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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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DÈNOUEMENT

DÈNOUEMENT

She is staring at the woman in front of her. Her face is a rainbow of mottled blue and purple.

She is spotting a black swollen eye that feels painful to look out.

Amaka rotates her neck and the woman does the same.

She touches her face as the woman in the mirror does the same.

The woman staring back with a blackish purple eye the vivid hue of those native pears, ube, is her.
✨◾   ◾    ◾   ◾    ◾  

Last night Dayo had flown into one of his customary rages and punched her in the face.

The argument was a harmless one or had at least started off as one until he snapped and proceeded to pummel her like a pugilist in a KO match.

Then after his fit had ended,he had come back to beg and enclose her in his arms.

She had wept in his arms while he had stroked her hair and promised for the umpteenth time he wouldn’t do it, he was sorry, he wouldn’t hurt her again.

He had gently tended to the bruises he had inflicted himself and drawn a hot bubble bath for her.

This morning he had continued in the role of perfect husband and brought her breakfast in bed, with a side of painkillers. He had stroked her sore face tenderly and promised never to lay a finger on her again. 

She had lain in bed long after he left, fingering the lank strands of her braids, remembering that this wasn’t the first time he had made this promise.

◾   ◾  ◾   ◾    ◾    ◾ 

Now he is off to work while she hides inside, like a vampire afraid of the sun. 

She doesn’t want the prying pitiful looks the neighbours will give her and the stammering excuses she will have to give them.

She stands up and winces as she attempts to stretch her sore joints.

She has to use the toilet and hobbles painfully to the Italian tiled room with its antique shower head and clawed foot bathtub.

 Her husband has always liked luxurious living.

She washes her hands when she is done and stares at her reflection in the mirror for a moment.

She touches her bruised face and winces.

Suddenly she is fed up of this…this craziness.

Amaka looks back at the woman in the mirror, touches her swollen eye and split lip and makes a decision.

She opens her wardrobe and searches for the burgundy handbag she took to church last Sunday.

Last Sunday was thanksgiving and Dayo had insisted on their attending the service ,even though his fists had met her face the night before after a drinking bout with his friends.

She had woken up early to prepare and don the mask of makeup required to hide her bruises.

She had tried her best but some bruises stubbornly refused to be hidden. Subsequently, she had worn a big hat and kept her face down during the service.

The woman in the navy blue suit, the one with the puffed up shoulders, the kind she and her sisters had often sniggered at, calling them “choir mistress suits“, kept on staring at her during the service. She had stared until Amaka began to feel uncomfortable and pulled her hat down lower.

After the service, when Amaka had rushed to relieve her bladder, the woman had waited for her outside the restroom.

Amaka had started walking away when the woman tapped her. She turned and the woman had smiled kindly at her before stuffing a pamphlet and complimentary card into her hand.

Before Amaka could ask her anything, she turned away and melted into the crowd milling around the front doors of the church.

Amaka didn’t read the pamphlet that day or even the next.

She had forgotten about it until Wednesday when she stumbled upon it when she opened the bag to pay for her groceries at the supermarket.

She had read the pamphlet in the car before driving home. It was for a NGO advocating against domestic violence. The woman in the navy suit was it’s director apparently. The NGO’s website was listed and when she got home,she had immediately looked it up.

She had read stories of women like her who had suffered violence in their relationships silently and had finally spoken up and left such abusive relationships. The NGO had aided these women by way of counselling, rehabilitation and providing legal services for those who required it. The director’s number was listed on the complimentary card and Amaka had stared at it for a long time, toying with the idea of dialling the number before dropping the card back in her bag.

Today, there was no debate as to calling the NGO.

This camel’s back has already been broken by the final straw.

She reaches into the bag and takes the card out. 

With suddenly shaky fingers, she dials the number.

The call is picked and a warm female voice says softly :” Hello”

With her breath catching in her throat, she begins to speak.
Written by Miracle Eme

Published by Great Opara

 

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MY FAVOURITE IG PAGES

I get that as law students we barely have enough time to read, talkless of social media. But breathe, live a little and check these out. 


1. Humans of New York

@humansofny

My favourite thing about Humans Of New York has to be the unpredictable, random nature of the stories and photographs. I love that its clearly unorchestrated. The stories are amazing. From the series to the everyday stories, if you don’t learn a thing or two, then you’re absolutely unteachable.


