Ladies and Gents, its crazy picture time.
Please laugh responsibly.
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10. My legs are a combo of “K” and “bow”. “Only me one o”. Lol.
9. I used to have 6 fingers. (Yeah I’m a mutant)
8. My first crush was Eyitayo. We grew up on the same street.
7. I have a 33rd tooth.
6. I haven’t seen any of the Men in Black or Terminator movies.
5. Rain fell on the day earmarked to celebrate my 10th birthday and almost ruined it.
4. I can’t drive.
3. I’m a south paw.
2. My first relationship lasted 5 months and one day.
1. It irks me when people spell my name as “Micheal”. Its “Michael” people. “A” before “E”.
I wrote “Michael” when I filled the form for my ATM card but somehow the idiot (forgive my French) thought I made a mistake in spelling my own name, MY OWN NAME, and corrected it. Now my ATM card has “Micheal” on it. *angryface* Lol.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME
…Based on true events.
‘What the fuck were you thinking?!’ I had never sworn in my whole life. ‘Are you mad? Is something wrong with your brain?’ Now that I could see he was okay, a form of fury I had never known filled me. Here I was sick to death with worry, and he was there having a pity party, drinking Chianti. It was not lost on me that an innocuous stain had catapulted me into an anosmic frenzy; I was that frazzled. For a moment I was scared he would retaliate, that there was still something left of the anger. But he didn’t; merely stared at me listlessly with those brown puppy eyes. Something wasn’t adding up. I looked around for evidence of hard drugs but couldn’t find any.
‘Oh my God, don’t ever, ever, do that again!’ I shouted as the tears came pouring down. I sat hard on the floor and through the tears I could see my future. Questions raced through my fuddled mind. Could I handle this? Would he turn on me one day? Could he ever overcome this? Would he? I doubted. I am not a proponent of settling with someone in the hopes that they would change. I could see that this would be a hostile environment for a child to grow up in. I made up my mind. My heart was smashed to smithereens, much like the mirror he had destroyed. I felt betrayed by Tanure and his psychosis – there was no other name I could call it. This was not the happy ever after we had planned. And I had kissed the guy.
I also questioned my own sanity: what had even attracted me to him in the first place? I thought of the signs – the ones I had chosen to ignore – shoving me when we were having an argument; shouting me down; moping for days over the slightest disagreements. I wept for myself – I felt so abashed. I should have known better. Perhaps this was what Uju had seen in his eyes. They do say that the eyes are a window to the soul. She had never told me what she didn’t like about him. The only time we had spoken about it, she’d said, ‘Something about his eyes.’ I had merely hugged her and said she felt that way because she didn’t know him, that she would love him once she did. She had not said anything since, but I had noticed the stiffness in their relationship. It was very unlike her. ‘Give it time.’ I had told myself. I guess the joke was on me now.
Aloud, I said, ‘I can’t handle this. I’m leaving you. It’s over.’
That seemed to get his attention. He looked at me, like he couldn’t believe his ears. He must have thought I was joking because his lips split in a half smile. When he saw my granite-set face, however, he reconsidered and began to beg.
‘Please don’t.’ he groveled. ‘I’ll change. I don’t know what came over me. I’ll work on it I promise.’
‘Okay. Fine.’ I said. ‘I want you to work on it for yourself, not for me. You obviously have a lot of issues. I pray you’ll overcome them but I won’t be with you anymore.’
‘Please!’ tears began to drop. ‘You’re the only good thing in my life. Please don’t let me lose you. Don’t let what they said come true.’
I knew ‘they’ meant Ghenero. My heart twisted in my tiny, clogged up chest. I guess it was my maternal instinct at play – he looked so forlorn.
‘I can’t.’ I said, my own tears still trickling. ‘I just can’t. I’m sorry.’
He knelt beside me, plastered my face with kisses. ‘Baby, please, I’m begging. Don’t go. I’ll change, I promise. What’s left of this miserable life if you go? I couldn’t stand it. I’ll kill myself!’
My expression did not change, but I was deeply troubled. It was the way he had said it – so calmly, so matter-of-factly, so resolutely. It frightened me. Then he sat down and began to weep. I couldn’t believe myself. My life was beginning to look like a badly scripted home video. I did not like it one bit. But what if he did follow through on his threat? The boy was not at home – I had just witnessed it firsthand. But if he threatened to commit suicide every time I wanted to break up, how could I ever leave? Wasn’t this how girls got stuck in abusive relationships? Hadn’t I scorned those same people and said how they had inferiority complex, did not know what was good for them, were idiots? Was I not now one of them?
