Goodluck's Address

Here is what your President said today on National Television

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Dear Compatriots:

1.     A week ago, I had cause to address Nigerians on the security challenges we are facing in parts of the country, which necessitated the declaration of a state of emergency in 15 Local Government Areas in four states of the Federation. That course of action attracted widespread support and a demonstration of understanding. With that declaration, government had again signaled its intention to combat terrorism with renewed vigour and to assure every Nigerian of safety.

2.    The support that we have received in the fight against terrorism from concerned Nigerians at home and abroad has been remarkable. We believe that it is with such continued support that progress can be made on national issues. Let me express my heartfelt appreciation to everyone who has expressed a commitment to support us as we strive to improve on the country’s security situation, and build a stronger foundation for the future.  The recent mindless acts of violence in Gombe, Potiskum, Jimeta-Yola and Mubi are unfortunate. I urge all Nigerians to eschew bitterness and acrimony and live together in harmony and peace. Wherever there is any threat to public peace, our security agencies will enforce the law, without fear or favour.

3.    This evening, I address you, again, with much concern over an issue that borders on the national economy, the oil industry and national progress.  As part of our efforts to transform the economy and guarantee prosperity for all Nigerians, Government, a few days ago, announced further deregulation of the downstream petroleumsector. The immediate effect of this has been the removal of the subsidy on petrol.

4.    Since the announcement, there have been mixed reactions to the policy. Let me seize this opportunity to assure all Nigerians that I feel the pain that you all feel.  I personally feel pained to see the sharp increase in transport fares and the prices of goods and services. I share the anguish of all persons who had travelled out of their stations, who had to pay more on the return leg of their journeys.

5.    If I were not here to lead the process of national renewal, if I were in your shoes at this moment, I probably would have reacted in the same manner as some of our compatriots, or hold the same critical views about government.  But I need to use this opportunity as your President to address Nigerians on the realities on the ground, and why we chose to act as we did. I know that these are not easy times. But tough choices have to be made to safeguard the economy and our collective survival as a nation.

6.     My fellow Nigerians, the truth is that we are all faced with two basic choices with regard to the management of the downstream petroleum sector: either we deregulate and survive economically, or we continue with a subsidy regime that will continue to undermine our economy and potential for growth, and face serious consequences.

7.    As you all know, the subject of deregulation is not new, we have been grappling with it for more than two decades. Previous administrations tinkered with the pump price of petroleum products, and were unable to effect complete deregulation of the downstream sector. This approach has not worked.  If it did, we would not be here talking about deregulation today. I understand fully well that deregulation is not a magic formula that will address every economic challenge, but it provides a good entry point for transforming the economy, and for ensuring transparency and competitiveness in the oil industry, which is the mainstay of our economy.

8.    As a President, elected and supported by ordinary Nigerians, and the vast majority of our people, I have a duty to bring up policies and programmes that will grow the economy and bring about greater benefits for the people.  Let me assure you that as your President, I have no intention to inflict pain on Nigerians.

9.     The deregulation of the petroleum sector is a necessary step that we had to take. Should we continue to do things the same way, and face more serious economic challenges? Or deregulate, endure the initial discomfort and reap better benefits later? I want to assure every Nigerian that whatever pain you may feel at the moment, will be temporary.

10.    The interest of the ordinary people of this country will always remain topmost in my priorities as a leader. I remain passionately committed to achieving significant and enduring improvements in our economy that will lead to sustained improvement in the lives of our people.

11.    I am determined to leave behind a better Nigeria, which we all can be proud of. To do so, I must make sure that we have the resources and the means to grow our economy to be resilient, and to sustain improved livelihood for our people. We must act in the public interest, no matter how tough, for the pains of today cannot be compared to the benefits of tomorrow.  On assumption of office as President, I swore to an oath to always act in the best interest of the people. I remain faithful to that undertaking.

12.     To save Nigeria, we must all be prepared to make sacrifices.  On the part of Government, we are taking several measures aimed at cutting the size and cost of governance, including on-going and continuous effort to reduce the size of our recurrent expenditure and increase capital spending. In this regard, I have directed that overseas travels by all political office holders, including the President, should be reduced to the barest minimum. The size of delegations on foreign trips will also be drastically reduced; only trips that are absolutely necessary will be approved.

13.    For the year 2012, the basic salaries of all political office holders in the Executive arm of government will be reduced by 25%. Government is also currently reviewing the number of committees, commissions and parastatals with overlapping responsibilities. The Report on this will be submitted shortly and the recommendations will be promptly implemented. In the meantime, all Ministries, Departments and Agencies must reduce their overhead expenses.

14.    We are all greatly concerned about the issue of corruption. The deregulation policy is the strongest measure to tackle this challenge in the downstream sector. In addition, government is taking other steps to further sanitize the oil industry.

15.    To ensure that the funds from petroleum subsidy removal are spent prudently on projects that will build a greater Nigeria, I have established a committee to oversee the implementation of the Subsidy Reinvestment and Empowerment Programme. I sincerely believe that the reinvestment of the petroleum subsidy funds, to ensure improvement in national infrastructure, power supply, transportation, irrigation and agriculture, education, healthcare, and other social services, is in the best interest of our people.

16.    Fellow Nigerians, I know that the removal of the petroleum subsidy imposes an initial burden on our people, especially the rising cost of transportation.  Government will be vigilant and act decisively to curb the excesses of those that want to exploit the current situation for selfish gains.  I plead for the understanding of all Nigerians.  I appeal to our youth not to allow mischief-makers to exploit present circumstances to mislead or incite them to disturb public peace.

17.     To address the immediate challenges that have been identified, I have directed all Ministries, Departments and Agencies of government to embark immediately on all projects, which have been designed to cushion the impact of the subsidy removal in the short, medium and long-term, as outlined in the Subsidy Reinvestment and Empowerment Programme Document.

18.     Tomorrow, 8th January, I will formally launch a robust mass transit intervention programme to bring down the cost of transportation across the country. The programme will be implemented in partnership with state and local governments, labour unions, transport owners, and banking institutions, and supported with the provision of funding at zero interest rate as well as import duty waiver on all needed parts for locally-made mass transit vehicles, which will create additional jobs in the economy.

19.    We will keep these incentives in place for as long as it takes. I want to assure you that Government will not rest until we bring down the cost of transportation for our people.  Let me thank the transporters’ associations that have agreed to reduce transport fares. I have directed the Minister of Labour and Productivity to work with these associations to come up with a sustainable plan to guarantee this within the shortest possible time.

