Sunday, November 20, 2011

Yay!! it's

Yea! We made it in a year and one month here; we are now on Starting from the writings of one soul finding somewhere to scream his thoughts out to posting contributions of young creative minds; building a community of creative minds.
The nanty greens crew is very grateful for the support of you all.
Keep sending in your creative piece to be posted on the blog. The dream can only get bigger and better!!!
For more info log on to

Feyisayo Adeyemi

Wednesday, November 9, 2011


by Cynthia Jusi

Stuck on this bed

Heart suffering hundred degree burns

It feels ugly but I know it’s just for a time

From burnt endings; new beginnings arise.

Living in my past

Is driving me crazy

Starting from a blank page

Could be terribly upsetting

But I’ll pack the pieces

And burn them up

Start from the ashes

All those pains and heart aches

From my past often appearing

Like ghost flits

Almost pulling me under

So I am gathering together

The pictures, letters, cards and dried roses

Throwing them into this furnace

I will start again

From the ashes!


by Priscilla A. Adesheyoju

This road I take
Should it lead me back or forth?
I fear
Cos the journey of life
Comes with no directions
The decisions of our heart
Sometimes move us to delight or despair
Rough, bumpy, tough it may be
But the rose is fairest when it’s budding new
Hope is brightest when dawns from fear
A new day will come
And this will be gone

Now I see a light
Yes a light comes forth
When all hope is lost
Faith or fate, fury or fear; we choose
Then we’ve reached the crux of our lives


by Sylvia Ojima Agamah 

(Today, the nanty greens team celebrate with Sylvia Agamah on her birthday. This poem is written by her as she reflects on life.)

This I know

Not so long ago

Met I a butterfly

Beautifully perched on my window glass

Brought to eye a tear I dry

Every waking moment

Was time spent with my friend

The butterfly of morning light

Colours of great interest

So fragile; so magnificent

Enchanted butterfly!

What stories you tell

On your rainbow wings -

A crawly caterpillar

To a stagnant pupa

Now an aerodynamic spell

Your flutters; gust of life

You are me -

A reflection of change

Sylvia Ojima Agamah is a brand management expert based in Abuja.


by Teehem

My heart, it beats
to a song
You and I understand
We can't hear it yet
but one day we will
Till then we dance
sometimes alone
sometimes together

When you say your heart breaks
the beat doesn't stop
the music does

Let's continue this dance
if not together,
My heart beats for me..
For you and others..
It's mine,..yours
and theirs
You know..don't you?

When I say my heart breaks
nothing stops except my beat
you're lost in the rhythm of the song
you dance me out

When We both are gone
the beat will beat
to the same song
..a different tune.

Thursday, November 3, 2011


by Cynthia Jusi

I have been down, down to the floor

Since you walked out the door

I wish you were here to make me smile

But it's too late;you've gone more than a mile

You broke my heart with no qualms

Though I would have welcomed you with open arms


Now that's all but a lie

'Cos you were such a BUM!

Bet you didn't know that...

I know I had tendencies of feeling insecure

That was when I was still yours

I knew the things you did in your car

All those secrets that made you feel like a star

You thought you were strong and I, weak

You had me in too deep

Well, I have moved on

And it's bad news for you 

Yeah it is ur friend

You wouldn't have guessed.... 

Wednesday, November 2, 2011


by feyisayo adeyemi

Can we sing the lullabies

as we sail down River Memory;

tickle the armpit of Venus,

play like baby's first day out

ride the arch of rainbow

splashing its colors.

Can we be joined in the

symmetrical circle of hope

that love might endure our



by Yomi Edward

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I cried as I ran. Then, I stopped. Looked back. The boys were still there. Howling words I could not hear, but I knew it was all about the fun – their fun. Mother would kill me, a voice whispered to my ears. I started running again. I ran. I fell. I ran. And ran. And ran. Then, I looked at my hands, the banana tray was gone. How could I ever stepped into the house without my tray? Without my mother’s money for my sales? I stopped. I could hear my heart beats like the sound of the pestle pounding against the mortar. 

I knew I was in soup. Yet, I could not go back. Back to the uncompleted building. Back to where my pride…precious pride was stolen. Who would rescue me from Iya Risi’s dirty slaps and kicks? I thought of Sadiat. Her house was not far away from my house. I ran to her. She was grinding pepper in her kitchen. I could not see her face clearly because of the smoke oozing from the fire in the kitchen, but I knew she smiled. Yes, she smiled. Sadiat always smiled. She thought I had come to collect red coal for my mother.

“You can get it now…it’s red already”. She gestured to me. I did not move. She continued her grinding. She turned and called out to me again. I did not move. I did not answer. Sadiat, my friend, my good good friend, came up to me. I tried to force back the tears, but it was late. “W-h-a-ttttttttt?” Sadiat let out a cry. Just like our English teacher used to shout when we mispronounced in our comprehension passage.

