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Education / Project Writing by samuelkew(m): 6:54am On Jun 29

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Education / Re: Assignment Help Brampton by samuelkew(m): 12:54pm On Oct 23, 2023

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Education / Re: Hire A Professional Writer For Your Academic Project by samuelkew(m): 12:53pm On Oct 23, 2023

Education / Re: Project Writing/ Journal Article Publications Made Easy by samuelkew(m): 12:51pm On Oct 23, 2023

Education / Re: Short Deadline For Dissertation or Assignments? No Worries by samuelkew(m): 12:49pm On Oct 23, 2023

Education / Writing Services For Nigerian And International Students by samuelkew(m): 12:47pm On Oct 23, 2023

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Education / Re: Academic Writing Service For Nigerian Students In UK & USA Universities by samuelkew(m): 12:44pm On Oct 23, 2023

Education / Re: Important Elements In Essay Format by samuelkew(m): 12:43pm On Oct 23, 2023

Education / Re: Advanced Resume/C.V And Cover Letter Writing Services by samuelkew(m): 12:43pm On Oct 23, 2023

Education / Re: Different Courses Offered In Nigeria Universities And Polytechnics. by samuelkew(m): 12:42pm On Oct 23, 2023

Education / Re: Download Research Project Topics & Materials Here Online by samuelkew(m): 12:41pm On Oct 23, 2023

Education / Re: 2023/2024 UNILAG Msc & Postgraduate Info Thread - All You Need To Know by samuelkew(m): 12:41pm On Oct 23, 2023

Education / Re: 2023/2024 UNILAG Msc & Postgraduate Info Thread - All You Need To Know by samuelkew(m): 12:40pm On Oct 23, 2023

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Literature / Call For Entries by samuelkew(m): 2:58pm On Jul 09, 2022

The Maiden Eaglefeat Short Story Prize is open for entries. The closing date is July 31st 2022.

The closing date for our maiden competition is midnight, July 31st 2022.

20 stories will be shortlisted and published on Eaglefeat.com and Eaglefeat Short Story Prize Anthology Volume 1 (upon writers agreement) The winner and 2 runners up will be selected from the shortlist and announced in September.

This Competition is a biannual free-to-enter Creative Writing Competition organized by Eaglefeat GoodLife Enterprise to help develop creative thinking, writing skills and reading habit. It is open to writers who are resident in Nigeria, or of Nigerian origin. The theme for this competition is The Country in my Dream.

The stories should be set in Nigeria, and be Nigerian. The word limit for a short story is 1000 words.

The competition opens for entries on July 4th 2021. The deadline for submission is the midnight of July 31, 2022.
Prizes will be awarded to the best writings: #15,000, #10,000 and #5,000 for the winner and two runners up. The best 20 short stories will be published on eaglefeat.com and Eaglefeat Short Story Anthology.
The winners will receive a certificate each.

Entries in a word document should be sent to writpeak@outlook.com
Times new Romans
Double space
12

Romance / Re: Lovers And Mothers by samuelkew(m): 6:52am On Jun 14, 2020

LOVERS AND MOTHERS III
NIGGLE
I didn’t ask my mum any question that night because I was sure Daniel would ask his mum and I expected him to talk to me. But it’s not just that simple. Daniel didn’t call me on the phone that night and he wasn’t answering when I called him. I was too worried to eat. My mum called me into her room and I thought she wanted to explain things to me. “I heard you didn’t eat,” my mum said. “I don’t have appetite,” I said. “You? Chioma? Don’t have appetite?” she asked and laughed. It’s really ridiculous. I knew it. “The last time you were sick and hospitalized, you’re eating as if you were a raven, drinking like a camel. Now, you have no appetite. Chioma? Chioma? Chioma?” My mum called and I answered each time she called my name. “How many times did I call you?”
“Three times”
“Eti e melo?”
“Two ears ma.”
“Ki lo fin gbo?”
“oro”
“If you’re sure you have two ears and you know you hear words with them then let me tell you a secret. Men are like goats. They want to eat anything and waste it. You have to keep it from them. The one who seem good is like a cat. He’s trying to deceive you so you can trust him to protect your fleshy meat. Chai, he’d chop you until he don belleful or until you’re finished. He’ll simply devour your meat and go his way. Learn from an adult. If I give you cola with my teeth, you may not eat. If I cut bitter kola for you with my rotten teeth you may reject but if I speak words, words, Chioma, it is better for you to listen and follow my words.”
My mum does not know how to beat a child. She rarely beat me and my brother. But she can nag for Africa. I knew she’s not planning to stop talking. So, I smiled and told her that I was hungry. “Good, my foody foody girl. Go, eat well,” she said. I walked downstairs shedding tears. I became confused. My mum had no husband. I had no father. Daniel’s mum had no husband and Daniel had no father. Perhaps, men truly are peckers and beetles. Whatever happened between my mum and Daniel’s mum didn’t end well. I was sure of that. My mum didn’t even talk about him. She suspended him into oblivion. I went to the kitchen and prepared Amala for myself.
I waited for Daniel’s call. First day, second day, nothing. First week, second week, nothing still. He didn’t call. No text message either. And he’s not answering my calls or replying my messages. Maybe my mum was right.
My brother seemed happy because Chigoze had told him that he liked me. Because he had given his sister to my brother, he expected my brother to give me to him as if I was a toy. It’s not his fault. His brother used to sell clothes at Yaba market. That Yaba, chai, they’re always touching girls’ body anyhow. Foolish demons! Women had even protested against the rubbish those boys normally do to ladies. I was surprised to find something like that on the internet. Now that I thought about it, whatever card the tricksters played, I was ready for them with ferocity. After one month of silence between Daniel and me, Chigoze attempted to rape me. My brother was at home. I shouted. But he didn’t come to my rescue. He said he’s fast asleep. Daniel had rightly called him a planner. He had pretended to be sick and he was on drugs. So it’s easy normal for him to sleep like he was rehearsing death.
Chigoze called me to help him rearrange the seats in the Game Center, beside the house. I innocently entered. It’s my eyes that were first violated. I saw him. His eyes were wide and red like a bereaved lion. But his tail wasn’t behind him at his buttocks. I saw in between his thighs, his tail, tumid and wagging. I was stunned in confusion. Chigoze was proudly walking closer to me. I turned to run but he’d reached me and he pulled me back to himself. I screamed. “Shhhh! Stop it. Come on. You no be pikin na. Why una dey do like …” he’s touching my body as he spoke those words. And I was slapping him. He tugged me like a box to one of the seats. “I for like do small small like say I be gentleman but una no wan cooperate,” he said. Then he ripped my trousers around my buttocks and spanked me painfully. “Beast, Demon, God punish you,” I cursed him. He didn’t stop. Then he tried to enter into me. I struggle to get an extension cord and smashed it on his head. Chigoze didn’t move. I mistakenly kicked him at the groin. He shook with pain. I kicked him again, this time, with the intention of breaking his balls. “Yeh! Winch!” he cried and rolled on the ground like he was going to die, I wished he died. I freed myself and ran into the house, weeping with shame. My mum wouldn’t believe me. So, I didn’t tell her anything. After all, she had heard me complain of being spanked and she didn’t do more than query.