20.     In addition, I have ordered the mobilization of contractors for the full rehabilitation of the Port Harcourt –Maiduguri Railway Line and the completion of the Lagos-Kano Railway Line. I have also directed the immediate commencement of a Public Works programme that will engage the services of about 10, 000 youths in every state of the Federation and the Federal Capital Territory. This will create an additional 370, 000 jobs.

21.    Government has taken these decisions in the best interest of our economy, so that we not only have benefits today, but to ensure that we bequeath even greater benefits to our children and grandchildren.

22.     Let me assure Nigerians that every possible effort will be made to ensure that we march forward, with a collective resolve to build a Nigeria that can generate greater economic growth, create and sustain new jobs, and secure the future of our children.

23.     This Administration will aggressively implement its programme to reposition and strengthen our economy, while paying adequate attention to the immediate needs of our citizens.

24.     I assure you all that we will work towards achieving full domestic refining of petroleum products with the attendant benefits.

25.     As I ask for the full understanding of all Nigerians, I also promise that I will keep my word.

26.    Thank you. May God bless you; and may God bless the Federal Republic of Nigeria.

Goodluck Ebele Jonathan, GCFR
President
Federal Republic of Nigeria
January 7, 2012

How to Love - A True Story

"Adele sweet, would you play me another tune?" I asked softly.

"Sure my love," she replied, as she lifted her guitar from where it stood and immediately started stroking it. I recognised the tune immediately. I loved that song! I loved all her songs in fact. Her deep lyrics and melancholic tunes were what made me fall in love with this skinny, dark-skinned beauty. I wonder what goes on in that braid-covered head of hers when she writes.

Hmm...The opening tune was to end in a few beats, and she was just about to open her mouth to sing in her sonorous and uplifting voice. My face inched closer to hers slowly as if proximity would enhance the intensity of the song. Suddenly, the unexpected happened. My face couldn't have been any closer when she turned her face away from mine and promptly threw up!

What?! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Or was I seeing it? She threw up again! And again! Brown bits of goo were hurling out of her mouth at light speed. All of a sudden the lights began to grow dim...

Wait a minute...I was on my bed all of a sudden. Where is Adele? I couldn't see anything, but the puking sounds continued somewhere in the background. Then it hit me: I was dreaming. Adele doesn't even know I exist (the real Adele and my own version). Life could be full of shit sometimes.

But someone threw up yet again! The puking sounds were real! I sat up abruptly and looked at Tobi who sat by the edge of the bed. He kept on puking and puking and puking and puking.

The thought of slimy puke all over my room was repulsive.

"Go into the bathroom nah," I yelled. Tobi obediently went to the bathroom, and resumed puking. By now the stench was so much, I had to step out of the room.

I entered the living room, where I met my Uncle working on his laptop.

"What happened?" He asked.

"Tobi is vomiting again," I said.

"Again?" he asked, as he got up and went into the room to check up on Tobi.

I winced! I expected my uncle to rush out any second, overpowered by the stench in the room. You see, my uncle has a legendary sense of smell; one that rivals the likes of Marvel's Daredevil. Legend has it that whenever he comes home from work, his driver jokingly asks him what's cooking in the kitchen. And inside a locked, air-conditioned vehicle, he accurately tells what the food is by the smell he percieves!

Yet, amazingly, he didnt rush out of the room crying foul.

Anyways, warreva! This puking kid just disturbed the most beautiful dream ever. Adele and I were just about to set fire to the rain. As I leaned back on the sofa in the living room, my mind tried to recreate the scene of the dream again. The thought of thinking about the dream was as stimulating as the dream itself. Ah, yes, i remember. She was playing me a song. For those few minutes, music was the food of our love, and reality just became our hemlock. Why tonight of all nights did Tobi's gut decide to rebel? Couldn't they occupy somewhere in the multiple folds of his bowels? Let's hope he finishes spilling his gut (trust me, not even in the mood for puns), and cleans up the shit on the floor and everywhere else in the room. I have a sweet dream to dream.

My uncle strolled out of the crime scene looking perplexed and walking towards the kitchen.

"Didn't you perceive the smell?" I asked.

"What smell?"

"The smell of vomit all over the room." Wait oh, abi someone dosed my uncle with Kriptonite ni?? (or whatever was Daredevil's weakness)

"Oh, yes I did."

I looked at him incredulously.

"So, how come you were able to stay in the room for so long??"

"He needs help na," said my uncle, as he walked into the kitchen.

Pause.

Pause.

Think.

Think.

Reflect.

Reflect.

Regret.

"He needs help na."

Those simple words got me thinking. Here was someone whose sense of smell was easily 5 times the power of mine; who would definitely be assaulted incessantly by the reeking room. Yet all that didnt matter. It wasn't even a consideration, all because a young boy needed help. This could only be what love truly is.

Interestingly, my Uncle was on his way to the room, with a bucket and mop, in the bid to help the lad clean up the mess. With all these thoughts swarming in my head, I stood up and went to help. I guess I could start learning how to love from this moment. When you put your mind to it, cleaning up vomit isn't so bad afterall. All I needed was a huge towel dipped in washing liquid and spread on the floor covering the vomit (lol! I'm about to go gross!). Then turning the towel this way and that until the vomit is all wrapped inside the cloth, I lift the heavy towel off the floor and take it out straight to the big bin. See! All that was left was me mopping a semi-dirty floor and removing every form of cloth away to be washed. Shikenan.

Afterwards I felt happy with myself (my uncle had taken Tobi to the hospital). First of all, I learnt an innovative way of cleaning vomit without it touching my hands :D, but more importantly, I learnt an important lesson on love. You see, it's easy for people to claim to love you in the good times. But when you're down, dirty and helpless, when you've committed that heinous crime, when you've failed miserably, when you've puked all over yourself in the middle of the ballroom; it's those who stay behind, those who are sincere, yet comforting, those who won't allow you to stew in your puke or roll in your grime, those are the ones who truly love you. Those are the ones who truly know how to love.

I'm learning how to love.

Need to go back to sleep now. Adele needs to know about my new found insights on love ;)

Bon nuit.

Crazy Photo Stories

When I'm not listening to lectures in class, or rewatching Supernatural or...well...some other movie clips, I'm taking photographs, and in my mind i'm really good at it. Lemme show you a couple of the darnest pictures I took recently....

