All posts by GBAMLOG

Certified blogger with a nose for criticism

JUSTICE IS SERVED By Providence Wright

A BRIEF ANALYTIC REVIEW OF KUNLE AFOLAYAN’S CITATION

Sexual harassment has been a subject of discussion for many. Although in many scenarios has it been overlooked. In recent times, individuals, groups, the media, and the government, etc., have sought to tackle this negative phenomenal. It is in a bid to tackle this problem, essay will seek to expatiate on this subject, using the just-released movie by Kunle Afolayan entitled CITATION as its case study. The subject matter, theme, setting, quotations, and personal opinions will be used to give highlights and produce clarity.

Citation was released initially on the 31st October, 2020. The major character, Moremi, is a post-graduate student of the Obafemi Awolowo University, Osun state. She is in a very sensitive state as she faces the senate in a battle against her course supervisor, Professor Lucien N’dyare whom she accuses of attempted rape.

In the happenstance of a threat of sexual harassment, Kunle Afolayan, at the beginning of the play preaches that students shouldn’t take matters into their own hands as it may cause irreplaceable damage. Rather, such cases should be reported to the authorities of the school. It can, however, be argued that students usually do not take this path due to the high level of corruption knowing that the lecturer has more influence than the student. One of the big questions viewers must have asked in the course of the movie is ‘Will justice be eventually served?’

The movie is set in Africa: Nigeria, Senegal, and Cape Verde to be precise. Verisimilitude is a prominent device used as we see the use of many languages to communicate; Yoruba, Ibibio, and French. This succors viewers to relate to the typical African society that speaks diverse languages.

Furthermore, the use of flashback is an excellent tool that is used in the action. This device aids comprehension, helping viewers to fit in loopholes. As both sides recount their sides of the story, the actual place, manner, and speech of events are revealed to viewers. Viewers can also easily depict how much of a liar the Professor is.

The theme of love has an adverse effect on the story. We see her boyfriend, Koyejo, advising her to stay away from the Professor as this closeness may give ‘green light’ to him.  While she considered this jealousy and thoughtlessness on his own path, it might have saved her the stress she went through. But then, the story will probably have lost its taste and meaning. Furthermore, it is the little knowledge of taekwondo taught by Koyejo that saved her from getting raped.

More so, another worthy theme of note is friendship. Moremi had a snake in her grass all the while without knowing it. Gloria, due to her selfish interest of wanting to be with the Professor, testified against her. However, Kwesi was one who didn’t compromise his standards but stood till the end as a true friend should.

It can also be argued that Moremi wasn’t careful enough to see into the intentions of the Professor. From the questions regarding her sex life in his office, making an effort to kiss her in Cape Verde and seeking every slight opportunity to be with her was more than sufficient for her to know.

At the end of the hearing, we see the senate serving justice, like a hot plate of Senegal Jollof to the Senegalese Professor, Lucien N’dyare who was guilty as charged. The last straw was the testimonial against him by Vicente Cardosa, an office assistant who had been a victim of this same tragedy. He lost his daughter but wasn’t able to speak up as a result of poverty; a disease gradually and consistently feeding on the actions of Africans.

In retrospect, Moremi is used as a synecdoche to represent all women who have been victims of sex for grades. Her name reveals the innate power and desire to set the captives free just like her historical counterpart; The Great Moremi who helped her tribe win a battle against the Igbos. The name Moremi means Brave Goddess and it was duly depicted in the actions of the protagonist of this play. In her words “I hope my victory serves as a clarion call for change and I hope my victory gives a voice to silent girls or women in all walks of life facing sexual harassment just due to their gender”

To this end, Citation is a lesson to all; a lesson to the one with power and the one without. With this perfectly acted satire, lecturers who still indulge in this act should repent or will soon face the wrath of the law. Female students of this age are now more knowledgeable than ever before and are expected to act wisely. We say no to sex for grades, we say no to sexual harassment.

Providence Wright

Analysis of Chimamamda Adichie’s Zikora: Chiedozie Ude

Zikora, named after its eponymous protagonist, is a short story that explores the world of women who are repeatedly mistreated by the men in their lives. Just like other short stories, Zikora possesses a compact plot that revolves around one storyline. Using the lives of her protagonist, Mmiliaku and Mama, Chimamanda Adichie affirms that the male gender is incapable of doing things right. All the aforementioned characters are victims of grave injustice in their different relationships. To simply put it, these characters are portrayed as martyrs of male nonchalance. Apart from the injustice these women face, they are all linked together by blood, and by the unquestionable and unreserved love they show for their kids.

