ndoeyopbennet:

MR who told you bolaji was expelled ? You need more investigation
As a gesture of goodwill, I will actually share parts of my data here. Everyone should note that I am not cultist or an ex-cultist. What I will say are not based on personal experiences but on some months of research (I am interested in sociolinguistics, psycholinguistics and cultural studies). I have investigated cult societies for some years and I'm bringing my research home. I am particularly interested in how language is used as an indicator of "belonging" within cult formations. I will not really go too deep into the theoretical basis or motivations for my research. However, I'll start by giving some of my data, beginning with the Bucanneers.

To begin with, I've posted a poem below which is in honour of Alora Ricca Ricardo (or Bolaji Carew), the founder of the group who was expelled from NAS (Pyrates Confraternity).

On the surface level, the poem appears to be a normal English pirate poem set in the 16th or 17th century. However, a closer examination of the poem reveals the key tenets of the confraternity. It is also a chronicle of how the cult started at their so-called "mothership". It celebrates the "BAN culture". The poem has been attached for your scrutiny and analysis. I can answer some questions based on it too (if you have any).



Eyeland Adventure: evolutionary manifestation of Skull & Dry-Bones.
[HINT: ruggedity & humility, will be needed to chew and digest this meat.]
ODAS, ceased to be ODAS (1)
Ricca wept BLUD, FOR BLUD
In service of NO FRIEND, NO FOE;
Its value, had NO PRICE, NO PAY
Mothership’s mast, hoisted Black Jack; (2)
To mark a new beginning
Her deck was built by hands:
Handpicked Crew, with noble guts
In the puzzle of “Who is Ripe?” (3)
He could’ve gone against the grain
But a clash of jaw to jaw,
Revealed the chaff and grain in play
The lubber was killed in them (4)
Enough, to make a soul skillful
For tribe and tongue is null,
A Buccaneer is fair and square
Having seen and known the Light, (5)
Bag of Salt, is worth a sail
Since we sail in the path of Ricca,
A Buccaneer, is a Riccaneer
The goal, was never to tarry (6)
But to act within bounds of reason
In the quest for truth and bond,
All Free Beings, have their voice, alive
A Cigarette, may seem like Trebor (7)
But deep down, it is not one
If you are choppin Tirebo,
Give your broda small to chop
Behold, the Dead Man’s Chest! (8
Ancient Scroll, charted the Course
Shining Atupa, lights the Sea Route;
For the Sextant to navigate sail
The Skull, is lifeless and worthless (9)
Though stained with acquired knowledge
Slanting daggers in downward direction,
Guard tradition, to parry the wrong
In the old legs of dreaded voyage, (10)
Rugged Men, needed no femur
But Dry-Bones would thrive ahead
Hence, abominable, when they’re X-ed
Yet, a femur is strong enough; (11)
To bear the burden of any challenge
So, the young had to dig
And exhume, the Grandfather’s Bone
The Island was virgin, but bleak (12)
Filled with squeaks of alien creatures
Fine-Boys with prudent audacity,
Made hay of our foregone terrors
Crying out, Tom! Tom! (13)
Rhythmic tone, in measured cadence
For a laggard is hard of hearing,
Thunderous echo, fades his sail
While Tom isn't silly like Jim, (14)
It is fun with both on-board:
Moonlight Tales, in sequence of notes
Uplifting Vibe, from a twinborn duo
Barrels of Brew, ferment to taste (15)
Though Sea-Lords gulp, to sally on-board
Full of life, was the last man standing
Lest he'd maroon, in Laggardom Isle
As the moon begun to set, (16)
The deck was set to move
Rigid CLASP, in profound recall;
Held fast, to keep brodas aligned
Cold breeze, from rough Sea hounds (17)
The Red Cloak, kept him warm
As bonfire was guided to flame,
Major Sally, drowned the storm
Where are the sallying Sea Lords? (18)
Poor eyes for thee to see
Just as it is, for a child unborn;
So has an Eye, a Big Daddy
Deadweights, do no good (19)
On a vessel, made of wood
Leave no borras in the wood
For loose tongue, sinks ship
In recap, the Sea is deep; (20)
With a melting pot afloat
A leap at the cliff of mystery,
Helps to forge, and sail ahead
When the Call bellows, ALORA� (21)
The vile and deaf, tremble
In the spirit of foremost sail,
The Decree, remains AWUMEN.

awoononi:
And you just had to quote the damn whole thing

magicminister:
See the way all the girls dey call am hunny pie... Lol.
He was probably a bucaneer.
In all honesty, i condemn cultism and all that comes with it but i also understand that its all part of youthful exuberance.
Smoking, drinking, partying.. we all made those mistakes and then outgrew them and got our lives back on track.

A good percentage of guys in public schools belong to one cult or another. That doesn't mean they are bad people. Just means they are misguided.

I will always discourage people from joining one but if u happen to find yourself in one, please no carry am for head.
Bully all those small small boys but never ever go robbing, kidnapping or rape a woman or carry concealed weapons in public.
Once you start doing the aforementioned, then your days are truly numbered.

Just party and drink and smoke and when u graduate with your 2.2. or third class, your eyes will clear and you will be begging for a second chance to set things right.

alcuin:

Men, this is dead serious... Somebody call the police. I never knew Buccaneers were that violent. Let peace reign...