“Risi, have you told Iya Risi about it?” she inquired.

“She will kill me…”

“Good. Since you’ve told nobody but me, then nobody needs to know”. Sadiat made me to know that it did not started with me, and that it would not end with me. She also made me realize that as girls – with pointed breast and lucrative behind, we could not run away from our boys. She reminded me her own experience too. It was Mr Ologbosere, our Further Mathematics teacher. For weeks, she cried, cried, cried, and cried. Nobody wanted to know if she was innocent or not; why did she go to his house in the first place? But, how could she had refused to carry out her teacher’s order which was to come over to his house and fetch water?

“Go home, Risi. Clean up. Get your slaps and abuses from Iya Risi. It doesn’t kill. I wish our mothers will one day listen to us”. Sadiat kissed me on my cheeks. Wiped my tears with her wrapper. And smiled.

This happened when I was fourteen. But the memory remained fresh in my sight. I hated my body – every single part. I had tried all these years to forget it but each time I tried, I failed. Each time my husband climbed on me, it was not his movement I felt, but the hemp smoking boys in the uncompleted building along Odo Oja.

Akin had suggested I see a psychiatrist. But, this was beyond a man – a man did not experience what I experienced that hot afternoon. He was not there in the uncompleted building. He did not feel the sharp pains I felt that day. How could he convince me he felt exactly how I felt?

I would not see any doctor – psychiatrist or therapist. I would not let it go – even if it kills me.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Lights, Camera, AFRICA!!! REVISITED

The Life House, Reel Life is re-screening another one of the most demanded films featured at the Lights, Camera, AFRICA!!! 2011 Film Festival.

This Thursday 27 October at 7.30pm we’ll be showing a very important and riveting film, CUBA: AN AFRICAN ODYSSEY. Following the screening there will be a discussion and light refreshment.

Directed by Egyptian filmmaker Jihan El-Tahri (118 min. 2008), Cuba, An African Odyssey is an absolute must see for all!

Exploring Cuba-African relations, this film describes the role of Cuba, under the leadership of Fidel Castro, in giving critical support to Africa’s liberation movements. Cuban influence was instrumental in advancing the decolonization process, which brought independence to much of the continent. Travelling through Congo, Angola, Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau, this film conveys a strong sense of what it was like to be a part of these incredible events by presenting the viewer with rarely seen archival footage and in-depth interviews with those who set the course of Africa’s recent history.!

For more information, contact The Life House Team:

Info 0703 403 0683

The Lumina Foundation: Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature

The Lumina Foundation began to receive entries for the 2012 edition of Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature in Africa on July 2011. The deadline for submission is November 20, 2011. All entries must be received at The Lumina secretariat before November 20, 2011.

For more information on the foundation and submission of entries visit the website

Monday, October 17, 2011


by Olaniyi Adekanye

Monki, my friend

You are special

Since I have been walking

My whole wide world walk

You display every lineament

Lineaments of incivility

Idiosyncrasies of the bush people

To fathom your attitude problem

I suffer mental constipation

My blood is hot

And running dry

I am malfunctioning

It is your folly

That puts me in this state

My smile gathers wrinkles

Wrinkles of bitterness

My laughter echoes anger

Anger from which I hunger

You know I don't have enough anger

To waste on minute issues

Horses are naturally meek

Men cause the horses' shriek

And bitterness

Monki, my friend

Far and wide

You have travelled

The intellectual world

You have explored your brain very well

It is now retrogressing

Maybe you have overworked it

Maybe you have too many extraneous pigments of knowledge

Only an aberration of cohabitation

Causing your slimy and stumbling tongue

May God deliver you

Grow up!

Do attitude architecture

I cannot say you should go back

To school to get

What you left behind

You might have succeeded academically

You have failed 'characteristically'.

Monki, my friend

Maybe I should remind you

That good character beautifies

Maybe you think I don't know now

That deceit lay behind your facade of good countenance

That a good woman is praiseworthy

Maybe you don't know that I know

That you are of wife age

That your contemporaries are fidel and fecund

In the chambers of the owners of the monies of their heads

But what man

What man will be patient?

What man will be so chummy?

What man will condone

Your sweltering attitude?

Your unwitting discharge?

Maybe you need to know

That if you continue like this

No man

I mean no man

Will be nostalgic

Of that home you keep

For him.

I wish I could keep my mouth sealed

but my abhorrence might strongly push me

I guess

to notoriety.

Olaniyi Adekanye, a graduate of English and literary studies from Adekunle Ajasin University, Akungba-Akoko, is a native of Akure in Ondo State, Nigeria. He lives and works in Ibadan as an editor in one of the leading book publishing Houses in Nigeria. Olaniyi can be contact through: or (+234) 08060266505.