Chimamanda Adichie, once again, explores the theme of callous males in relationships. Starting the story at its complication stage — the protagonist’s protracted labour — she paints an image of abandonment. That is, her protagonist has been left by her lover to face the most trying period of a woman’s life alone. By graphically describing the ordeals faced by the protagonist, who is yet to be named, Adichie sheds light on the plight of women in labour. To her, the pain undergone in the process of birthing a new life is unreasonable and incomparable. To make matters worse, the father of her child is nowhere to be found.

Quite stereotypically, as evident in most of her works, she represents her male characters as unfeeling, childish and entitled. These traits are evident in the lives of men such as Kwame, the protagonist’s father, Emmanuel and the basketball player. To showcase the unfeeling nature of the male specie, Adichie describes the basketball player as one who is uninterested in commitments: similar to the way that Kwame is indifferent towards Zikora when she informs him of her pregnancy. Zikora’s father is no different because he jumps at the opportunity to take in a second wife in a bid to have a male child. Emmanuel is projected as a sadist who derives pleasure in mounting his wife even when she is dry, thereby subjecting her to pain instead of sexual pleasures. Also important to note is how these men are classified as unintelligent due to their lack of knowledge on the female biological system. A textual illustration is seen where Kwame, a well-educated lawyer is depicted as showing hesitation and surprise when he was told that an influential American suggested that women should be able to hold in their menstrual discharge. All these instances are used by the author to support the unfavorable way at which she views men.

Contrary to the presentation of the male characters is the way the female characters are depicted. They are highlighted as caring, trusting and longsuffering. Mama, most prominently, is used to highlight these qualities. She is a woman who loses her husband to a second wife, yet she accept this new reality by resigning to her fate. Despite the unfortunate events in her life, she remains a doting mother to her daughter, Zikora. Mmiliaku, Zikora’s cousin, also falls into this category. She is constantly abused by her rich husband who deems it proper for her to neither work nor be friends with ladies who are single. Her acquiescence in the face of domestic abuse strengthens the theme of female subjugation. Similarly, the main protagonist is used to reinforce these characteristics. Zikora exposes her caring side by the fierce love she shows to her baby. This is exemplified through her stance against the circumcision of her son because she is aware that cutting the foreskin of a child is a painful experience. Despite Kwame’s betrayal, Zikora is trusting enough to believe that he would still change. A great question raised by the plights of these women is the recurring question: Why do women have go through these degrading acts in relationships?

By contrasting the males with their female counterparts, Adichie is able to create a chasm between reality and her fictional world. In reality, we have the good and bad in both genders; but in this story, one cannot help but notice how the bad features of men pervades its entire literariness. Are we to believe that the nature of man is to be selfish and insensitive? Are we also to believe that all women are caring and loving? While we cannot deny the act of male nonchalance in the larger world, we can at least kick against the act of misrepresentating men; that is, it is becoming quite cliche for feminist writers’ to give their male characters animalistic traits. In summary, having flat male characters is a trend that Chimamanda should seek to break. Perhaps, the mantra, “NOT ALL MEN”, should be promoted with all vigour.

In terms of the mode of narration, this book will probably stand out. The way the delivery scene is described is vivid enough for it to be pictorially registered in the minds of the readers. Adichie’s use of simple expression in place of flowery and complex ones will undoubtedly make this book more accessible to readers from all walks of life. Narration, undoubtedly, constitutes a strong point of the writer’s credentials.

Another aspect of this story that is worth attention is her plot structure. Instead of starting the story at its expository stage — the stage where we are introduced to the characters — Adichie begins at the complication stage; that is, the time where the protagonist put to bed. This way, she is able to build up suspense by making the readers wonder what must have brought the protagonist to the stage of giving birth as a single mother. To fill this vacuum, the author makes good use of the flashback technique. Through this, we are able to know the things that transpired in the past. Quite surprisingly, the story ends on a cliffhanger — there is no resolution to the conflict. The absence of a reasonable resolution opens up this story to a lot of possibilities. Will the father of the child assume responsibility or will he continue to be callous? In my opinion, the cliffhanger simply points out the fact that this vicious cycle of male nonchalance is most likely going to continue.

The book, Zikora, raises issues that are significant to the emancipation of the female gender from the shackles of the patriarchal society. However, these issues are tackled in a one-sided manner because there is no male voice of reason to complement the female voices. We are not all Eugenes or Kwames, neither are we all Obinzes who would easily leave a marriage to chase after childhood fantasies. We cannot all be animals, can we?

© Chiedozie Ude

Why Students in Arts Perform Poorly in Exams — Chiedozie Ude

Check out those who get at least 5 A’s in SSCE. What do you realise? They are usually science students!!

It has become quite cliche to expect good performances from science students and poor ones from their arts counterparts. In fact, it is believed that no academically-sound student should waste his intellectual prowess in arts. With this shallow belief, it comes as no surprise that most schools in Nigeria churn out below average art students every year.