I changed my stance. It was 2.30 am. Daylight would soon be upon us. I had nothing to lose. I told him I wasn’t going to leave him, gave him a glass of warm milk laced with piriton I sometimes took for my allergies – I always traveled with it. Then I asked him to lie down while I read from the Bible. It was the only thing I could think of doing. I didn’t even know where to start from but the Psalms and the Prophets seemed like a good antidote for the blues. I started with the Psalms, just reading random chapters. The irony was not lost on me. I felt ridiculously like David playing the harp to King Saul during his depressive episodes.
He was soon asleep, and while the sun was still making its daily climb over the serene horizon I kissed those soft lips one last time and left.
Once A Child
They grow so rapidly, it’s the truth;
So let your child luxuriate in youth.
For they like you should be able to say,
“I was once a child.”
Bless them when angry instead of venting;
Esteem issues you would be preventing.
And even though life is stressful,
You remember words are hurtful –
You remember you were once a child.
And you, would you be an example to you?
Do you live by what is true?
Would the child you were yesterday
Be proud of who you are today?
Remember when you were a child?
It’s a day for kids, yes, but I want you to enjoy –
The way you did when you were a girl, a boy
For you were once a child.
Big Brother Africa has returned for an 8th season, let the ladies and a few males (in touch with their feminine side) shout YIPEE!!!. Lol. As is customary with the highly anticipated show, it kicked off with an opening night hosted by the debonair IK. Viewers were introduced to the contestants/housemates and a few musical acts also graced the stage to sway the audience (in the studio and at home) Enough with the chit chat; let’s get down to business, here are the 5 lessons we leant from the BBA season 8 opening night:
5. “Hip-stars” everywhere
The manner in which contestants are chosen for the show has always been a mystery to simpletons like me. However, in the case of season 8, the selection process has been demystified; particularly in regards to the female members of the house. They were chosen by the size of their hips – that’s all!. With the exception of two housemates, every other female contestant is blessed with hips that will lie straight faced to your face. Shakira has got nothing, not a farthing, on them.
According to rumours that have been fallaciously contrived to suit this lesson, judges were reported to have carried measuring tapes into the audition venues. Now we know why.
Zeus help the brothers in the house. Help them ooooooo.
I opine that this season should be renamed; BBA Season 8: By their hips ye shall know them.
4. We didn’t hear “The Kick”, we saw “The Kick”
The Mavins stormed the stage to entertain us with different songs by artistes under their “esteemed” label. D’Prince continues to show us how extremely lucky he is to have a famous older brother. Some say a spare part shop in Ladipo was the original plan until his brother got famous and he discovered his talent (in this case lack of it) for music. But before D’Prince asked us what our selling point was, Don Baba J and Wande Cole serenaded us with the only hit the Mavin’s have recorded since the split with D’banj; “The Kick”.
Prior to yesterday’s performance, it was believed by many that “The Kick” was a sound due to the hook of the song which goes, “when you hear ‘The Kick’, make you start to wind”. However such beliefs were dissuaded when everyone beheld Don Jazzy’s backup dancers. “The Kick” is clearly not a sound.
In another rumour that has been cooked up in the pot of deceit and malicious lies intending to arouse giggling, it is said that the Mavins gave up on trying to make their stage performance any good so they hired dancers with “The Kick” (massive, bodacious kicks to be exact) to distract viewers from their eminent horrendous stage performance. To be honest, this insinuation is a bit farfetched even for rumour mongers but play back the performance in your head, was it worthy of a single clap?
A master stoke by the Don himself; he kept the talk about his dancer’s “Kicks” rather than his crew’s poor showing.
3. If at first you don’t succeed; try, try, try, again
Nigeria’s male contestant is Melvin and the “famzing” has already started on social media as people who know his gate man and dry cleaner are coming out to bask in a few minutes of “really, you know him?” Somewhere in the midst of the “famzing” though, news broke that this is Melvin’s third appearance on a reality show. He has been on previous editions of Gulder Ultimate Search and Mr. Nigeria. I think he was even second runner up in Mr. Nigeria. Not bad. As someone tweeted when this information reached social media; “THE HUSTLE IS REAL”. Yes o, it is real. $300,000 is nothing to laugh about. *straightface*
Melvin is a testament to the Nigerian doggedness in issues concerning bank notes. Maybe he’ll be third time lucky. As they say, third time is the charm.
At least if he doesn’t win, he can start tracing the source of his continuous reality show mishaps to his village as will be suggested by the unforgiving crowd that is Nigeria’s social media. Lol.