Two months later, I began to attend tutorial for JAMB. I then planned to travel to Abeokuta. My mum mustn’t know about it. It had to be a Saturday when the tutorial starts from 9 o’clock in the morning till 5 o’clock in the evening. And on Saturday, there would be many students. My absence wouldn’t be noticed by the tutor. The first Saturday I planned to travel, Uncle Jinn called my mum and told her that there’d be no tutorial that day. Thank God my mum called me on phone. “Chioma, where are you?” she asked me. “I’m at Uncle Jinn’s place ma.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes ma.”
“Is Jinn there?”
“I’ve not seen him ma.”
“Okay. He just called me on phone and told me there’s no lesson today.”
I was really shocked. There’s no way my mum wouldn’t find out. Oshodi to Gbagada would take longer time than I needed to reach home from the tutorial centre. “Are you with your ATM?” my mum asked me.
“Yes ma.”
“Okay, I want to send you to Oshodi, I’ll transfer money into your account now.”
And she did. I bought her stuffs and I returned home. The following Saturday, I left Lagos. If there’s no lesson I would still go. I’d say something like … anything, maybe I’d have told my mum I went to JAMB office or UNILAG or something. I just had to get to Abeokuta. We left Lagos by ten in the morning and I reached Abeokuta by half past twelve. Traffic was fair at that time.
The city’s changing fast. Within months several houses by the roadside had been demolished. I hoped Mrs Daniel’s house wasn’t demolished. As we drove past MKO Abiola Stadium to Kuto I was afraid of being turned orange by the dust which filled everywhere. People looked like they rubbed pink soil on their faces. Cars were filled with dust. I alighted from the car at Kuto Junction and took okada to Ibara Housing Estate. That’s where Mrs Daniel’s popular mansion was. She had houses in different places.
As we got near the house I saw great crowd going in and coming out of the street. “What’s happening there?” I asked the okada rider. “You’re a stranger year? You’re just coming to town?” he asked me. “Yes, I’m a stranger here. I came from Lagos, I’m a stranger now.”
“No wonder.”
“Mrs Daniel just won the primary election of the People’s Fortune Party, PFP. You know what’s funny, the opponents didn’t get one vote. She carry all of the votes. Wu say make dem no give the woman the ticket unopposed? They just want to shame theirself. You know the woman abi?”
“Yes, I do,” I said.
“Obinrin rere. She’s good woman. Okansoso lokin, peacock is one in community of birds,” he said.
“Mrs Daniel has open hands.”
“Baje! Very very!”
“She gave to the poor,”
“Exactley, very very.”
“She gave to school children”
“Yes, and to small small children.”
“And to Debaters and …”
“Yes, and to market women.”
“She’s a good woman.”
“Baje! Very Very! Good self is small. She’s big good woman.”
“So, you like her?”
“Who will not like a woman like that Beautiful face, beautiful smile, beautiful pocket, beautiful helper. She’s like her husband who died some years ago. It’s the man that’s supposed to be governor sometime like that. They beg am to stand down. People no gree. People say that’s why they kill him that time. See, if I can vote with ten fingers on my hand and ten fingers on my legs I will vote them all for her. Who dem be? Who know them?”
“So, she didn’t just start politics. She’s been a politician; her husband was. Daniel’s dad was. That’s strange. Daniel should have studied abroad. Maybe it’s because his dad was yet to get into big post like that. Their children don’t stay in Nigeria.”
“You don’t know that man. He is a man of the people. He will eat with the boys, and play with the women in the market.”
My hope was refreshed. She’s a good woman. And she already told me I’d be good for her son. I thought it’s the political busyness that consumed all of Daniel that he had not time for me. No time to type message. But I was wrong. He had time too much.
I was lost in the crowd that day. I didn’t see Daniel. I didn’t see meet his mum. I saw the big-bros but they had no time for me. Uncle B, the one that drove him to Lagos saw me too. He just shook his head somehow, right-left like an Indian saying yes. I tried to walk up to him but I lost him. He had to follow some people. I didn’t see any sense in that partying really. Why should someone throw a big party because of victory at primary election of major election? Well, since she’s rich, no one would bother. How would they bother, those who would vote for one thousand naira on the day of election, how would day even think about the waste in this partying? Maybe I was thinking like the poor.
I left Abeokuta by 3 p.m. It was a wrong calculation. The traffic was hell. The bus was like a snail. When we reached Redeem, it’s a deadlock. We were on the same spot for about an hour, in intense heat. There were people making noise. “Wetin dey cause hold up for this area sef?”
“You go reach front now you no go see anything holding traffic.”
“It’s the people coming out and going into the camp that are causing the delay”
“Stop thinking like this. It’s not the church. It’s the road. Let them repair the road finish and see change.”
“Which kind change? Since I don dey travel this road, they never finish this road. You know how many companies don work for this road?”
“This heat is too mooshi o”
“Pure water!”
When a passenger called any of those hawkers, about three or four would come to sell. The passenger would collect the drink and collect the change before paying. If he paid before collecting change, and the bus move, the hawker would just go away. But the passenger was yet to pay the seller would run after the bus to collect the money. I hadn’t been in such traffic before. I pitied those young boys and girls but they had to survive. Life isn’t just fair in many things. Some people are just unfortunate like rats and cockroaches. I looked at those hawkers and remembered the play, Fate of a Cockroach. I wish I could write Fate of a Rat. The life of a rat is always in fear. Every step is suicidal, the people may kill it for eating, the stuff to eat might be poisoned. They’re poor creatures and they’re hated –too unfortunate.
Before we could reach Berger it was about 6 p.m. and my mum started calling my phone. She’d called Uncle Jinn. I didn’t know what Uncle Jinn had told her. I began to think of what lie I’d tell my mum. If she found out I did’t attend lesson it must be a big lie. If Uncle Jinn didn’t notice me then I’d need a small lie about why I had to reach home late. My mum would just give me upbraiding and tell me that I would be punished. She’d say I was beginning to get deceived because I thought I had become an adult. Maybe I was deceived already because I believe Daniel was good and her mother too was good. I wouldn’t let my mum’s experience with men ruin my own love. I was an adult. And no matter how common fake love is, I knew there’s true love out there and I found one.

