe not with pencils and oils but a scalpel, words, numbers, clothes, music, we are all painting pictures.

The world tells us that dumb, stupid, unthinking are bad things, not states we aspire to. Yet, some of the greatest inspiration known to mankind have come in the moments of simply being, they haven’t been conceived in laboratories, or classrooms, or by great men hunched over documents on round tables. Instead, they’ve come on the porcelain throne, in the kitchen, in those moments before sleep takes possession of us, they’ve come accidentally, incidentally and unsought.

Try to do some BAD work – the worst you can think of and see what happens but mainly relax and let everything go to hell – you are not responsible for the world – you are only responsible for your work – so DO IT. And don’t think that your work has to conform to any preconceived form, idea or flavor. It can be anything you want it to be. But if life would be easier for you if you stopped working – then stop…But when you work or before your work you have to empty you [sic] mind and concentrate on what you are doing. After you do something it is done and that’s that.

#thatsall


You also must know that you don’t have to justify your work – not even to yourself.

How many times do we feel the need to justify ourselves and our work? Even as I write this post, I’m battling mentally with the idea of it, should it simply be in a diary, is it worth bothering people with my random thoughts? The idea of working, simply letting the inspiration take you where it will without censoring would be freedom itself. Yet, I fear (that word again) that within this instruction to simply DO! there’s an implicit warning to deal with what “doing” brings. Following your creative spirits sounds easy enough, yet who know where those pesky sprites might lead you.

I know I’ll always care to some extent about this world, how people will perceive me and my words, where I’ll be in 10 years, etc. I also know that I’m going to print out this letter, and stick it on my wall where I can always see it, I’ll make it big, bright and pretty. I won’t start cursing like a sailor, because it simply isn’t me and at the end of it all, being you has to be the best way to learn to say “Bleep You”

IOU
Get familiar with the blog
www.tobeehonest.com

As a rule I write very little about work, but this was a true To Bee Honest experience and share it I must.

She walked in with her head bowed, a head scarf tied loosely over her hair, her skirt and blouse I assume were once vibrantly colored, but that must have been many years and a couple of owners ago. The room was dark and her face in the shadows, but from what I could see she appeared no older than me,despite his obvious malnutrition her baby was too heavy for her arms. He looked like a little bobble head doll, his neck seemingly too scrawny to support his head, and even in sleep he clung limply to his mother, his unconscious grip saying, “if I let go I will fall.” I took all this in with a single glance, but I didn’t stop, didn’t analyze or empathize, just went back to thinking about me, “why is this doctor still seeing patients in here? Clinic hours are over and I need to focus on my work.” I paid only a cursory attention to their conversation, I was more taken with the child’s breathing, it was reminiscent of an old air-conditioner running on it’s very last bit of life, the type of AC that would produce only warm air, it was a jagged, broken and painful sound. I wondered that his breathing did not wake him up and his mother seemed able to ignore it, she was apparently desensitized, I was not.

I looked up in time to see the doctor push what appeared to be a N500 note into the mother’s hands, with instructions for her to buy breakfast for the baby. The baby would obviously never finish any meal that cost N500, so there was also the implied instruction that she get some food for herself. She asked the mother, “What will you give him?” Her response was, “Ogi”; Ogi, Pap or Akamu is a corn-based meal similar in consistency to custard, and it has been a staple meal for the sick and infants in Nigeria for eons, I recently realized that Akamu tastes a lot like finely ground grits (that’s for my Southern folks).

I expected to see a beaming smile across her face; I mean she basically just got a free brunch, that always puts a smile on my face. I couldn’t understand the defeated expression on her face, did she expected more? She thanked the doctor and me, hefted the baby and left the room, closing the door so softly behind her that I had to double-check that it closed completely.

The door was barely shut before the doctor began downloading her life history. Apparently she was a young single mother, the father of the baby refused to claim responsibility or have anything to do with the baby. She was a single parent, dependent on her mother, a widow, whose livelihood came from petty trading. The doctor got personally interested after listening to the baby wail all through the clinic. He had tried rooting at his mother’s breast, sucking his fingers, and had finally cried until he fell into a hunger induced sleep. It was noon, and he hadn’t eaten anything all day, his mother had to stop and think about when last she had a full meal. The doctor referred them to the Lagos State Welfare office and was hopeful that they could help the woman and her baby, either by getting the man to pay court mandated child support or giving the woman some additional income. She was moved by their plight but couldn’t really do anything beyond provide money for a few meals.

