TOLUWANI JOHNSON!!!

You know it's deep when a girl reminds you of your Mum, and a girl you want to marry. Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you a short story real quick.

"..I wanna tell the whole world about a friend of mine

This little light of mine and I'm finna let it shine.."

I was at this training, and the trainers felt it was time for the trainees to show they understood all they had taught. So, they decided we were going to act, and yes you guessed right, yours truly was suddenly a thespian!

I didn't want to do this thing at all, but it was kind of compulsory, so I was like what the hell?! All these movies I have being watching, there has to be something. I went out there with a smile, and when it was my turn to dramatise, Denzel was in the building. Totally!

There I was, feeling like the Oscar was a sure thing, and then Meryl Streep takes the stage. Long story short, you all know how these things go, I wasn't the one who gave the "thank you" speech.

"..See you're, unbreakable, unmistakable

Highly capable.."

I had hate in my heart man, it was so unfair - I didn't want to do this thing, but I did and put in my best, and then some girl won? I ignored everyone for the rest of the day.

Moving on.

A week or so later, and it was now time for the practical aspect of this same training. I was attached to this guy and, brother was showing me the ropes, I was soaking it like a sponge, and we were just jiving men, doing our thing. Then, it happened. 

Meryl Streep appears and sits. Right next to us. Next to me.

You know when you and your boys are trying to watch a game, and then some lady shows up, and says she wants to watch Tinsel or KUWTK? You know that look she receives (and deserves)? Yeah, I gave her one of those and wore my worst scowl.

She was there to rub her victory in, afflict me, and I wasn't going to let that happen. I mean, of all teams to join, she chose mine, the one with the person she beat to the Oscar? Why? She obviously wanted to dance, and I was ready with my azonto/Harlem shake. 

The guy I was attaching with, then asks Meryl Streep what her name is, you know, her real name. She replies, Toluwani. He says, Tolu (you know, for short). Then she says, "No, it's Toluwani - Tolu is common but, no one else bears Toluwani".

Dear readers, please bear in mind that my kid brother's name is Tolu. And you all know nothing is more important than family, right? Good.

All these while, I don't get involved and I'm looking straight ahead like my life depended on it. Then, Toluwani places her elbow on the desk, balances her face on her palm, leans forward to look at the monitor screen and I growled. Grrrrr.

Watch out for Part 2, the battle line has been drawn! Hehe..

Ladies and gentlemen, now I'm sure you all are wondering, why the pain? The hate? As in, my tale literally begs the question, yes? Well, here's your answer. 

Toluwani is easily the prettiest girl in my work place, and I exaggerate not. Believe me. This was the kind of beauty that was in the eye of every beholder. And the girl be pulling this thing off effortlessly, I mean, she wears almost no make up! I was smitten, and switched to "kid mode". You all know how as kids, when a boy likes a girl, he shows it to her by being aggressive towards her.

Also, Queen Amina, Joan of Arc - do you know what they had in common? What made them win all those wars and battles? Well, I do. Before I tell you, let me say that history is a strange thing and reveals itself only to those it chooses, I was chosen. And like everyone else it chooses, I'm going to twist it a little to fit my purpose. Amina, Joan, Toluwani and all those women who won all those wars were great beauties. Simple! It's the way they won those wars, hehe.

Toluwani won the war between us, she won me over. (Part 2 spoiler).

Today is her birthday, and I celebrate her, I mean she's in my top five chicks! I celebrate her because...

"..Can't you see, you're like a book of poetry

Maya Angelou, Nicky Giovanni, turn one page and there's.."

She's very nice - Toluwani recently came into some loot, next thing I know, she is compiling a list of account numbers and spreading the wealth around, like a politician. Now, if it were yours truly, after my tithe and family, I'm going to embark on some serious projects. Everyone else can work for their money. Not this lady, everyone that mattered got a piece of the pie. She possesses a large heart, she defines nice.