2. Grandpa Chan

@drawings_for_my_grandchildren

I stumbled upon this one. His bio says, ’75 yr o grandpa living in Brazil but don’t let that fool you’. This is one of the most brilliant timelines I’ve ever seen. I don’t like K-movies or any form of Korean anything much, maybe just K food. But, I love this. Absolutely love. I want to be him when I’m seventy five.

3. Huda Kattan 

@hudabeauty

I can’t draw my eyebrows properly. I always have issues wearing matte lipstick. Yet, I love Huda Kattan and her Instagram account. The relatable nature is number one, for me. Huda has the best memes! The best comments! The best tips! The best videos! Simply the best everything! With millions of followers, a family, a huge business, Huda even likes comments! I’m proof of that. I don’t even like make-up but I love Huda. If that doesn’t convince you, I don’t know what will.

Written By Titilope Adedokun

 
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Posted by on August 25, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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9 MOST IRRITATING THINGS DONE BY MOST NIGERIANS

1) SKIPPING THE TOP AND BOTTOM OF THE SLICED LOAF OF BREAD: okay lemme explain why this irritates me personally, if it was the whole loaf bread (agege bread) in our home my brothers would eat it all and atimes they resort to even begging for my share (which I don’t occasionally give) but if you buy sliced bread they would skip the first and last slice pretending as if it has been reserved for the invisible spirit at home. On the plus side the rats at home are always happy to see the two ignored slice of bread.

2) YOUR MUM’S FRIEND INSIST YOU CALL THEM MUMMY: some even go as far as adding big mummy to the title. It irks me .I know my mum, her name is the only one on  my birth  certificate, the lady in question might not even  have attended  your naming ceremony, you aren’t even my mum’s relative, so why would you tell me to address you as big mummy when you are not even a distant relative. I don’t understand the big deal in simply addressing you as Mrs. Lagbaja (do so at your risk shaa slaps are still in existence)

3) ASO-EBI: all I know is my mum has bought enough aso ebi to feed a little country. The most irritating part is that she considers them an investment (without any legal binding contract) so when it’s our turn also they would buy, no offense so some of these fabrics are so ugly and uncomfortable, I remember a particular one that itched her skin so much she didn’t make it past the door before stripping the spongy lace off.

4) TRIBALISM: it exists fully. My Ibo friends are mostly discussed about as lacking respect. I the Yoruba one isn’t also denied the usual conversation line of “that’s how Yoruba people behave”. The Hausa man is now tagged as a terrorist or dirty aboki, the Ibos don’t pay house rents and debts, the Yoruba are gossips and cheats. The fact that our parent contribute to this notion is not also helpful, then most people come to unilag with one big wrong cultural misconception against the poor Yoruba or Igbo roommate.

5)ATTITUDE TOWARDS DATING: your parent raise you in such a way that you even know the idea of having a relationship that is public knowledge to them before you are 21 is a suicide mission but when you are almost 22 they start singing wedding to you as if you have been allowed to date since 16. Please wait mummy and daddy what is the website for instant husband and wife or will it be delivered by cargo or can I get one sent through flash share?

6) THE WAY THEY EXAGERRATE YOUR GROWTH: apparently the last time some of them saw you the only things that mattered to you were Mr. GoodyGoody, Caparison and Speedy biscuit, of course I would have grown, it is nature it’s not magic stop acting as if it happened overnight or start observing me like a specimen and finally please do not ask me if I still remember you to avoid gross disappointment.

7) POOR DESCRIPTION: they call, you respond, they send you on an errand that even Google search would find hard to deliver, this situation there are two things involved scenario one: you go and return to be sent back to get another thing that was forgotten in the first errand. While scenario two you go and return empty handed then they go and they find it somewhere that was excluded in the description of the first errand sent and guess what???? You get blamed for not finding the item in question!

8) PRICING: so your mum spends close to thirty minutes pricing something from 10 naira to two naira and when the buyer finally agrees, your mum then informs him that she has only 1 naira. You are doomed if you complain that you are tired and she should just pay up, the best thing to do here is just mutter a silent prayer that the bargain is fast.

9)ACCENTS: I don’t mind if you have adopted a foreign accent but I would mind if you haven’t decided if the accent you speak in is American ,British or Ghanaian. Furthermore, please make sure you speak in that accent all through the duration of our conversation if not you would just be providing me with hot gist later with my babes
Written by Dolapo Omotoso

 
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Posted by on August 25, 2017 in Barely Legal

 

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