Romance / Re: Lovers And Mothers by samuelkew(m): 6:44pm On Jun 10, 2020

Lovers and Mothers II
MUDDLE

After we finished WAEC in June, 2017, Daniel followed me home. My mum was ready for him. She’s ready for him as a son-in-law. And she asked questions about his place and parents.
When I met Daniel’s mum in March in 2016 I believed she’s the best human on earth. I had heard she had organized different programmes for Easter. ‘Make the Child Rejoice’ was talked about in our school but the teachers and students didn’t know it’s Daniel’s mum that was behind the scene of the charity programme. Every child that registered got money and gifts their parents would hardly exhaust in six months based on their level of living. ‘Wife of Glory’ was also popular in the town. Women were empowered but also advised not to be too proud to break their families. She donated for schools and churches and communities. People loved her very much.
The day I met her, it was in a debate. I represented our school that time. Daniel said he wanted all As in WAEC and believed that debate would distract him. He got all As the way he wanted it and since I got about seven As I couldn’t doubt the originality of Daniel’s As. Who would doubt mine? We’re brilliant and smart and we’re voracious readers too. And I, though a science student did my best and qualified to represent our school in debate. I also won the debate. Then the chief sponsor was called to say one or two things. “Now, let’s celebrate our own chief Mrs Daniel …” I was on stage so I could see her trying to say no. Daniel didn’t tell me that his mum was the sponsor. Perhaps, that’s why he didn’t want to participate.
The woman finally yielded to the chants and claps of the people. She’s not like Daniel, small but strong. Mrs Daniel’s very huge. She’s chocolate-coloured. And she smiled all the time, perhaps, because her teeth were all white and shining. Her lips curved well enough to form ‘w’ and they’re naturally pink. “What a kissable mouth” I said to myself. She must be a fan of ordered steps. The guard on the right side, on the left side and the one behind all took same steps as she did. It’s beautiful. I saw Daniel by the right-angled corner opposite the stage, to my right. He’s waving at me, proud of me. Smiling and jumping in a way too wild for his age. As the woman climbed the stage I felt the aura of a woman of the people. I knew it. And I was right that she’d contest for a political post one day. I didn’t know it’s already planned. Although I later heard people say that she decided to contest because the people wanted her I still wanted to argue with someone that her political agenda was why she’d been kind to the people. You know, while I discussed that with my mum on phone that night she shut me up. “If that’s it what’s bad in that?” my mum said. “Are there not many desperate politicians who only emerge few months to election with unbridled avaritia and power hunger?” She said.
As the woman swaggered up to the stage she waved and the people shouted. It’s howling. Then she spoke about me personally. “This Rubenesque dolly bird is from Lagos. But of course she stands here as an ambassador of Abeokuta Grammar School. It’s funny to know that she’s a science student. I recollect when I was a student in Arts because I wasn’t a lover of Mathematics my husband was very good at Maths and science subjects. He was once an overall winner of Iyaniwura Mathematics Competition in the state. Because of that, I want us to know that we must look beyond the skin to see the soul, we must look beyond the place to see the person, beyond the person to see the human and we must look beyond the hate to see the human.”
I want to see that woman again and tell her that I had been living by her words. I want to beg her to do the same.
That day, after the whole event she asked to see me. She’s very fresh. It seemed as if the breeze is gathered towards wherever she stood. She touched my cheek and said I was beautiful. “What’s your name?” She asked. “Oyin,” I replied. “Hmmm? Daniel said he gave you that name. So, tell me what name did your dad give your?”
“My name is Chioma …”
“You’re Igbo?” she asked.
“My …”
“It doesn’t matter. Does it?” she asked
“No ma,” I answered. I was glad she saved me from fear. “I see it your eyes, you’re the sclera and my son is the pupil. Your love is protecting him and his is lighting yours. Your lips are kissable and you have alluring curves. I’m sorry to be saying this but it’s what his father saw in me that he’s seen in you. Tell me, have you kissed each other before?” I was shocked. “Ma? I … no, no …” I said. “Don’t be afraid, my daughter. My son is free around me. Maybe too free or too bold to tell a lie. He said something like … he kissed his dogs and you said something about not letting him kiss you and he did and you told him to stop.” I felt very foolish. What kind of a mummy’s pet is that? So, if he had slept with me he’d have told his mum?” I thought. I’m sure I didn’t say that loud. “Are you wondering if he’d be telling his mum about his moments of lovemaking too? No, he probably won’t tell me that. He promised me he won’t do that until he’s married which is why I don’t want him to suffer temptation too long. By twenty four, I want him to have his wife. Daniel doesn’t know how to tell a lie and doesn’t like to be called a liar. He’d never forgive anyone for that. He said your lips are sweet like honey. He said he felt some plane lifting up from his body pointing to the sky. I’m sure you felt some wetness, right?” I was just blushing. I didn’t say a word. “It’s humane to feel that but I’m glad you told him to stop. You’d be like his teacher. I think he needs you. Apart from his mother, the only person who can direct his course is you. Has he told you he loves you?” she asked.
“No ma. He hasn’t,’ I said.
“Well, he’s a shy boy, He’s shy even around boys. And he’s not used to public life anyway. He’d spoken with actions and I’m sure you have noticed that too. Maybe you’re feeling like what a shy guy is this, if he won’t talk he shouldn’t scare away the ones that will talk but I’ll tell him to be bold enough only if you promise never to say no to him. If you say no, he’d never consider it. He’d say he doesn’t believe in disturbing a girl. He respects your opinion and won’t try to persuade you to change a no to a yes. He’s afraid you might say no since you once considered other guys even though he’s close to you then.”
I told Mrs Daniel that I loved Daniel. She’s very happy. She didn’t really care about my parents. She believed I was good for Daniel. Perhaps, she’s too proud to imagine that my parent could reject her or her son. But I loved Daniel. I still do.
Three months later, I took Daniel to our house. He came with the driver, one of his two big-bros. I had told my mum about Daniel. You know, both of us were eighteen at that time. I am sure nothing in our house surprised Daniel because I had described everything to my classmates. Maybe the kind of decorations he saw would be strange because I had forced my mum to deck the house with flowers. And it’s quite beautiful. We also just painted our house that time. Daniel loved the house. I took him around the compound. I showed him the fish pond and the poultry. He’s very happy. Our pond was like one percent of his and our poultry too was like one percent of the one in their house and we didn’t have birds around the compound. But he’s happy we did farming. His mum and dad were farmers. And they made money from farming from which they invested in other businesses. We didn’t have swimming pool but we had a football showing center. My brother set that up and employed a manager of his.
I forgot to tell him about the manager. His name was Chigoze. He’s one ebony comic braggart and he’s huge too. He had to be huge and fierce so that guys would not just watch football without paying. I had warned him not to flirt with me again. But he never listened. He liked to flirt with me. You know many Igbo men believed a girl child is everyman’s pet, they like to touch girls as they like, in public and in private. It’s annoying they’d touch a girl’s buttocks and tell her, “are you married? No be man you go marry? You no happy say I touch una, you no happy say I touch ya bombom?” That’s how many of them behave. They did that to some of my friend in Yaba market. I felt like taking Daniel to them. I’ll never walk to that place alone. I’ll take Daniel with me one day. We’d cause a great conflict. Police will arrest us. The matter will be big enough for people to hear about those foolish braggarts.
Chigoze spanked me. As Daniel came out of the poultry he saw Chigoze. He came around and asked him why he spanked a girl, like that. “Mr Man, na you I spank?” Chigoze asked. I knew trouble would happen. My mum mayn’t like it but I wanted it to happen anyway. “Wetin be your … o .wu..n” Daniel’s slap didn’t make him say the word well. “You spank her and you’re saying wetin be my own?” Daniel asked and slapped him again. “Yeh, Yeh, una wan fight, eh?” Chigoze said as he bounced and moved right and left like a boxer in a ring. My Daniel just stood firm and watched Chigoze’s drama. Daniel smiled. “Chigoze, stop oh,” I said. “Who im be? Im be Buhari?” Chigoze said. He wouldn’t listen. As he moved to throw a punch, he stopped. He was surprised Daniel didn’t tremble. His hands remained in his pocket. Chigoze believed that Yoruba people are cowards. I think their refusal to secede that time promoted that thought. Maybe Chigoze was right. But my mum told me that the Yoruba believed it is not ‘omoluwabi’ to be fighting up and down. They called it ajangbila. They have proverbs against fighting, many of them. “Okun kii wo ruru ka wa ruru” my mum would say. That means, if the sea roars with rage we should not navigate with rage. She’d say maja masa niyi Akin. That means the honour of the brave is to know when to advance and when to retreat. Even the strong Daniel doesn’t like to fight. I remember we discussed war. He told me that the brave are the poor ones deceived with the ideology of patriotism. “See example in Adichie’s Half of a Yellow Sun” he said. “Olanna’s parent wanted to escape to Cameroon and then to London. That’s what the rich do. They supply the weapons and stay in secure places. They sponsor the militia and stay in secure places. And you see the erukus, the deathslaves calling themselves warriors, marching to die. They’re needed anyway, so that their people can be safe. In war, these times, bravery is the trickery appellation the rich created for the poor to die in their place. Before, kings would ride horses and lead battles. Then, bravery was for all. Now, bravery is for the poor, smartness is for the rich.”
Daniel didn’t beat Chigoze that day. I wasn’t happy. I thought it’s because he’s afraid of what my mum would think of her. But he’s afraid of two things. He asked me if it’s possible for Dangote to get angry to the extent of throwing punches at someone to defend himself. “The rich don’t fight the poor, they crush them,” he said. And he’s afraid of what my brother might do. I told him my brother is sleeping with Chigoze’s sister. He believed brain and body are more fearsome. He said the ones who think and plan well before fighting are more dangerous than the one whose life is in his physical strength and impetuousness. And my brother was one of those kind. I told him many things about my brother. He’s a braggart like Chigoze but he doesn’t touch girls’ body anyhow, without a girl’s consent. Yoruba men hardly do that even though there are patriarchal Yoruba men too. It is not one of the traits of omoluwabi.
When my brother and mum came out and saw Chigoze punching Daniel in the face they’re angry with Chigoze. Daniel’s hands remained in his pocket. There’s blood on his face. His lips were cut. He rolled them in and licked the blood. But I could see intense rage in the way his head shakes. “Sorry, Daniel,” my brother, Biodun said. “Chigoze, what happened?” my mum asked. “I … I …” he stuttered.
“It’s alright ma. I am a guest. A guest shouldn’t fight his host,” he said. “And good host doesn’t fight his guest,” Biodun said. “Will you apologise now,” Biodun said. And Chigoze apologised to Daniel. He wasn’t sorry for what he did. He just felt bad that Daniel didn’t tremble. He’d have been sacked that day. But Daniel saved him. “The best thing to do is to make him learn how to be nice. He’s just a loose or lost ram from the village, I guess.”
“What is your name?” my mum asked. “Daniel Jejelaye,” he answered. “Wow, that’s a nice name,” my mum said. “Obviously, you’re Yoruba. But you’re from where?” she asked him. “I’m from Abeokuta ma.”
That’s good. I like the people of Abeokuta. They are good people. Maybe because I didn’t meet the bad ones, you know, there will always be good people and bad people everywhere, anytime. I had a friend then. We loved each other. We never slept without each other. You know people suspected us that we’re lezes. The way we did things in common … it’s funny that one time like that we both failed IntroTech together. I don’t mean red ink failure but like fifty something out of hundred. You know we were always getting As and Bs, Both of us would be first, someone would be third. Or both of us would be first and second and another would be third. We’re just very close friends in stuffs and senses. And she’s a very wonderful friend, like a sister. We’re like twins.”
I was surprised because my mum had never said something like that before. She hardly speak about her childhood days. Most of the stories she had told me and my brother usually began from the time she met one man who later jilted her. I hoped she might know Daniel’s mum. “Mrs Daniel also said she had a friend like that when she was in school. And that friend was from Lagos.” “Is that so?” my mum asked. Then she asked questions about Mrs Daniel Jejelaye. Mrs Daniel used to bear Ruth Bewaji. She attended Abeokuta Grammar School like me and Daniel and like my mum. The moment my mum heard the name, Ruth Bewaji, something changed in her. First, her smile, her sincere smile disappeared. I knew it when my mum’s smile wasn’t original. She didn’t ask other questions. She just said she’s happy to meet Daniel. And told me to entertain him and make him feel good. She left us in the sitting room and went upstairs into her room. Daniel wasn’t a fool either. He knew something was strange. “Your mum probably knew my mum. Maybe we’ll bring them together,” he said. “And maybe they’re wishes of being in-laws will be true in us,” I added. But Daniel didn’t wait any longer. He called his big-bro on phone and before five minutes the big-bro came with a car and Daniel left. We didn’t say much to each other after my mum left us there. He and my brother spoke about football though. He’s a Chelsea fan. My brother’s a Barcelona fan. They argued a little but Daniel often yielded intentionally, I knew it’s intentionally; he let my brother win the arguments.
I really began to think like I was going to marry Daniel the following day. I didn’t want him to go that night. If he must go, I wanted to follow him. I remember how Rebecca followed Abraham’s Eleazar. I wished he brought golds and gifts and just asked for my hand in marriage and then take me away. I usually feel empty without him by my side. His jokes, his wit, his wisdom, his confidence, I miss them all. HE made me see my self-worth. Now, I know I’m not worthless, I’m intelligent and I’m a kind person. HE showed me how to be strong and how to … to be … smart. As a lady, I had believed that my intelligence was useless because a first lady was described as good only for the kitchen and the other room in my country. But Daniel was the one who made me learn to think towards what is good for me, towards the direction of my essence and not towards the direction people wanted me to go. If the people say a woman cannot be a Bonke I’d not agree. I’d agree because Bonke was Bonke and no man or woman could ever be him. But now, I’d disagree because I’d think in the way of self esteem and tell them about Kathryn Kuhlman and Maria Woodworth-Etter. If now, the braggarts want me to feel useless because in our lands women have never been king, I’d teach them about Queen Amina, about Queen Moremi, about Madam Tinubu, About Mrs Kuti, and even about the dangerous Efunsetan Aniwura. It’s all ideology … Daniel taught me that. The root of our behaviour is ideology. That’s what I changed and that’s why I change. I miss Daniel.
He didn’t stay for more than ten minutes after my mum left us in the sitting room. He called his driver on phone and the big-bro came within five minutes. He gave my brother some money. That guy collected it, not even reluctantly. And I was worried because it’s the first time I noticed Daniel’s smile was not real. His silence was not because he’s staring at me but because he’s lost in thoughts. But I knew one thing for sure –he’d talk to his mother about my mum.