As a teacher in tutorials, this trend of having less-than-stellar pupils becomes quite worrisome. Many times, I do a lot of soul searching, trying to decipher the problem. Maybe I wasn’t just good enough.

However, with the improvement I see in the students after several sessions, I realised that I may not be the problem after all. This realisation set me on a new path: one where I sought to demystify the reasons behind the academic mediocrity in arts.

Do you want to know why we have average or below average performances in arts? Read on

  1. The belief that educationally-challenged students belong to arts.

Sodiq Adesokan Sp Vibes has this to say:

“It is suicidal in nature to ask secondary school students that are performing below expectation to go to Arts Department. I don’t know how some teachers came up with the idea that Arts Department is meant for students with learning disorders. Do they even know that a student who is mentally lazy can’t be in Arts Department? Should we tell them how many plays, novels and poems Arts Students are compelled to read for just a subject? Or we should let them know that without an analytical mind, there can be no thorough analyses of literary texts?
Please, stop sending students who can’t read and write to Arts Department; it is suicidal.”

  1. The nonchalant nature of school owners. Many of them think that art subjects can be taught by anyone, so they employ every Tom, Dick and Harry to teach art-related courses.

See what Olayemi Deejaysaintq Andrew has to say:

I had to just search and comment on this post. A friend who just finished her NYSC just got a job as a private school teacher. She studied biochemistry and was drafted to teach CRK and LITERATURE to ss3 students preparing for WAEC, NECO and UTME. Isn’t that too absurd?! When she complained that she had no prior knowledge in that field, she was told to read out whatever she finds in the recommended textbooks to the students. Please how long are we going to keep lowering the standard oe education and bastardizing the arts department. Can a graduate of history or English be drafted to teach physics or chemistry?

3. The non-challant attitude of the student: Surely, this is quite glaring in every discipline. However, it is predominant in arts. A teacher once said that he could easily identify art students whenever he visited a school. He pointed out that majority of those who skip classes, those who loiter around during lecture periods, and those who were always standing in the class turn out to be in the arts. Of course, his premise is totally subjective. Nevertheless, we cannot help but agree with him to an extent.

The arts department requires analytical skills. Stop discouraging bright students from going to arts. Likewise, we need to stop the practice of sending lazy and below par students to arts. Art is not a dumping ground.

Can the Marxist Ideology Save Nigeria? Chiedozie Ude

Karl Marx: “Religion is the opium of the masses.”

The poor have a lot in common, but they’ll never unite to fight against the oppression of the rich. The reason is that the poor allow differences in religion, colour and tribe to hinder them. This Marxist premise easily explains why the January 15, 1966 Coup was branded an Igbo coup. This coup was supposed to end the corruption practised by the ruling class.

Other tribes were able to sell the ideology of political and economic domination by the Igbos; consequently, instead of the coup to instigate the positive change that was intended, it became a catalyst for tribal vendetta.

Similarly, after the #ENDSARS protests, the politicians and their loyalists employed the same tricks — that is, the use of tribal and religious differences to bring about discord.
Funnily enough, those of us at the lower rung of the economic and political ladder will continually fall for this trick because tribal loyalty and religion are our opium. They numb our ability to think. They make us stooges in the hands of nefarious politicians.

For Nigeria to move forward, we have to debunk the ideology of political domination because this ideology is repressive. It hinders our ability to work together for the greater good of the nation. We have to realize that the average Igbo, Yoruba, Edo or Hausa man is not the enemy; the callous government and their draconian policies are the real enemies. Friedrich Engels described ideology as “false consciousness” — that is, it only exists because a certain class of people intend to cling to political and economic power. Thus, in a bid to achieve their selfish aims, the Nigerian ruling class stoke the fires of political domination.

We, the citizen, have a lot in common. Chief of these things has to be that we are all at the receiving end of governmental impunity. This alone should be able to unite us all in our common goal of making the politicians accountable.

Therefore, it becomes crucial for us to expunge tribalism as we seek to create a nation devoid of corruption, insecurity and poverty. We have to realise who the real enemies are and, by so doing, we can tackle any national issue heads on. God bless Nigeria.

© Chiedozie Ude

The Untold Realities of UNILAG Students

Wole Soyinka — ‘The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny’

Did you know that the management of UNILAG placed a ban on students’ protest?

Well, let me explain.
Every fresh undergraduate is expected to sign an indemnity form. The signing of this form automatically stops every student from protesting because the penalty for such is expulsion. By this, we are expected to remain silent even when our rights are being infringed upon.

This means that students cannot protest against the excesses of the security unit, Alpha Base. Most times, this unit brutalise students for no reason at all. I remember a time one of them seized my bag because i refused to pay bribes to enter JAJA Hostel. Of course, you need to pay bribes if you are a squatter. These individual connive with the hostel porters to extort students because they know that there is no student union to defend us. These individuals know that the students cannot protest because of the indemnity form we signed.