THE LAST HEIR by Larry Sun


by Larry Sun

An excerpt from The Last Heir, the first volume of the HOUSEHOLD series.

June, 1985.

The night was not the warmest one. A few stars peeked down on the world and a quarter moon played hide and seek behind the scattering clouds. Cain Martins was hungry; he hadn’t eaten any food today, not like he always had much to eat before–– he was always hungry. Even before his starvations, Cain had always had a big appetite. Often he was ravenous; at times his hunger seemed almost insatiable. He’d just been released from the hospital and he was a man without a job. Cain Martins was a nobody––he had no one, no family; the mother he’d grown to know and not love had died eight years ago. He didn’t even know his own father. Cain Martins was virtually homeless.

His wristwatch, the only property he had, revealed it was a couple of minutes past nine. The heavy rain that had come and gone earlier had left the night’s temperature almost freezing. Cain dipped his hands in his trousers pocket, aware that there was no coin on him. That impossible feeling of sorcery where a couple of coins might miraculously fill his pockets occurred to him but it was a time and world where magic refused to operate. The hunger persisted.

He continued walking down the dark street; stopped for a short moment to urinate in a gutter nearby. The street was already becoming quiet; the street crowds were already vacating the bars and brothels to their various homes. Two men walked out of one of the buildings struggling with the zippers of their trousers; on the second floor of another building, a woman opened a window and shouted down, berating her husband about the projected hour of his return. Other night owls could be seen drinking from gin bottles. In the last house, a lone whore leaned out from a first floor window, saw Cain and opened her blouse, displaying a large sagging breast that looked like a funnel. She squeezed it several times and pointed the nipple at him. Cain turned away from the view; he knew she was not for him. The street was the end of a particular section of the cities of Lagos.

Cain Martins was a twenty-seven year old man of average height with bushy black hair, dressed casually in a white shirt and black trousers, with a pair of brown sandals on his legs–everything he’d stolen, except of course, his wristwatch which his mother had bought for him about a decade ago when he was in the high school, the watch itself had stopped about a century ago. He was quite ugly, his lean hard face and hooked nose with thin lips gave him the look of a hawk. His face in particular was distended and carried a scowl that would make his face to a child look like a boogeyman’s. When he was a kid, he’d contacted a skin disease that stripped off his hair. He’d been as bald as an egg ever since. He had no girlfriend––not even when he was in the high school. No girl wanted to date ugliest boy in the school. Coupled with his bad looks, Cain Martins was arrogant and cruel. During his final year in the school, he’d brutally abused a fourteen-year-old girl sexually. He’d walked straight to the young girl and asked her to kiss him. The girl had felt surprise and embarrassment that she saw the confrontation as a bad joke and walked out on him. Cain became infuriated by the girl’s action.

It was about a week later when the girl was returning home from school that Cain attacked her. He crept behind her and hit her with a stick on the back of the head, the girl collapsed face-down. He dragged her to the bush at the side of the quiet road and turned her on the back. He gave her some few blows on the side of her face to render her weak before he roughly entered her. The enormity of the deed and the psychological trauma compelled the poor girl to withdraw from the school. But Cain Martins was never convicted of the crime.

For his plan to be successful, a cold night and a quiet street was what Cain Martins wanted. He stood under the shadow of an electric pole waiting for someone he could attack and rob. In his left hand was a thick iron rod. Hunger birthing anger in his stomach; crime is the only thing on his mind...

Larry Sun, an aspiring writer, was born in Lagos, Nigeria. The Last Heir is the first volume of the HOUSEHOLD series; his soon to be published first novel. He lives in Lagos and can be contacted through this email:

Friday, October 14, 2011


by feyisayo adeyemi 

When belly goes Choir everyday
how does a man think free?
To chomp -
 begs on another’s mercy
How will he wheel his will?

the soul goes out
run son!
                 ran some,

the master driller
bores a hole
damn soul

he howls
hunger unto his neck
scampers at your call, beck
for the crumbles he’d peck

idealism runs low
in the gutter
flood washed it off its street
Reality opened
a book called Check

heart ripped ,hopes parched

freedom ferries -

a long walk


nameless street 

Monday, October 10, 2011


Felabration and Cultural Week at The Life House starts tomorrow Tuesday October 11th 2011 till Sunday October 16th 2011.

The Felabration week will feature a vast array of art and cultural elements and activities including a weeklong art exhibition, theatre performances, numerous live musical performances, poetry recitals, book readings, open-mic sessions, a fashion, food and lifestyle fair, film screenings and discussions and loads more.

Yinka Davies, BEZ, Ayetoro, Sense Lounge, J'odie, Chica Chukwu, Ade Bantu, Sha, Lala Akindoju, Inna Erizia, Biodun and Batik, Salvador Sango, Tope Sadiq, Wana Udobang, Wura Samba and loads more are scheduled to perform at The Life House.