This first one is the boring-est of them all, but quite interesting. I wonder if this is a millipede or centipede? I hear centipedes are predatory...so since this crawling darling didnt attempt to eat me up, i guess it's a sweet millipede.

Moving on...

This one's for Segun Olomofe :p

This next one is a snail on my front porch. Interestingly, when I put this photo up on my bb, Segun Olomofe said I didnt have a front porch, cos front porches belong to the Bill Gates and Warren Buffets of this world! Can you freaking imagine! She needs a dictionary I tell you. And then someone else said I should catch and eat the damn snail! Sheesh!! No comment :p I allowed the snail go...needless to say.

Hmm...therez a whole story in this picture. I was seating in the front seat of this danfo and noticed that his gas pedal was connected to his gear by a metal cord! What's worse, we were speeding on Lekki expressway when all of a sudden his brake snapped! He started stepping vigorously on his brakes, yet the bus never stopped!! I brought out my fone and began to tweet...at least I will have last words. The amazing thing was that this stupid driver kept moving on to Ajah, without brakes!. He deserved an award for crass brashness. What was more amazing was me waiting in the bus till he got to Ajah. I either had blind faith, or utmost stupidity. Or both.

This next photo is a very colourful dragonfly. It's at moments like this I wish I had Chioma's camera. I couldn't adequately capture the beauty of this creature with my blackberry camera (which was what I used for all the others). Compare this with the very next photo...a glowing spider! An exquisite beauty if you ask me. You can trace out its connected legs and the small tip at the end of them...kinda like little toes. lol!

Isn't that a mosquito?? I'm damn sure it is. So what the hell is it doing on a tree? Maybe the poor thing is blind? Or maybe it has decided to stop drinking human blood. Is there some form of mosquito Sookie Stackhouse converting all mosquitos into vegetarians??? 

Now this is just the clincher. Fly sex! #okbye.

Life & Times of a Lovelorn Lagos Sisi Part II

This is the concluding part of Somto's ordeal. Thanks to CherryWine for allowing me post this once again. Enjoy!

And so it was that Chyke came to dinner.

Throughout dinner, I was looking for somebody, anybody, to do a drive-by and kill us all, mum inclusive. How could she? How could she be so desperate for son-in-law and wedding party as to agree to let me be hooked up to this pig hovering up akpu at speeds hitherto unknown to man? Stop the press! I just remembered the chief culprit: Aunty freaking Jo. She is definitely, definitely dead to me from now henceforth. Is she for real? Is this all I’m worth? Is this what they will sacrifice me at the altar of marriage for? This….thing??? Really????????

I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you how dinner went.

So I asked Chyke to come in when what I should really have done was slam the door in his face whilst yelling ‘wrong number’ (or is that only for phone calls? At this point, don’t know, don’t care) He was so oily and greasy; from his activator laden hair to his shiny palm oiled face and his greasy attitude. Instead of walking in, he all but slithered in and he was immediately being over-slimy, instantly calling my mum ‘mummy’ pronounced ‘mohmi’ not the usual ‘momeee’. Mu…what? Looking around this house, I don’t see your picture anywhere. Mummy gini? Abeg o.

My son-in-law starved mother too was beaming from ear to ear, basking in the adoration of being a random boy’s mohmi.

‘Ah, Chike. God bless you. How was the journey? How is everybody in America? How is Obama and Michelle *pause…insert the requisite dry joke laughter here* Welcome to my home’ and on and on. The two of them were having a swell time gisting about all sorts, leaving me looking like someone that had sucked on a lemon. Not that I even wanted to be a part of the gist or whatever. I still don’t know the first thing to say to Chyke. Then as if out of a trance, my mother looked up and gave me a look like she just caught me defecating in the corner of the living room and said ‘will you not bring refreshments for our guest or you want him to go to kitchen himself?’

I didn’t see why not, actually. But I dared not say that aloud to my mother.

‘What would you like?’ I asked in my best long-suffering-polite voice ‘There is coke, juice…’

‘Ah ah, Somtochi’ butted in Chyke’s new mohmi ‘Bring everything then he can select’.

Msscheewwwwww. See me see wahala. Did I invite him here? Why am I the one serving him refreshments? Which reminds me, there is a maid, why isn’t she serving this pompous maggot looking at me in an affectionate ‘little air-head’ way with a stupid, smug smirk on his face and telling his mohmi to ‘leave her’? I’m sure left to my mother, while serving the coke or whatever, I should kneel down; wine carrying style, and put the cup to his lips all in the name of serving. Rubbish. Where was my dad when I needed him so desperately? That’s right, he went to the village. Crafty mohmi, orchestrated this visit to coincide with when my daddy would not be at home. Drats!

Nothing doing, after he had downed the entire pack of juice, it was on to the dinner specially prepared for him. And that’s when the conversational (barely) beast in Chyke was let loose. In between hefty morsels of akpu and 25 licks of hand per second, he asked

‘Somtochi’ the nerve of some people sha ‘how old are you?’

“28. She’s going on 29 actually’ added my mum, helpfully ‘but she looks so young for 29 don’t you think?’

I mean, what next? Will they open my mouth and inspect my teeth or something abi which one is this ‘final sales’ schpiel mohmi Chyke is doing?

‘28. Fine gyal like you, why have you not married now?’ the ever tactful Chike asked

‘I haven’t been asked’ sez I.

‘You know all these young girls and their yanga’ again, mohmi, finishing off with an uncomfortable laughter.

‘So’ I said, in an attempt to drown my mother out of the conversation ‘what do you do?’

‘I have a Nigerian food stuff store in Oklahoma’

‘Ah, that’s a very good business. You can never go wrong with anything the mouth eats’ my mum, refusing to be drowned out. ‘All the young women there must just be chasing you. A young successful man like yourself.’

‘Well, American girls are too exposed for me. I prumize myself that when I am ready to marry, I come back home and pick a girl with little exposure and take her over there with me so she can bear and raise my kids.’ Said Chyke in his ‘Iboricana’.
Over where? Who told this moron that I was not exposed? Is the burial-style material fooling him? Or is it that he can’t hear my over-cultured English (made even more so because I was trying to prove a point to my mother as to our English disparity) See how men put themselves in trouble. Coming home to pick random girls you don’t know to be baby making machines=gross stupidity. All the while, my mother was encouraging his nonsense and punctuating it with the occasional ‘that’s right’.
‘Somtochi, are you working?’ he asked

‘Yes. I am an accountant with Akintola Delloite’ I replied.

