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MOUNTAIN DEW (2)

MOUNTAIN DEW (2)

Thanks for coming back😁 Remember, the theme is still mountain dew. All feedback should be directed to lssnerd@gmail.com, especially if you would like to join our themed writing challenge. Without further ado…

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Kola stares wordlessly at the receptionist of the cement company he has an interview with.

The gum chewing girl,with fair skin mottled with dark patches, looks at him pityingly and repeats her statement,this time in pidgin English.

Oga,they don hire anoda person oh.Just yesterday. No more vacancy oh“, she finishes.

Kola thanks her and walks out of the air conditioned lounge and out the wide gates of the company’s premises.

Outside,he stands for a moment calculating his transport fare and decides heading to the BRT bus terminal will be better suited to his pocket at the moment.

The queue at the terminal is long and curvy, like a grass snake winding its way across a garden .

He buys a ticket quickly and joins the large mass of humanity on the queue to await the next bus.

He leans against the metal railing as other commuters squeeze past his line to get to their embarkment points.

He closes his eyes and sighs.

He remembers the dreams he had of getting a lucrative job and owning his own car before thirty .

Nigeria has devoured his dreams,the way it did to those before his.

Now, he is thirty one and unemployed.

He thinks of his retired parents who borrowed to pay his fees,how his mother sewed special aso oke for his graduation and travelled all the way from their village in Ilesha alongside his arthritic father to attend the ceremony.

He is jolted from his reverie by the sound of a lady’s yell.

‘Goddess’ is the first word that comes to his mind.

She is lightskinned and petite,with brown faux locs and is dressed in a black pant suit. Her slim feet are incongruously clad in rubber jelly heeled sandals.

The bearded man who bumped into her and spilled her bottle of Mountain Dew is yelling at her.

Aunty, dey look where you dey go oh! This na Eko!

She yells back, fierce little thing that she is.

You no fit say sorry shey? Common sorry!

Kola interjects and takes her arm gently.

It is okay. Leave him be, there’s a lot of craze in the streets of lagos.

She turns to face him as she concurs.

I definitely agree with that

Kola holds her bag as she tries to wipe off the spilled Mountain Dew with a floral hanky.

She smiles her thanks as she collects the bag from him.

And at once, his bad day is swept away by the beauty of the goddess’ gap toothed smile.

Perhaps she will give him her number.

Perhaps she will agree to be the mother of his future children.

But for now he smiles back at her and extends his hand.

Hi, I am Kola.
Written by Miracle Eme

#themedwriting

#mountaindew

#theBlogwillstillbeherewhentheboredomcomes

 
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Posted by on November 2, 2017 in From Us, Uncategorized

 

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MOUNTAIN DEW (1)

MOUNTAIN DEW (1)

PS: this is not a Blog ad for the soft drink ‘Mountain Dew’. Now we’re not saying we wouldn’t market the drink (if you’re ready to pay we’ll advertise anything for you, even cannabis😉) but that is a story for another day.

The Blog team organizes in-house themed writing competitions, which we hope to expand to the general public this holiday season. This week’s theme happens to be ‘Mountain Dew’. Our top two entries were by the incredibly gifted Clinton Durueke and Miracle Eme of the Blog Team. First, we present Clinton’s perspective of the theme. Kindly join us again at exactly 4pm for Miracle’s original piece.

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Where am I?


Lacking full consciousness and in the middle of nowhere, Kofi lacked the strength to answer his question, let alone move or open his eyes. But man, he could marry the aroma that filled the air at that moment. It reminded him of the beloved Ghanaian brand of Jollof rice, which the Nigerians on his Twitter timeline took pleasure in discrediting. Recently, one of them even stated that Ghana Jollof resembled a sacrifice to a certain Ifa priest. They would never understand.

The sacred ways seem gibberish to the uninitiated.

Having burst into a fit of laughter, Kofi’s nostrils picked up a sharp smell that could only be traced to…

Wo be ti piii
One corner one corner one corner

Eye payy

One corner one corner one corner


His eyes didn’t hesitate to come out of retirement. However, his head flew back down in shock, realizing that he was in the midst of leaves in what seemed to be…nowhere. A forest, maybe?

Soon, it became a question of whether to dwell on the pain or to check his phone or to retrace his steps on how in God’s earth he managed to wind up in a forest-like enclave.

A new threat arose when he felt foreign hands dig into his pocket. Kofi turned in shock, but all it revealed was another item on the list of bizzare occurrences for the day.