SHAKARA: FELABRATION AT THE LIFE HOUSE 2011 takes place at The Life House, 33 Sinari Daranijo Street, Off Ligali Ayorinde Street, Victoria Island, Lagos from 11th – 16th October 2011.

For more information and participation call - 0703 403 0683

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Lore with Yomi Edward


How is life treating you over there?
I got this tale for you; let's share...


The story is told of an old man who was being chased around the village by little children for allegedly stealing a chicken and hiding it inside his goat-skin bag.

Fortunately, for the old man, another old man appeared on the scene to enquire why his friend was being harassed. The suspect narrated his ordeal and pleaded with his friend to take "an old man's eyes" and look into his bag to see if there was any chicken hidden inside the bag. His friend looked into the bag, saw the live chicken, but declared to the angry kids that there was no chicken in the bag...

That was comradeship of the old men...

Though, this story belong to the folklore, I just cannot separate it from Nigerian politics...

or what do you think?

Friday, October 7, 2011

Meet Extraordinaire ArtStar - Kehinde Wiley

In one of my merry-go-rounding around the internet, I came across Kehinde Wiley, one of the world's most sought-after urban artists.

Looking at his beautiful collections and achievements, I wonder why I haven't heard of him earlier.

Kehinde Wiley

Kehinde Wiley is a Nigerian-American visual artist based in New York. He is a master in the art of portraiture. PUMA partnered with him for the Spring Summer 2010 PUMA Africa lifestyle collection of apparel, footwear and accessories.
Etoo painting for PUMA Africa Campaign
Check out Kehinde Wiley's amazing paintings and those for PUMA Africa Campaign


Wednesday, October 5, 2011


by Yomi Edward
Those who made the world smile
would never die unsung
their hand-prints shall eternally gladden the sky...

Those who made the world smooth
would never depart
in silence
their legends shall
eternally rock
generations unborn...

Those who made the world beautiful
would never parade the street unscented
their deeds shall
eternally be lubricated by the little man's eulogies...

Those who made the world smile
would never die unsung
the songbirds shall hum their names
the wind shall provide the rhythm
the trees shall dance
along with us
when we unveil
their names

Those who made the world smile
would never die unsung
their handprints shall eternally gladden the sky...

Those who made the world smooth
would never depart
in silence
their legends shall
eternally rock
generations unborn...

Those who made the world beautiful
would never parade the street unscented
their deeds shall
eternally be lubricated by the little man's eulogies...

Those who made the world smile
would never die unsung
the songbirds shall hum their names
the wind shall provide the rhythm
the trees shall dance
along with us
when we unveil
their names
like rainbow
in the sky...

would be
like rainbow
in the sky...

would you dare be
a rose to this world?

Tuesday, October 4, 2011


by Olaniyi Adekanye

Even when the moving eyes
Effect their coyness of denial
The watching moon was my witness
The scorching sun also autographed
The sweeping rain left uncertain scars
The scattering wing garnered nothing
From the four-corners

"Don’t we have people up there?"
I asked the ageing father
The ageing breath chorused misery

"We are walking without legs, my child."
Was after a l-o-n-g l-o-n-g silence
My heart became busy...

"And we climb the ladder without the rungs."
And my being was still-life

"God wards off the tormenting flies
For the tail-less cow."
That tilted my passive aggression
That He steers the man
And not the people up there.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Letters from Aboki Students

Written by SS2 Student
Written by JSS3 Student
Earlier Attempts by the same JSS3 Student
I had been saving these letters for a while now. Some of the keeps from my NYSC sojourn in Zamfara. Education down there is something else! Hard to blame some of the students though; there was one that didn't go through primary school. He started Western education straight from JSS1. Who does that?

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Guernica / Noam Chomsky: My Reaction to Osama bin Laden’s Death

We might ask ourselves how we would be reacting if Iraqi commandos landed at George W. Bush’s compound, assassinated him, and dumped his body in the Atlantic.

I read this just around the time Osama's death filled the world with several emotions and thoughts. This painted my thoughts in more ways than I can imagine. Do read it.

Guernica / Noam Chomsky: My Reaction to Osama bin Laden’s Death

Friday, August 12, 2011

...Of dreams

In my head
butterflies sing of birth
reality snaps it
to a stillbirth.

9 months in belly,
few seconds to life
ousted its verve.

