Different Strokes

My friend, Ifeoma just relocated to Nigeria after a long sojourn in the UK. We met for lunch at a restaurant in Lagos. I studied her carefully as we sat down while waiting for the waiter to take our orders. I had not seen her in ages and I was weary about this meeting because of the general attitude of Nigerian returnees to other Nigerians. I was pleasantly surprised at her disposition. She appeared relaxed and it was as if she never left the country unlike some of my other friends who suddenly developed an attitude because they had lived abroad for a while. As we took our seats the waiter approached us  to take our orders.

“How long will that take?” I asked.

“Thirty minutes” the waiter answered politely.

“That means one hour” I responded sarcastically.

“No o madam it will only take thirty minutes.” The waiter said confidently.

“I will remind you when you bring it later than thirty minutes”. I replied smiling.

The waiter left after taking our orders.

“Why did you do that?” Ifeoma asked

“Oh! Don’t mind me. It is more of preparing myself for the delay. I hate to wait for anything. He has said thirty minutes anything after that will get me worked up but I have told myself one hour so it doesn’t really matter. I won’t agitate until an hour.” I explained

“Interesting” Ifeoma said. “So you mean it may take up to an hour?” She asked

“It may and may not but the truth is most waiters don’t have sense of timing and in order to placate the customer, they give you any time that comes to their head.” I said knowingly.

We nursed our drinks.

“So how does it feel to be back home?” I asked after a while. This wasn’t  her first time back since she left about 20 years ago. But she, like many Nigerians, who left the country in the '80s, are coming back to  Nigeria to stay for good.

“The weather is killing.” She said. “But it is expected. Takes getting used to though.”

“Apart from the weather?” I asked

“The change takes getting used to but I really don’t want to complain. I decided to come back.” She said shrugging.   

“I really wish people will stop fussing over me though. I can’t find my way around true but I hate to feel as if something evil will happen to me the moment I step out alone. I was born here and I lived here for 25 years before I traveled so I can’t understand the fuss.” She complained

“The Nigeria you left twenty years ago is different now you know. I mean the crime rate is high and night life is not safe at all.” I said trying to explain people’s reaction

“Ose, there is crime everywhere. Nigeria is not the worst place in the world. I remember when I first got to UK, my bag was snatched at West End. My sister and I went shopping.  She had warned me about hanging my handbag loosely and I was like please, I lived in Lagos before I got here. Before  I could spell my name,” she napped her fingers together “my bag was napped I was so surprised. We  have been brain washed to believe that crime doesn’t happen in those places.” She said amused.

“I know what you mean but then a lot has changed in this country.” I said

“ It’s irritating the way people fuss over me. I know they are being nice but I simply find it difficult to get used to.” She said smiling. “They struggle with me to carry my bag, pick after me, I can’t even make my own meals.” She said exasperated.  “Who cares about all that in London. My neighbours and I hardly see each other. I am sure I might not  recognise them on the street. The warmth here is good but overwhelming. I went to see my mum the other day. My God!” She said rolling her eyeballs, bemused.

“She invited the whole neighbourhood to come and greet you right?” I said laughing.

“Oh yes! It wasn’t funny at that time” It was as if she had told the whole village that I was arriving that day.” Ifeoma started laughing, shaking her head in amusement.  “I couldn’t believe it. It was like I was on display and by the following day, she started distributing stuff I got for her to them. The three days I spent was suffocating to say the least.” She cackled.

“You know we are very warm people. This is our culture.” I replied laughing too. I could just picture the scenario.

“I know” She said shaking her head “but maybe I have been away for too long. It’s a totally different culture I am used to now but I intend making the best of it if I don’t get crazy before I get used to it”.

“I know what you mean” I said to her. “My uncle once told me a story when he went to UK for a course. He made friends with a British and they were quite close. Sometime during the period he was there, his friend lost his father. My uncle went with him for the funeral and after the event, my uncle handed him an envelope containing some pounds. His friend was extremely upset with him when he found out the content of the envelop. He said ‘Victor you insult me. Why are you giving me money? No please I can’t take this' he said as he returned the envelope  to my uncle and walked away angry. My uncle was extremely embarrassed and stood there with his mouth agape, not knowing if he should pocket the envelop or not. To make matters worse all eyes were on him so he quietly walked away not understanding his friend’s reaction. Few days later, he saw his friend and tried to explain it as part of African culture. We love to support our own on any occasion.” I narrated

Ifeoma burst out laughing. “Poor man” she said. “I can imagine how he might have felt.”

“He said the first shock he had when he got to the funeral was that  just finger foods, tea and coffee  were served at the reception. Coming from Nigeria, he couldn’t understand it. We throw big parties!” I said giggling.

“I remember also my first experience with snow.” Ifeoma said. “I had gone to the pay phone to make a call. I noticed people were running and I wondered why. I opened the door of the pay phone and I saw white flakes. I didn’t understand what it meant so I started running. I ran for dear life back to my sister’s house. I was out of breathe by the time I got to her apartment. My sister asked me what the problem was. I pointed towards the window as I was too breathless to talk. She looked out and noticed that everywhere was white. ‘Oh it’s snowing’ she said. ‘Quite early this year I must say’. I looked at her and started laughing. I laughed so hard because I thought the world had ended.” She giggled.