Also, the hostels are really under equipped. Many a student attends classes without having their bath because of the lack of running water. It becomes more pathetic when you see the deplorable state of the bathroom. While you may counter this by saying students are the architects of this “disgustingness”, it is also important for you to remember that bathrooms cannot be kept clean if there is no water. Let that sink. I wish a senior lecturer or the VC could pay an unannounced visit to these hostels. This is an issue that we need to protest against. Sadly, we have no student union, and we are also being restricted by an indemnity form.

I have met so many wonderful lecturers in the department, some of whom are my friends on Facebook. Likewise, I have also met the ones who may sometimes be inconsiderate. How would you describe a lecturer who misses classes, only to fix them at a date that isn’t feasible? Let me explain a scenario. In 100lv, many students do a lot of borrowed courses. For example, law take electives from English, medical sciences take from pure sciences while English take from linguistics. With this knowledge, it is expected of the lecturers to reschedule their lectures when all the departments that take the course are free. But this is often not the case because these lecturers dictate when they would teach, even at the expense of their students. This explains why a linguistics lecturer held classes before the exam for students in his department. Mind you, other departments were not aware. Perhaps, this should offer an explanation to why two different courses offered by students may run simultaneously. Remember, we can’t protest against this because we are bound by a form. Remember, these same students are going to take up positions in the society someday; hence, truncating their ability to fight oppression is synonymous to promoting injustice in the society.

Martin Luther King said: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

Signing an indemnity form isn’t unreasonable. However, it should probably be modified to suit the challenges faced by students. Students should be allowed to kick against injustice without having the fear of expulsion. Need I mention that UNILAG students living off campus are also victims of SARS harassment? A student union, for sure, would provide a great platform to tackle this.

Just like Wole Soyinka said, ‘The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny.’

Restore the student union!
Modify the indemnity form!
Give us a platform to protest against injustice!

© It is none of your fucking business

Happy Teachers’ Day: My Worst Time as a Teacher – Chiedozie Ude

Unconventional Teacher

(Please, take your time to read through)

I was seeking a suitable picture that portrays me as a teacher. Despite having a plethora to choose from, I settled for this because it was taken by a student without my knowledge. Also, I realized that, in terms of dressing, I am rather unconventional — I rarely dress cooperate. Therefore, it became important for me to display this quality.

I am Chiedozie Ude. My students call me Atomic, Uncle Dozie; I hate it when they call me “Mr Dozie” because it makes me look too old.
I started my teaching career by tutoring in a primary school. I used to have a lot of pictures but my younger brother misplaced the phone I used to take them. The careless upstart!
As of now, I have taught at nursery, primary, junior and senior secondary, and A-level. I would have included the university level but I don’t think unofficial tutorials count. Currently, I specialise in preparing students for SSCE and UTME.

This is the only picture I could salvage from my time as a primary school teacher. Lol! 😂😂

With the above, it would seem as if my teaching career were jolly and totally pleasant. Well, that has never completely been the case. Read on to find out…

I started teaching JAMB students even as a JAMBITE. I taught without pay for that year; it was more like an internship programme. Luckily for me, it was on a part-time basis so I could take other teaching jobs. As fate would have it, I found a job at a secondary school. While the school was aware of my qualifications (or the glaring lack of the qualifications expected of a teacher), I was offered the job based on the fact that I impressed the management during trial period. In fact, according to a co-teacher that was employed the same time that I was, I was chosen ahead of her to teach literature at the senior secondary. She was a graduate.

I do not aim to use this avenue as a means of self aggrandisement, so I would skip the part I mentioned above. Like I mentioned, I was not totally qualified. However, I was good at what I did. This fact became evident in the life of one of the students who had been written off as poor. All of a sudden, she improved in her writing and analytical skills. I was not perfect, but I was the suitable teacher for her.

I grew into the job. I loved it. I love teaching. I love imparting knowledge. It helped my self esteem. It helped my mental health become better because as at that time, I was still languishing in the shame and pain of missing out on admission. That particular job gave me a purpose. Things were going smoothly and the students were learning. What could possibly go wrong.

I write this piece because I still feel hard done by. Maybe not as much as it used to be. Well, just like I have constantly said, I had next to no qualifications save for my SSCE certificate. The school grew and more teachers were employed. This set of teachers were more conventional; they were the regular tie-wearing and mean-looking teachers: old-fashioned. One Tuesday morning, the owner requested to see me after I was done with my class. That day, I even extended the class beyond the allotted time without intending to, for the class was really lively that day. I remember vividly because I was discussing Bayo Adebowale’s Lonely Days. The head teacher had to intervene for the class to end. I went to see the proprietress.