They infiltrate
dreams; to a sleep.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

'specs' in love

The theories of love are probably too difficult especially when it comes to relationship or I am just that dumb. People make it seems like a perfect eye that sees or knows no blemish. Some had it divided into parts; they will speak of love and specify ‘true love’. There is that type that isn’t true right? But in all these classes or types as you may want to call it, love seems like the glamorized end result of a selfish process. At least in my opinion though.
Have you noticed how there are certain criteria/factors/specifications to be met before the falling in love process actually begins? Our exposure, environment, social status, communal experiences, etc seems to be the hinges on which love swings. It is common to hear ladies speak of “Tall, Dark and Handsome”. I didn’t realize how real it was until I heard a lady describe my friend who was wooing her in that term to her friends. I could see how their eyes shine as they giggle in admiration. Height/complexion/socio-economic status/religion/tribe/personality/physical appearance, etc are qualities we consciously or subconsciously tick before the love comes in.
Discussing with a friend on the kind of girl we would want to date, it all suddenly feels like going to buy a computer or phone; checking the specifications to match our requirement. These specifications having been engraved in our minds, we hardly do the sorting consciously which makes it all very instinctual. My friendship with a class of people hardly get past just friendship, my subconscious does makes sure of that. I asked a girl what she considers before heading towards relationship zone. Her response was “is it dating for fun or marriage?” she explains that even under both levels, it’s about the benefits. “He should be responsible; even if he doesn’t have huge amount of money, he must be able to care for me” she said. When it comes down to serious relationship, even philanders, cheats who sometimes are carefree about taste/specification draw out the very complex list of criteria. We all have the specification factor.
Reading a lady’s tweet saying “I don’t want a broke man” and the responses that follow, I honestly wonder (taking into consideration whatever type you believe exist) if love isn’t truly “a glamorized end result of selfish process”.
P.S: I appreciate those I asked questions from, thanks. Kindly post your specification/taste (whatever you term it) when your comment.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011


Truth be told; we always wait for things to get to a breaking point before we act in this country. The menace of the NYSC is not a new thing. Every time you come close to overlooking the scheme and its rubbish, another story comes to rile you. I had never liked NYSC and don’t bother ask me why.
After my experiencing of serving our fathers land, I had been following issues and excruciating experiences of Corp members. I had my own share of such experience. Some things are better not experienced even as they say experience is the best teacher; some will break you, mould you into another person: a stranger, evil person seeking revenge/nauseated at the sight of a group of people, etc. Some psychological issues...
Reading the story of five Corpers kidnapped in Rivers state, the deafen silence of the federal government, the non-disclosure of the Corpers identity by the NYSC, I wonder if our government would rather compensate families than protect the lives of the youths (citizens) or is this a ploy to eliminate youths? Youths are said to be the leaders of tomorrow, is it the dead that would lead?
Campaigns to Free the Corpers had been organised; asking all Batch B 2011 Corp members to boycott the passing out parade on the 16th of June, 2011. Since NYSC and the Federal government had decided to go deaf and dumb on this issue, maybe this will get their attention. At every point we have to act for ourselves. There are so many questions that plague the mind here.
We are a people who live on the principle “All man for himself”. Each citizen had in one way or the other learnt to be the government; providing the necessities supposed to be the government’s function. Expecting electricity for just 20 minutes in a week is seen as an insane wish in some parts of the country. Basic social amenities like water, electricity even road have become a duty fatalistically carried out by individuals with a simple shrug of “God dey”!
Parents for many of us had been the government we have known all our life. They slave to provide things the government had denied us. And certainly after service year, they would be the government to turn to for job. Mulling over this, will youths all over the country agree to boycott the passing out parade? The only reason most youths endure the service year is for the certificate. Would anyone trade that to get the attention of a government that had never been there for them? Won’t that everyman for himself attitude come to play here? A case of ‘eni ori yo’dile’.
The Rivers state government had been said to claim they won’t be paying any ransom. I wonder if they were inspired by some American film; they had better wake to reality. There was money to pay when foreigners were kidnapped, are they waiting to compensate? Come to think of it, why would Corp members be kidnapped? Are the kidnappers trying to get the attention of the government believing that Corpers are ‘Government Child’ or on the view of many communities that Corp members are viruses eating their allocation?
To answer the questions plaguing the mind, a simple shrug of “God dey” seems to fit perfectly. But no! God didn’t kidnap them, some people did. It is our responsibility to take action; poke, push, question, petition, compel the various arms of government, NYSC and any other group or individual(s) involved. #FreetheCorpers