“Oh mine!” I exclaimed laughing too.

“I felt foolish when I realised my errors.” She laughed again

“Talking about foolishness,” I said lowering my voice. “I recall my first visit too. I was inside the London bus and I was perplexed at how I would indicate that I had reached my bus stop. I noticed there was no conductor and no one calling out the names of the bus stop. I was so worried and I didn’t want to show off my ignorance. So, I sat there praying fervently that someone will probably drop at the same place with me. Someone pressed the bell and I got down at where I had assumed was my stop. I mean I was coming from Lagos where the conductor calls out the bus stop and no bell to press.” I said chuckling.

“So was it the right bus stop?” Ifeoma asked

“No o! I realised I was at the wrong place and I had to wait for another bus. I mean I was silly. I could have asked someone but it was my first time in London and I was a bit uncomfortable with the way I was being stared at.”

“I guess that’s probably how Europeans felt  when they too came to Nigeria back then. I remembered when my cousin came back with his wife in the '70s. He brought her to the village to see my folks. The villagers came out to in drove to look at the strange woman their son brought from obodo oyinbo. The children sang for her and also tried touching her. Then one day, she and my cousin decided to have a picnic at an open field in the village. She had on a bikini and the whole village came out to see a naked white woman.“ Ifeoma said laughing.

“Poor woman.” I said sympathetically

“Oh! That was the last time they tried that nonsense. My father had to explain to my cousin and the wife that the village is not UK and that people are not used to seeing naked bodies.” She said

“I guess it is different strokes for different folks. What we consider as strange is norm somewhere else.” I said smiling

“ You are right.” Ifeoma said. “My American classmate when I did my second degree, had a Nigerian boyfriend. She came to me fuming one day because she felt her Naija boyfriend had insulted her.”

“What happened?” I asked curious.

“My Naija brother bought her a blender as a birthday gift. She was so furious because she had expected bunch of flowers and box of chocolate or a candle light dinner. The guy came with a blender.” Ifeoma recounted.  We burst out laughing. I almost choked on my drink as I could imagine the perplexed look on the poor guy’s face.

“The poor guy must have been thoroughly embarrassed.” I said still laughing. “Nigerian guys don’t have any romantic bone in their bodies. That’s why they think of giving out the useful and essential gifts. What is it with chocolate or bunch of flowers. Please!” I said chuckling.

“I had to explain to Louisa, my American friend that the guy meant no harm. I told her that most Nigerian girls will  probably not appreciate a gift of box of chocolate anyway. Louisa was shocked but eventually they made up.” Ifeoma said laughingly.

We kept quiet as I thought of the differences in culture and the way of life.

“I wish there is electricity though. I was told things have improved but really…”she said shaking her head. I think we Nigerians are so used to blackout that it has become more of norm than an anomaly.” Ifeoma said interrupting my thoughts. “ I remember sometime again when there was a blackout in my area of London. It was not funny. It was in the middle of the night. I was so scared. I ran to switch off all appliances. I took the key to my house and sat down by the door near my kids' room ready to bolt any second. I was so worried. Electricity was restored almost immediately but everybody was in panic. At least I sat in my house but my neighbours were on the street.” She said.

 “I guess you are right. We just got used to not having electricity and we think it is normal. Meanwhile you experienced one blackout in over ten years of living in UK and you guys were scared silly.” I said deeply in thought. “It’s sad. One shouldn’t get used to a bad experience". I said solemnly. “In fact we get worried once electricity gets frequent as if it is an omen that something evil may soon occur.” I said shaking my head forlornly

“Your meal madam.” the waiter served our food quietly. “ Madam I brought your food within thirty minutes,” he said mischievously.

“I guess you did.” I answered smiling.

“Enjoy your meal ma.” He said bowing slightly as he left us.

Tit for Tat

“Auntie can you imagine what the Pastor said to us at the marriage counselling session today?” Foluso asked as she started cooking dinner.

 “No” I answered. I leaned on the door watching her chopping pepper, onion and tomato with expertise of a fine cook. Foluso loved to cook and you can’t take it away from her, she did it very well. I watched her silently waiting for her to continue her story. She washed her hands in the sink and turned to look at me.

“The Pastor told us of a woman whose husband was a philander. He was never at home but spent most of his free time chasing after young girls.” She narrated. Foluso and Alex, her fiancé were preparing for marriage so they go for marriage counselling every week. She would come back from these sessions telling me about what the counsellor for that week told them. Most times, she found the sessions amusing believing that most of what they were told were archaic and cannot stand modern day situations.

 “The fact of his activities was not hidden from the wife.” She said as she continued with her narration. “But she never challenged her husband but prayed to God that He should change her husband. The more she prayed, the worst the husband became. According to our Pastor, one day the husband came home with his girlfriend and told his wife that they were going to have a threesome.”

“What?” I exclaimed.

“Yes o.” She answered.

“So what did she do?” I asked.

“She did not argue with her husband but asked the woman if she wanted to shower and showed her the bathroom.” Foluso said

“Really,” I said in disbelieve.