She's very sweet - One day like that, we were just talking and all, and she called me sweetie. Heeeeeyyyy, my head scatter. She might not have seen it, but my blush could have stopped traffic. Another time, she was talking with a friend and she called me her baby. Hehe, let me not tell you the reaction this time. Now, this isn't what makes her sweet o! What makes her sweet is, she calls everyone sweetie and baby - try to imagine how that makes all of us feel? She's a true sweetheart, if you an older lady, she'll call you mummy! An endearment for everyone (although, as I think about it now, I've never heard her call anyone Daddy, hehe..*side eye*)

She's very pretty - Ok, ok, ok. By now, the pictures should have done all the convincing. But then, you all know people be talking about a lady who might not be "all that", and then someone goes, "she's got inner beauty though", either in a compensating way or because this lady really is. Well, Toluwani is a double dish. Confam. Clean on the inside, clean on the out. She flutters her eyelids, and blow me away!

She's never, ever gotten mad - Really guys, I have never seen this girl lose it. Maybe, its because she has not shown her true colour, or no one, to her, is worth getting mad over, I don't know. I just like to think its just who she is, a girl who never gets mad, who always understands. There are very few people God created this way, and she's one of the two I've met in my entire, short life (Shout Out to Sogaolu Ayodeji, he's the second person).

She's a Christian - This madam has being trying to drag me to her church like forever, she's got only gospel tracks on her phone (I downloaded some Lil Wayne on her phone and she screamed, " Little Wayne on my phone, I never see!), all that niceness and never getting mad has to be spiritual - no normal person can be that way, she prays for me, she would never sleep in a dude's house - husband only...really, this girl is a child of the Most High. I call her Iyawo Jesu (Jesus Wife). 

Toluwani, if you are reading this, you make me want to be a better person, the best man there can ever be, and for that, I am grateful. Your friend zone is one where I want to be in forever, seeing as I can't afford all those weddings you always looking at on Bella Naija, also because I love you (agape o!) and can't wait to see the strong, beautiful, dignified woman, wife and mother you going to become. Being your friend is a privilege, seeing your toothy smile an honour. Listening to your cool stories is a delight, and teasing you endlessly is a pleasure. If I continued to write, I won't stop, but stay rest assured that you have all of my best. Finally, in the words of Drake, "may your neighbours respect you, trouble neglect you& Angels protect you" Amen.

HAPPY VALENTINE, PEOPLE..

LOVE IS…

Your brother giving you his last card, his last box, for that emergency you always having - suddenly, over and over again, knowing that you never going to pay him back…

Your boy, driving you, despite his strong reservations, 140km/hr, in his car, on his fuel, navigating Lagos-Ibadan expressway and its ditches, to see a girl you totally in love with but, doesn’t love you back…

Your mum, taking an overnight trip, getting on that luxurious bus as soon as she received that call, that cerebral malaria was taking its toll, stealing her son, fighting for you with tears and prayers…

Your kid sister, agreeing to make Indomie at 11pm, so she can watch the latest episode of One Tree Hill on your laptop, you both knew it wasn’t a fair trade, still she did, chuckling all the time…

Your pops going on all those walks with you, Monday mornings, Saturday afternoons, to all those bookshops and roadside vendors, molding you into the person you are…

Love is.....

Forgetting your timidity and fear because someone needs to you be bold for them

Putting your emotions aside because someone else needs your shoulder to cry on

Doing more for someone else that you would do for yourself

Going to KFC at 12am because your wife needs her hot fries and crispy chicken

Dedicating your whole day to drive your friend around because she doesn’t have a car and you don’t want her to take the bus.

Picking a phone call at 3am in the morning, because it may just be someone who needs your help

I think I’m done here

But basically love is giving but never expecting or taking anything back

WHAT THE AVERAGE NIGERIAN DOESN'T KNOW ABOUT LORD LUGARD

      

Ask the average Nigerian who Lord Lugard is, and (s)he is probably going to reply like this - Lord Lugard was the firstgovernor of Nigeria and he amalgamated the North and South! Elsewhere, the Historian Nigerian would reply in this way, or some variant of this – Lord Fredrick Lugard was the first Governor-General of Nigeria, after amalgamating the Northern and Southern Protectorate in 1914. Also, his wife; Flora Shaw or Lady Lugard, gave Nigeria its name. That’s what most of our knowledge as Nigerians, of Lugard, is limited to.