Friday, May 20, 2011

Still on 21st rapture

The offer in my last post is still on,at least for those in the geographical zone that won't see 21st until almost 24 hours to come. Thanks for your cooperation.
Now due to time zone,the Aussie would be the first to rapture because they would certainly get to 21st May,2011 before some other continents. Check your time people,dont forget to wish them happy rapturing! They getting the first ticket had me mulling.
Aussies are so lucky you know? They get to pick the best rooms,I imagine them choosing the ocean view parts,gardens,wildlifes(oh wild animals cant be wild in paradise,can they?);Aussies are nature lovers. Taste the food first,first shower,hang-out with the angels, etc. Won't they get to choose the virgins first?Depending on your belief though.
Well I hope there would be internet facility over there,maybe someone would update us what's happening. A status update on facebook,twitter,etc saying via would be much appreciated. Better, if a blogger raptured and blogs about the experience so that 'doubting Thomases' in the time zones yet to make 21st May,2011 would see proof.
I hope an Aussie will do us all that favour. It's time to wish all those in Australia a smooth rapturing. Thanks as we await your post via

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

21st rapture....My take

To whom it concerns
It has certainly come to my notice that many of you have been preparing for the coming of the son of God which I learned in the bible, no one knows, even the son himself is not privy to such information. Now some people have been able to decode the day. Just a silent fart; ‘wiki’ will ‘leak’. Nothing surprises one anymore these days; advancement in technology had given man the edge, I dare say, gods didn’t have. Prophet meets Technology; resulting into a wider spread of prophecies, visions, illusions, dreams, faith and the likes. With it each dawning of the day, more tinge to it as it spreads.
It is no wondering that prophecy of the end of the world, according to some ‘individuals’ will be on the 21st May, 2011, had spread all over the world. People are religiously noting countdown to the day, becoming more careful, prayerful, and keeping holy to make rapture; canceling engagements that fall after the 20th of the month, after all they hopefully won’t be on earth by then. Some are leaning on ‘WHAT IF IT IS TRUE?’ Wouldn’t hurt to be penitent for now; working towards rapture and if it doesn’t happen, life continues. Life continues, in the old ways I guess... are you playing logic with God?
Anyway that is not my concern here. I am to inform you that there are some of us, who are so willing to remain on earth after 21st of May, 2011. Umm, I smell you grief for us! Don’t worry, we will carry on just fine and as such wouldn’t mind if you bestow your earthly possessions onto us. We all know earthly possessions wouldn’t rapture with you; giving it out to us before 21st would do you good. You might want to include charity in your act of penitence; surely your kindness shall be rewarded in heaven.
Though we could as well take them when you are gone, we are offering you the chance to turn it around to favour your heaven making. It is a perfect logic, you know? We are just that nice. So as you prepare, make this sacrifice to top your admission into heaven. To donate your possession, contact me through all means available. If you are confused, ask Google. Wish your smooth rapture in advance.
God bless!
P.S- 21st is almost here. Take your chances while the offer last!

Sunday, April 17, 2011

...a hole in mind

Belly crys,head aches
a jobless tomorrow,no pay...
grateful am alive;how do I survive?

This ideas
this ideals
 ...will light a fire
will spark the glow,tomorrow.

Hope, faith
to time

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

...aint I 'Goodluck'?

Dear GEJ,
Apparently, you have been very busy lately; all these campaigns, night out with Dbanj, intriguing adverts,etc,many more I yet know. Days past, there had been down pours of political rains and I'm yet to find the 'umblerra' to hide under... That interesting advert of yours, 'I AM GOODLUCK' caught my eye, so I gave it a thought.
I'd remembered my tattered school bags,patched uniforms,etc and this was decades after your experience. It surely gave a feeling of being you.
But Sir, how can i be Goodluck who wouldn't attend the youths debate as they ask #whataboutus? If i were you,this blackout of about a week now wouldn't be my portion #lightupnaija. I certainly enjoy the 'Dame House of Umblerra'...such a wife! The wonderful tale of how events fit in like puzzle tiles (impeachment here;death there) soothes many. Makes sense to want to be Goodluck;be part of the national cake sharing. If males are Goodluck, females should be Dame..that isnt 'lame' right? #justsaying.
Come to think of it,why write a letter to myself; aint I Goodluck?

Thursday, March 24, 2011


Say she doesn't understand my poetry
the rhyme scheme it seems
bled out of the pen
so I made out with spoken words
sweet and fresh out like juice
from cocoa pods
thoughts I tickle; she giggles
a smile, her inner core wiggles
knows every hint; googles.
The truth I dare!
I seek the emotion
to express you!

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Jangles of hustle

Jam packed
tumultous echoes of dreams
in their different colours
down the streets
in heat...
to eat

Plate chain child

I feel the pain
and see you
with nothing to sustain
but this plate chain
handed down...
I see you roam the streets
belly empty,head hollow
but a song
rolling off the tongue
endlessly rung
in its incoherence.
You gallivant the dusty roads
roaming in windy abandon
the ring of your laughter overwhelm the streets
proud of the plate chain
You,a street king.
I see you;
a wretched contentment
and wonder...