One Corner is your ringtone?” the ‘native doctor’ asked in the local Twi, laughing. He held Kofi’s Camon C9 upside down, putting in much effort to operate it.

“Where am I? Who are you? How did I get here?” A confused Kofi spoke in English, agitated to the marrow. He tried to move, but it was then he realized that he was strapped to the stump, sacrificial-style.

“The process is almost complete.” This time, someone else spoke. And in English. The Vader behind the voice jolted enough fear through Kofi to prevent him from checking out the new entrant.

So I’ve got a sorcerer and his apprentice. Great.

Kofi was trying to make sense of his situation, but the dew on the leaves around him was not helping matters. He was allergic to sharp-smelling leaves. It wouldn’t have taken long before he began sneezing.

The sorcerer edged towards Kofi, and Kofi witnessed a figure more primal and menacing than his uncle Kwadwo. And the figure, he finallllly discovered, was not a man.

You young people feel you can pollute the land with your useless partying and music. You chose the wrong place.

Sorry ma.

Kofi knew better than to utter his sarcastic reply. “Please, Great one. I know I’ve desecrated the land, but please let me go. I swear, I won’t do it again.”

Too late.” Her reply was rasp and quick. “Our dues must be paid to the mountain god Aafo. Now, take off your jacket.

Man’s not hot.

Are you deaf? Take off your jacket!

I said man’s not hot.

It took a few more seconds before Kofi realised that the apprentice had already cut him lose. Apparently, he was too awestruck by the menacing Ghanaian version of Madea to notice. 

Nice boobs though.

Young man, its like you want to speed up your death, yes?” The apprentice asked. “Take it off.”

Man’s can never be hot.

In reality, Kofi was down to nothing. Lazily, with every bit of apprehension in him, he took off his beloved denim jacket. But it wasn’t until the apprentice started taking off his shoes that he remembered a special but absurd package.

Maami?” he called out humbly. The sorceress’ expression was blank. “I have an offering to make. Something to appease Aafo.”

What would that be?

Smiling, he reached for his bag on the floor and brought out his half-finished bottle of Mountain Dew, from the previous night’s party. “This is the exact drink people offer as propitiation. The bottle is different.”

And you think I’m stupid?” The sorceress boomed out. Kofi was shook. In that moment of silence, Kofi heard footsteps. The footsteps only served as lightning for the thunder to follow.

Gunshots. The police. Skrra papapa!

Invigorated, Kofi ran his right leg into the sorceress’ chin and rammed the bottle of Dew into the apprentice’s nutsack, sending him to the ground. He got his shoes back on, grabbed his bag and his phone and broke into a run. He edged himself in the direction of the sirens cum gunshots, pumping with adrenaline. He paused to check his phone for the previous call. But more surprises.

I’ve been here for four days! And Mum has been calling!

Blinded by his new resolve, Kofi didn’t know when he stepped into an expanse of air that ran down the valley to the creek below.

Written by Clinton Durueke


Published by Great Opara




 
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Posted by on November 2, 2017 in From Us, Uncategorized

 

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THE WILD LOUNGE – HOMO ERECTUS

THE WILD LOUNGE – HOMO ERECTUS

Hi there! Can I have your attendance…sorry attention? I’m Ignis, and I want to engage y’all on the aforementioned subject matter. And no, this is not a Biology lesson (it was Biology right?). 

   Anyways, moving right on,…this post is centered around Nigerian people from Imo State, and how their Governor has been representing lately. Now, it probably is no longer news that there is a huge statue somewhere in Imo state that I hear cost over half a billion naira. The bone of contention now is not even the statue itself but why it was built…and why so much money had to be pumped into it. Well, here’s why: Mr. Rochas Okorocha is a rich man. Period. Rich men, everywhere in the world, and especially in Nigeria, are known to spend their “hard earned money”  on whatever venture they so desire. Moreso, uncle Rochas runs a charity (whose activities are not quite clear, but which is a charity anyways) which has been a beneficiary of the “contribution(s)” of the very benevolent president of South Africa, Mr. Jacob Zuma, and it was absolutely necessary for him to use that much money to build such a gigantic structure to honour his contribution to his charity thus far. What better way to honour and appreciate a friend than to build him a statue several feet above the ground, as long as you have the money? Also, if you really look at Mr. Zuma, you’ll find that his own people have rejected him. Saying all sorts of bad things about him when all he really wanted to do was drag them backwards. The only statue that was built in the man’s memory in his own hometown was nothing short of a caricature…hence, the need to find solace in the extravagant spendthrift that is Rochas Okorocha. Oh, I hear a street was also named after him, and of course, he was given a title. Very commendable action if you ask me…I mean considering the fact that there are some people in Imo state that feed from hand to mouth,… others who have mediocre sources of income, the next step as a responsible governor is to erect a statue.