After hearing her story I thought about another baby born to a too young and too poor mother. She is also dependent on her mother, a woman who makes a living selling apples and pears by the roadside. While she and her child-mother man the stand, the baby has the time of his life crawling over stones, sand and bits of rubbish all day. He is a baby, and since the magnetic pull between the hand and mouth is so strong in babies, the same hands that have caressed bits of spit-up gum, apple pits and used water sachets, goes directly into his mouth. Watching him, I remember how different my brothers babyhood was, we disinfected the floor multiple times a day, and still rushed to ensure that his dirty hands didn’t make it to his mouth too often. They say, “Dirty no dey kill African man,” it may not kill our men but it sure does kill our babies.

Know I knew the mother at the clinics story, I began to reassess my earlier impressions of her. In her clothing, where I saw worn clothes, I now saw the efforts of one with very little to appear decently garbed in public. Her bowed head which had seemed like an exaggerated show of humility became significant. Wouldn’t you bow your head if tens of people had just watched your baby cry himself to sleep because he was hungry? How high would you hold your head if not only you, but a whole clinic of happy, well fed babies knew you couldn’t feed yours? The lack of joy at receiving breakfast for her baby became understandable. What joy is there in knowing your child has breakfast, when you have no idea of where dinner will come from? Sure it’s great that his hunger can be satisfied, but all it means is that you’ll be up at night listening to his renewed hunger cries, made stronger by the nourishment he received hours ago.

Her situation made me wish I could get angry at someone, but whom? The father who didn’t claim his child? He is probably someone just like her, maybe with a widow as a mother, or a father who can’t work anymore due to illness. He might be a bus conductor, a vulcanizer or a student like she was. It doesn’t mean that I excuse his negligence, but is it negligence when you have nothing to give?

The mother? I mean, why didn’t she us protection, she should have known better. Yet she is just one of the thousands, maybe millions, of young mothers around the world. She probably considered an abortion or giving the child up for adoption, would either of those have been the better or easier decision for her and the child? I want to believe she choose to have and keep the baby, but now she and her child pay for the decision.

In Nigeria, people get worked up about all sorts of “sins”, imagined and otherwise. Methinks that for a baby to suffer want in the midst of so much, that is a sin we should fight against.

Get familiar with the blog.
www.tobeehonest.com

When she felt she had told me enough, she asked me about my college experience, and as the good narrator I am, I found little difficulty in amusing her with the whole tale, she laughed, giggled, while playfully slapping my thighs, she said being me must be an experience.

We went through each other’s phones, exchanging funny pictures and laughing. Then something unusual happened, apparently there wasn’t enough leg-room under her seat or so I thought, she had crossed one of her legs against mine, occasionally kicking softly while simultaneously laughing. I ignored it and pretended not to notice, but the periodic random soft kicks made pretense a bit difficult. Could this be part of the Yankee experience? I don’t know. She removed her sandals and began caressing my leg with her bare feet as she discussed random family stuffs. I wasn’t listening, this was getting very uncomfortable!

Read the rest of the story at http://www.tobeehonest.com/the-stranger-in-the-sky/