She offered me terms she was fully aware I couldn’t keep. She asked me to stay permanently or leave. She knew I was working at different places. When I was unable to meet her demands, she dismissed me. She didn’t even offer me a sack letter. She just told me that my services were no longer needed. She paid me and I left.

I didn’t know whether to cry or get angry. It was not about the money. It was about my worth as an individual. I felt irrelevant. All of a sudden, the depression I was battling because of my luckless search for university admission hit me hard. I was so sure that I was dismissed based on my qualifications and this feeling would prove to be the truth because a co-teacher explained everything that happened. After all, since the school had just bought a building of their own, it would have been an eyesore to have teachers who didn’t meet the required standards. Understandable, right?

Doncha love poetry? 😍😍

That girl whom I said was improving in her studied sat for SSCE and couldn’t make literature. In fact, most of their external students didn’t pass it despite the fact that they were given the answers by the school authority. While this may seem like karma, I felt empty. I knew that I could have done better if only I completed the term with them. We were really on to something special but the school, lacking foresight, couldn’t see that. It came as no surprise when that girl texted me to say that she would have passed literature if only I had been allowed to complete the session. I was the only teacher who understood her difficulties so I could easily break difficult concepts down for her.

Catch da wink😉

Thankfully, I am in a better place than I used to be. I have had many more jobs from high-paying clients who value what I do. I have been able to help hundreds of students gain admission. In fact, many of my students, last year, chose to study English because of me. I had never felt so proud. The only drawback to their decisions to study English is that they are always disturbing me with school work, and I sometimes rarely have time for myself; it is part of what I signed for. Most of these students are in UNN, UNIZIK, UI, UNIBEN, and various state schools. As of now, I know about twenty of them doing English.

Now, the lesson here is for people to respect teachers. Teachers play an important role in the society. A parent of one of my pupils once told me that “a child is as brilliant as his teacher”. This was said because she saw the positive impart I had on her son.
Teachers are often underrated and this shows why teachers are underpayed. Did you know that during the lockdown many teachers in the private sector couldn’t feed their families? I am mentally stronger because of my experiences as a teacher: the beautiful, the regular and the ugly. I have had lots of good times, and if I were to die now, my work here will constitute a huge part of my legacy

Teachers make the world revolve. Teachers are the creators of presidents, scientists, lawyers, doctors, etc. Teachers make kings and queens. Teachers should be valued. Happy Teachers’ Day to every tutor out there; you guys are the real MVPs.

© Chiedozie Ude.

My Nightmare, my Loopholes 3: by Alim Barakat

Part Three.
‘No now, Ha! What would I tell Andrew?’
‘Why can’t you just let this boy go and stop deceiving him?
‘If you can’t advice me on what to do, no probs then.
‘I would honour Mr Davies invitation first and then, Andrew later.’
‘Please yourself. It is your matter.’
‘Na you sabi.’


'Dad what time did you say your fiancee will come?' 'Around 12' o clock. And yours?' 'She is coming in the evening. I tried to persuade her to come but she insisted. I don't want to do things against her wish, I really love her. 'But you should've been able to convince her and win. She is your to-be wife you know? Or haven't you talk to her about marriage?' 'Not really. We ain't in an hurry. But I have made her understand that this relationship will end well and marriage might happen.' 'Okay, good. As a husband, you must learn how to persuade your counter part.

My lady should arrive soon. Help me check what Laide is cooking.
‘Okay.’
Moments later…………………………….

'Knock. Knock. Knock.' 'Come in.' I came in. Appearing in the perfect outfit for such thrilling invitation, I shashayed into the room and hugged my fiance. He pecked me on my lips and rubbed me lightly. 'Good afternoon honey.' I said through my nose. 'Afternoon dear. Welcome to my humble abode.' He said, bending a little. ' Very beautiful.' I complimented.' 'Thanks. Let me introduce you to my son. Andrew! Andrew! Andrew! 'Sir.' he said approaching.

'My wife is.............' 'Oh blessing! What a surprise. He rushed at the dumbfounded me and pecked me. He was too excited to notice me and his father's facial expression. 'You didn't tell me you were coming this early. Thank you so much.....' 'Wait! Wait! Wait! What is happening? Andrew! This is my to-be wife that I have been telling you about.' 'What? Shit! Racheal! Will you speak?' 'Eerrrm, Eeerrm.' 'Ouch! Fuck mehn! So you are a tart? You are dating my father and I. 'Raaacheeel, Raaacheeeal. I never knew you were such an immoral girl. I thought you claimed you were pregnant? 'Yes. I'm. It is for you. I swear. I swear. I didn't know he is your son. I was only playing tricks on him.' 'Shut up! So you've been playing tricks on me, right? You've been sleeping with my father too. Who knows who else that is sleeping with you? Before you ruin our family. Please get out! Out! I say out!' I ran out, terrified. Unfortunately for me, rain had started falling. I wept. Clasping my hands together on my head in regret..........