During the last independence celebration, of course it was a public holiday, I was catching up on my reading, doing it the exact way I love – reading everything I could lay my hands on at that moment. The internet was awash with various diatribes about Nigeria. A few articles of encouragement here and there, critical analyses too, of the present state of Nigeria, with reference to the past. There were basically all sorts of pieces out there, still are. There were also quite a few that mentioned our past heroes, and some past leaders, Lugard made the cut.

Permit me to digress a bit, Lugard for many of us has ceased to be the admirable figure we learnt about in primary school social studies/high school government, especially with the advent of the internet and the attendant flow of information. “...he lacks the power of organization, and is conspicuously deficient in the management and control alike of men or business...” What you just read is a line from what Lugard thought of Africans, please go on Google for the full quote made in 1926, and others. I, personally, am indifferent but a little showing in a positive lighton the internet for Lugard is needed. Hence, it was a good thing to come across this article Behold, Lugard's foot-bridge.

The article makes for a good and educative read as it enlightens us about a pedestrian bridge tucked away in a corner of the popular Gamji Gate in Kaduna; a tourist site and relaxation park. The piece basically sums up one more good thing Lord Lugard gave us as a nation, other than literally uniting us. The piece showcases a landmark that has joined the ranks of various monuments such as Lugard House (official residence of the governor of Kogi State, Nigeria), Lugard Hall (Kaduna State House of Assembly) etc. Please comment and share, and also remember to mention the bridge when next you are asked who Lord Lugard was. Thank you.

  

SM4CC SERIES: 2012 NIGERIAN FLOOD

                      

Sometime last week, I was on my way from the Island heading to the Mainland, and due to the ongoing repairs of the Third Mainland Bridge, had to pass through an alternative route. The site that greeted me was scary to say the least. True, it had rained all day the day before, and hence, the water level of the Lagoon was unusually high. Still, the thought that if I could get down from the moving vehicle and lean over the edge of the Bridge with my hand stretched, I may have touched the water sent cold chills through my body – although I had the thought the whole time, I couldn't even take a picture.

Nigerians are regarded as happy people, perhaps, this is as a result of their unrivalled religiousness. I mean, when you think some supreme being is going to take care of all your troubles and worries, you focus on other issues such as being joyful and happy. Also, this religiousness has left us inactive, almost to a point of paralysis – something bad happens and instead of taking action, we only sympathize and silently pray away calamity from our doorsteps. Give it some time, and then the jokes/funny stories begin to make the rounds.

That’s the way we are, that’s how Nigerians roll. Hence, we have gone from the situation in the picture on the left to somewhere in the picture on the right (or even worse). Just last night, I was reading online of four farmers in Kogi State who committed suicide – the floods had washed away their crops; crops for which they had secured loans to buy seedlings from which they grew, hence, their debt had doubled, and our situation as a nation as gone critical, as we’ve lost all these food (rice self-sufficiency for next year is history) and now, we losing the farmers too. As if, rural urban migration isn’t doing enough.

The figures and stories are dire, littered all over the internet, our newspapers and televisions. The death toll is anywhere between 130 and 148, considering whose source you believe. Those displaced range between 60,000 to 120,000. I cannot begin to quantify rice, maize and other food crops that have follow water, literally, let’s just say a lot of people are going to be hungry next year. Also, it’ll be vain if we began to speak about houses, cars, furniture etc. that were lost. I mean, who needs all these so far you’ve got life? Neither do we expect to host the hippos (really?) and crocodiles I hear are now visitors.

So, the flood (worst in 50 years) has burst in our faces, what are we doing to mop it up.  Thankfully, the government and its agencies/bodies have begun to take serious action, a summary of which was in the President’s national broadcast of Tuesday, October 9. We’ll discuss this in detail in another post but let me just say this, I’d rather the government (us too) start taking preventive drugs than this curative ones.State governments have being working hard - Emmanuel Uduaghan of Delta State, Rabi’u Kwankwaso of Kano State and Adams Oshiomhole of Edo State are some ofthem. We, I expect more. 

Also, it gladdens my heart to see the help flowing in from other Nigerians towards those affected, maybe, my diagnosis of paralysis might be false after all. Aliko Dangote, TY Danjuma Foundation, Ashaka Cement, Mouka Foam, the Nigerian Red Cross, groups on Facebook, individuals on Twitter and all those who have offered help and are still doing in their own little ways and secret corners. We, I thank you. This is a call to others, nothing is too small, let’s help our brothers and sisters – go online and donate, send those old clothes, make that call to a friend or relative living in an affected area, do something!