   I’m curious though….as to what exactly that statue symbolises, because trust me, I do not know. Also, does it really make that much sense to build a statue that costly considering the fact that another governor might pull it down and see how much more important and less embarrassing projects can be achieved. But then, what’s my business? I’m only saying this because I’m not a rich man, or rich man’s son. Probably my dad would do something of that nature too maybe? But I guess we’d never know because there isn’t that kind of money in the account, at least not that I know of. Ehen, I also wanted to ask,… Ermmm…this statue, how is it going to generate more revenue for Imo state? Is it that I have to pay to look at it?  As in like a tourist attraction? And also, I hope Chief Jacob Zuma was given a permanent residence and citizenship of Imo state too? I think it would make sense though, because that way, he can contest the gubernatorial seat, win it, and then erect a statue of Mr. Rochas Okorocha in return of the favour. No, seriously, that would be genius. It’s Nigeria after all. I’m actually expecting to hear that a football stadium or a road in Jacob Zuma’s hometown has been named after Rochas Okorocha,…otherwise I’d be quite pissed because it’d be unfair not to return such a magnanimous favour, for something that was undefined and no one can tell exactly what it was you did to merit it. Anyway, if I go on and on about this roach, I’ll probably be hunted down because it’s a hit at an executive citizen of Nigeria, so I’ll stop. 

   In other news, who’s heard about Zimbabwe’s new WhatsApp policy? The one where you have to be a graduate of a certain University to be group admin??

Written by Mayowa Akinyemi

 
 

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ANOTHER SMOKY TALE

ANOTHER SMOKY TALE

Darkness descends faster around here, so fast you’re left wondering where the day went. It’s beautiful really, almost poetic. As the curtain is drawn and you glimpse the fading sunset, brutally honest thinking is required. The darkness asks for it…demands it even. When the darkness descends, man is left alone with his demons. No more running. It’s fight or flight bitch!

Stone approaches the kitchen door, confident that he shall find what he seeks inside. He can hear the voices already and as he opens it, the thick aromatic fragrance rushes to embrace him. Clouds everywhere help provide a veil for the activities going on inside, but to the initiated eye, the clouds are only a sign of better things to come. He approaches the kitchen counter and there they are: the council of elders. The Knights of the Templar. The Brotherhood of Cruise. The Brethren.

Pappy, standing across from Mamba, putting his hands and lips to good use. Xray, going through Instagram or something on his tablet, and finally Liberty, arms folded and waiting for Pappy to light up the blessings. Stone takes his position on top the ledge closest to the window, and The Brethren is gathered once again, let the deliberations begin. 

“Guy, where’d you buy this cruise from?” Stone asks.

Liberty laughs and there are conspiratorial grins from the others. 

“Just enjoy it” Pappy responds “forget about its origin”.

The fog gets thicker, as more resources are brought forward. All from the same headquarters which leads them to another discussion on just how much cheese Junior is making off of their continued patronage. The memes from social media are the next topic to be addressed. Then politics, history, the politics of history, the real and fake, the genuinely confusing…almost everything is touched. There have been disagreements and conflicts of opinion. Negotiation has been employed as well as other less savory tactics. Momentary truces and alliances have been formed and the council might be adjourning soon.

“How far that Yemisi babe na?” Pappy asks.

Stone pretends not to hear him. X-ray taps him on the shoulder repeatedly until he’s forced to address the issue on ground. Laughter is stifled as the boys give him the floor.

“She dey na” he replies “Shey she dey owe you money?

Nothing is held back this time as hearty laughter rings across the kitchen. Stone has shown that he’s not intimidated by their number. 

“How she go owe dey owe me money?” Pappy continues in his rich baritone voice “Oga will you answer me joor!”

More laughter.

“Ormoh! I had to free her matter. She has too much wahala” Stone says in mock irritation, at the same time pulling out his phone and sending ‘hey baby’, with the appropriate emoji, via text to the female in question.