'Racheal! Racheal! Which kain yeye sleep be this? 'Hnmmmm, hnmmm, uhnmmmmm. Ha! So it was a dream?' I woke up gasping for breath. 'Welcome Miss Josephine. Are you panting this heavily because of an ordinary dream? Shey person thief yah money for your dream ni or na masquerade dey chase you?' 'Blessing, you won't understand. It is more terrible than that.' 'Really? Narrate am make I hear.' 'I dreamt that I met............' My Nightmares, My Loopholes..

My Nightmare, My Loopholes 2. By Alim Barakat

Part Two.

‘The most fortunate thing about his encounter is that; his wife is dead and his son his not here in Nigeria but would come home soon, and his son has been pestering him to bring a wife home.’
‘Eeeh! Rachael, the researcher how you take know all these? The person wey you just meet yesterday.’
‘He told me na. He told me everything.’
‘Ehn ehn, did he say he would marry you?’
‘Haha, you too dey jump. He just said we should be friends for now. But if he should propose marriage my dear, my living here is numbered.’
‘Hmmm, Rachael, you asked for it and God don give you. I dey happy for you ooo . How you kon take meet?’
‘Na my Obi work ooo. Infact we met in a conflict. He is so polite and humble. Did I forget to tell you that he is handsome and rich too.’
‘What is his age?’
‘I know noooo. But as I dey look am, im no fit pass 40-45
‘That one no too bad I dey happy for you.’
‘Thank you dear. Just wish me well.’
‘I’ve always wished you dear.’ She said hugging me tightly.
‘I hope say you remember say Andrew dey come tomorrow.’
‘Hmmm na true, i go ask am which time he go kon visit me.’ ******************************************************************************

‘Hey sweet! Good evening.’
‘Evening. Welcome.’ I said jumping up from my sitting posture shockingly and rubbing my two palms sheepishly, looking straight at him; the part of his body my eyes met was his stomach. He was very tall.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure.’
‘What were you doing outside?’
‘Awaiting your presence.’
‘Oh ! Really. I’m here.’
‘Welcome. What should I offer you?’
‘Water, chilled.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah. Sure.’
I dashed in to my kitchen to get him water. I entered rubbing my body lustfully. Ha! this guy is so handsome and well built, I thought. Oh! His good looks and firm voice was delivering message to my instinct. I dashed out to serve him the water.
‘Here it is.’
‘Thanks. So how have you been? I hope you’ve been good. I bought some things for you. I hope you will like it.’ I clutched my heart firmly. Don’t ask me whether from falling maybe from dripping, I can’t fathom. I popped my eyes into the bag thrusted forward.
‘Wow! I exclaimed!’ A two beautiful and rare gowns, two bags and two pairs of shoes to match, two bloater hats and sets of jewelries.
‘Thank you so much. I love it! And I’m very grateful. Thanks so much.’ I said blushing.
‘I’m glad you love it. You see, I love you very much and I would do anything to make you happy.’
‘Hmmm, I see. What were you doing in the States?’
‘I’ve just completed my bachelors. So, I’m here to read further and manage my father’s company.
‘Wow! That’s really good. I never thought you’d be as serious as this. I must say.
‘Really? Why do you think so?’
‘Your pictures, the way you chat, your status updates and stuffs.’
‘Hahahaha. I also never thought you’d be as beautiful as this.’ He said running his fingers on my nose bone.
‘You ain’t photogenic. You look more beautiful looking at you physically, than in pictures. And i’m loving you more for that. He said moving closer to me. I didn’t try hard to stop the quick moves and the interlocking lips. The firm hands that ran from my shoulder down to my back, to my hands, my waist, to my breasts and then, to my butt. The motion was unstoppable, it laid down my back, flared up my skirt, shifted my pants and then, another organ was doing the job. I moaned and tweeted like the kowee bird.
‘Mehn! You are sweet! He said tucking in his prick and zipping up. He bent down and held my shoulder firmly, saying; ‘Trust me I love you and I won’t leave you.’ I nodded.


'Get me a glass of wine too.' 'Okay daddy.' 'Ehen Ehen, less I forget. You know you've been pestering me about getting married to another wife. I've finally find one.' 'Wow! Really? That's fantastic! Fantastic mehn!' 'Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. So she would be coming to visit us next tomorrow.' 'Wow! So fast! That's nice. I've got a girlfriend and I would like to introduce her to you.' 'Good. But I hope it is not a white lady that you are planning to marry.' 'Haha! No daddy. She isn't white. You would like her when you see her. I would tell her to also come next tomorrow. So it gonna be a house of merriment.' 'Wow! So fast? That's good. But don't loose focus. You know you are the one heading my company soon.' 'Dad! It is a two different issue; my love life and my career. 'Alright. So let's await Friday then.' 'Yah daddy!'