THE SEX LIFE OF A LAGOS MAD WOMAN

This place is not my house, but I live here.

It is not the type of place you want to call your home. Sometimes, I wonder how I have managed to call it mine since my uncle died, that should be five years ago, or six or seven.

It is a very smelly place, that’s what people who pass make you believe, because they are always covering their noses.

 But me and the grown men who smoke Indian hemp every morning, every afternoon and every night in that corner, always wonder why they cover their noses.

This place is very cold, because there are no doors, no windows, nothing. But there is a roof. That’s where the cars pass; plenty during the day and very few at night. The other ones who don’t pass my roof usually pass my frontage and I love watching them, especially those ones that are as big as houses and you can’t see the people inside because the glass is always black like charcoal.

I see a lot of things every day. A lot of things. I will tell you some and then one that happened today. The one that made me swear that I was not mad and I can never be because I couldn’t have done what the woman did.

It is sad that only one man here knows that I’m not really mad. That shameless one with his beards and hair dread locked like my pubic hair. Rosco. He hisses and shakes his head at me during the day like all the others in his gang. But I and he know that I am not mad. Because at night, very late in the night, when others have gone, he will call me into his danfo bus, and I will do to him what that stupid igbo he smokes cannot do to him.

I do not let him know I look forward to it. How can I? Then he will stop squeezing that N100 note into my left hand every time he gets up after he has pounded me to his heart’s content. He must think he has just raped a helpless mad woman as he zips his pants. Fool. He does not have any idea how my legs shake uncontrollable and how my bowels tremble and how the hair on my body stand still when he is inside me. Only that he is always too quick. I don’t know why, but I can’t complain. I have to wait till the next day or the next.

I’ll continue to let him believe he is raping me but deep inside me I know I will die if he does not call me like that for three days. I don’t ever want to return to those days of touching myself. How can I even think about it? Evil thoughts go back to your sender, please.

Back to what I was saying…the things I see here every day.

In the morning, I wake up with noise. Loud noise.

“Ojuelegba – stadium – barracks!” repeated four times in a roll so quickly; if you don’t live here you will think it is a call to war. I wonder where that is; a place whose name sounds like sport and war. Other times it is, “Itire – Lawanson” that I can hear louder.

Where do I even know? I’ve not left my house for many happy-new-years now. This is where I shout it every time it is time to shout it.

Then Rosco will wake up and start the engine of his bus. He will switch it off again and then go across the road and come back with water in a bucket. My eyes always go with him because I don’t want any careless early morning driver to knock him down. When he gets back to the danfo, he will go close to one of the tyres and bring out that his big thing to urinate. That is when I always wish he would call me, but never, the fool will never even speak to me, he will just shake his head like the others when they look at me. I have to wait till it’s very dark.

Then he will remove his clothes and leave his shorts on, pouring water on himself with either a bowl or his hands.  When it is time to chafe just below his waist, he will keep his hands in there for too long. This is why I know Rosco is a fool. Can’t he just remove the shorts and wash properly? Who else is watching?

When he finally leaves with his noisy danfo, I’ll turn my attention to the road. If I feel hungry, I will get up, re-arrange my house and make sure no one stole anything while I was asleep and then walk across the road to buy what I’ll eat.

Oh how I miss the woman who sells that early morning akara. She doesn’t come again these days because of Fashola’s people. So now I go to the aboki who prepares tea and indomie noodles and egg. Only Rosco’s thing is sweeter than that Indomie and egg in this life, you have to believe me. But the fool will not use his plate to serve me like other people, so I have to always remember to bring my own plate. He says I’m mad, yet, he knows how to collect my money and give me change. He doesn’t toy with my change any more since the day he saw me bite someone with these my teeth for calling me “Reveren sistaa”.

I hate that name. I hear those are the people who never do the thing me and Rosco do. They must really think I am one. Fools.