Crime / Justice For Uwa: Rape A Hideous Execrable Crime Against Humanity by samuelkew(m): 6:15pm On Jun 07, 2020

Before I hit the hammer on the nail, driving into the heart of my subject, let me give a storied illustration. There are two houses in a street, opposite each other. One night, House A was raided by armed robbers who plundered the house without restraint. The following morning, residents of House decided to report the crime. Then some residents of House B appeared and spoke to the residents of House A up. Residents of house B then said:
Shut up. Stop talking about being raided. What about House B? Some of our residents were raided sometimes ago and nobody reported. Nobody talked about it. So, shut the hell up.
Now let me take the first turning to the subject. One has to be a soul from hell or a beast without a soul before one can openly say because he has been a victim and has not reported others who are victimized must not report. How has humanity degraded so fast? It is loathsome to see men try to shut women up from talking against ills done against their kind. Whenever a woman, or a girl, or a group of them attempts to speak on issues of great concern such as rape, domestic violence, uxoricide and other sexist inhumanity some men will begin to make apologetic or assailing rhetoric for the evil being discussed. That is not but sheer act of begging the question.
Uwa Omozuwa was a 22-year-old student at the University of Benin (UNIBEN), Edo State. Four men had reportedly injured her and raped her in a Redeemed Church in Benin, Edo State. She was said to have visited the church to read before she was assaulted. What is most ogrish is that some human beings or creatures in human flesh think the rape and murder case do not worth much outcry as the reason why she has visited the church. Some, like the bloody pharisaic anti-Christs who ranted against healing on a Sabbath, some men have begun to ask questions about reading in church other than why she was attacked, violated and left for dead. Uwa’s case is not about how seductive she dressed. Men still find fault in why she had to read in a church during lockdown. I agree there is a story untold, maybe. Then what is stopping investigation and prosecution of rapists? Reading in church?
In the same House A and House B illustration, when Christians cry out of being attacked by terrorists, Some Muslims will come out, not to condemn the act of terrorism but to shut people up from talking simply because, as they would say, Muslims too are also being victimized. Then Christians will feel should I sit down quietly and comfortable and not complain about being killed simply because Muslims to are being killed and did not talk about it or against it. Now, in that logic, Christian men and Muslim men and even the irreligious and the traditional men must learn that we are humans. Acts of inhumanity against humanity must be punished regardless of the gender, religion, ethnicity and class of the victim or of the offender.
We need to stand up for justice whenever we see evil regardless of gender or ethnicity. But we cannot because we are divided too deep on ‘us-versus-them’ maxims on bases of ethnicity, religion, gender and class. So, we first consider being lenitive with our side than being straight with justice.
Some men have misconstrued the acts of women speaking for themselves, seeking for humane society, as women declaring war on male kind. And at the perception of battle the senses are concerned about self preservation and countering. That is the default frame of mind of some men. This perceived gender battle makes them to dismiss any women-voicing-out as women warring men. I am not speaking for feminist. Bloody NO! I am speaking for humanity. The girl child, the lady, that woman, that mother, that wife, the female have rights as male do. We must begin to think human before we think gender battle. That applies to men only. For women, it is unwise to ask women to drop their cutlasses when men have not seen anything wrong in wielding sharpened swords or patriarchy against women.
Now we are back to the issue of rape. Rape, violent or not, by stranger or acquaintance, by anybody is an act of inhumanity. It is not just wicked to make excuses for rape or to shut people up for speaking against rape but also insane.
There is something wrong with a country that ignores threats on human lives. There is something wrong when hundreds of girls were abducted. There is something wrong when rape is ignored. Punishment, and sever one as fitting the crime is need as a deterrent to crimes. But it is easy for us to haste to arrest someone for blasphemy than it is to investigate rape and murder cases and prosecute offenders. We do not need to tell someone not to abuse Buhari before he learns not to. That is because there is going to be consequence for trying to think he has freedom of speech. But when there is no consequence for rape and murder reoccurrence at alarming rate is unstoppable. It seems crimes and justice have mixed and matched such that the law has to pretend oversight and let offence go unanswered for.
Covid-19 reveals the state of our health sector. But it is not only the Health sector that has been deplorable over the years. The justice system has also been abysmally deplorable. We have turned intentional deaf ears to the cries of farmers and villagers while armed herdsmen, foreigners or citizens, attack and kill them. We have turned intentional blind eyes to rape kidnappings and beheading of certain prominent figures. Who is safe? Since one CAN leader was captured and beheaded and nothing happened there is no deterrent, another is abducted in Nasarawa State. Who is safe?
Justice for Uwa we call. Justice for humanity we cry. And while we make the strong call I hope the powers that hold the gavels will not ignore until our voices slowly exhaust all sounds and seek another fresh case to cry over.
There are consequences for actions and inactions. I implore all children, and girls especially, all ladies especially to modify and adopt some measure of claustrophobia. Feel no male is sane when you are with him alone such that you become careless. In fact, never be in a place alone and never feel comfortable being in a room with a group of only guys. I know there are consequences of suspicion and boundaries. I know while we close eyes to let the evil men walk away the good men may walk away unnoticed –but our eyes would have escaped seeing evil and we would not have been traumatized. I know the head is tied to the tail and hair is tied to the toe. I know when the eyes cry the nose runs. But it is all consequences. The racist homicide long condoned is tearing the US apart and this is only a beginning of more to come as long as racism persists. It is time men rose to speak against domestic violence, rape and every form of inhumanity against our women except we are accomplices. There are consequences, often turning out unpredictable. As long as injustice persists, as long as what we call justice in Nigeria is selective class justice, as long as rape is not punished hastily and severely, as long as inhumanity against the female folk is seen as unworthy of attention, then our house sitting on timed bomb. It is going to blasts. Mariticide is just a tip. No stopping the fire except justice is enthroned. Any crime unpunished persists as a norm. #Justice for Uwa.