‘Working class woman ehn?’(does he even know the meaning of working class?) he chuckled with my mum joining in. ‘Me, I don’t like women working and working o. Who will raise the children? When we reach Oklahoma, you will just be helping me in the store. I have plenty money and I can give you everything you need and even be sending money home to them mohmi’ he decreed.
‘Yes. A woman must do as her husband says’ replied my mother.

Is this woman kidding me? Husband??? Btw did my father tell her to quit nursing for him? She raised me to be a strong woman and all for the sake of marriage, she wants to dumb me down. Are they both normal? The only way I’m following this creep to America is if I’m in a body bag, stone cold dead. All my ACCA will be used in asking whether people want yam or plaintain. God forbid. I’m not interested in having his oblong headed, short arsed babies either. How revolting.

The dinner dragged on and eventually, it was time for Chyke the gross to go. Hallelujah…Hallelujah…Hallelujah…Hallelujah…Halleeeeeelujahhhhh. The only positive side to the dinner was, Chyke and my mother got on like a house on fire. They got on so well, I thought they would be great for each other. She could follow him to Oklahoma and sell yam and ogiri with him. Mscheeeeeewwww. When he was leaving, my mother made me walk him out of the house to his car. Her way of giving us some ‘alone’ time. I wish she hadn’t.

‘Mehn that was a good food. It has been long since I have home cooking. This is why I need a wife to come over there and help me out’

I think he just needs a maid.

‘Out of the laundry list of duties your wife will perform and what she will be like, you didn’t talk about love or companionship once. Why’s that?’ I asked.

He laughed a long, hearty laugh and said 'Women and their love.*punctuate with more laughter*Right now, love is not really important for me. I just wanna have a fine, strong wife who will bear and raise my kids. Love will grow eventually’

*buzzer sound* wrong answer.

‘Well, it was nice to meet you Chike’ Not. ‘Take care of yourself’.

Then it happened. Chike actually…..puckered up!!!! Eeeeewwwww. Like I was going to let his Vienna sausage lips touch mine. And he kept advancing with his eyes closed and mine wide open in horror.[Now, this is Bomb!'s insert - I would've slapped the living daylights outta the guy's oily hair! What nerve! This can't even be described as kissing on the first date. Pity Somto's more culture than I] Eventually, I gathered my wits and almost at the last minute, I turned my cheek to block the onslaught. You could see his confusion that I wasn’t ready to jump on his all giving gravy boat kissing band wagon. He eventually drove off after giving me his number and eliciting a promise from me that I would call.

Walking back inside, my mum was all lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘so?’ she asked knowing what response she wanted to hear
‘Oh mother, he’s the man of my dreams. I’ve always wanted a Neanderthal to whisk me far away from my family, from all I know and love. Also, I can’t wait to give up my lifelong dream of being an accountant for being a trophy, child bearing, food stuff sales assistant. I’m getting merrhid!!! Quick let’s start making plans’ I replied.

‘Somto, be serious now. He’s a good prospect o. He can take care of you and you will be living in America’ my mum replied
‘Mum, I’ve already lived “over there”. You do remember that I lived in England AND I came back of my own free will, so this America thing doesn’t score him any brownie point. How can you even see me and that boy together? He can’t even speak English. See how….’

‘SHUT UP’ my mother thundered. ‘English? What do you want to do with English? Is the one you are speaking not enough? Your mates are married and you are here nitpicking, talking about English. You better be wise’

I looked at my mum for a while and I said in my calmest voice ‘nothing recommends Chike to me. So, no. Thank you’.

Just then, the phone rang and it was the harbinger of Chike, Aunty Jo. The first thing my mother said was ‘she said she doesn’t want o. That he can’t speak English. Jo, save me o’.

Aunty Jo asked to speak to me. ‘Somtochi, this boy is a very good boy from a good family. He can take care of you very well. Also he is an American citizen. I wouldn’t want us to lose him’.

Lose him???? Take care of me???? What were all these stupid buzz words? I decided to be politely frank with Aunty Jo, after all, she was dead to me. ‘Aunty, thank you. But maybe another girl will like Chike. He is definitely not for me. AT ALL’ I answered.

Excuse me for wanting to make a sensible choice in marriage. Chike was no prize. He was an uncouth idiot, with archaic ideas. They just want me to get married. Nobody was looking at the eventual trouble that will arise when I refuse to give up work, when I show the level of my exposure, when I refuse to be the quiet wife in the backroom of the foodstuff shop quietly doing the stock taking, who only spoke when spoken to, when I could no longer veil my disgust which was just about thinly veiled right now cos I know I never have to see him again. I’m a modern woman. I have a job I love and I live in a country I like. I would love to get married but to the right person who is not trying to morph me to the woman he thinks is ideal. I am ideal enough as I am and even if I have to make changes to accommodate a man, they will have to be subtle changes that I would be happy to make because I love him and nothing will be too much trouble for the man I love not these types of changes for a guy I can’t even stand.

I'm even more upset about the changes I am seeing in my mother with regards to this marriage thing. My mother who has raised me to be a self-sufficient woman, within the blink of an eye wants me to forget life long lessons just so they can say her daughter is married. Wow.

Anyways, they may be right, maybe I’m too picky and that’s why I’m not married. I left the sitting room for my room with my mother bellowing ‘ I WILL NEVER INVOLVE MYSELF IN YOUR MATTER AGAIN. IF YOU LIKE MARRY, IF YOU LIKE DON’T MARRY. UNGRATEFUL GIRL!!!!!!!’Yeah right mother, until the next opportunity presents itself then?

Somto

Chai! May God help us all. Thanks again to Funto , for bringing two bloggers togerra

Life & Times of a Lovelorn Lagos Sisi

Hmm...my country people, many things are happening o. You would think it's only in home videos that people get married away for the flimsiest of reasons. Thank God for the strong spine of this my sister. And thanks to CherryWine for allowing me post this. Enjoy!

Hey y’all, my name is Somtochi Ugoji. Friends and family call me Somto. I am 28 (and the half) I work for Akintola Delloite. I have been given the opportunity to share my quest for love and marriage with you guys by CherryWine. Hope you guys enjoy my story.