Mamba quickly chips in “Ehn! Why she no go get wahala, you don collect wetin you dey find na, so she must surely get wahala”.

Sarcasm eagerly drips from his words, and the light is passed from hand to hand.

The Yemisi situation is quite complicated and explaining would be a chore, so Stone is content to sit and let them guffaw to their hearts content. X-ray smiles intently at his tab, the goofiest of smiles. Instantly attention is diverted to his market.

“See as he’s smiling” Pappy tackles him “very soon now you go dey chase person away cos you wan use room”

The light flickers as everyone joins in the joke. X-ray only smiles at his tab when he’s expecting company. Liberty looks around and asks for a status update. He is duly informed by Mamba that the ceremony must be discontinued because all the trees had been set ablaze.

Liberty walks to the door, pauses and turns to bring up what might possibly be the last two matters arising.

“How far chow? And when we dey go jack?”

Exams are in less than a week. Asuu had scammed them. So much school work to cover, so little time. All five of them ask themselves why they hadn’t stuck to their beginning of semester plans of reading everyday. Again, there are no answers. The light finally flickers off permanently and only then are our heroes reminded that darkness has truly descended.

Plans are made regarding food and education. Stone’s phone vibrates with the full force of Yemisi’s reply. Encouraged by her unique choice of words he continues the conversation, as they all file out of the kitchen.

They make their way with confident steps and firm faces, walking to the tune of the different songs playing in their different heads. Some times however, the song is the same across all platforms and those are the truly special moments.

Upon reaching the main road, the council has one finale debate on the particular order the next three to four hours would take. Let the records show that this particular decision was reached through absolute consensus, amid several highly favorable comments.

Just as the journey is about to begin, Stone brings forth another option.

“Why don’t we go buy another bag instead?”

Side eyes all around.

They size him up like one would regard a madman and he laughs and repeats the question.

The opposition is strong and thorough but he stands his ground.

Three minutes later, the plan has changed.

Stone walks in front, now completely engaged in the conversation with Yemisi. She’s typing things that would excite even a Priest. Our boy is anything but a Reverend, so he replies with gusto.

X-ray is to his left, still focused on his tab as he considers the fastest way to clear the room.

Pappy walks behind, already thinking about going back for his pink pills.

Beside him is Liberty who is eyeing a group of females so hard it’s almost like he’s trying to rip their clothes off with his gaze.

Mamba brings up the rear, his mind occupied with his digital bet slip and the possibility that tonight just might be the night his ancestors listen to his pleas.

Five men, directing their singular energies towards the fulfilment of a common objective.

Five men working with time.

Five men united by the flame.

Darkness has completely engulfed the earth and the night is ripe for adventure. The Brethren shall reconvene.
Great Opara

 

AUGUST VISITORS

AUGUST VISITORS

AUGUST VISITORS

It was a quiet, beautiful Lagos Saturday afternoon in the life of a certain bachelor. For this bachelor, everything was chilled. He was home alone with Hennessey and his Internet was rubbing shoulders with Barry Allen. He knew Lagos Saturdays were largely characterised by Owambe, but to him, Friday turn ups were enough. He couldn’t imagine himself slugging it out as a consultant for five hectic days, only to stress his anti-social self by attending weekend functions, where all he ever cared about was the Item 7 and how quickly to ex from the event after relishing to his fill. He was done feeding his guilt. At the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to genuinely care about someone’s happiness.

Not that he was a Punisherlevel sadist, anyway.

Speaking of food, Chuka realised that his beloved microwave had been beeping for seconds. He was there in a jiffy, and as fate would have it, his solitude was about to be terminated by the arrival of unexpected company. Cursing under his breath, he took out his meal and silently prayed that his Igbo mother hadn’t come to give him the ‘Marry fast and give me grandchildren!’ talk for the seventy-seventh time. Setting his package down, he strode to the door to uncover a figure that was not his mother. Or even female.

“Brooo!” escaped the lips of Chuka and his visitor in unison, as though the words had minds of theirs. That was followed by an informal handshake and a brotherly hug. Chuka did not waste time in letting his good old friend into his abode.

“Correct guy,” Chuka began as they made to sit, “The last recession didn’t smell you at all.”

 “Like it ever ended.  It’s doing my body work, but wounds heal.”

“They sure do. Time heals everything.”