Romance / Lovers And Mothers by samuelkew(m): 6:03pm On Jun 07, 2020

LOVERS AND MOTHERS
1. BUDDING
Until Daniel came to our house in 2017, I didn’t know his mum and my mum were friends. They’re friends that could die for each other. They’d made promises to match their son and daughter in future. One never attended a party without the other. One never gave a suitor a chance without the consent of the other. I never knew our parents used to be sworn sisters.
Daniel’s mum had always told him stories of a sister she found in a friend. His mum and her childhood friend lived together for four years in a house they rented as hostel. It was a room self-contain in a house at the street opposite Abeokuta Grammar School, Idi Aba. They read together under trees and they watched movies together. They bathed together always. They always ate together. I believed his mum was sincere that she and her childhood friend often fell sick at the same time. If Daniel’s mum and her childhood friend were not both first in class in a term, then one would be first and other, second. They’re always leading the class. His mum’s friend usually travelled to Lagos for holidays and his mum remained in Abeokuta. Each one always brought gifts for the other. I always wished for a friend like that. But instead of a sister-friend like that I found a boy-friend. Daniel used to call me Oyin which means honey. And I used that name more than any other name. We’re very close friends. We’re friends for six years because we never expressed love to each other until after we had finished WAEC in 2017. I just know we had feelings and unintentionally didn’t express them. Maybe he was too shy to say it, maybe he was afraid. Since girls do not usually do the chasing I only waited for his second coming.
Daniel’s first coming was on a Tuesday, thirteenth of November, 2012 when I ran into a snake behind our class. We’re in J.S.S 1 at that time. I had gone to the school market to buy food and pies. Although Daniel never liked girls he’s very kind to everybody. Girl’s liked him. He’s handsome. He’s fair and square shouldered. He also looked quite muscular and we had seen him proved his strength carrying things alone where two would struggle. “Snake! Snake!,” I suddenly shouted and others disappeared as if I blew warning trumpet for war. Daniel was coming from the staff room where he’d gone to meet our class teacher. Then he rushed to the place and quickly got in between me and the snake. He had no stone or stick in his hands. Maybe he didn’t think before jumping to the scene. His eyes were fixed on the snake as he gently pushed me away. It’s a tense moment. Death faced us so he wouldn’t have possibly known that his hand touched my breast when he pushed me. And I didn’t think about it until it’s all over. But I felt something that day. It’s not love. It’s a feminine wakening. He touched my body and stood in my place defenseless, beaten twice by the python. The snake escaped but badly bruised. Daniel matched it with his boots. Different stories would linger on till we finished school. But he’s rushed to FMC which was just directly adjacent our school. I wanted to stay beside him. I just felt like never leaving his side. But the health prefect stayed, our class teacher was also there and his mother would come after I had gone. The following Monday, he’s back, exquisite and clean. I think he came back better. It’s as if he had fought death and won. His confidence and smiles increased. During break time I went to him. “Daniel, thank you for saving me,” I said. My Daniel just smiled and winked. Maybe he meant nothing with his winking but it unlocked the passion in my heart. “I’m glad you’re okay now. I was just blaming myself …” I said.
“Just enjoy the peace all around you. I’d rather die than watch you get bitten by a snake,” Daniel said. At break time we went to the vendor together. And we walk together to the bus stop after closing. Since then there’s been no closing to our closeness. The farther we are from each other the deeper we yearn for each other. Holidays used to be interesting but not after that moment of my feminine priming.
Whenever I told Daniel about guys who told me they loved me he’s always strange. He’s always jealous. When I told him about Johnson, he went to Johnson and warned him to leave me alone. Johnson never listened until Daniel punched him in the face. We were in JSS 2 and Daniel said they must not spoil me. “Daniel, stop acting like my big brother,” I said. I never understood what I really meant. But I said it. Tunde never listened until Daniel kicked him hard; we were in Jss # then. Bolly didn’t listen because he’s huge and we’re in SS1. He felt like he’s adult.. He challenged Daniel. They fought. But Bolly’s fall was faster and funnier. It’s just two punches, right side and left side, Bolly fell and cried with intense pain. Then the guys left me alone. Daniel became more lovable. After being punished, given four strokes of cane for punching a fellow student, everybody liked him or feared him. To teachers, Daniel’s an upright leader. To guys, he’s a boxer or trouble maker. And to girl … the girls were jealous of me because guys fought over me not because they thought Daniel was worth their jealousy. After all Daniel had ignored them beyond their forgiveness. But I was proud of myself. I didn’t know how Daniel got to be so strong that he could beat every rival and make everyone fear him.
One day, while we waited for taxi at the bus stop in front of our school, Daniel brought out his phone from one hidden place inside his school bag, switched it on and called his mum on phone. He gave me the phone. She must have asked him to. And I spoke with her. That was in January, 2016. She’s too sweet. “Omo mi,” she said. I wondered if she called me her child as Daniel’s friend or as his girlfriend. She told me she’d been telling Daniel to bring me home. She’d only seen me in photos -photos we had taken on the day of our Inter-House sport, on Literary and Debating Day and on Cultural Day. When she said that, I looked at Daniel with surprise. “You … showed your mum my picture?” I asked. He didn’t say anything, just nodded with a smile, blushing as I was. “Yes, my child,” Daniel’s mum said. “Look, don’t come without telling me first oh, I want to welcome you like a princess. You know my son doesn’t like to talk. He’s always alone. He’s also too shy to make friends with boys. But you changed him, or you’re just different. You’re his companion. Both of you are like white and black, bread and butter, sugar and tea, soup and iyan … you know. Thank you for making my son a good boy.”
She’s right. I made Daniel a good boy. I mean he changed for me. As an only son, his mum never discouraged him from anything. She never complained about anything he did. And Daniel couldn’t do anything for himself by himself. He’s always sending friends errand and giving them money because his mum or people did virtually everything for him. If possible she’d release the invisible from her anus on his behalf and do the visible too on his behalf. Daniel didn’t know good from bad. “But why was he childish at times …” I asked. “Hmm, I am just praying that God will change him oh. I have been putting him in God’s hands since he’s born. He’s my only son, you know.” I knew what the problem was. His mum endured all his deeds, good or bad. She would then pray to God so that Daniel could change. That’s really strange to me. “Thank God he’s changing ma.” I replied.
I didn’t tell Daniel to change. But he knew I didn’t like some foolish things he was doing. The day he sent a friend to buy food and fought him for buying two pieces of meat instead of four, I didn’t speak to him throughout that day. The day Daniel tore Jide’s notebook, I frowned at him throughout the day. The only time I spoke about his behaviour … I told him what he did was devilish, was when he destroyed Chucks’ bicycle because Chucks’ flatus smelled too bad. I told him he’s childish, bad, wicked and foolish. He’s very sad. I felt sad too. But since that day he began to change because he didn’t want me to get angry. He wanted to please me. If the whole world thought he’s good and I thought otherwise he’d believe me.
In December, 2016, as we finished first term examination, I followed him home. Wow! I was wrong about Daniel. He’s not totally bad. There were boys and girls whose house weren’t worth a toilet in Daniel’s house. And they’re always telling us what they had in their houses. Big TVs, Washing machine, Big Generator, Big bathrooms, big kitchen even if it’s kitchenette and every other big thing. I told them big things too, at times. But I never lied like most of them. When I reached the house I marveled. The arch at the entrance was adorned with voluted flowers. And in the big compound I saw blocks of labyrinthian flowers forming paths to God knows where. I walked straight and entered into the house, My God! I saw lawns and trees like a mini golf pitch. I saw peacocks prancing and birds delighted to see me. The truth is I didn’t believe such a place could be in Abeokuta. There are beauties in the world. I took pictures in the compound, sat on the lawn, stayed near the birds, posed near water fountains, spread on the lawn and later ran into the paths. I almost got lost. People would see the pictures and ask, “You travelled to London? Is this America? Wow, where is this?” I just didn’t answer them.
I was afraid of waters but I still swam in the swimming pool because I trusted Daniel. He didn’t let snake bite me even when I was just a girl. He would face death now that I had fully blossom. “Daniel, is this your house or you have brought me into one big hotel?” I asked Daniel after I came out of the pool, Daniel smiled and said nothing. That smile of his … I decided I must know what utterances hid behind them. His mum had travelled out of the country that time. I learnt that Daniel had a personal driver and guard. I had seen them in school before but Daniel told me they’re his big-bros. He ran to meet them and hugged them. There’s a gymnasium and there are trainers in the house. Now that I had seen the palace I knew why even at a young age he could make Bolly cry just by throwing two punches. Men bigger than Bolly live in his mother’s house. Daniel once told me that a man must be strong enough to defend himself from any threats. But he wasn’t going to admit that it’s more than strength. He’s trained and skillful. I remembered that time, he’d punched Bolly on the sides just below the ribs. The burden of his blows must be rock breaking. As I thought of these things I just felt like there’s no one else I’d ever wanted than a man with whom I can feel loved and safe. He told me his mum employed guards and trainers for him. He didn’t know why but he’s sure it had something to do with the death of his father or his mum’s father.
“Daniel,” I’m very sorry,” said I after I found out that there were many workers in that house. I looked at him with my passionate eyes. He looked at me, askance. “For what?” he asked, “Oyin, for what?”
I found my tongue stiff and lips glued together. I just hugged him dearly and for long. “You’re not foolish. You didn’t even live like you’re different” I said. I realized there’s no way he could try, try a little to do anything by himself. Daniel told me that his mum wanted him to study abroad but she also wanted him to attend the school where she met her husband, Daniel’s father. Chief Daniel always wanted his children to attend the school he attended. He promised to create a paradise for his children so they would be satisfied with living in Nigeria. And he did. Daniel’s house was a father’s promise fulfilled. I only didn’t like that patriotic spirit he transferred to Daniel. Even our leaders who made oath to serve Nigeria romance the West and Asia like homeless peacocks and vultures. My brother always said it’s suicidal to die for Nigeria and even Angels at the gate of heaven would send Nigerian heroes to hell for a wasteful death. But if one lived in that house there’d be no need to wish for more except one has accidentally seen a greater beauty in Paris.
At sunset, Daniel and I sat beneath a tree in the compound. We faced the west and talked about the West. He loved the West so much that I found it strange that he never tried to travel out of the country. His mum wouldn’t stop him if he wanted to. She wouldn’t deny him anything, I was sure of that. I believed Nigeria would be better. I used to have hope. But Daniel didn’t. “If anyone died for this country,” he said, “the angel calling names will send the person to hell.” ‘Why did you say that,” I asked. “It’s a sin to commit suicide and that’s what it means to die for this country.” He called the country a jungle where democracy is just in principle rather than in practice. He called it a den of thieves. He called the country names. I felt uncomfortable because my mum raised me to be a patriot. I always argued with my brother about better days coming.
“I don’t understand you, Daniel. I was thinking you love the country very deep. I thought you needed some new views of life. And yes, you do need that,” I said.
“In the West animals are treated with respect,” he said.
“What’s your point?” I asked.
“The point is, if the people aren’t cared for the animals won’t be cared for.” He said.
“Yes, but there are also poor people there,” I said. “Oyin, it’s not only about money, it’s also about the people, their laws and their respect for lives and properties.”
“Daniel, you don’t mean there are no crimes or criminals there? Do you? Is there a perfect country? Aren’t they not the ones who put Africa into much of her problems …”
“Shhhh! Oyin, are you sure you’re not getting too angry? For this country’s sake? The problem is our failure to tell ourselves that we’re part of the problem, that we caused a lot of our problems. Africa wasn’t innocent. They fought wars and had slaves before colonization. Wasn’t Oyo an Empire, or Benin, or Zulu … If Oyo was an Empire does that not mean that Oyo, like other empires ruled over other places as colonies? Every people in history are guilty of power and war. The discomfited only just always seem most miserable and cheated. But the cheated was also a cheater.”
I didn’t like to hear such words. I never reasoned like that. But he told me anyway. And he’s serious. I figured the only way to get his smiles buried was to discuss Nigeria.
“It’s not the West that caused us not to use our brains. If they told us to hibernate our brains in religious and ethnic sectionalism did we not see them use theirs in tolerance and progressive innovations?”
“We’re a mismatch union, it’s the fault of those that joined us as one without healable differences or gradable compatibility” I said, as my last point. Daniel whistled. “I expected a reply but you whistled? Eh? So, …” I was still talking when I heard sounds of footsteps, ordered steps. Then I turned and saw two men coming to us, taking same steps beautifully. I loved the rhythm. One carried a basket full of fruits and the other, a basket full of drinks. A lady walked behind them in same steps, maybe not intentional ordering. They’re bringing snacks and pieces of fish, meat and chickens. They dropped them and packed the ones we’d devoured.
“We’re a mismatch reunion, you’re right,” Daniel said. “But we’re not the only multicultural country, are we? We may have problems of differences but not a good excuse for not growing.” I had never seen him unsmiling like that.
The way Daniel played with his dogs surprised me. He kissed them. “Ayanma. I’ll never let you kiss me with that mouth you have used, have been using to kiss dogs,” I said. Daniel looked at me with a mischievous smile. I felt bad for saying those words. How could I be so careless? I’d said it anyway. Then he stood up and I did the same. He walked about two steps towards me, pulled me close to himself and looked at my face. I saw it in his eyes. My heart was wary but will. I wanted to feel his pink lips. It’d be the first time someone kissed me. And slowly, he might have seen my heart begging him to act like a knight and not a servant. “Stop,” said I, weakly. “Should I stop?” he asked. “Yes, stop stop!” I muttered. But my hands … held his head close. I opened my mouth, saying no. Then I brought out my tongue for French kiss. “You wanted me to stop?” he asked again. “Yes,” I muttered again. And he stopped. I was panting. My heart was beating fast I could hear the sound, khukhu, khukhu. And I was wet in between my thighs. Why I was angry that he stopped I never knew. “Fool!” I murmured. And he smiled like a hunter whose trap had just caught the game.
The following day Daniel took me to Lagos. We sat at the backseat and discussed. The driver smiled at times though he pretended not to be listening to us. Daniel told me he’s sorry. “For what?” I asked. “For doing that to you,” he said. I told them to take me to Oshodi. I didn’t want my mum to meet him without her readiness. He told me he’d love to meet my mum that very day but I wouldn’t let him. I knew he wanted to come to my place before we finish WAEC. I wish he had been able to but he wouldn’t until we had finished WAEC.