It may be better to ask me what I have not seen here than to ask me to start telling you the things that I see every day. I have seen rich men carry prostitutes away at night; I have seen a corpse dropped from one of those charcoal cars one night long time ago. I have also witnessed many fights between different gangs like Rosco’s group where they use machetes on themselves and left blood everywhere. I have also seen many okada people die like chicken from too much speed, especially at that junction over there. Only last week, a speeding trailer climbed one okada rider’s head spilling its content to the ground. I couldn’t eat for days after that. Let us not talk about it, please.

Yes, I promised to tell you about the incident that made me know that I am not mad, right? Actually that day I was just sitting on my own and I noticed a woman selling Coke, Pepsi and LaCasera that all these people buy and drink and then shine their teeth gleefully after only a gulp.

Suddenly she brought down the big container of drinks from her head by herself as if to sell to someone. Then she began to go round the container. Then she began to dance. Then I stood up. I wanted to understand what was happening. Then she started singing, and clapping like the people in those churches where they wear only white.

Then she untied her wrapper and used it to cover her wares. That’s when other people began to notice what I had been watching since. Then she removed her buba, revealing rounded breasts that made me jealous, only protected by a very fine bra with some shine-shine on it.

“O ti n ya were o!” a bus conductor yelled as his bus passed and people stretched their necks to catch a glimpse, saying the woman was experiencing the beginning of madness.

Then the men who were walking began to stop and look. I’m sure they were waiting for her to remove the bra. I took my eyes away.

I can’t worry about her too much, because I myself I have a problem growing in my stomach, I feel like vomiting, and I am very dizzy and I am very worried. 

I am very worried because I know what it is, this problem. Just like those films I used to watch in my uncle’s house. They would do the thing without rubber and next thing, the stupid girl is running outside and vomiting, and then the mumu man says it is not he who caused it. Fools! As if I was the one who did. And it is the same story in every film oh, yet, they never learn. After, they would say I’m mad.

I left the woman of the rounded breasts, with a dozen eyes glued to them, and went home – I thought I’d have plenty of time with her when she became my new housemate. But you know all these mad people and their waka waka, I’m still waiting for her. Like I was saying, I left because I had to sit down and think. Think very well because I cannot let something like what happened to the first thing happen to this one. God forbid. 

The first thing is why they are calling me a mad woman. My uncle gave it to me. By force. He used to do me any chance he got -maybe that is why I like Rosco doing it to me, I don’t know.  Then my aunty took it away. By force too. She made me drink two tablets like that and I slept off. When I woke up, I didn’t have a large tummy again, I cried and cried ehn. This thing that didn’t allow my uncle touch me again. This thing that allowed me breathe for two minutes without my aunty asking me to do unnecessary chores. This thing that I used to speak with every time, telling it all my plans and secrets. They took it away.

I still talk with it to this moment. People point and say I’m talking to myself. Fools, they don’t know I’m holding an intelligent and proper conversation. In fact, it was it who assured me nothing would happen if I put otapiapia in their meal that night and just walk away - you see, Uncle had started again and Aunty beat me thoroughly when I told her. I did.

After thinking and talking to it, I have decided to give my daughter, yes it’s a girl because this one dances and sings, unlike it who used to jump and kick, to the “Reveren Sistaa” that I see preaching at the junction. Next Sunday, I would go and wait for their white bus. She would be a “Sistaa” too and pray very well for me, then maybe God will manage to forgive me. She will also never do the thing Rosco and I do, very sweet but too much wahala - see me naw. I cannot even take care of her, talk less of feeding her. I would breastfeed her all the food she needs for life if I had the rounded breasts of that mad woman, where is she sef?

 So, I am not mad oh, I am not! Fools.

N.B

The story y'all just read was a competition organized by this phenomenal author, ‘Seun Salami (please Google him). The first part of the story; in bold format, was written by him, and the latter part; in normal font, by my humble self. i didn't get anywhere in the competition (see the grief, apparently i don't have up to eighty friends to vote online for me, to help in achieving my dreams, so sad, anyways..) the competition was to find a writer who completes the story best. Don’t you think i should have won? Please, join me by the "washing" machine; it’s necessary to do your laundry yourself a times, hehe... hope you enjoyed the story tho'? It was all for your reading pleasure. Peace and love.