'Tell me more, baby girl!' Blessing exclaimed. 'Have you really thought about this issue?' 'Of course! I'm getting married to him and nothing is going to stop me and it is not as if I have another man anywhere.' 'What of Andrew? Have you forgotten his promise and assertions?

‘Abeg! Abeg! Stop am! I no like am. How many times have I told you that Andrew is not my type? He is too small for me.
‘He is too small for you. You know you will have nothing to do with him yet you can’t tell him to his face. You keep collecting gifts and money from him. Stop deceiving him. He thinks you love him.’
‘When did you become holy Mary’s cousin? Abeg! Shey Andrew no dey lick my plate? I ask you! Answer me! He is sleeping with me and i’m getting something in return. How is that a big deal? Shey Mr Ade no dey dig you too? Emeka too dey dig you. Why you kon dey form holy Mary?
‘I’m better than you dear. Mr Ade knows I can’t marry him. I’m not like you who keep putting the heads of two bulls in a clay pot. I’m different from you dear.’
‘Na you sabi! That one no even be the thing wey bring me come here.’
‘Wetin bring you? So, e don be say if you no get matter now, you can’t come to visit me.
‘You like taking things too far. The issue be say Andrew and Mr Davies are inviting me to their houses on the same day. Andrew want me to meet his father and Mr Davies wants me to meet his son.
‘How is that a big deal? You are getting married to Mr Davies accept his invitation!’

Stop Gender Stereotyping: Chiedozie Ude

It is sad that people use unfortunate incidents to push their stupid beliefs. One time, a boy committed suicide and a close friend of his used his suicide pictures to preach the gospel. While preaching the gospel is a good thing, we should also remember to respect certain occasions.

By extension, I find it appalling when alleged feminists (olodo misandrists) use sad events such as the raping of a lady to push their man-hating agenda. While it is expected of us to sympathise with victims, we should try not to push erroneous and harmful narratives which depict all men as animalistic, violent, unfeeling, wicked and every other despicable modifier known to humans. I see no reason why I should be punished for what another man did. Likewise, I see no sense in making people suffer the consequences of things they played no part in.

Because of Uwa’s case, one lady posted on twitter to push for the legalisation of the termination of pregnancy when the unborn child is a male. Of course, we all know that this is tongue-in-cheek; however, one cannot help but get worried about the fast-growing penchant to depict men, both dead, living and unborn, as villains. During this same case, many misandrists, in the name of showing wisdom or wokeness or whatever unintelligent thoughts that crossed their minds, deemed it necessary to vilify every man on their timeline. Suddenly, it became a crime to be a man. Suddenly, men who called for caution and systematic investigation into any rape case became rape apologists. Suddenly, all men had no self control. Suddenly, all men metamorphosed into animals. Suddenly, men lost the ability to reason.

Thankfully, those who perpetrated the dastardly murder of USA have been arrested. According to reports, a woman whom the late girl trusted was the mastermind of this act. Allegedly, this lady paid men to kill USA for ritual purposes. So now, do we say all women are potential murder masterminds or what?

It is high time we dropped gender stereotyping. Let us stop shielding people by calling out their entire gender. If a person commits a crime, let the person pay for it. This is not a defence of men. No. It is simply a clarion call to everyone. Make use of logic in situations.

Also, learn to respect the dead. All who promoted the narrative that Uwa was pregnant for the pastor will suffer for 600 years.
Hopefully, justice will be served!! Say no to rape!! Say no to gender stereotyping!!

RIP, Uwa.

My Nightmare, My Loopholes 1: by Alim, Barakat

Part One.

‘My friend, you seem very lucky ooo.’
‘You can say that again, Racheal.’
‘l really wasn’t expecting an iPhone though but I guessed it should be something big.’
‘Eeeh! I Blessing…an iPhone 11! I don become one of the biggest babe in town! Thanks to Mr Ade.’
‘Bleeeeesing, hnmmmm pelzzin husband, mama bisi’s husband. If mama Bisi catch you eheeeen, na pepper you go smell. But I dey happy for you sha. Me sef, I no dey do single guys again. Na married men like Mr Ade I want, in fact, person wey pass Mr Ade.’
‘Wetin? I just dey use Mr Ade catch cruise ni oooo, Yorrrubaaaaa, wetin I wan use a Yoruba man do. Na Emeka I go marry.


‘Mtcheeeew. Emeka kwa? That broke ass guy. Emeka wetin? Mtcheew, dat one. Well, na you sabi. As for me, na married man I go marry.’
‘Hnmmmm. What of that abroad guy wey dey disturb you? your pepperlino.
‘Who be your pepperlino? oh! You meant Andrew, that one? He too young for my type and besides were you deaf when I was yarning say na married man I fit marry. Na dem sabi, na dem fit take care of singles like us.’ She said pulling her blouse and swirling her head in circular motions.
‘But that guy na good catch ooo. I must tell you.’