2. The house Diva is Nigerian
In every season of BBA since inception, one female contestant stands out as the house diva. Last year it was that Nicki Minaj look-a-like that got herself disqualified. This year the house diva is Beverley; Nigeria’s female contestant. She even said so herself. She’s a model and if you’re a fan of Nigerian music videos you must have seen her in a couple of them; yes she’s also a video vixen. A further dive into her background reveals that she dated rapper 2shots when she was just 19. I may be wrong (which is rare in such things) but she has that aura about her that screams, “Y’all should bow and kiss my big toe”. Hehehehehe. However, she faces stiff competition for the diva crown from Dellish; the hottest female contestant on the show this year just by a few yards though as the show is packed with hot “gehs”. Dellish, from Namibia, has the diva appeal as well. I guess big brother suspected as much and placed them in different sub-divisions of the house. Beverley is in the Diamond house while Dellish bunks in the Rubie house. Rule your respective domains ladies; your subjects await.
1. The Genius/lunacy of Multi choice
One must applaud the genius of Multi choice for continuing to organise Big Brother. They obviously noticed the drastic reduction in subscription (was that a rhyme?) when football season is over. So they packed the three months football hibernation with Big Brother. Whoever came up with this marketing/sales masterstroke should have his salary quadrupled every year. Having said that, next time your TV is on, tune in to a local station and marvel at the backward nature in which our local stations still carry on with the business of television broadcasting – from the dull pictures to creatively inept programmes on display. When you’re done, tune back to DSTV, preferably to the Big Brother station and marvel at the stupidity of it all. Yes I said it. The show is borderline crass. A bunch of people are selected, obviously based on “man know man” in most cases and these people’s interpretation of being “exciting” and “fun” in the house is to drink mostly without restraint because it’s free and show no chimney can outshine them in a smoking contest. Like seriously, are smoking and drinking also a criteria for selection? Considering the money involved, I’m sure a lot of people who don’t smoke or drink auditioned, but I guess the judges believed Africa will only be entertained by revelers, and from their ratings I guess they are right.
Next year Multi choice, can we have an intellectual BBA with a house packed with geniuses in different sectors? I can hear you all booing already. Lol.
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A housewife resolved to surprise her husband so she stopped by at his office to deliver his favourite meal for lunch; Eba and Egusi soup.
When she opened his office door, she found his secretary sitting on in his lap.
Without hesitating, he dictated with a straight face,
“…and in conclusion, gentlemen, though we are experiencing financial constraints, I cannot continue to operate in this office with just one chair. My secretary has no where else to sit. We must provide more chairs”
(Based on real life events)
(Based on real life events)
I stepped around the mess. Tried not to step in it. The sight of blood still made me queasy. My friends couldn’t understand me. ‘How could a doctor be uncomfortable with blood?’ they quizzed me endlessly. ‘How do you cope in the hospital?’ they wanted to know. I always replied that it was different; you knew you were in the hospital, were prepared for all sorts; and at any rate, it wasn’t the blood of your loved one or anyone you knew. What I did not tell them was that it bothered me too. I was the only one in my class I knew of who felt this way. I had handled the cadaver sessions alright, but the blood was a different thing entirely for me. I figured I had time to learn; consoled myself with memories of how my friends who had been frightened of cadavers had gotten used to the sights after all, and those that couldn’t stand the smell of the formalin had done just fine. I was just in 400 Level. I still had time.
Presently, I tried the door. It was, as I suspected, locked. I fought down a new wave of panic. I was walking a fine line between alarm and hysteria. I wondered if this was the point at which I ought to involve the neighbours. The only one of them I had met was the one who stayed in the adjacent apartment. Otas, he was called. I remembered because he had had a beautiful name, and Otas was the short form. I had smiled and said too bad, I thought the full name was much more beautiful, but funny enough Otas was all that had stuck. The problem was he was a stranger. I did not want to bring a stranger into my business. I am a very private person. Moreover, I didn’t know if I could trust him. The only person I could trust was Uju, my best friend and roommate, but, again, she was too far away. I still thought of calling her though. Talking to her sometimes filled me with a sense of clarity and calmness. Though she did not particularly like Tan, I could count on her not to scold me – at least not yet. I felt I wasn’t thinking this through properly; I needed a dispassionate input. However, I was hesitant to. I did not want to give her the satisfaction of being right. It was ridiculous, but I was human, and so was she. She might gloat, not deliberately, but still.
Just then someone knocked on the door. I held my breath, hoped they would go away. How could I explain the mess? The DVD player was still outside – they must have seen it, must have heard the rumpus. I stayed still and wished they would go away. They persisted – she persisted. She spoke then. ‘Tanure, is everything alright? Sup with all the noise?’ I saw she wouldn’t go. I had to answer.