“She also offered the lady a nightie and  asked if the girlfriend wanted anything to eat.” She said laughing.

“So what happened?” I asked in anticipation of a dramatic reaction from the wife.

 “The girlfriend finished taking her bath and came to the sitting room where the couple waited for her. The man jumped up excited and told his wife to proceed to the room.” She continued.

 “And?” I asked.

“The girlfriend carried her bag and told the man that he was a wicked man who had no respect for his wife. She left despite the fact that the wife warned her that it was too late. She also offered the use of the guest room for the night.”

“Interesting” I said finding it difficult to believe that any woman will be that calm in the face of outright disrespect. I was dumbfounded listening to Foluso.

“So what now happened between the man and his wife?” I asked.

“Ha! According to pastor o, hmmm, the man for the first time in years then realised how beautiful his wife is after the girlfriend had insulted him. He apologised to her and became a good husband thereafter. She said cynically.

“Please!” I laughed sarcastically. “How convenient for the foolish husband to change at this point.”

“Well, the real gist is that Pastor now asked me in the presence of Alex what I would do?”

“What was your response?” I asked curious.

“I told Pastor that I will simply invite my own boyfriend for a threesome too.” She replied.

“Ah! I shouted. How can you say that?” I asked chiding her.

“Auntie, my motto is tit-for-tat. Whatever the devil that will make my husband have the effrontery to bring his girlfriend home, ha! He should be prepared that I will definitely get back.” Foluso said vehemently.

“But Foluso, no marriage can survive on that principle.” I advised.

“Ha! Men too should learn to respect their wives, and most especially the sanctity of marriage. If he is not willing to make the marriage work, why should I? Auntie, it takes two to tango. If it fails, we both failed.” She said fervently.

“I agree that the sanctity of marriage should be respected and honoured. But you know there is no tit-for-tat in marriage that is if you don’t want a broken marriage.

“Auntie Please o!” She said forcefully.

“Anyway, what did the pastor say after you said this? I asked still shocked at her response.

“He looked at me in disbelief and shook his head.” Foluso laughed.

“Alex?” I asked.

“He knows me. He knows that I don’t take nonsense.”  She smiled knowingly.

I looked at her in amazement as she went back to her cooking. I truly wondered what the future holds in stock for her and Alex.

Putting the Record Straight on the Death of Olaiya Fagbamigbe

We, the children of late Olaiya Fagbamigbe are writing this article in response to the centre page news story of the Sunday Sun Newspaper of June 1, 2014 titled “How 1983 Ondo Guber Poll Fraud Sparked People’s Revolt” written by Tunde Raheem.

We have reframed from saying anything for decades about the gruesome murder of our dear father, on August 16, 1983, a week before his 55th birthday, not because we don’t have facts that led to his murder but because we believe that it would not bring him back neither would it replace all the things we lost. The one million dollar question is, who will judge – are they not the same people who killed him? However, we now believe that since the likes of Mr. Tunde Raheem would not let sleeping dog lie, it’s now imperative for us to respond. We are fed up with the constant lies.

The interesting thing is that every attempt to soil his name simply tells the world that Olaiya Fagbamigbe, our father, was and is still an important figure, a force that cannot be ignored in politics, who almost 31 years after his death, is still strongly talked about. People die and are forgotten. Some die and people around them joyfully announce their departure. But to the glory of God, our father whose life was maliciously and gruesomely terminated in 1983 is still such an important point of reference in the history of politics. If not so, why the lies? Why the need for cover up?

Our father was a renowned member of the UPN. Our father defected from UPN not out of greed or selfish interest as it’s often subtly portrayed but because he was a man of peace and integrity and it was difficult for him to work with people who lacked those qualities. According to Mr Tunde Raheem, in his article, the 1983 riot was spontaneous but this is untrue as the gruesome murder of our father and others affected was a well-orchestrated plan by those who wanted our father dead. For example, months before the primaries, our father was shot by gunmen in the hip area while visiting a relative. There were three people in the car. The man mistaken for our daddy: uncle Ire, was shot in the head. Thank God he is still alive today.  

When these victims arrived at the General Hospital Akure, they were turned back because of a prior instruction not to treat people with gunshot wounds. A few days before the primaries, a prominent member of the UPN was arrested for producing fake UPN cards (one of us saw this party member arrested). These incidents were reported to the leadership of the party and no action was taken. After all these atrocities, our father and quite a lot of prominent UPN members in Ondo, Oyo , Lagos and Ogun states walked out of a UPN National meeting and never looked back. If other things were involved, well Olaiya Fagbamigbe is not here to talk about it but those still alive who knows the story especially those involved might decided to come out with the TRUTH. But we have stated it here as it is known to us.

 Also, on the night of August 13th, 1983, the night of the gubernitorial election, an attempt was made three times before daybreak to burn our house at 11 Methodist Church Road, Gbogi, Akure.