If only Chuka had the faintest idea. There was nothing but a look of satisfaction plastered on their respective faces. Regardless of their current vastly different lives, they were fraternal brothers with so much in common, right from their undergraduate days in LASU. Despite the façade of manhood that now hovered around them, they could still see clearly their younger, early-twenties’ selves.

“How’s everything going for you?” Ovie asked. “I took a risk by coming sef, but it paid off.”

“A risk?” Chuka had returned with a glass for Ovie. “I’m always here on Saturdays. And some Sundays.” He set it down, sat back and looked forward. “Many Sundays.”

“And you’ll still think that your problems aren’t spiritual.”

Chuka sensed the sarcasm well. “Similar to my mum, you’re now seeing my unmarried status as a curse. What if this is actually God’s way of blessing me?”

Ovie couldn’t help but laugh heartily, setting down his drained glass in the process. “Be careful what you wish for, brother. And this was legit needed,” he said, referring to the glass he’d just consumed.

“Indeed. And you look like you’ve been somewhere today.”

Ovie exhaled, looking upward. “I was at a wedding. Everything was going well before my sidechick went to catch bouquet.” 

In an effort to subdue his shock and laughter, Chuka recounted the years his friend had been married: five. “A single guy is dying in the friendzone while his married friend is still balling like a bachelor. Life is too fair.”

“Very fair, man.” Ovie maintained his upward gaze. “I blame myself for letting things between me and Toke become so strained and bitter in such a short while.” Turning his gaze to his friend, he began again. “What about that Gladys babe you’ve been on to?”

Chuka exhaled. “She…well…” His hands were in the air before they fell. “She decided to become a nun. She left me for Jesus.”

Ovie did little to hide his utter shock. “What on Earth…do females in this day and age still do that? Why?” Rubbing his palm across his face, he shot his friend a sardonic smile. “Take heart and accept her higher calling. But I still don’t believe the girls of our age fancy convents.”

“Me too.”

“So that’s why you’ve been avoiding church.”

“What if that’s why? The heartbroken one that avoids church is better than the infidel that doesn’t.” Chuka shot Ovie a comical searing look afterwards. Ovie knew better than to take offence. His friend had left loose ends and he was more than determined to tie it up.

“Whose zone then are you dying in? And has it gotten so bad that you’re writing about it on your laptop?”

Chuka, for some inexplicable reason, had been oblivious of the laptop on his sofa for as long as he could remember. He ran his hand over his face. “Let’s just say I’m putting my hidden talent to good use. My mind has been nagging at me to write something about this IPOB issue. I couldn’t take it any longer.”

Ovie heaved a sigh. “Inasmuch as I’m entitled to stress over national integrity, your ‘muse’ is of much bigger concern to me right now.”

Nothing about Chuka could believe his friend at that moment. Keep it simple and short, he thought. “Co-worker. Turned me down thrice before telling me she was with someone else. And no, she’s not my muse.”

Their collective blank expressions received life when the doorbell rang again. Chuka remained on the floor a while longer, finally believing that this visitor couldn’t have been anyone else but his mother. 

And Ovie is here to aid her sermon. Perfect. 

Approaching the door, Chuka’s mind drifted to the foodstuffs his mother always brought for him, in an involuntary search for a bright side. Instantly, he found solace.

But the figure he unearthed gave him solace, much more than the foodstuffs could have done. And it shocked him a thousand times more than Ovie’s arrival did.

Solape? What are you…”

His co-worker could clearly see the shock that made him lose touch of his words. “I know I should have called, but I’m having a bad day and you were pretty close so…” She began silently, before handing expression duties to her eyes. Chuka got the message.

“You can come in, sure.” He said, stepping aside and feeling comfortable. No sooner had he braced to make the expected introductions than Solape suddenly froze before him, directly facing an upstanding Ovie.

“What on Earth are you doing here?” She let out slowly, in a gasp of horror. She began to shoot the duo equally brief but guilty scares, almost as though she had seen a ghost. As she edged towards the door, Chuka could make out “Why do you two have to know each other?” before she finally exited his apartment, so quick that it was hard to believe she ever arrived.

A wide range of possible explanations began to swirl in his head. However, he couldn’t make any sense out of it. All he really needed for clarity was a calm, simple sentence from Ovie.

“Remember the chick I just told you about?”
Written by Clinton Durueke


Published by Great Opara

 

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THE WILD LOUNGE – DELIRIUM

THE WILD LOUNGE – DELIRIUM

   Hi there, I’m Ignis. And yes, I’m still very much alive, thank you. I’ve been home for an eternity now and a lot has been happening: From one strike to another, and then insurgency, ant-terrorism (something about some serpent dancing), and most of all,….a “struggle for another Biafra“. You see that last one? That’s what I want to talk about today.