Politics / Princely Poor: Party Fidelity For Peanuts Rather Than Policies by samuelkew(m): 3:43pm On Jan 29, 2019

By 'Deji Kuye (TER)
When the mind is myopically fixed on the instant and meagre gifts, the future is traded away with pride. But who can blame the hungred for taking stones as bread or snake as fish? Poverty is not the status of the one working hard and smart, planning and acting well with time and convinced of prosperity. Such may just be in a moment of lack. But the one who has internalized poverty as a destiny and who has deleted hopes of success from his mind is the real poor one. The lifestyles of the poor, even when they pretend to be rich, are evident of their poverty-stricken mind. No matter how obvious a devil is to them they'll still open doors and invite him in to plunge them deep and dead. The princely poor always disregard consequences of choices of corruption and extortions and they'll suffer most after the comic relief of peanuts sharing.

Poor with pride
Give me a morsel
And take our seeds and lands
Plunge it and take the spoil
Use them, own them as you wish

Poor with pride
Give me a morsel
And take my legs and life
Send it to steal or kill
To destroy or to die

Poor with pride
When I see you
In robes like you're royal
And all rivers and riches you made yours
Let my cries be to you then, harmless barkings.

The rich (and I do not mean just the millionaires and upper class) who know best to mind their business, will not have time to walk hours and sit for hours, wasting precious time in the name of campaign and gifts to be given. Actually, when there's much gain as an insider with a profitable assignment, the rich minds can be involved but such are usually in tens or hundreds. The hundreds of thousands or millions dancing and singing hyperbolic eulogies are the ones richly poor, following the masters like local dogs, forgive me. They anticipate bones to be thrown to them. And that's what they'd get -dry bones -that's what they'd fight for: Bowls of rice, two to ten tubers of yam, one to ten thousand naira and other ephemerals. My God! What a princely poor people such are. The princely poor sell their time, mind and life for the enthronement of a selfish master. How do I know selfish masters? It's simple. Anyone who will bribe me to represent me; threaten me to serve me or trouble and fight or kill to win a post of service is evidently not altruistic but egocentric and greedy. And Africa has got many of such rulers, past, present and perhaps with untouchable perpetuity.
Fraudulent acts is encouraged by acknowledgement and deifying fraudsters and thieves. For example, the growing fraudsters and ritualists known as "Yahoo guys" are not ghosts or invisible. There are people around them, hailing them, worshipping them, praising them and many sexual relief materials also flock readily around them. The coming ones can be easily lured into fraud.
That is the same in politics of self, common in Nigeria. Many people hail and praise the ones plundering them. The curses of the people won't touch those spoilers. It's trade by barter. It's investment. When candidates are expected to give some amount of money or gifts to get votes how do we expect them to not be selfish. Where is the money coming from? If it's not from a godfather then it is borrowed, perhaps at times from the candidate's savings. Who then is to blame, the godfather who must make profit from his political investment or the candidate who must in multiples realize the money spent or the princely poor electorates?

The rich minds want a rich society and favourable policies. That is why great democracies do emphasize debate. That is why manifestoes matter to great minds or great countries. But debate in Nigeria is a child's play? A candidate can choose not to partake in such. Well, if about 80 parties have candidates and all are to debate, that might take months to organize. Perhaps, there should be a legislation that Presidential candidates be limited to a number and different parties can adopt a candidate, and a legislation that such candidates must attend debates.
If we're not going to settle for less, if we're not going to shield corruption; if we are going to get good governance, stable political system of altruism, we must begin to look into socio-economic ideologies of candidates, manifestoes of candidates and history of candidates.
Why should a candidate promise good health or education or security or food or jobs or amenities? We don't need them to promise these. These are duties or responsibilities they have to sustain. We should rather ask, "what are you going to do, how will you develop our economy; how will you attack these problems; what are your policies? Not what will you give me. Government is not for individual but for a people. So, we may ask, what will you do for our society, our children and our farmers and business men and how.

The great ones will think of how to make or earn money and not how to be given money. The ones who are princely poor will endure hardship for four years, uttering harmless curses if a candidate reneges. They will wait for another four years and unfortunately, they will readily be deceived into making the same mistake of choosing peanuts over policies, over integrity.
And there are many who are knightly poor. They take sticks and bottles to torment and make troubles in the name of a candidate who must deny them in the face of the law. They also get peanuts and some might get some fame for a while. They are expendable rungs of political ladder. They never wonder where the families of their masters are. They never ask which god declares them knightly poor and expendables. Poverty is first a virus in the mind. It's a virus because once it's eaten deep into the mental system of a person it hardly dies and it gradually destroys.
If we must practice true democracy apart from the nominal and life experimental one we currently operate then we must stand against ourselves and resist the virus of poverty, princely or knightly in our systemic command. We must choose leaders for the society's sake and not for ephemeral gifts. God bless the Federal Republic of Nigeria.

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Jobs/Vacancies / Re: She Mistakenly Transferd 100k Airtel Mobile To My Phone. Help!!! by samuelkew(m): 2:28pm On Mar 14, 2018

I don't know what to say yet. I have registered on zoranga as a customer. Niw I pay for set up fee since about a week now. I've not gotten any code or api to install pn my website. I sent sms there's no response. I called, no answering. I reallyam disappointed.
Samuel
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Please, zoranga, deliver what is promised.

Music/Radio / Re: Download Baba Oshe Worship Song by samuelkew(m): 7:46am On Feb 27, 2018

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Literature / Re: The Rings Of Fire: The Renegades by samuelkew(m): 7:11pm On Feb 26, 2018