 A distant relative who heard about the plan, brought thugs to our house to protect us. Our father argued against allowing the thugs to guard the family but after so much argument, he allowed a handful of them whom he sent parking first thing the following morning. Our entire family would have been burnt to death in our sleep that night. This is the only time any of us ever saw thugs in our house. This attempt was not made by dissatisfied members of the public since they had voted that day and the result had not been announced.  Was this spontaneous?

Months before the August 16 1983 incident, a campaign of condolence to the people of Akure was launched by Chief Obafemi Awolowo. He would say e ku isehinde Olaiya  Fagbamigbe etc. This was aired on Ondo State Television. The State Radio and Television stations were instruments of campaign by the Ajasin administration.

When a hit list was shown to our father by concerned Akure indigens, he reported at the police station and a one-man-police-protection was given to us. He also wrote an article in the newspaper stating that his life was in danger.

On the morning of 16th August, 1983, visitors including our uncle Pa Oni Fagbamigbe and his friend visited our home very early in the morning as usual. We were at the balcony when we noticed an unusual crowd at the junction of the street and before one could say Jack Robinson, mob of people appeared from all angles matching towards our house. Our father instructed one of us to call the police but when eventually one of the officers answered the phone, he said ‘we don’t have a vehicle now if you make your way to the police station, we will protect you.’ This, he repeated to our father.   Our father dropped the phone and expressed grief saying that he had been betrayed. If it was a spontaneous reaction, how come police men were not detailed to our house after the call?

While we were still considering our options, a neighbour frantically told us that our house had been set ablaze from precisely our father’s room. Our father instructed us to run for our dear lives.   We begged him to come with us but he would not burg because he wouldn’t want the death of his brother, the visitors and supporters who lived on the street on his conscience. He wanted to be sure that they all escaped to safety.

We ran until we got to the front of an old man’s house not too far from our house. One of the tenants took us in but before we could settle, the thugs came after us, threatened to burn the man’s house down if he didn’t produce us.  We managed to escape to the bush because our mother was caught. It was while we were in the bush that we heard the gruesome details of how our father was killed. Was this as a result of a spontaneous reaction? We were not politicians but students at that time so why the attempt on our lives?  Interestingly, while in the bush, we heard that they were instructed to wipe out the whole family especially the first born by a man who complained bitterly about how oga will not be happy that we were not killed.  Was this spontaneous Mr. Raheem?

Our mother was beaten, forced to drink petrol and was about to be burnt alive when in a miraculous way, God saved her. She is alive with a sound mind to describe those who wanted to kill her. These people had tribal marks. Akure people don’t wear tribal marks. So where did these people come from? Our mother was not a politician but a teacher and her only crime was to have married a politician so why the attempt on her life?

If Mr Tunde Rahmeen had wanted to write a comprehensive report, he could have done his research and read our mother’s account in the interview she granted Hope newspaper which was published on Wednesday, September 25, 2013 or better still, interview our mother who had been living in Akure since 2004.  The reporter claimed he interviewed one Pa Ola Falodun who gave him an account of what transpired on the morning of August 16, 1983.  This Pa Falodun could not have lived at Methodist Church Road in 1983 or up on till 5years ago when we pulled down the burnt and dilapidated house (not 2013 as reported by Mr Rahmeen).

The house adjacent to our house was owned by Mr Okoro. Beside us to the left is a Jehovah Witness Kingdom hall. To the right, was a house owned by Iya Ondo, to our opposite was the house owned by Baba and Iya Ojo and adjacent was the Okoros. There was no Pa Falodun living close to us at that time as claimed by Mr. Raheem. Neither did this Pa Falodun’s photograph in the Sunday Sun newspaper bear resemblance to anyone living on Methodist Church Road at the time.  Also, the piece of land published in the newspaper is not our property in Gbogi. 

We are proud of our father and his achievements.  He was probably burnt alive as we do not have a definite account of how he was killed but one thing is sure, the memory lives on. History may have been re-written in Ondo State and those who have re-written it may be finding ways of convincing the entire world of their lies, but for us, it doesn’t matter. The enemies of Akure and Ondo State dead or alive might be celebrated today as the elder statesmen, it doesn’t matter.  We knew our father. Those who knew him and have not compromised or have not been intimidated would speak the truth given the opportunity.

Some people are bigger than death, they never die. Our father might be dead but his memory lives on.   

Olaiya Fagbamigbe’s Children  

The Gang Rape of a Nation

She has been stripped
Humiliated and beaten
All she possesses has been forcibly taken
Violated and shamed
How could this happen?
Those who know better have turned their faces away 

Or worse have joined in the madness

The gang rape of a  nation.

It started from the time she was born

She stood no chance

Wave after wave after wave
The onslaught has been relentless
Each generation proclaiming themselves her saviour  

But each time each it has always been a failure

Her so called rescuers 

Having seen her beauty    

Allow the allure of her splendor and richness to seize them 

With that madness the onslaught begins again.

The striping of her body and soul 

The gang rape of a nation

 

When she was born her people were filled with joy 

They all marveled at how regal and majestic she was. 

A sight to behold, they were proud and ecstatic 
But now this same beauty is seen as a curse 

For no matter the intent of her rescuer 

This soon changes and savagery takes over

She cries out but no-one seems to care

Young and old alike in their pursuit of her

Take leave of their senses and brutalise her

The gang rape of a nation.