‘Abeg! Mtcheeew, which good catch. I no fit abeg! He dey too young. Imagine, he is 21. He no fit take care of me. He even said he would be coming to Nigeria next tomorrow.’
‘Ehnnn, you no wan tell me before? But he looks matured in the picture you showed me. But e be things sha, coz picture dey decieve. E dey too young tho, ha! 21! E don pass you sef. Na no way true true.’
‘My dear, it is really no way. Na im face I just wan see. You no say na for social media we dey chat since a year now. Na only im face and the goody goody wey im promise me I dey excited to see.’
‘Everything don enter itself. In one word, you can’t wait to see him.’
‘Na you sabi!’ I said patting blessing playfully.
*


‘Ahnahn ahn! What is all these now? Mtcheeew. What is the meaning of all these?
‘I’m so sorry. I’m very sorry. It wasn’t deliberate. I’m so sorry.’
‘See the way you splashed water all over my body. You are telling me sorry. Will sorry clear this mess all over me? That’s the way you rich people do. Bloody oppressors!’
‘Hey, young lady! I dont want you to think that way. You are taking this too far. I said I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It wasn’t intentional. You know what, let me give you a ride to your destination. I’m really sorry.’
‘Don’t bother!’ I said almost walking away.
‘Please. Dont decline. Please.’
‘Okay.’
‘Thanks. Where are you heading to?’
‘Dave’s street.’
‘Dave’s street? That’s my street. My name is Mr Juwon Davies.’
‘Oh! Really? Then you would be living very close to my place.’ I said smiling delightfully.
‘I live at no 6. What about you?’
‘No 15.’
‘So, what is the name of this beautiful angel?’
‘Racheal.’ I said unable to hide my excitement and sensual appeal.


‘Wow! What a nice name you’ve got.’
‘Thanks.’ I said widening my already invoked smile. I run my eyes all over him; from his few strands of slivering white hairs mixed with the black bush as if two different colours of nursery beds has been planted randomly. His well shaped hair cautiously brought down to his chin in a well constructed line by a learned barber whose handwriting must have been good during school days. His beards, in its appropriate length for his not too wide chin and circular face. The different strands of hair growing contrastively in colour, (black and white) as if they had been matchmaked. His dreamy eyes. His narrowed bone nose down to his flat and smallish nose. Beside his nose, on his right cheek stood a big black dot that is darker than his ebonized skin. His ear, the perfect size for the completely handsome face. His circular head pressing on his well-wedged neck, that anytime he is not looking at the side mirror of the car, observing passing cars, two pounds of flesh are formed while sitting comfortably. His well built muscular shoulder down to his arms sent a cold shiver down my spine. A big gold necklace stood around his neck like a choker, the pendant lying between his broad chest.


‘We are close to my residence, would you like to clean up? Helloooooo Rachel. Dear, anything the problem?’
‘Yessss sir, yeess.’ I answered muttering after a slight tap.
‘What is it? would you like to clean up at my residence?’
‘Sorry sir. I was far away in my thoughts. No problem sir.’
‘Oh ! I hope no problem?’
‘Not at all sir.’ I said hastily, quite uncomfortable with the discussion. I quickly threw my head to the other side surveying motors and people. He finally halted and horned at a big blue gate. He glanced at me to be sure I did not disapprove. I wore a neutral face like I wasn’t aware. A dwarfish middle-aged man flung the gate open hastily. He drove in and the man greeted him, postrating . He nodded slighty. I looked away complacently to avoid the man’s peering eyes.
‘You can come down from the car.’ I came down from the car, with him holding the doors and locking the car. I was quite ashamed of my stained dress.
‘Follow me.’ He said, gesturing politely. I followed him walking like an accused headed for a trial. I trudged behind him quietly and slowly.


‘Knock knock knock.’
‘Yes, who is at the door?’
‘Blessing. ‘
‘Come in jor ,you still dey knock?’
‘Where you waka go yesterday? House you no dey. Shop you no dey. Where you go?
‘I was called for an home service in the next street.’
‘Oh ! No wonder.’
‘Sit sit sit, make I gist you.’ I said excitingly almost interrupting.
‘Yarn me , make I hear.
‘I don see the sugar daddy wey I dey yearn for. Infact, matter don settle.’
‘Hmmm, tell me more my sister.’
‘His name na Mr Juwon Davies, na im own the street wey you and I dey live.’
‘Ogene ooo, Chineke ! Eh! My dear yarn me more, my ears are itching.
‘The most fortunate thing about his encounter is that……