  Now, I’ve been seeing posts by “celebs” and other relevant parties, some (definitely unemployed or unencumbered) youth talking about dialogue and how the whole Biafra issue is gonna affect us negatively, and I’m over here like “Una dey mad??” Who’s scared of a war?? Let’s fight this war! I’m in support! Is it not backwardness we’re used to in this country?? Is it not what we appreciate?? And low key, do we, each and all, not just want a “nation” comprising only our tribe? Which is obviously the solution to the problem that “the White man created”? We were doing just fine in our own tribes and villages and there was no Nigeria. There was no need for a Nigeria. But then, some idiot with the moustache came and did amalgamation and united everybody as one against our will. Nonsense! We don’t want! Why be Nnamdi Azikiwe, when you can be Nnamdi Kanu?? Why don’t we let the ramblings of one man -who until recently, had been abroad and observing the leadership (or lack thereof) of this country, and by creating some wiseass radio station, is now agitating for what ought to have been done since,- move us forward and in the right direction?? Why are we so resistant to change?? The only way forward is to all go our separate ways! Let the Igbos go with their Yaba and Marina markets, their Iheanacho, their PSquare, their Tekno, and their Ofe Nsala, ain’t nobody need that sh*t! Let the Hausas go with their Obioma, their expertise in shoe shining and money changing, let them go with their plenty money, their fine babes, and their tomatoes, we do not want! We’re done! Let’s have Biafra, Northern Nigeria, and Southwestern Nigeria with Lagos as the capital, (the rest of you cannot have your own country, you’re in the minority), and let’s see how well that works. That’d be great, yeah? So, if you have an Igbo landlord in Lagos and you’re still trying to save up for rent, stop! Use that money to buy an AK-47 and when the landlord comes asking for his bar, you step up to him like bang dada dang, and open fire on the “fool” like “Skrrrrraaa! Pop pop ka ka ka! Skibbi did pop pop!” and “Brrrr boom poom poom!” Nonsense! Whatever happens next is your responsibility though, my own is to incite madness and ignorance..

  Seriously though, I like the way this is all going,…cause at this rate, we’ll all be free of each other and we’ll be a much better…..confederation or whatever? We’ll sha be on our own, it’s easier to be led by someone that’s your kinsman, so that you don’t come here and start lying against Buhari and Jonathan, see Brazil? No problem. See India? No problem. See Britain? No problem. See Jamaica? No problem. Let’s be like those ones, and leave all these other dumbass Africans in their stagnancy. Even Trump realises that too many peoples in one entity issa problem. For example, if the slaves had returned to their land after “civilisation“, we wouldn’t have the Kardashians

  So, guys, that’s basically it for today, but before I go, who else has noticed that everyone seems to be using this Whatsapp status feature as a cheaper alternative to Snapchat??
Written by Mayowa Akinyemi


Disclaimer: The views herein expressed are strictly that of the writer. The Lss Blog assumes no responsibility for whatever interpretation may be made of its content.

 

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CHRONICLES OF THE ILLEGALLY LEGAL S2E8

CHRONICLES OF THE ILLEGALLY LEGAL S2E8

The life expectancy of the average Nigerian is 53.05 years. Now, I’ll be a year older on Sunday and two things came to my mind upon finding out the above information: (1) lol we are fucked in this country and (2) who exactly is the average Nigerian?

Since I am certain that number one is something we are all aware of, my focus therefore is on number two. Average. Again, who exactly is the average Nigerian and how can I ensure that my life is absolutely nothing like his so that I don’t end up dying when I’m 53.05 years old? 

These are the thoughts that consume me as I go about my business today. Our beloved country Nigeria is wavering on the brink of turmoil…not just our country sef but the entire world, with hurricanes in the west, political instability in the east, wars and conflict in the north and a different problem just about every where else, some people have confidently sworn that the earth has reached its end. And they just might be right. However, just in case they are wrong and the world doesn’t end in 2017 or 2018 or any other time soon, I think it’s a pretty wise idea to continue planning for the future, while keeping in mind that the life expectancy is still 53.05 years for the average Nigerian.