 

There she is broken and bent

Her mother looking on powerless
As she struggles helpless
From the birth of the nation till now
The gang rape has never abated
When is this madness going to end?
Mothers where are you? Have you no voice?
Fathers where are you? Can you not protect?
How long is this to continue?
Will she survive this continuous violation

The gang rape of a nation.

By: IF Anumonye

Turbulence of Love

We sang the songs of sorrow

And danced to the mournful tune

Where did the promise go

To hold and to keep?

Life is but a motion

Since you left without a word

I gave you my heart in worship

You threw it back in pieces

I gave you my love freely

You accepted it without passion

Now the reality is obvious

The past was placed on the altar of worship

I am caught in the turbulence of love

The pang of pain is potent

My heart, trapped in the sham of love

Mourning the phoney love

I am like a ship without the rudder

Sinking in the turbulence of love.

image: coursey Google image

I Take Every Step

© Copyright Jan Richards All rights reserved

I take every step gingerly

Like the careful step of an old woman

With dry and brittle bones

I take every step though difficult

I must forge ahead

I take every step

Bent and beaten by the issues of life

Head raised high, refused to be defeated

Like a man in command

I take every step

Trying not to look back

I must keep on moving

Irrespective of what life

Throws my way

Message in the Bottle

I sat by the window pane

Watching the world go by

Thinking about unfulfilled dreams

So many questions to ask

Yet no answers

My heart heavy with the burden

My eyes heavy with unshed tears

I feel all alone

Bearing this burden

Then I heard the whispers of the song

That confirms am not alone in this journey

Those hundreds of letters

That came back

With the message in the bottle

Photograph is courtesy photograph is an art and the LG...Rhythms

American Mugu

We were in my sitting room watching a Nollywood movie. The storyline was that of two men who were trying to con a young girl whom they assumed was from a rich family. The plot was silly and funny at the same time. I was amused at what men will do to sleep with a girl including telling obvious lies. Wobioluwamitito, whom we call Tito because her name was rather long and jaw breaking for the non-Yoruba speaking people; kept on smiling to herself as we continued watching the movie. Sometimes, she would chuckle loud which was distracting and annoying. Although, I was more curious as to why she was so amused I didn’t ask her. The movie finished and we sat back to discuss it as the credit rolled.

"That was a silly movie" I said as a way of conversation.

"Not silly, it happens in real life" Tito replied

"Why would the guy die at the end of it? Nigerian movie directors like to kill their actors. I wonder who will be left on earth if that's how we all die at every slight opportunity" I said not impressed.

"It’s true." Esther said. "I am not so much of a fan of Nigerian movies joo!"

"You are not a fan of anything Nigerian. That's why you were almost duped by that fake Americanna" I said laughing at Esther

"That one don craze. Me sef I show am now" Esther replied laughing.

"All these bobos are mugu. I tell you" Tito said shaking her head. "In fact this movie reminded me of one mugu who started harassing me on Facebook.”

"Really!" I said.

"Ha see me o! This guy requested for my friendship. As I am very careful of who I sign on, I went to check the friend list and I saw that we shared a lot of friends in common so I decided to sign him on." Tito narrated.

"That was a mistake o!" I cut in.

"Are you telling me? It was the biggest mistake of my life. This guy was smooth. He started passing comments on all my posts and liking all my pictures. One day he sent me a mail commenting on my name. He was always so familiar that I would have sworn that I knew him. He asked for the meaning which I told him."

“That's not strange, please! People always want to know the meaning of your name." Esther said. "It was your name that got me attracted to you in Uni now remember?"

“Yes I know and that was why I gave him audience. Anyway, one day, we chatted on Facebook about issues going on in Nigeria that was when he told me he lived in America. Shortly after, he started mailing me regularly. Sometimes, I responded but most times, I ignored him. About the time of my birthday, he said he wanted to get me a gift. He kept on pestering me on what I wanted but I just felt that he could get anything without making a big fuss out of it” Tito said.

“So, don’t tell me you turned down the offer? Ore, wetin dey do you now?” Esther inquired

“Why don’t you just exercise patience and let her finish this story.” I answered Esther getting mildly irritated by her interruption.

“Anyway, after much persuasion on his side, he decided to send money to me to buy either a Samsung galaxy, a watch, or an Ipad.” Tito continued.

“Ore, you have collected awufu. Where is the money?” Esther interrupted again.

“Wait now, he sent fifty thousand naira. Of course, since all the items he suggested was far more expensive than what he sent, I bought myself a BB.” Tito explained.

“Yuck!” Esther said squeezing her face into an ugly shape.

“Well I needed another BB at that time and I still had change to do some other things that needed to be taking care of.” Tito replied defensively. “But you know, he now had access to my phone number. He would call endlessly that I began to think that the guy must have issues.”

“Isn’t that a sign that he cared?” I asked.

Esther snickered “Ose has come with this her mushy-mushy emotional stuff o!” she mocked

“No, I don’t think so. Anyway, I didn’t see it that way because I was irritated by it.”