So being above 21 and unmarried in Lagos has now become a crime o. I am 28 (ok…ok…and a half) and because of that singular fact, even men that are 45 years old think I have expired. God punish all of them…it is them that will expire like bad soup. My mother has almost finished me with bad eye in the house, as if I’m not getting married on purpose, in order to spite her. I don’t have an opinion anymore in the house and they have refused to let me move out. If I say to the maid, ‘please go and bring me water’ my mother’s typical response is anywhere between a loooonnnnggggg hiss or a ‘go and be controlling the people in your husband’s house’ all said under her breath of course, because my no-nonsense father will give it to her on my behalf. She means well though and she only recently started acting like this.
This is the story of why my mother has been stink-eyeing me for the past six months.

It all began in March. I had just gotten home from work and I was watching TV in the sitting room; a rare occurrence since I hardly get back from work before 10 thanks to a bastard boss and the female-dog that is the Lagos State traffic. My mother, in her quest for a son-in-law, has helpfully suggested and even threatened to withdraw my car from me. Her rationale: if men see me standing by the road side in all my finery, they will ‘feel pity for me’ and offer me rides or offer to take me out from time to time and along the way of prostituting myself for free rides and free trips, I may land myself the much coveted husband……and also, I won’t have to drive in traffic again. Happy ending, she gets a son-in-law, I stop cursing.

Anyways, I digress

So there I was, unusually early and enjoying it. Mum was there with me as well, asking the barrage of questions that goes with the territory of watching ANYTHING with my mother. Then her phone rang and in her characteristic booming voice, she announced that it was Aunty Jo, her cousin who lives in Oklahoma. If you know anything about Oklahoma, it is that it is flooded with Nigerian boys, mainly of the ibo persuasion. If you know anything about Aunty Jo it is that she is a shameless and tactless matchmaker. After the usual pleasantries, I noticed my mum’s voice dropping an octave or 100,000 which is characteristic of her aproko ways with Aunty Jo. The conversation lasted another 25 minutes. I wasn’t really interested; Food Network Challenge had come on.

Over the next few days, I forgot about Aunty Jo and her call……ala pretty woman……big mistake, big…huge, mistake.

It was Saturday, and I was considering catching a movie with Joan and Tinuke (more on them later) when my mum came to my room, and sat on my bed (alarm bells) and with uncharacteristic chattiness for a Saturday morning, wanted to know my itinerary for the day. So I told her I was hanging out with the girls “girls! Girls!! Girls!!! She grumbled. ‘Somtochi are you a gay? There is no day I ask what you will be doing that you will say you are hanging out with boys. I did not raise a gay o. Jesus, see me o!’ finished my melodramatic mother whilst crossing herself. There is something about living under your parents’ roof that makes you regress to a 14 year old because instead of ignoring her, I pouted and told her that I hung out with plenty, plenty boys. ‘well there is no evidence of that’ she scoffed. ‘anyway no hanging today o. I’m expecting one of my relatives from America. So there is a lot to do’. I ended up going to the market and helping her prepare ofe nsala and assisting with the turning of the akpu and all that good stuff.

Should not my suspicions have been aroused when my mother insisted I wore the Ankara skirt and blouse she made for me that had been tucked away in my drawer since Christmas? My stupid suspicion had gone walkies by this time……the traitor!

So there I was, decked in the ugliest Ankara that looked like burial material watching tv, when the bell rang and I was instructed to go and open the door. On the other side of the door stood………stood this PERSON. I sort of sniggered to myself when I opened the door, wondering where my mother found all these her relatives from. From the permed hair with the ends sticking out, to the origami one-kind face, with the huge ‘bling-bling’ and earring that is meant to prove that he is from ‘Amlika’ and he has ‘swag’ to the over-dose of Louis Vuitton he had on him; shoes, belt and satchel.

‘Good evening’ sez I.

‘Gur efening’ he replied with a toxic mixture of Americana and konk ibo accent. Angels Michael and Gabriel must have both put their hands on my mouth at the same time because, only heaven knows how I didn’t burst out laughing there and then.

‘AM Chike but fraans call me Chyke’ Two things I hate; people that say Am instead of I’m and people whose names are Chyke.

‘I’m Somto. Pls come in, mum has been expecting you’

Abeg, more next time.
Somto

Thank you Funto Oyewole for bringing the two bloggers together :)

Fisayo’s Warning

"Jide, you should stop taking your laptop home. Leave it in the office and lock it. It's safer that way"

I looked up from where I sat, and smiled at Fisayo - that kind of knowing smile you give when a little child makes a cute but asinine remark. It was Monday morning, and I certainly didn’t have time for iranu.

“And if I don’t? What’s the worst that could happen?” I queried.

“Ah! Don’t say that oh.” Fisayo exclaimed, “Someone can easily snatch it from you on the road. And it is even against company policy to carry laptops out of the office if you don’t have a car.”

Now I was beginning to think that one of his ogas had sent him to me. I did a quick scan through the office to see if we were being watched covertly.

“Well, I have been carrying my personal laptop for years now, and nothing has happened. So free me.”

“But, you have a laptop at home,” Fisayo insisted. “Can’t you carry some of your work home and use your personal laptop?”

“Yes, I could. But it could get messy with all the similar files of different versions in separate laptops. I like to keep things simple, and it’s simpler this way,” I rationalized. “Who want to come and snatch my laptop sef? Ehn?”

“Me, I don’t know oh!” Fisayo said, backing away with his hands up in the air. “When something happens now, don’t come and ask me who sent them oh!”

We laughed profusely at Fisayo’s joke.

Fisayo is my friend and colleague at the Lagos Business School, and we’re currently running an internship programme in a company in Ikeja. He is not the loquacious type, so I wonder what made him come to my desk with such comments l’aaro kutukutu. Had I been the superstitious type, I’d have said it was some form of divine warning (I hadn’t watched enough African Magic to jump to that conclusion). But I decided it was better to be safe than sorry. So I took the most rational (I think!) decision, and left my laptop at work that day. And the next day. And the next day.

Now Thursday (today) was a different issue. I travelled during the day and left some work unattended to. So I had a lot of catching up to do when I got back. I left my workplace by 7pm. This time around I didn’t even give it a thought: I simply packed my laptop into my laptop bag and headed out of the office. I had 3 stops before going home, and they were all on Allen Avenue. So I made the first stop at the ATM, withdrew some cash, and then stopped at my friend’s place. The plan was to make a final stop at Stop Centre (no pun intended!) and then head home. But Stop Centre was closed already.