Today is day number 33 of the ongoing ASUU strike. Today is also a Friday, the start of the glorious weekend, but the thing is, in my opinion, weekends are only fantastic when you actually need to rest (or turn tf up) cos of the rigours of the week. Where however, due to thorough inactivity, there’s no bloody difference between the week and the weekend, what exactly are you celebrating please? My strike experience has been pretty mixed thus far. When the strike was initially declared, I was one of many naive, hopeful idiots who felt that it would end as quickly as it began and the Federal government would settle the aggrieved lecturers and all would be back to normal. Lmao! As if we don’t know our dear country. This hope did keep me in school for the next couple of weeks though, and lemme tell you something, Unilag can be very alright when you have the money, you don’t stay in the hostel and you have the right connect. But like all other good things, it must end and the money did end thus forcing me to return home. And here begins my problem. Home.

You see the place I call home is very different from whatever cave you reside in. I live in Satellite Town, and the most famous and important thing about Satellite Town is that it’s beside Festac Town and if that’s not the definition of average then I don’t know what is. The only thing to do in this place is to leave. Like, that’s it. That’s literally all we do for fun here: leave Satellite Town. While in school, you’ll hear all these deliciously exciting stories about all the many many many children of Unilag that live either here or around, but when you’re actually living here yourself, when you wake up and go to bed every damn day in this place, you start to realize that someone, somewhere lied. Maybe it’s just me yunno? Maybe there’s something I’m not doing right, maybe I haven’t joined the Satellite Town WhatsApp group or something, so many maybes. However, one thing that’s not a maybe, is that I ache to leave this place.

My estate is a very quiet place, most of the youth raised here use school as a means of escape and only return during the holidays. Me, if I had my way, I’d never come back even during the holidays…sha maybe just to see one or two of those very fine females who’ve gone abroad or to private universities and come back with all the latest errm tricks and surprises, but that’s a story for another day. Today, I have decided to make the best of things and live life to the fullest. These are the thoughts that occupy my mind as I prepare to go grocery shopping at the local supermarket. I’m doing shi that I would usually never even think about for a ‘trip’ within my environs…combing my hair and beard, putting on cologne, wearing a watch and sunglasses etc. I step in front of the mirror to peruse my appearance and I am thoroughly satisfied. There’s no way my life expectancy is 53.05 years as I am like this, no way. It’s impossible. Never! As I step out of the gate, I make a promise to myself that all this fine boy shall not be in vain.

Fast forward two hours later and it appears that Satellite Town has defeated me once again. A very important question that might pop up in your mind is “who goes grocery shopping for two hours within his own neighborhood?”. This is not a question I’m prepared to answer at the moment, so let’s just move on. I’m hot (not in the good way), depressed, annoyed, irritated and the only thing on my mind now is just getting home and using air conditioner to kill myself. I drag my feet to the checkout point and dump my goods on the counter for the cashier to assess my financial liability. She makes an attempt at humor but is completely cowered by the look of utter savagery on my face. That’s good. At least if I can scare her into miscalculating then today shall not be an utter waste.

The beautiful thing about life is, when you’re down and almost completely out, the universe (or in my case, your Igbo ancestors) sends something or someone to pick you back up. I dip my hand into my back pocket to get out my ATM card and pay for my purchases and in the process, I get this familiar tingling sensation in my spine and I smile to myself. My radar has never deceived me and it will not start now. I sniff the air and confirm…there’s a babe in the building. I eventually spot her and in the next twenty minutes or less, I walk up to this miracle of a human being and discover just about everything there is to know about her. Lol well not everything, not yet😁

My miracle and I walk out of the supermarket side by side, gisting, laughing and utterly oblivious to everything and everyone.  I accompany her to a black car apparently driven by her mum, she gets in, says something to mother miracle, her mum turns around, sizes me up and then waves at me like someone who just met her future son-in-law. I wave back like my life depends on it, I wave as if the car is on fire and my hands can put it out, I wave like….well you get the point. The car reverses and they drive away and I’m standing there, smiling and waving like I just won Mr Nigeria 2017. 

As I make the walk back to my house, I am in incredibly high spirits. The sun is brightly shining, the birds are singing the abokis are aboking and I feel like dancing. Nothing can bring me down right now, not even the bastard okada man that almost runs me over as I cross the road.

I get back to my house and I remember the life expectancy article I read in the morning as well as my birthday on Sunday and I laugh to myself. 

Average kor, 53.05 is not my portion in Jesus name.

Great Opara

 

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