“Irritated? That sounded more like devotion to me.” I said ignoring the horrible look Esther shot my way.

“The guy is overbearing and boastful. He said he was going to buy clothes for me and I wondered what the cheek! Someone I don’t even now”.

“He has no class. But you can’t blame him that’s what most guys use in luring young girls into a clandestine relationship.” Ose said knowingly.

“He told me his whole family lived in Canada and America. Only for him to gist me about his immediate elder sister who was living in his village somewhere in Ekiti.” Tito said.

“Just trying to impress you now.” Esther said chuckling to herself.

“Why didn’t you ask him why the sister was living in Nigeria now? Ok, maybe because she is married to a local.” Esther said as we all burst into laughter.

“The man can boast! He told me he wanted to buy a house in Ikoyi that I should find out the cost when I complained about my area of Lagos.”

“Oh! Na wa for you o! But Tito, you are a slacker. You could have turned him into a maga and collect all the stuff he was trying to shove down your throat.” Esther laughed clapping her hands the way she does anytime she is excited.

“Ore, I was just amused by it all. All the lies. How he has properties at the Caribbean and that’s where he would love to take me on a vacation.”

“Oh yeah! Which one Barbados?” I asked as we all laughed with tears rolling down our eyes. I held on to my side because I didn’t know such people still existed. Telling unintelligent lies.

“Look at you guys, he sent me website of universities I can go there o!” Tito said as we all burst out laughing again.

“You tell am you want to go school?” Esther asked almost choking on her laughter.

"He even said he would set me up in business, give me a car and a driver." Tito said sighing. 

"Hey! How you go turn down such a juicy offer!" Esther exclaimed holding her head. 

“One day, I tried to find out about his family but he was non-committal so I left him but that was an indication that he was married. After a while, he would only call at odd hours and very infrequent. One day, he explained that he was very busy with his tax returns. So I asked in January? He said he liked to start early and this may take him till April before he would be less busy but I see his comments on Facebook all the time. After a while, I got fed up of all his lies and just ignored his messages and calls.” Tito said.

“You could have being more patience with him maybe he was truly serious about these tax returns thing.” I said chuckling.

“Is he running a conglomerate? He is a community nurse for goodness sake and that’s if he is what he claims he is and not doing bootlegging.” Tito said sniggering

“Ha! You have serious badbelly for this guy o!” I said.

“I do! I don’t like anybody taking me for a fool” Tito replied.

“But seriously, it pained me that you didn’t collect the trailer load of stuff that he was going to send from America. At least you will give me some thing now.” Esther said pretending to be upset.

"Even the car and the driver! By now we would have being doing madam Tito!" I replied mocking her

“You are not both serious." Tito responded laughing.

"But seriously, that’s how women fall prey you know. I have heard stories of some ladies who were duped of their personal belongings.” I answered.

“Those girls are crazy. How can you take any guy you meet on Facebook serious? Most of them are looking for who to devour especially single matured ladies.” Tito answered.

“God saved you o Tito!” Esther said.

"How now? How you see me so? I resemble mumu? He is the American Mugu now." Tito replied laughing.

Image is courtesy of Google Image

The Wail of the Siren

I sat in the corner of the room listening to Yetunde as she told her story. I was angry at what she had had to suffer and was infuriated that I and others around her have being unfair in our judgement of her. I am not one for emotions but tears rolled down my eyes as I listened to her pathetic story.

Yetunde was some girl I was intrigued by. She was a very pretty girl. She was always cheerful and had a smile for everyone. Though I didn't know that beneath that smile was a disturbed child. Yetunde was in her twenties. What attracted me to her was that she roamed the street as if she had no destination. I was very curious about her. Boys and men alike hung around her because of her beauty. I felt a need to advise her about what I perceived as her waywardness. She was also the topic of discussion for all the middle aged women in the neighbourhood. Though, these women greeted her and always seemed friendly, they were wary of her.

I met her at the salon. I came in to wash my hair. There were a lot of customers present and I was uncomfortable hanging around for my turn. I had contemplated leaving and coming back another time but I knew I may find it difficult to come back. As if she sensed my discomfort, Yetunde decided to allow me to take her place while she waited. I was surprised at her gesture and wanted to turn her down but she insisted. I felt grateful for this act and I expressed this to her. We started a conversation after this and long after the salon incident she would always stop to greet me. I was very fascinated with her and secretly wondered about her. One day, she saw me walking down the street and she approached me.

“Good evening Aunty” she greeted curtsying as she did.

“How are you?” I greeted back.

 “I am fine.” She responded. I made to continue on my stroll when she held my hand. “Aunty, I hope you don’t mind. I want to see you” she said nervously. I stopped to look at her wondering why she wanted to see me.

 ”What is it about?” I asked still wondering.

“I need an advice” she replied.

“Ok then, let’s go to my house” I replied her. We walked the short distance to my house in silence. I kept on wondering if I was doing the right thing by taking someone I hardly knew to my house. We got to my place and I invited her in. She sat on the sofa while I sat on the single chair. I waited for her to tell me what the problem was.

“Aunty,” she said clearing her throat. I could see she was uncomfortable and I wondered again what she wanted.