‘Oh well,’ I thought to myself, ‘Lemme end the day with an ice-cream cone.” KFC was just beside Stop Centre and it was looking so bright, busy and full. So I went in. After waiting for a couple of minutes, I bought the ice-cream and headed out to hail a cab home.

Just a few paces away from KFC, a bike zoomed past me. A guy alighted from the bike and headed directly towards me. He brought out a metal something.

“You, stop there. I am holding a gun. Kneel down. Drop your bag.”

I froze. Literally. This guy was actually holding something that looked like a gun. My mind raced. What should I do? Was that a gun? I stepped back a little.

“I said stop there!” the gunman barked. He charged forward, attempting to grab my bag, but I held on to it, firmly.

A second bike pulled over and another man alighted and came directly at me again. This one held a metal rod.

“Guy, drop that bag!” he said. And with his rod, he hit my wrist. The laptop bag dropped involuntarily. The guy picked it up and ran forward with his second. I chased them, trying to get the bag back.

The bikes they used seem to appear out of nowhere, and they got on it, and zoomed off.

It all happened in a split second. I paused for a moment, then it hit me: they just stole the office laptop! I momentarily lost my senses. My laptop? Office laptop? Oh my God! And I was warned. I was warned. I was warned. I kept repeating “I was warned”, like it was some life-saving mantra. Some passersby came to enquire what happened. I simply ignore them and walked on. I wanted to get home as quickly as possible. Everybody seemed a suspect. Every dark corner seemed to house another robber on the verge of pouncing. My pace quickened and I hailed the next available bike. And I went home.

Now, as I type this I realize Fisayo’s warning was actually a divine one – African Magic or no African Magic. And I disregarded it to my own peril. My current psychological state is in a maze and is sort of hard to describe. Am I feeling angry? Definitely not…something deeper. Hurt? Nope...something much stronger. Confused? Close, but no. Devastated? Yes. Exactly. I am devastated.

I’m going to do a couple of things. And if you are a reader, you’d be wise to do them too. Please don’t be like me and rationalize. I’ve carried a laptop on the streets of Lagos for over 7 years (I had to count!). I’m practically a night crawler…I define late as anything past 10:30pm. I’ve travelled from Awka, Anambra State and gotten to Lagos at midnight with my laptop slung over my shoulders. My laptop was my second skin, and tonight I was flayed. So when I say this could happen to anybody, please trust me.

So, as much as humanly possible,

1. My laptop is always going to be in the trunk of a cab or car when I’m in transit
2. I’m out of my office by 5:30 latest. Any work undone will be done the next day, God helping me
3. 7pm should always meet me in my house. Late has just been redefined.

Now, the quality of my life can take two different turns. At one extreme, I become overly cautious and suspicious and sensitive; looking from the both corners of my eyes and being afraid of even my shadow. At the other extreme, I might decide to live life at its fullest because the next second might be my last – merrymaking, clubbing, partying, and generally having fun would become the order of the day. Let’s see how it goes.

Of course there’s a third option. But the chances that I’d remain the same person I was before the incident is not just very slim – it’s clearly impossible. Sadly.

Black People Don't Read

You might have read this before; you might have not. Read it, or read it again. Leave a comment. (Said to be written by a white woman)

"THEY ARE STILL OUR SLAVES We can continue to reap profits from the Blacks without the effort of physical slavery Look at the current methods of containment that they use on themselves: IGNORANCE, GREED, and SELFISHNESS.

Their IGNORANCE is the primary weapon of containment. A great man once said, ‘The best way to hide something from Black people is to put it in a book.’ We now live in the Information Age. They have gained the opportunity to read any book on any subject through the efforts of their fight for freedom, yet they refuse to read. There are numerous books readily available at Borders, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon.com, not to mention their own Black Bookstores that provide solid blueprints to reach economic equality (which should have been their fight all along), but few read consistently, if at all.

GREED is another powerful weapon of containment. Blacks, since the abolition of slavery, have had large amounts of money at their disposal. Last year they spent 10 billion dollars during Christmas, out of their 450 billion dollars in total yearly income (2.22%).

Any of us can use them as our target market, for any business venture we care to dream up, no matter how outlandish, they will buy into it. Being primarily a consumer people, they function totally by greed. They continually want more, with little thought for saving or investing. They would rather buy some new sneaker than invest in starting a business. Some even neglect their children to have the latest Tommy or FUBU, And they still think that having a Mercedes, and a big house gives them ‘Status’ or that they have achieved their Dream.

They are fools! The vast majority of their people are still in poverty because their greed holds them back from collectively making better communities. With the help of BET, and the rest of their black media that often broadcasts destructive images into their own homes, we will continue to see huge profits like those of Tommy and Nike. (Tommy Hilfiger has even jeered them, saying he doesn’t want their money, and look at how the fools spend more with him than ever before!). They’ll continue to show off to each other while we build solid communities with the profits from our businesses that we market to them.

SELFISHNESS, ingrained in their minds through slavery, is one of the major ways we can continue to contain them. One of their own, Dubois said that there was an innate division in their culture. A ‘Talented Tenth’ he called it. He was correct in his deduction that there are segments of their culture that has achieved some ‘form’ of success. However, that segment missed the fullness of his work. They didn’t read that the ‘Talented Tenth’ was then responsible to aid The Non-Talented Ninety Percent in achieving a better life. Instead, that segment has created another class, a Buppie class that looks down on their people or aids them in a condescending manner. They will never achieve what we have. Their selfishness does not allow them to be able to work together on any project or endeavor of substance. When they do get tog ether, their selfishness lets their egos get in the way of their goal Their so-called help organizations seem to only want to promote their name without making any real change in their community.

They are content to sit in conferences and conventions in our hotels, and talk about what they will do, while they award plaques to the best speakers, not to the best doers. Is there no end to their selfishness? They steadfastly refuse to see that TOGETHER EACH ACHIEVES MORE (TEAM) They do not understand that they are no better than each other because of what they own, as a matter of fact, most of those Buppies are but one or two pay checks away from poverty. All of which is under the control of our pens in our offices and our rooms.

Yes, we will continue to contain them as long as they refuse to read, continue to buy anything they want, and keep thinking they are ‘helping’ their communities by paying dues to organizations which do little other than hold lavish conventions in our hotels. By the way, don’t worry about any of them reading this letter, remember, ‘THEY DON’T READ!!!!"