...not mine

I am the one
who you seek in your soul
but can't find
I am the one
who knocks on the
invisible door of your heart.
You desire,require;inquire about.
I am the one
who sums up your daily travails
warms up your bed
sucks ur pain
I am the one
who you blame;shame
who you cry on his shoulder...
I am the one
who you call;
I'm all yours...
not mine.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Open Letter To The First Lady by Sultana

Open Letter To The First Lady
March 14, 2011 @ 8:21 am ›
Auntie Patience,
Good mornin’, ma. I know say
you no sabi me. My name na
Osemhen, and I get one business
wey I wan make we discuss. D
tin consan the campaign wey
you dey helep our Presido, Uncle
Jo and all im ‘umblerra’ friends
Auntie, you try. Even though you
no too sabi English, you dey
make effort. You dey try relate
wit your pipul, try console dem.
But dem be ingrate! You know
say for dis we kontri, pipul plenty
wey get bad mouth. Na so dem
go sidon, dey laff wetin you talk
wen you give speech. Instead
make dem understand the
message wey you get for mind,
dem go dey find mistake for the
English. Dem laff wen you talk say
Uncle Jo and Bros. Namadi “is
good people.” Even say the
English no beta, shey dem no
sabi say you been wan say Uncle
Jo and Bros. Namadi na beta
person? Which one kan hard for
dere? Abi, na the one wen you
talk say “the people sitting
before you here were once a
children ” ? Shey dat one no mean
say everybodi, one time or
another, be pikin? Why dem kan
dey laff you?
Auntie, no mind dem. Na bad
bele dey worry dem. Dem say you
no sabi spik English. Na English
be your papa language? Queen
of England sabi spik Ijaw?
Michelle Obama sabi Ijaw? Abegi!
No answer dem! Me, I be correct
person. I sabi say you dey try.
You wan helep Uncle Jo win
presido. I wan helep you helep
am. I get three options for you
One, I go helep you write your
speech in perfect English. Dat ’s
right. Me, I go school so I sabi
this English well well. I go write
the speech give you. You go read
am, practice am for mirror, carry
am for head.
Two, If the English pass your
power, I go write am for pidgin.
Everybodi for dis we kontri, sabi
pidgin. Dem go understand
wetin you talk. In fact, d tin be
say, if you spik English too much,
all dose market women dem and
workman no go sabi. So, pidgin
all the way. Wen Uncle Jo enter
power, we go make Pidgin
(South-South style) official
language for dis kontri.
Three, If that one pass your
power too, I go carry my friend
wey be Ijaw. We go sidon
translate am from English reach
Ijaw. Then when you dey give
speech, the English one go dey
scroll for big screen wey go dey
your back. Or you fit do like dose
Pastors dem, you talk one for
Ijaw, person go stand with you
talk am for English. The tin no
make sense?
Make I know whether you like
this idea. My money no go too
cost. We go discuss dat one wen
we see. Thank you, Auntie. Greet
Uncle Jo.
Your Pikin, Osemhen
p.s. Please share this with as
many people, you never know
who might have a direct link to
her I just might get the job! I
promise I’ll share the salary!
Culled from

Saturday, March 5, 2011


I followed a friend to the park as he’s going back to the north for his national service year. As they queued to buy bus ticket I can’t but wonder how our lives are full of queues.

A man’s attempt to get a wife is paused by several toll gates. He asks her out and waits for days to get a response. He tries to beat queue with several surprises. Trying so much to surpass other suitors and when he finally gets her to himself, he believes the queue is over.

After marriage, he fires shots! Many don’t make it to the post; still he keeps up the good job till the target is met. So now the wife is pregnant, the real queuing had just started at the clinics. She queues from one birth process to the other, starting from the gate post. Yes the gate post! The driver of the car before hers had decided to have a chit chat with the gateman. Since tipping is going to be involved; the world could wait, who cares? Parking space is the next queue spot. Queuing just had to be very important.

She gives birth to this bouncing baby who is welcomed by queues. So many people want to see; some wants to hold, some just peep at Baby. They take turns, they pile gifts; they watch him grow with the mother. They back him on queues. So he grows in years and pre-school had to be his first real encounter of ‘lining up’.

As he grows in age and moves from class to class, the lining up becomes very boring. Running errands informs him of the menace of queue. His rounds at the filling stations give him first hand lessons in queue jumping. He finishes secondary school; sat for many jambs waiting for the one admission, queuing up for his turn. It turns spiritual!

He eventually gets admitted and the long queue will not vanish. First year registration process can be killing, many gets sick. He breaks through all the varsity troubles, shedding off the departmental waits. Filling NYSC mobilization form took a full day; orientation camp registration couldn’t do less. From camp to clearance, CDS, etc the queues remain.

When he is finally free from the shackles of NYSC, labour market queue has no ending like the bottomless pit. He toils from one interview to another; queuing up. He wants to despair but how dare he? After all, he is not the only one living this life; even his parents had their fair share of the queuing life. He braces up; knowing there are many more queues ahead of him.