Distraction or sheer forgetfulness, I couldn’t decide but whichever it was could have caused me a long time of misery or perhaps caused me a ‘chronic insomnic’ night.
Disclaimer: the views and what have you in this piece are all my own…so that aint in no way a reflection of nobody other than myself and whatever else man. No other man, woman or child represented heretofore and such hereby is sharing the opinion of the gentleman who be saying the shit contained within. This writeup contains foul language and stuff that might offend small children and old people. It should be noted by all those who are present here today that you’re all here on your own accord and if anybody not cool with that, they should leave now or forever hold their peace.
First, I thought Lagos was way overrated! But that’s why we constantly evolving. I don’t mean like that scenario where species that use to be tadpoles and crawled up out of the ocean and became lizards who became monkeys that became gorillas & then cavemen and next they sprout wings and all that mystery science bullshit. I’m talking facts. I’m saying we all started out as blank canvases and then we added some little scribbles here and a scribble there and pretty soon we either painted a masterpiece out of life or we got some mess that’ll look like something a 3 yr old drew on the wall behind the couch in crayolas mixed with dry play-dough and whatever whatever..Like I was saying, even if you don’t agree with something, it doesn’t mean you can’t respect it.
Lagos has some unseen hidden sovereignty governing the general existence of humanity within its geography. The crazy in other parts of the country and the world is the norm in Lagos and vice versa.
For those self-acclaimed Lagosians that see ‘migrants’ as aliens who shouldn’t be given the least opportunity for survival, how do you come into a house that was built by your forefathers and hang a plant in the corner and then be like YEAH, I’VE DONE MY PART, THIS HOUSE IS MINE NOW. No, you didn’t even remove your shoes when you came through the door, that’s disrespectful, son. Truth is, we’re all components of this big system called Lagos, no component functions more importantly than the other, like you can’t have the keyboard disrespect a mouse or the monitor disrespect a new software that’s just installed, the keyboard and mouse don’t even speak the same language or use the same programming code but they still understand each other. They all make the system work, whether the mouse or keyboard, software or hardware, whichever that was there before the other don’t make much difference in the long run. What’s important is that the system is functioning properly so long as the component work together to ensure that. At the end of the day, that’s what it’s all about, love and respect. I mean, I know love and respect don’t pay the bills but they can offer you other things like opportunities and longevity.
Hitherto, my visit to this city has been only on short vacation basis when I visit some relations and friends, but this was different; it’s been three months and counting answering the not-so-glorious-anymore clarion of a call, NYSC. Yeah, did I mention I’ve been a PH boy all my life, grew up and schooled in Port Harcourt and to a great measure, PH life mimics the Lasgidi life – the traffic, congestion, economy, social luxury and splendor, are all perfectly replicated in PH, no wonder often you have Lagosians relocating to Port Harcourt for a feel of the other side of the same pillow. Thus adapting to the Lasgidi life wasn’t difficult for me.
It was a typical independence day, 1st Oct., a public holiday that the workaholics in this town so crave. I couldn’t perceive any celebration no matter how hard I sniffed the air, perhaps there was really nothing to celebrate or maybe something is socio-politically wrong with my sense of smell, either way, I wasn’t part of whatever was going on that day, like how do you celebrate your country’s independence when as a man you haven’t attained economic independence? But that’s neither here nor there. The sun looked tired as it retreated, like it was exhausted from shinning on an incorrigible country, the moon and stars were themselves reluctant, the air was mist. The traffic situation was normal and by Lagos standard, that’s some snail-speed flow around popular routes. I had gone to Yaba to collect a camera I was to use on a project of mine, was on my way back to Ikeja, took about two hours given traffic and distance. It had been a busy day and my head was preoccupied with my project thoughts, “Owo da, Ogbeni Owo da”, the money-aggressive conductor yelled at me, my only business with him was to pay him, so I deduced he was asking for his money, couldn’t afford to add Yoruba to the catalogue of languages I’m learning, French and Spanish were already enough. I retrieved my wallet from my back-trouser pocket and handed him a N100 note, “Oya were ni” he bellowed at me throwing the money back, whatever the hell that meant I was quite sure he was displeased and wanted another N100. See, if you take a silverback ape and throw it in the ocean, there’s a good chance that the ape will drown anyways. I mean I’m no zoologist or nothing but I’ve never seen a gorilla take a dip in a river or a pond and do breast strokes, never mind the oceans mehn. There’s a good chance the ape will sink to the bottom of the ocean before a shark could even fight it. But at the same time, if you took a great white shark and threw it in the middle of the jungle in the Congo, there’s a good chance that he it’ll get torn up by that ape. Point is, there are turfs and this sure wasn’t mine. Reluctantly, I gave him N200.

Goto http://www.tobeehonest.com/ to complete

In anticipation of my Nysc posting, I wrote this:


It's a land far away from home, a place where hopefuls sojourn annually.
A fierce looking cane wielding teacher once told a bunch of dirty looking kids the tales of this land, I sat in that bunch.
19yrs down the line, as I prepare for this national rites of passage, a legion of uncertainties like a mysterious predator stalk me, waiting to ambush me.
This land makes you a man. Many years ago, ours ancestors built this land, a place where naive boys and girls go and if they return, becomes refined men and women. I have to prove my manhood, I must.
So many have been swallowed by this land, others were marred. In 2011, some hundreds of youths were slaughtered en mass in a gruesome post election violence, also one of the demerits the land boosts of.
I'm a soldier, about to enter battle. Memories of my fallen colleagues taunt me. Some fell by their swords, others were caught in enemy fire, a few even almost made it out victorious but for the uncanny carlos might of the enemy they fought. These fallen are nothing but memories to their families today, nothing more.
As I polish my armor and with the arsenal of weapons at my disposal, I ponder my fate which seems to lie now not in my hands but in that of my commanders.
I've saddled the horse for battle, supplies are also with me. But I still ponder, where will my commanders post me?
To the forefront of battle or to the sidelines?
A good soldier once told me, " the strength and nature of a soldier lies in where he fights in battle, Cowards fall to the rear, the brave take the battle to the enemy by advancing the frontlines"...I think he's deranged.
Will it be the frontline or the sideline; By evening today, I'll know.