Depth

I always wonder what exists inside a person. What else typifies or personifies the usual flesh and blood that we sight each day. I tend to believe that we are much more than the organic materials that covers our essence, much more than our eyes can see, more than our minds can comprehend. And today, I proved it yet again.

There's this hawt lil' Phd student in the Lagos Business School, who recently posted a note on facebook (who does that these days? RME). She's beautiful yeah...but beauty, sometimes, isn't enough. Depth is an uncommon essence, and such is reflected in this piece. I shouldn't say much. Lemme know what you think.

But before you do, remember the morale: we are more than what we think we are.Always remember who the next person really is. Not what he does, or how he does it, nor his mistake or frailties. Open your mind and look. And see.

Enjoy it!

PS: She's also my friend. My very good friend. Lol!

---

Miss Match

In a man’s world with a man’s drive and a man’s name
In a woman’s body with a woman’s heart and a woman’s pain

I need to fit in and I want to stand out
I must conquer the world and yet, my victory must not corrupt my humility

Miss Guided

Life is a game whose rules can depend on Grace or on tact
And love; a curveball, an illusion – only clear after the fact
The world is meant to be understood, says the philosopher
The world is meant to be left behind, says the believer

Miss Represent

There’s more to me if you’d only look within
But you cannot see past the clothes that I wear, my smile, or my hair...
I am a wealth of knowledge, a sea of curiosity, a lover of wisdom...
But then I distract you with my very need to appeal to you

Miss Conclusion

I know what you’re thinking; your eyes give you away
Your actions, they tell me you don’t mean what you say
But wait...I accused you, and then did the same to you
I didn’t look past that which I could see
I didn’t think twice about the things that I heard
I am the Judge and I am the jury.
And you are guilty because you are guilty.
You lost the case based on my conclusions –
I made my conclusions based on my preconceptions.
Fini.
(c) Segun Olomofe

The Fool

Lay a whisper on my pillow
You heard the song once,
Now I'm singing it wrong. Dunce.
Yes, you. Fool!
You heard me. See,
Don't touch me
Don't even start:
I'm tired of you, and your katakata
So, biko, carry ur load from my heart. Patapata
I don't want you anymore.

It must have been love?
Shut up jor! it was nothing of the sort.
It was one lousy headache after the other
Recount all we went thru, hurt by hurt?
Where is the love?
In fact, don't go there.
It wasn't even chemistry
Twas more like chemicals flowing through our arteries
Why do you think my heart speeds up at the sight of you
as if plugged on overcharged batteries?
Love? Bullshit!
Had the same feeling driving at 140

Maybe I love the steering wheel as much
Or my pristine posh leather seats
Chemicals! Plain and simple
I don't love your smile, nor do I love your dimple
Don't let 'em deceive you
It's not me, it is you. If you're in love, you're the fool.

Deuces.

A Song

I've always wanted to write you a song
Through the years I've had many things to say
But all along, I'd form busy, as time sails away
seconds turn to minutes, to hours, to days.
But here i stand, just me and my thoughts
As I attempt to pen the notions swirling in my head
my past prowess ever before my eyes
So why then, why do I seem to falter?

It seems a colossal task
Cos how do I explain the immense love, and deep frailty I feel
How do I describe an extraordinary God with trite words
How do I transcribe a profound idea with simple thoughts?

You're Magnificent. Astounding. Incredible
The earth trembles at the hint of your smile
You're my Love, my Dear, my Friend
Your arms ever open, even when I stray for a while
Cos Lord, I'm naked without you
Yes Lord, I'm helpless without you
Without You, I'm blind, I cant see the grand view
You're the light. Without you Lord, I'm who?

You make my life brand new.

I've always wanted to write you a song
Here it is
It may not be a hit
It may not top the list
It may not even beat the charts
But it's a song Lord,
It's a start
It's a song from me to You
It's praise straight from my heart

Marian

The last thing I remembered, just before I felt the heat, was thinking that I would never get to reply her message.

Then the heat came. Where am I? I tried to open my eyes, but they were already open. I couldn’t see anything. Everywhere was black. Pitch black. The air was smelly and thick. The ground felt rocky, uneven, and hot. I wondered if the heat was emanating from a furnace beneath. I tried to take a tentative step forward but couldn’t - something was hindering my stride. The attempted movement caused a bit of scraping sound on the ground. As seeing was close to impossible, I stooped to feel what was causing the impediment. That’s when I realized my feet were bound in chains! Big and rusty metallic shackles encircled my ankles, with the chains leading into the ground! I started to panic. My heart was beating so fast, I could feel the palpitations in my throat! How did I get here? Who has held me against my will? Where on earth is this place? I began to sweat profusely. Subconsciously, my lips began to move in a voiceless prayer, as my hands periodically wiped off huge balls of sweat from my face.

Sensing the hopelessness of my situation and the need for some rational thought, I begged my senses to calm down. By now, my eyes had adjusted to the palpable darkness surrounding me. I stared forward, trying to bring together, bit by bit, pieces of my surroundings.

I was in a very big and wide space. The ground stretched as far as my eyes could see. As I stood in the middle of this large expanse of nothingness, my semi-tranquil thoughts wondered to how I got here. Then I remembered.

Marian.

As a child, I grew up having the best of morals. My father taught me the essence of right and wrong, and brought to my awareness that all my actions, good or bad, inevitably spawned consequences. I followed his teachings diligently, being careful to do what he considered good, and abstaining from what he considered evil. It was no coincidence that I went to private schools all my life. My primary school was a Catholic Private School close to home. My secondary school was a Baptist Boys’ school. My university ‘happened’ to be one of all these private Christian universities being used a dump site by parents who have resigned from their God-given full time jobs. Therefore, all my life was lived in deference to the teachings of my father, until I met her.

I met her on my first day in postgraduate school. I had just secured admission into the prestigious Lagoon Business School, and we were being given a tour of the facilities. We had just been ushered into the dining room, and while everyone was rushing to get into the hall so as to get ahead in the food queue, I waited patiently at the door for the hustling to die down. It was at that moment I spotted her. She walked right past me as she moved towards the door. I held my breath. Time seemed to slow down to a mindless drag, the noise whistling down to a reverberating silence. As she gracefully glided through the metal frames supporting the wooden door, I could spot every element of her facial features: her wine-colored braided hair resting on her shoulders; her delicate nose; her ebony cheeks; her steady heartbeat (I swear I could hear it!). Did she just look my way? I realized I was still holding my breath. I reminded myself to breathe.