I hope she didn’t want to beg for money. I thought to myself. I waited patiently though lots of thoughts were going on in my head.

 “I need your advice, men always want to have sex with me.” She blurted out.

I kept a straight face since this was no news at all. She is a pretty girl and appeared unusually friendly with the opposite sex.

 “The point is that I don’t how to refuse them. Sometimes, I would have told myself that I wouldn’t do it but I just find myself having sex with them.” I kept quiet pondering how I would manage this.

 “I am helpless all the time. I don’t even enjoy sex.” She said.

“So why do you do it?” I asked puzzled.

“Aunty, I really don’t know.” She replied.

“Do they offer you money or buy stuff for you? Do you think that’s why you do it” I asked.

 “I will never sell my body for anything” she responded harshly.

“Well, I am sorry if that sound offensive but I am just trying to find out why you find it difficult to refuse sex if you don’t enjoy it.” I replied taking aback by her response.

 “I am sorry Aunty. It’s just that I am aware people call me a slut in the area and I don’t want you to see me that way” she replied. I was surprised that she was aware of how people perceived her. “Aunty, I am no slut. I really want to be a good girl but…”she said hesitant.

Her voice shook slightly and I could see tears in her eyes. She bent her head and tried to avoid looking at me.  “I was raped at ten years old” she said barely audible.

“What?” I shouted.

“It was not my fault. I didn’t lure him into it. He would come into my bedroom and caress me. He promised to give me beautiful things. The first time he did it, it was painful and I tried to scream but he covered my mouth. After he finished, he told me not to tell my Aunty that he would buy chocolate for me. He did the following day but I knew what he was doing was wrong and I told him but he said he loved me. I didn’t want to do it I swear but he made me.” She said crying. 

Her eyes looked wild and she was eager to convince me of her innocence. I was glued to my chair wondering who the “he” was.

“I tried telling my Aunty but she was too hostile, she would not listen to me. She said if she should catch me with her husband she would kill me. I wanted to tell her that he sneaked to my room but I was afraid as I had nowhere to go.” She continued crying. 

I kept quiet not knowing what to say.  I could see she was badly damaged.

 “Shortly after, my Auntie’s brother-in-law started fondling me at night. I suspected he had seen his brother having sex with me. I tried to refuse him but he threatened to tell my Aunty. I suffered in silence because I had nowhere to go. When I was thirteen, I got pregnant. I didn’t know I was pregnant at that time. I thought I had malaria. My Aunty took me to the hospital where I was told I was pregnant. She beat me blue and black. She accused me of luring her husband into sleeping with me. She beat me until I fainted. I woke up the following day in the hospital. I was told I lost the pregnancy but I am sure she aborted it.” She said sobbing quietly

I sat there with tears rolling down my cheek listening to her story. I felt like reaching out to her but I was glued to my chair and  really did not have any words of consolation for her.

 “Yetunde,” I called out tentatively. “You need professional help. This is beyond me. You need to seek for professional help.”

“Where?” she asked still sobbing

“I believe you need a psychological evaluation. I believe what those two animals did to you have affected you.” She sat there sobbing. I got up and held her. This could have being my daughter. I said to myself.

Troubles of a single lady

I sat under the canopy watching as guests arrived at the party. I was too early which was not customary for us Lagosians. We love to make grand entries so we arrive at parties late in order to make a statement. I watched as guests arrived in droves all dressed in the chosen aso ebi of the party which added colour to the occasion. Nigerian ladies love to dress up. The men were mostly in buba and sokoto; simply dressed but they all looked gorgeous. Food and drinks were being served and there was a huge array of dishes from the regular dishes like fried/jollof rice and pounded yam to the ceremonial dishes like ofada rice, yam portage, ewa aganyin, tuwo, amala, fish and dodo or fried yam chips etc. there was also asun as well as assorted drinks ranging from minerals, beer, stout, wine and spirits made their rounds. People had their fill.  Lagosians do know how to party.

The music boomed while people greeted on top of their voices trying to outdo each other. The only thing I hate about these parties was the noise. Discussion was always impossible. I looked around searching for some of my friends. Then I saw her as she walked towards my table. A broad smile on her face. “Aunty Ose!” she called out as I got up to hug her.

“Titi, it has being ages” I said as I stepped back to look at her. “You look good” I said admiring her. “Tell me the secret of your beauty” I inquired jokingly.

 “Ha aunty, it is God o! Who do I have but God” She responded laughing.

“Ehn, who is the bobo?” I asked laughing with her.

”Bobo, which bobo, there are no bobos out there o!” She replied as she took her seat next to mine. I raised my eyebrow at her to indicate that I did not believe her. She kept quiet for a while.

“Aunty, why do people always think that you need a man to be happy? Titi asked. “I am always asked that question everywhere I went and it’s so irritating! People will show some respect only when you are married.” She said annoyed.

I was shocked at her outburst. “I am sorry Titi. I was just teasing.” I replied embarrassed. “I know you are capable of taking good care of yourself.” I found myself explaining thoroughly discomfited.  