Opening the door a crack, I smiled brightly and spoke, ‘Hi. I’m Phebe, Tanure’s – girl – fiancé,’ I corrected, favouring a more responsible title.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked without preamble. ‘Are you guys having a fight?’
‘No!’ I said looking aghast. ‘We’re just doing some remodeling.’ It was a line I had heard in a movie. I felt stupid even as I said it. She was trying hard to look beyond me. I had to cut the visit short. ‘Look, we’re okay. Thanks for asking. That was why Tan sent me to get the door, so that you guys wouldn’t think he was lynching me or anything.’ I laughed a little as if the very thought were outrageous.
‘Okay.’ She still didn’t sound convinced.
‘Thanks.’ I smiled again. ‘Your name please?’ ‘Ope,’ came the reply. ‘Okay. I’ll tell him you said hi. Thank you.’ I shut the door quickly – too quickly. My hands were shaking.
I took a few breaths; convinced myself I just needed to stay calm and make use of what I had. So what did I have? A knife. The knife was still in the room where we had used to it slice more onions for the suya. I loved so much onions in my suya, never mind that it left me with a sore case of halitosis. Tan teased me nonstop about it, how I would sleep in the guest room if I did that when we were married. I took the knife and maneuvered it between the jamb and door. After several unsuccessful tries, I managed to open it, dreading the worst. It was not lost on me that there, as yet, had been no sound from the other end.
I found him sitting on the floor, languid, back leaning against the cabinet. He still looked normal to me. I shook him. ‘Are u all right? Talk to me!’ It was then I looked and saw the bottle of red wine toppled on its side its contents flowing freely across the kitchen floor. I examined him briefly and saw that his hands were still bleeding where he had injured them with the broken glass, but other than that he was okay – at least physically. I cannot describe the amalgam of emotions that washed over me – relief, ire, frustration, disdain. Reflexly I slapped him.
I noticed a small ant crawling on her pink bandanna. It was 2001 and bandannas were in. I even had two at the time. One purchased from Talk 2 Me boutique on Adeniran Ogunsanya, Lagos. Her pink top and black skirt were a perfect match for her bandanna. Though I was seated directly behind her, I could tell she was a beauty I was yet to notice in my GCE tutorial centre. Probably owing to the fact that I attended evening classes while 80% of the students who graced this weekend lecture (including her) attended the morning classes. Her hair was black as night and her skin shone like the golden sun. A perfect contrast.
As the lectures progressed all I could think of was how lucky I was to have been attending weekend classes on that bright Saturday morning. You see I had been deliberately avoiding weekend classes for no apparent reason and that morning a sudden change of heart put me in a light purple traditional outfit and shoved my behind to lesson. Now if only fate would strike again and give me an excuse to speak to her. I was a shy lad and I knew unless something happened that would present an opportunity to speak to her, I would never summon up the courage to do so myself. I must have been a good boy of late as fate waded in and provided an opportunity even I wouldn’t have dreamt of.
It was customary for the tutorial centre to hand out printed study questions during weekend classes. Questions the teachers would then guide the students on how to solve. The study questions for Literature-in-English wasn’t printed as the in-house printer had a fault so one of the lesson’s employees had an idea. He recollected that I had an exceptional handwriting (still do) He called me out of the on going English class to help him write out the questions on a blank printing paper (A4). I was a little cross that he did because I knew English would soon be over and my crush (yes I already had a crush on her) may change classes if she was a science based student. I finished writing the questions in time to observe she didn’t change classes just as the English teacher rounded up his period with his customary ludicrous jokes.
I was thrilled, I took my place behind her as the aforementioned employee handed out the study questions hand written by me which had been photocopied into various copies to accommodate the number of students who did Literature-in-English. The oohs and aahs were aplenty. They could see that it wasn’t typed but couldn’t believe it was hand written (my handwriting is that good. Lol) I could see my damsel was also awe struck. Now if only the handwriting could be traced to me.
I don’t think fate has ever been that kind to me. Just as the class wondered who the mystery writer was, a female friend of mine who had borrowed my notes in the past yelled out from the front row, “Michael, you wrote this right?”. Everyone turned back to gaze upon this mystery Michael as I answered in the affirmative. My crush was no exception. She smiled revealing a perfect dentition and said, “you have a lovely handwriting”. I’m sure I said thanks but it was probably an inaudible mutter. I was carried away by her aura you see.
It was love at first sight for both of us.
She got married in 2010 or so.