We got talking during one of our class sessions. She told me her name was Marian. She studied Accounting. We were both holding blackberry devices so we exchanged blackberry PINs. In retrospect, this turned out to be the greatest mistake of my very short life.

The instant messaging began. We were sending messages to each other in class, out of class, at home, in school, from dusk till dawn. And what did we talk about? Everything, yet nothing. At the initial phase when boy meets girl, almost all of their thoughts, words and actions are geared towards the physical. Ours was no exception. Our eyes were constantly meeting in class, often ending in stifled giggles. We were high school teenagers all over again.

The first time we kissed was right in front of her house immediately after classes. I brought her home in my car, and after a little bit of small talk, she reached over and kissed me. I was startled; my world was spinning. It felt like air was sucked out of my lungs. The kiss seemed to last for an eternity and felt so potent, I had to steady my breathing afterwards. We said goodnight as she alighted from my car, and I drove home.

As I drove, different thoughts hammered in my head. Jide what did you just do? Don’t you know that you just went against everything your father stood for? Everything he told you? Kai. But is it supposed to be so pleasurable? How could something so sinful be so sweet? Little wonder Brother Adam couldn’t resist the juicy fruit. Who made me any better than my brother?

From that day on, I made it my personal duty to drop Marian at her house. And, of course, we always did the usual; until one day Marian said to me,

‘Jide, don’t you want to come in?’

What?! I was speechless.

“Er…em…yes, er… of course,’ I stuttered.

And so with hands clasped around each other’s waists, heads fused side by side, we walked into her apartment, and closed the door.

Next morning was a school day. I had to quickly rush home, freshen up, and come to school. It was 8:00 AM. The first session starts by 9:30 AM and I did not want to be late. So I said a quick goodbye to Marian, who was in the bathroom, rushed into my car and sped off, without bothering to buckle my seatbelt.

On the road, with the gas pedal pressed to the floor, I could not help thinking about the activities of last night. I knew I had passed the point of no return. My Blackberry beeped. Holding the steering wheel with one hand, I tried to access my Blackberry message. “I miss you already”, it said. I decided to punch in a quick response with my free right hand. That was when it happened. The driver of the car in front of me, for no apparent reason, decided to apply his brakes. I was still on my blackberry, in between words, when I noticed the stop. But it was too late. I jammed my foot on the brakes, swerving sharply to the right to avoid a collision. My tires screeched loudly, the car still moving, obviously out of my control. The impact came when I least expected it. I hit a concrete NEPA pole by the side of the road. I found myself hurling towards my windscreen, head first. I heard my blackberry smash into the NEPA pole, just before my head collided with it too.

The last thing I remembered, just before I felt the heat, was thinking that I would never get to reply her message.

But all that happened just a few moments ago, or so it seemed. Where am I now? Have I been kidnapped by some ritual killers? Where are they? Why can’t I see anyone now? As these thoughts flew through my mind, I noticed a movement behind me. I turned, and I saw a figure emerge out of nowhere. It was tall and dark, with certain human and animal features I could not immediately make out because of the absence of light. Two long horn-like protrusions grew from the top of a head which housed two fiery eyes. A long and pointed tail followed it like an unwanted shadow. One hand was stretched towards my direction, while the other one gripped a long pitchfork. There was something familiar about the figure. I couldn’t lay a finger on it. The humanoid took a step towards me and smiled, revealing pincer-like dentition. Then it laughed – a loud and blood-curling shriek. It suddenly dawned on me: I knew where I was! With the revelation came a feeling of total despair; the darkness finally assuming corporeality, closed in on me. I was going to be here a very, very long time.

Marian.

Damn.

Lucifer’s laughter echoed through the abyss.

Letters

16-09-2009 0335hrs

Where do I begin? Should I start from the beginning where you were calling me incessantly, and though I was initially wary, I began to love every moment of it? Or should I start from the middle where the love became mutual and we began looking forward to seeing each other first the first time? Or should I start from the end - yes there's an end - where an undisclosed and therefore an unfulfilled expectation resulted in bitter disappointments? Where do I begin?

Usually, endings create an atmosphere for retrospective thinking. So I've had more than enough time to think about what happened to us; what went wrong. I've analyzed, I've scrutinized, and I've thoroughly evaluated. And even though I make it a matter  of deliberate policy not to point the blaming finger at anybody, I'll have to take an exception here, and you'll have to pardon me upfront. Also, forgive me for the blunders that may exist in my words. I don't intend making this any literary masterpiece. I'm just going to tell it as it is...

---

23-05-2010 1743hrs
I wrote those words last year in my jotter. Then I was filled with indignation and was slightly peeved at the way you were behaving, and the distance you were bringing between us. I wanted to mail it to you, but, somehow, I never got around to completing it. Thank God I didn't, cos it would have simply complicated things further. I know there's a lot of things that has happened between us. Can we just let it go? Can we move on? Can we forget the past, the hurts, the pain, and move on?

Whats the point of being friends and loving if we don't get to forgive? Some times people mess up, and most times they make up. Please don't be a past chapter in my life. I want you perpetually at the forefront. It's too late to think of letting you go. You're already a part of me. Letting you go will hurt many times as much as this break you've put us in.

I desperately want my friend back, Sue Loom*. I need my friend back.

Please.

Me.

---

20-08-2010 0257hrs
Once again, I read my words, but this time I'm filled with joy. I'm filled with a variety of exhilarating feelings because you understood; because you took me back; because you accepted me. For this, I'm eternally grateful. Words cannot begin to tell the extent of the emotions flooding my heart. I'm like the luckiest man alive: I have you. Thanks for being there. Thanks for being you. Thanks for understanding the errancy of the human nature, and the clemency of the divine one. Thanks for putting the past behind. Thanks for sharing my present. Thanks for the existence of an anticipated future. I know you know I'll still mess up; thanks for sticking your heart out all the same. Thanks for being the greater person, better than I'd ever be. Thanks for loving me; even though you don't say it, because sometimes the words don't count, especially when the deeds are screaming loudly against your ears.

I love you back, for now that's all to be said. And I'll always love you, from now, even till my death bed.

Me.

*alias