She stared at me with a half -smile on her face. “I am sorry for my outburst. I know you didn’t mean it that way but I am just fed up of people asking that question.” She explained. “The other day, I was with my friend when her aunt asked me when I was going to marry or if I wanted to become an old maid. Aunty Ose, can you imagine that in this day and age? My mum queried me on why I changed my name and if I could not use a compound name instead.” She said exasperated.

 “How?” I asked.

“You know now, combine my marital name with my maiden name. I have been divorced from this man for ten years now and my mum believes I should live in deceit. What more should I expect if my mother is ashamed of my status.”

“You know people care and that’s why they ask these questions.” I said trying to re assure her.

 “I know some people do but most are just nosy. What people don’t understand is I am not in a hurry to get married. You know as a young girl one is pressurised into marriage. At every turn you are reminded that all your mates were married or about to marry. That’s why girls rush into marriage only for them to wish out of the marriage soon after.”

“I do agree with you.” I replied.

She grinned at me. “I remember a joke I read somewhere of a young girl that her aunt made it a point of duty to remind her that all her age mates were married. Sometimes at marriage ceremonies, she will walk up to her niece and say, ti e na a de o! The niece suffered in silence for a while until the day they met at an uncle’s funeral. She promptly looked at her aunt and said, ti yin na a de o! That was the last time the aunt greeted her that way.” We both burst out laughing.

“Don’t worry, I know how annoying this can be but just know that they mean well.” I said still laughing at her joke.

“Ha! Titi, long time! Where have you being hiding yourself?” shouted someone coming towards us. We turned to look at her. Titi got up to greet.

 “Ha! Moni, it has being ages truly o! She replied hugging her.

“Titi, you look good.” Moni said appraising her. “Who has being taking care of you? When are we meeting the bobo?” Moni asked. Titi and I exchanged looks and burst out laughing while Moni looked confused.



Meaning of Words
aso ebi-uniform worn at parties. It is customary for guests at parties to wear the same clothes or headgears
buba and sokoto- top and trousers for men
ofada rice-rice grown at ofada village in Ogun State. Its prepared in a special way-mostly served in leaves.
ewa aganyin- beans cooked in a special way by the aganyin people of Badagry in Lagos
Tuwo- rice pudding.Largely eaten by the Northern part of Nigeria
Amala- Yoruba meal made from yam
dodo- fried plantain 
Asun-barbecue goat. It is a delicacy eaten by the Ondo people of Ondo State.
Bobo- Boyfriend
ti e na a de o- we will also celebrate with you

Living My Life Again

“Tomi” I called hesitantly, she turned to look at me. We were in one of the popular eateries in Lagos. We had gone shopping and was exhausted both physically and financially. We had spent so much more than what we budgeted for and I just knew that I would regret it the following day. We decided to crown our effort by having lunch. Actually, I had ulterior motives, I had wanted to talk to my friend about her relationship and I just didn’t know how to brooch the subject. Moreover, she has avoided talking about her boyfriend.

 “What are your plans for this year?” I asked. “I mean you and Mr O.”

Tomi kept quiet for a while. I wondered what she was thinking about or maybe she would not say anything as usual. Tomi had been dating Mr O as we call him for three years now.  Nobody has met him and we her friends are beginning to think maybe he was an imaginary boyfriend coined by our friend in order to keep us off her back. We were rather protective of her because she had suffered a lot. Her fiancé had died a week before their marriage and that had made her shut down emotionally but that was several years ago. We were very happy when she told us about this man that we have never met. Initially she was very excited about the relationship. She looked radiant and beautiful and was very full of life. This lasted for one year. She had since become very pensive and withdrawn again and I worry about her.

I waited patiently for her response. She played with her fork for a while. Making circles on her plate. She seemed far off and I wonder if I have not over run my mouth again.

“Ose,” she said.” I have decided to live.” She smiled and her eyes shone. “I have decided to live my life to the fullest. I have been afraid for too long. Afraid to live life but now, I am going to live. I will travel, go out on dates and enjoy my life. If I find love I will embrace it but if I don’t, so be it.” She said happily.

I looked at her curiously. I wasn’t satisfied by her answer because that was not what I expected. Tomi held my hands in her palms.

“I am going to be fifty in a year. I have mourned Ola. I have laid his ghost to rest and I think it is time for me to live again. It has taken me years to get to this point but I thank God that I finally did.” She said smiling.

“What about Mr O.” I asked tentatively. She looked at me and smiled again. “Mr O is there. But Mr O has developed cold feet. He has commitment phobia” She replied shaking her head.

“Have you guys broken up?” I asked now confused.

 “No we have not. He is my friend and will remain so as long as he wants.”

“But…” I said interrupting her.

“Hear me out. She said putting her fore finger on my lips. He has a choice. He can either get his act together or the relationship will frizzle out but for me, I am going to go on dates again. Go to the cinema, travel to all those places I have always wanted to go; do all those things I have always wanted to do. I am going to cast my net wide, in the deep ocean as far as I can. I am going to spread my wings. I am going to live again.” She replied giggling.

Then she laughed. She laughed long and loud. The laugh was very infectious. I joined her laughing loud too not mindful of the people around us.  Then I knew my friend is finally healed.