TROUBLE RUINING FESTIVAL
In Ina Village the family of Ayantade were the chief drummers at Odun Oruka, the Festival of the Rings. The people of Ina Olooka, the ménage of the worshippers of the rings were respected for their popular entertaining seven-day festival. Strangers were free to watch some performers during the first six day. But the seventh day is exclusive to the natives. There were magical performances and contests that made the festival a kind of theatre.
It’s another Festival of the Rings. Everyone wore red attire. Dancing is first according to households. The family leader would then make prayers on behalf of the whole family members. The last dance was general and it’s the clan leader, Baale that would say the prayers that time. That would happen on the seventh day of the festival, called, asekagba.
Each of the women of different households tied around their waists chains of thin ropes of red cloth, knotted at intervals to hold some lace of rings which jangled as they danced. As they clapped, bangles on their wrists also jangled. At some point, all of them danced with uniform steps. They took the right leg forward and rightward and when they returned it they carried the left leg forward and leftward, jumping and clapping twice, rhythmically. And then they danced differently, competitively. They men and children hailed the women with noise whenever they stopped a song, preparing to switch to another song. The bata drummer beat bata with gathered muscular will. Omele, gangan, benbe, iyailu were all drummed at the festival. When the drum beats became very intoxicatingly arousing men joined in the dance. Happiness flowed over everyone.
They all sang the village song:
‘‘Ooruka ina o; oruka ina o; oruka ina o; oruka ina
Igba meta ajila, oruka ina o’’
That is a chant. Rings of fire, rings of fire, rings of fire
Three periods of prospering, rings of fire.
After they sang each of their songs the drummers beat rhythms that invoke the spirits of the rings of fire. A spirit would arrest the soul of a leader of a family and that’s when he’d vaticinate as well as bless every member of his household.
‘‘As our women had sung, ours is the ring of fire that suffice to take us through the three stages of life,’’ Uncle Gbenro, the head of Inalafa household said. And he prayed that the aged who were in the last stage should be granted peace and days to tell stories to their grandchildren and great grandchildren. People used to live very long in the town of the rings. Uncle Gbenro also prayed for the adult that were married and those that were unmarried.
He prayed that the sacrificial fowl of each bachelor and spinster be protected and blest. And that their hymeneals should be glorious when it would happen. It was that time Uncle Gbenro was praying for the unmarried that Bola arrived. She came in a black Toyota jeep too spectacular to be unnoticed. And everything became silent. No one had noticed that she’d been absent. It’s never expected that anyone from the clan apart from the renegades would miss any part of the festival throughout seven days for any reason.
Each household had an earthen pot of fire submitted at the village square with different identification marks painted on it. They arranged the pots to form a circle around one big earthen pot of fire which is for the whole clan. The fire from the earthen pots burned up with hiss sound and rose tall. And the village’s big earthen pot of the rings of fire burned as tall as rain in the sky. The rings that floated on top the pots, flying up and down in the noisy fire, clanging upon collision, were colourful. But as Bola arrived, the hissing sound stopped and everything became still and silent.
That’s terrible! That’s not the spirits’ complaint against coming late. It’s terrific. And when Tundun saw her daughter came out of the jeep, she burst into violent cries. ‘‘What have I done?’’ she cried. ‘‘My only child! Why should the spirits be mute when she arrived? Have they not watched over her and her fowl till now?’’
Her arrival had triggered questions. The people, most of who were jealous of Bola’s city fortune murmured and soon began to talk aloud. “What is the meaning of this,” an old woman asked Baale, “how can we say that we have respected the rings when our children have refused to participate? Won’t the gods go into oblivion if our children are strange to our rituals?”
Another man also asked questions. “How can we trust the young ones to uphold our culture when they have begun to disrespect principles even before we join our ancestors; is there any hope left in the young generation now…who can explain what bad omen it is when the rings stop to fly up and down and when fire stops burning up from our pots?”
Baale who had been on a chiefly seat now stood on his feet. He interrupted the jealous man whose children were all successful trouble makers in the neighbouring villages. He wondered why the man and the woman have talked about Bola rather than about the fact that the fire suddenly stopped burning. “When evil is chasing somebody will that person stop a moment to remove thorn from his feet until he’s finally escaped from evil? Maybe. When there’s invasion, and we’re running to survive, if we fall, are we going to waste time minding the pain or we’ll first reach a safety land? If we’ve sensed a violation of our culture, if we’ve noticed evil or whatever it is, shall we commit more errors upon errors by halting the Festival? Are we not going to incur the wrath of the spirits of the rings if we do that? Please, let’s continue for now. Anilati le akata lo na ki a to fabo waa ba adiye. That’s it; we will chase away the tiger first before we come to treat the insolence of the fowl.” Everyone agreed with Baale. He’s a wise man whose persuasive words never fail to achieve a peace mission. He motivated the people and caused them to ignore Bola and they continued the rites of the Festival.
Everyone was as curious as Tundun, Bola’s mother, was. The Festival was already altered. The legs of dancers were no more willing to dance and neither were mouths of singers ready to sing any longer. The drummers lost their skill. And there was no way they could continue that way. Baale then sent for the priest. It’s hard for them to continue if the priest had neither consulted Ifa oracle nor spoken Ifa’s words. They all waited for the priest. The men were just looking, the women could only murmur as they watched Tundun cried. Bola was also shocked. She didn’t understand what was happening but she hastened to stop her mother from rolling on the ground in tears. As she moved closer to the centre, suddenly, the spirits’ humming sound started. That was what had expected at the peak of dancing, at the time Bola arrived. The sound of the fire –the hissing sound also started again; the rings also started to clang, swinging up and low, faster. Everyone was amazed. No one talked. No one danced. They all gaped with wonder. Their heads were swinging up and down since their eyes followed the rings up, very high and then down as the rings returned.
The priest also arrived at this time. He joined the people in swinging of the heads. The fire had never burned up as high as it now did neither have the rings flown higher as they now did.
But something else happened. The amazement soon turned into dread. All the rings dropped inside the pots and then the hissing stopped and banging started. Nothing like that had ever happened. On every face, Bola could read portents. Uncle Gbenro’s face was bold. He mustn’t show fear. But his tongue was too weak for prayers.
The priest, Abore Oruka then addressed the people. ‘‘Let no one cry for today is a … a … day of … joy. I think I am right! We all know that this Festival is ever the first of joys we had. Other Joys must follow it till we gather next Festival. So let us continue. Now, the Inalafa family are going to hand over the gong of prayers to the family of Inalipa. But before that let’s see what performers have for us.” The performers forced their passion into orature and wrestling. But everything happened rather fast. And the Festival was concluded.
After the event on that seventh day of the Festival, the last day, everyone became suspicious of Bola. Many feared that she’d done something sacrilegious. “Perhaps she’d been defiled without the … procedures,” some argued. They wanted to know if the omen concerned the whole village or just Inalafa family. And neither was acceptable. The village must rejoice or mourn as one.
Later at night when Uncle Gbenro joined Bola and Tundun in his late brother’s house he spoke gently. He loved Bola and respected her more than his own children. That’s because Bola’s father was very good to him when he was alive and because his own son had been a renegade.
‘‘You missed six days and didn’t perform in anything. Your lace of rings, your rope of red; your bangles and other things were not worn. They are there in your father’s room. I hope you even kept your rings very well.’’
Tundun interrupted Gbenro. ‘‘Baba, what are you telling your daughter? The matter is grave and …’’
‘‘Tundun, you think I’ve lost my mind? You don’t rage against a raging storm on the sea. Can you achieve height when you follow in digging abyss instead of mounting a hill? You don’t sail with anger if the sea is angry. You must sail to the ground first before you serve yourself a dish of delicacy.’’
‘‘Maami, I don’t understand what’s going on. Uncle what’s happening? It’s like you all believe I’m in some danger?’’
‘‘No, you aren’t,” Uncle Gbenro responded.“It’s the other way. Danger is in you, may be for us, for the village or for yourself. Whatever stopped you from coming the first day, whatever caused you not to talk of marriage is the danger that’s close to you. And you must … let it go in peace. I mean you must get rid of it.’’
‘‘Uncle, it’s work!’’
‘‘The children of the rings of fire never beg for wealth or fortune. Fire does not beg to be employed. Fire and water, who fights them? Look, it’s … not work. How’s S.H. doing?’’
Uncle Gbenro’s demanding eyes caused shame to Bola. She wanted to rise up to vomit. But because it’s been long since she sat with her legs crossed, on a mat, she slapped her right leg with her right palm. ‘‘What’s it?’’ Tundun asked, ‘‘Bola, what’s that?’’
‘‘Will you just rest your mind? ’Uncle Gbenro said. ‘‘It’s pajapaja.’’
‘‘Bola?’’ Tundun called curiously. She curious something bad might have begun to happen to her daughter. ‘‘Maami, it’s nothing. It’s truly just pins and needles. Eebi n gbemi! I want to vomit’’
Tundun was very scared. After Bola had gone to the backyard to vomit Tundun asked Baba what or who S.H. is. She wondered why her daughter could just become sick in a sudden like that. ‘‘Is it really because of the lace of rings or rope of red or the bangles or the halt of the festival or everything together? Isn’t just one ram sufficient for such case and is my daughter the only one who didn’t perform through all seven days?’’
She wasn’t talking about Gbenro’s renegade son but he felt ashamed. His son had been successful without the rings and had been blessed with a set of twins. Nothing bad happened to him in the city. Gbenro had his fears though. Uncle Gbenro told Tundun that everything was alright. He told her that the spirits seem impatient that Tundun hasn’t brought her fowl for sacrifice. I think it’s time you talk to her about marriage. She’s twenty five. No, not twenty five. Omolola is twenty two now. And I remember she was five when Omolola was born. Talk to her. Remember I always warned against secret.’’ Uncle Gbenro had always said that secret should not be kept at all from children and if kept it should not be kept for long. He always said that if the children found out on their own the parent would lose respect and control of the situation. And if situations made a parent to disclose a secret when it’s too late the parent may lose a child’s allegiance and control of the situation.
‘‘What should I tell her?’’ Tundun asked.
‘‘Tell her the truth. Everything! Everything! Tell her and make her understand everything. The spirits of the rings of fire do not care whether a person is ignorant or not. It’s time for her to bring a fowl. Bola knows that but you must still discuss it with her.’’
Uncle Gbenro looked towards the door and knew that Bola had entered while he’s talking. She heard everything. He’s sure! The curiosity in her face betrayed her confusion and fear.
‘‘I’d come back tomorrow morning after I meet with Abore Oruka.’’ Uncle Gbenro said and left. He had to leave before Bola asked whatever questions were gathering within her.

