“Felix X is dead” was the bold newspaper headline that was never made. It never saw the light of day, but remained on the whispering lips of all and sundry.
On that fateful morning, the neighbourhood of a very old patriarch was roused from slumber to hear the news going round of the death of the youngest and most promising man in their neighbourhood. There and beyond, stories of the death of worthless men, accompanied with stretched portraits of their fat-stuffed faces, graced the front pages of the National Dailies. Contrived smiles concealed the atrocious underbelly of corporate and disguised crimes lived through their years on earth. They died and a simulation of public service on public news sheets is their consolation.
“Felix X is dead” but no one cared to mention it. The stars shone at night; and the Sun rose at dawn. Continue reading
Long before now, I have been carrying the inclination that I am going to write this piece but now I have the conviction of time to do it expressly. This is not an indictment on any religion or a section of the country. In fact, it is a pointer to all of us— globally—that everything is about to go down, if nothing is done in the quickest time possible.
I used to patronize one Brother Adamu. He was introduced into the compound by my landlord. He does some chores for us in the compound but for me I only allow him clean my jalopy. Many times I had to settle him even beyond what a typical industrial car wash would charge and sometimes I defray the bill of his primary principal when I see him lurking around for too long, calling out when he’s done cleaning Alhaji’s cars in order to be settled. This guy deserves that daily pittance however you view it, especially when he works to earn it; I thought each time I saw him hanging there. Adamu is an industrious young man. He had sold me his shoe shining business though I never patronized him but I appreciate the adroit with which he carries the small case beating it to call the Continue reading
A case to prove man, especially the Nigerian (as far as I’m concerned at the moment having factored in the reality of my human fallibility), has inadvertently, deliberately or serendipitously summoned cultures to be and almost true to the inaugural force of God during CREATION, according to the Holy Bible, these cultures, degrading, shameful, retrogressive and almost inhumanely unique, as they are, have come to be.
Man is an animal. An animal with a brain like every other animal? Maybe not! Maybe with a top-up to think? No! To speak? No! To build? No! To praise God? No! Then, what? Whatever it is, it’s a top-up to be able to organize ourselves, better than those ‘lower animals’, into tribes, religions, peoples, professions, neighbourhood and associates. Continue reading
Dr. Bukola Saraki…going…going…g…o….
“Listen to Nigerian leaders and you will frequently hear the phrase, “this great country of ours.” Nigeria is not a great country. It is one of the most disorderly nations in the world. It is one of the most corrupt, insensitive, inefficient places under the sun. It is one of the most expensive countries and one of those that give least value for money. It is dirty, callous, noisy, ostentatious, dishonest, and vulgar. In short, it is among
Originally posted on lAkUnLeScReWs:
The place of women is in the kitchen.
The world is confused. While the men have become weaklings, many content with waking up to bottles of drinks; the women have realized that there’s a power beyond them, or that has been hidden from them for so long, and they are doing all they can to reach for it. Everytime and everywhere, you hear about women emancipation, gender equity and in fact ‘women first’. However, when a snake appears, the men must go first.
When the robbers bang at the door, the men must take the lead. And foolishly, many men would always say ‘YES’ to whatever the women say, however confused they may perpetually be even at their own detriment.
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(Originally published on Lawino’s Magazine)
Rasaki knew something had gone wrong as he ejaculated but what exactly, he could not place. Was it the grandfather clock that chimed eight times at one o’clock, or the thunder that cracked the midnight air as the first spurts eased out? Was it the strange bird that began chirping on the silence of the night? He stared at his wilted member. He had jerked out too late. This withdrawal thing Osas suggested was not for him. It was like eating underdone rice.
“What…?” his wife said. “I’m safe…”
Her sweat-drenched breasts heaved in protest as he pulled away from her delirious grip. He did not respond. He faced the cracking wall of their one-room home, his face wrapped in a puzzle. It was not just about the niggling apprehension of pregnancy or the interrupted orgasm, he just did not like how he came. READ MORE