This circle of queuing is our life. Put a man in a small position and he will bring in queue. Don’t we just love it? And I perceive a queue in hell; don’t be surprised if it gets to heaven.

losing me

Pitch black covers the lid

I’m sitting in peaceful disturbance

away with cloth; away with thoughts

away with thrive

sweaty wandering soul draped in its shadow

looking faraway from tomorrow

away with fate; away with faces

gallivanting the dark planets; no sorrow

for the food-less night; no pain

trod on thrones, stones, bones

each step, euphoric state of celestial ecstasy

away with will; away with me

away with earth

lost on a dark cloudy night.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Nigeria, what is it?

Nigeria had called for us to obey; a call to vote. Voting is supposed to allow us elect the person of our choice so voters’ registration had been the password. Since voters’ registration is the key to voting, the exercise had to be paid special attention. With the changing of the INEC chairman, involvement of Corpers and use of electronic devices for registration; a change for good is been expected. But as the exercise began, it looks as if it was set up to fail just like every other thing in this country.
Can’t we just make anything work in this country? Seems we are allergic to doing the right things to get good result. Or is the problem with the name Nigeria? Ordinary electronic registration had become herculean task. The ordeals at the registration centres are just ridiculous. The DDC machine just love to feature on pages of paper; starting with when it was stolen and now, every newspaper must have something to say about it.
INEC and NYSC had set Corpers up for ridicule. They dispatch them about without providing adequately for activities they are to carry out. All that Jega cares about is they doing the registration. I wonder who Jega expect to provide table and chair for the Corpers or are they to sit on the floor? No security whatsoever! “What has the country done for these youths to earn their loyalty” someone asked in an interview.
Many would have thought it is the Corpers that are totally defective before hearing it happens in every other place. I seriously pity the Corpers as they battle the terrible machines and the temper of the citizens. Corpers had been caught up by a system set up to destroy them. This is more so because this is not the first time people are encountering electronic registration and it was hitch-free even without necessarily educated personnel involved.
Didn’t MTN, GLO, AIRTEL and t`he likes did SIM registration without a complaint from any quarters? They didn’t have to use CORPERS or some high level of educated personnel. Similar but better equipments were used to achieve this. Why do Nigeria have to make this registration seems like an experiment in Quantum Physics? Can’t INEC learn from the SIM registration exercise and give contract to competent people?
When I got to the centre, the first thing that disgusted me was how scattered about the equipments were. Watching them set up, my mind drifted to the compacted equipment set used for SIM registration. The so called laptop used for INEC registration switches off every 3 minutes and this is not due to battery problem. I wonder who was given this contract. I wouldn’t have known Haier produces laptop; thanks to INEC. Now they go about saying people should wash their hands to help the thumb scanner perform; what a joke! I sense people would have started some superstitions already.
If the SIM registration which covers far more population could be done seemingly effortlessly, I see no reason why this INEC registration couldn’t be done with minimal headaches. To get 50% registered within two weeks would be a miracle at this rate. If this is what we get after the extension of time, I wonder what would have happened if there hadn’t been an extension.
It’s surely headline season for DDC machine and the registration entirely. The drama series: DDC MACHINE FAULTS JEGA. JEGA BLAMES IT ON ILLITERATE CORPERS. CORPERS TURN TO MANICURING. TESTIMONY OF A CORPER TURN MANICURIST. Isn’t enough time for planning given already? Or was it been under funded? I doubt! Nigeria, what is it?

Saturday, January 8, 2011

you bomber

Dear bomber,
Let’s both pretend you are fighting for a justifiable course. Let’s say I didn’t call you dear because I’m afraid of you. Let’s agree our leaders are corrupt bastards and allegiance to the country isn’t worth it anymore. Would we say the masses lives be a pawn on the chess board?
Accuracy and sensibility will be advised! Letting money lose through your activity in places like the CBN at night would delight masses as they pack their share of raining money in the rubbles. If you can’t solve our problems just let us be. The last time I checked none of the corrupt bastards had been a casualty of the bombings. Who then is your primary target?
I dare not suggest to you but you might want to consider the anguish caused by the explosions. You had just become one of those you have been condemning; CALLOUS! Now I’ll hush before I court trouble.
Thanks, don’t bother reply please!!!!

..aint poetry

If I’m saying
two same different things
it aint figurative, not near literature.
It’s me feeling stupidly uncanny:
the mind ‘poli-tricks’ it’s intelligence;
making you see sense in me,
like my sixth sense is keen.
This aint poetry, it is me
feeling crazy wild mind craze.
Spitting out the words
before they erase.
My mind be so clouded
it hazes to a daze.
This aint some whistle blown by wiki
this is me feeling slickly.