Literature / Re: The Rings Of Fire: The Renegades by samuelkew(m): 6:30am On Feb 15, 2018

DYING
It’s Becky who called Bola on phone that night. ‘‘Hello, Aaron’s dying,’’ she cried.‘‘He’s stabbed. He’s dying.’’Bola advised Becky to control her emotion. “Calm down, okay; just calm down,” Bola said on the phone. There’s nothing like fear or worry in Bola’s voice. She spoke as the one in control of the key of Hades gate. “When I was an undergraduate in the university and heard that my boyfriend was involved in a protest and he’d joined others in vandalisation I became worried. My heart almost jumped out of me,” Becky narrated to Bola. “Thank you. I understand,” Bolasaid. Bola became uninterested in the conversation. She’s sleepy. “Becky, I’ll come very tomorrow. Okay, I’ll hang up now.”
How could she be calm when her lover was dying? Becky never believed that Bola’s serious about not visiting the hospital that night. Bola said she couldn’t leave Alakuko that evening when it’s already 8p.m. because she’d probably get to Bariga by 12 midnight if she got trapped in traffic. She’s sure no one could escape traffic on Lagos roads. ‘‘But the way she spoke, the way she said he’d not die, the way she told me not to fear and advised me to sleep well … the way … what’s wrong with her?’’Becky wanted to tell Aaron what Bola said and how she’d reacted as if Aaron was lesser in value than an ant. But the nurses had warned her never to come into the emergency room.The doctor gave that order. And all Becky could do was pray to God. Life’s going to be tough for her if Aaron died. She feared people would blame her for his death. They’d ask her questions she would never be able to answer. Many would conclude on several things and Aaron would not be there to defend her with truth. “Aaron you must not die o,” she cried.
Aaron’s stabbed with dagger twice in his left thigh and once in his right thigh. He has deep cut in three places on his back. He’s stabbed in the chest with a broken bottle. Becky continued to wonder how she could tell Bola that Aaron, Bola’s lover was dying and there’s no show of concern in her voice. Bola’s not shaken. And she’d not visit the hospital until she’d reached office and got permission the next day. That will never be very early in the morning. It’s certain Bola must tell Mr James that only two people should be sent to check Aaron in the hospital. Bola would like to ask many questions. She’d be jealous too. “But true true, this guy strong well well o. He suppose don die diesef. See as dem stab am puchapucha for chest, for im leg, for back, for stomach, for hand, for everywhere and he still dey breath. That’s not even the matter. See as he beat those guys. Chai! He commotone from ground; smash am for ground pucha. One run go meet am he give am blow puchapucha. He beat them like seydem be sumallpikin. Aaron even kicked them with his legs. If not because of me he’d have beaten them tire.” Becky started to cry. She’s waiting for the doctor or any nurse to come out of the room and give her news about Aaron. She slept there that night.
The following morning, the story at the office was maddening.Some said Hercules was beaten like he’s Hector’s brother.” Some guys in the office jested that Achilles was wounded in the chest. “Fable was his talent,” one of the colleagues said. Aaron had told everyone in the office his story of beating many boys at once. Becky witnessed it. She was the one who cause him to fail this time. But she kept quiet. They said that if he had handled ten big guys in a dangerous “school II” he’s supposed to handle six boys in a party. It’s fun and funny how Aaron’s colleagues laughed at his agony. Becky couldn’t stop them and she couldn’t explain how it happened though she witnessed it all. And it’s her fault.
She thanked God no one was asking her why she was with Aaron that night instead of Liza, her colleague and friend.
Mr James chose Chioma and Benson to go to Bariga and find out how Aaron was doing. ‘‘It’s a wonder he’s not dead. But we need to know what happened,’’ Mr James said. And the Bola who had said nothing since she came to office that day now suggested that Mr James should send her with Bola to see Aaron instead. Everyone knew the decision was already made by then.They often murmured, “Mr James never said no to Bola’s suggestions –imperative suggestions.”
On the way, Bola and Becky trusted the reckless driver, they just kept discussing. And they had started the discussion slowly and first unfriendly‘‘Stop staring at me,” Bola said,“Just say it as it is in your mind or ask it as it is bothering you.And if you can’t, please, just go to the front so that you may stare at the driver.’’
‘‘I thought you love …’’ Becky said before she’s interrupted. ‘‘I know you love him. And I’m sure no one asked you good questions about last night,’’ That annoyed Becky. But she feared Bola the master of their boss.
‘‘You should ask. You care about him. Isn’t that why you made us chosen for this journey?’’
Bola chuckled. She then looked at Becky fixedly, saying nothing.She brought out some cubes of chocolate from her bag and offered them to Becky. ‘‘Do you care for some?’’
‘‘Thank you,’’ Becky said after she’d collected some.She’s surprised they shared chocolate cubes as friends. ‘‘I don’t understand you. You spoke as though death is your roommate and as if death was busy with you or distracted by you while I told you about Aaron. I worried throughout the night but thank God he’s just … alive.’’
Bola didn’t say any other word till she’d finished eating the cubes of chocolate in her hands. Then she told her that she’s very sure that Aaron cannot die the same way she’s sure Mr James would not be sacked when he was in trouble some months ago. ‘‘I love Aaron. I care so much about him that I could fast for him for forty days. It’s faith in my prayers to God that always gave me assurance.’’
‘‘Really? I never knew you have really gotten that far with Jesus. Is it not last month you started to attend fellowship with Aaron?’’
Bola had been talking about faith recently just to give people some topics to discuss apart from her enigmatic source of power. Almost all her colleagues believe in God’s power. They like the topic, ‘faith’ and always like to give credit to God. People would love her, perhaps enviously if they believed that her source was God Almighty. But if they believed she had some anti-Christ source of power they’d fear and hate her. In prayers they’s call her enemies. She’s chosen to use faith as a distraction rather than a culture.
‘‘Faith isn’t about temple or denomination,’’ she replied Becky.‘‘You seem to have a gift of prophecy and faith.” Becky said, winking and smiling.“And please, I have prayer reque--” She was yet to complete her statement before Bola cut in, sharply, seriously and fearsomely.
‘‘Why were you with him? He had no business or friend in Bariga. What happened?” Bola’s voice had lost friendly connotation. Her face had lost the smiles. And she’d turned her face away from Becky, setting her straight at the driver. Becky was perplexed. She felt uneasy.“How could this weird girl treat me like a fool,” she thought as smiles slowly disappeared from her face. “How could she make me feel relax and suddenly intensify the atmosphere? This girl—na mad girl o.” Bola turned her face to Becky and looked her straight in the eyes with bold face. “Becky, didn’t you hear my question?” she asked.
‘‘I’m sure you had a problem with him and he came to me just as a replace … just as a … person who needed someone to talk to. He wanted us to go for drinks and I had a party to attend.’’
‘‘What happened?’’
‘‘There’s a fight and he’s stabbed.’’
‘‘Aaron doesn’t fight. He doesn’t … just fight!’’
Becky didn’t know what to say. Bola knew Aaron well.And though she’s angry with Aaron she couldn’t easily erase love in her heart. Becky tried to control her answers. She knew that it’s hard to lie to Bola. One would have talked and later regretted talking.‘‘This girl, praying? She’s a witch!’’ Becky thought within herself and vowed to find out everything about Bola. “Well, you’re right. Your boyfriend is a cool handsome guy. He’s gentle and doesn’t like trouble.” Bola smiled.‘‘Mr Bada,’’Bola called from the back seat, ignoring Becky’s response. ‘‘Yes madam,’’ Mr Bada answered. ‘‘Please stop for one minute.’’ The driver had disobeyed her in the past and there’s an accident. Now he just stopped.‘‘Why do we have to stop?’’ Becky asked.‘‘No, we didn’t stop,” Bola answered, “We only paused. Now, let’s go.’’They were driving into a four cardinal points junction.
They had not moved a minute further before a trailer, from the east side, crossing to the west side of the junction, hit one vehicle infront of them.The taxi had just moved a bit upon the green light but the trailer wanted to cross before the red light could stop his lane. Two passengers and the driver got arrested by death in a twinkle.“Oh my God,” Becky Cried. “Ogbelegbele o!” Mr Bada exclaimed. Bola didn’t say anything. He’s not moved and that didn’t surprise Mr Bada or Becky.
‘‘Is this why you told him to stop? How did you know?’’ Becky asked.
‘‘Holy Ghost in me is more active than you’ve ever experienced or imagined, I guess. Let’s not forget to discuss how Aaron got stabbed.’’
‘‘Six guys almost killed him okay. I owe you no explanation.’’
‘‘Sure. You just need to tell me why Aaron allowed himself to be beaten.’’
Becky looked at Bola. “You’re crazy,” she said fearlessly.But she knew that it’s not just that Bola believed fables about Aaron’s strength and skill in fighting.“Bola’s not a witness of Aaron’s fighting stories, was she? How could sure be sure of Aaron’s stunts?” Becky asked herself.
As they were getting closer to Bariga, Becky wanted to ask Bola if Aaron would have gotten better but she’s afraid. Bola wanted to tell her too that she’s from a family protected and empowered by the rings of fire but she preferred to seem a prayerful prophetess.The only thing she wanted to know was the reason why Aaron didn’t fight or why he allowed himself to be stabbed.And the culprits who escaped,she wished to know them if they’re still alive. “They would be dead,” Bola said.
“Ma, who are you talking about?” Mr Bada asked, concernedly and Becky raised her brow, askance. “No one that you should worry about,” Becky said. There’s no way they could understand that anyone who hurt her beloved friend or lover would become an enemy of the spirits of the rings. They’d not be able to confirm that those men who escaped really died. And it’s better for them not to know about the strange spirits of her clan. Becky was also scared. She’s feeling guilty. She was the one who invited Aaron to that party and she’s the reason why he’s beaten like that –like he’s a weakling. Her guilt was mixed with love. “God, please save Aaron o,” Becky prayed. “Amen, God will do that. Aaron will not die. He won’t,” Bola assured them and brought out more chocolate cubes from her bag.

Music Business / Upload, Promote, Sell Or Share Your Music by samuelkew(m): 8:15am On Feb 10, 2018

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Music/Radio / Download Baba Oshe Worship Song by samuelkew(m): 8:05am On Feb 10, 2018

Baba Oshe is a worship song by Deji Kuye. It declares the wonders of God. Download through https://www.elprimemart.com/product/baba-oshe/

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