Tag Archives: highschool

A Critical Essay on Condomnairing by Chiedozie Ude.

Condoms, however basic and insignificant they may appear, are highly important when it comes to avoiding pregnancy and other sexual-related infections. Buying and using condoms may be quite tricky due to several factors. It is not uncommon for many a guy who wants to buy condoms to whisper silently to the seller because the buyer does not want other customers in the shop to view him with reproach. Well, if you are scared of buying condoms or you do not know how to properly wear one, this essay is for you.

Firstly, if you are underaged or if you are well known for decency, you might not want to buy condoms from a vendor that is in your area in order not to spoil your reputation. You never know, words may reach your parents or pastor. Now, that will make a juicy scandal. So, the solution to the fear or shame of buying condoms can be solved if you buy it from a place where you are not known. Better still, buy it from an aboki (trust me, these abokis sell everything sellable — that is, they are the true definition of a Jack of all trades) because an aboki will sell to you without asking questions. Do not ask me how I know this.

Having bought the condoms (I used the plural form because I do not think anyone will buy one, and rightly so.), the next issue will be how to keep them away from the wrong eyes. The wrong eyes include: younger siblings (Trust me, your younger ones cannot keep a secret to save their lives.); your parents (especially your mother); and your nosy elderly female neighbours who serve as CCTV for your mother etc. Rest assured that you are safe if you can avoid the set of people mentioned. Being caught by your parents, guardian or mentor is not ideal. Imagine how they will squeeze their faces, expressing their disgust in no uncertain terms, forgetting that they were once teenagers or youth who embarked on a plethora of erotic adventures. Trust me, African parents do not understand the concept of safe sex because total abstinence is their style. Therefore, do not be deceived by thinking they will understand why you keep condoms because they will never even try to understand; so, below are the ways to avoid being caught with the wonderful rubber:
1. Hide the goods in one of the hidden pockets of a standard wallet and never you let your wallet enter the hands of any of those classified as the wrong eyes.
2. Place the goods in an empty Milo container “pangolo” and bury it while facing the west. To be certain that you do it properly, do it while the sun is about to sink into its vest (Permit my floweriness, I mean sunset.). The essence of doing this is because burying a condom is a sacred festival that must be done with a mountain of sacredness.
3. Simply buy the condoms whenever you are about to use them. No need to keep incriminating evidence of your fornicating habit for your beloved and righteous parents to find.

No matter the precautions one may take, one may still be exposed. Little wonder the Pidgin English proverb states thus: “When breeze blow, fowl nyash go open.” Should you ever be caught with the contraband, here is a list of what you should do:
1. Admit to your parents that you are a “fuckaholic” so that they can conduct deliverance service for you. However, if your mother is a Yoruba woman who possesses the immanent or God-given ability to shape destinies with her resounding slaps, you may not apply this method. Do not say I did not warn you.
2. This rule is a tried and tested rule because it works every time. Whenever you are caught, just act casually by saying in an offhand manner that you attended a seminar on sex education and you were given condoms as souvenirs. After you say this, shake your head and say: “Silly me, I forgot to throw that shit out.” Then, you whistle loudly as you go out to discard the material. To appear more real — that is, to make them know it was an honest mistake — take out the trash can and empty it because doing this will remind your parents of how responsible you are. Applying this will save you from answering a lot of questions.

The previous paragraphs have dealt with the issues of buying and hiding condoms, and also the issue of escaping a scolding or a righteous sermon when you are caught with the goods-you-should-not-possess. Having learnt these, the next step will be to guide you on how to properly wear a condom. This stage is the most critical because if it is not done properly, you may end up becoming a father in the next nine months. As a student, you would not want that or would you? So, below are the things that should be done in order to ensure you are not violating the sacrosanct rules of condomnairing:
1. Do not wear the condom on your joystick the way you force your skinny jeans into your yam legs. Doing this may get it broken. Remember, you have to treat a condom with utmost respect and care — the kind of care you will give to a fragile baby.
2. Blow little air into it, place it on your Iroko tree and gently roll it towards your sack of coconuts (Pardon my use of euphemisms, my righteousness does not give room for sexual explicitness.).
3. Rule three is very important because it is where legends stand out. You may know how to wear a condom but are you a condomnairing legend? Read on to find out. Always leave a paragraph at the beginning of your Jack hammer when you put on a condom. This paragraph is important because it is going to store whatever you bring out during copulation. Remember, what separates the best from the rest is simply paragraphing.

In conclusion, you now know where you stand as a guy or where your boyfriends stand for the girls. Some of them are condomnairing legends while the rest need to up their game. Finally, it is believed that the unconventional methods suggested in this article will go a long way in ensuring that boys become legends.

HIGH SCHOOL: A LOVE STORY

By Mike.D

It seems like when it comes to one’s high school experience, the less-fortunate majority of us have a list of regrets. There are things we wish had gone differently, things that should or shouldn’t have happened, and things that we don’t even want to think about. I had my share of disappointments, mainly regarding the opposite sex. I didn’t understand girls and they certainly didn’t understand me. True, I was socially awkward, but I was a nice, caring person. Why was I so different from the inconsiderate jerks the girls swooned over? I made it my mission to try to understand girls, knowing full well that most men go through their entire lives without a clue. Nevertheless, I had to try.

It was my junior year and homecoming was just around the corner. Up until then, I hadn’t attended school dances. I practiced my speech and built up courage weeks in advance of the day I would ask a girl to homecoming. My heart was beating out of my chest and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. With a trembling voice, I asked the question I had rehearsed in the mirror over and over the night before. There was a brief pause … I held my breath.

“I wasn’t really planning on going to homecoming. Sorry.”

For the first time I had reached inside myself for the courage to ask someone; I wouldn’t give up now. Instead of falling into despair, I decided to ask someone else – someone I hoped might give me a chance. After a day or two, I gathered my nerves and repeated the process with an air of optimism. But I was promptly rejected … twice more.

What was I doing wrong? Was the problem with me or them? I went to the dance anyway with a group of friends. Two of the girls I had asked were there without a date. I avoided them. I had struck out this time, but I wasn’t calling it quits. I decided I needed to focus on being more social and learning to talk to girls.

Later that year I was preparing to ask another girl to prom. I had a crush on her and had become comfortable talking with her – a milestone I was proud of. In a similar ritual to homecoming, I spent days building up confidence and practicing in front of my mirror. Head held high with attempted courage, I approached her locker nervously.

“So, uh … I was sort of wondering, would you like to go to prom with me?”

An eternity passed before her response. My heart stopped. I think I forgot to breathe.

“Um, okay. Sure.”

At last I had succeeded! She said yes! Wait. She didn’t say yes per se. What did she mean by “Okay, sure”? Did she really want to go with me? Did it matter? She said yes, after all. I spent the next few days in the clouds; for the first time a girl was giving me a chance. But the way she accepted made me a bit uneasy, as if I had to walk through a completely dark room. Perhaps nothing was lurking in the shadows and the fear was all in my head. But on the other hand, maybe a pitiless monster waited there to strike me down when I was most vulnerable.

Unfortunately, it turned out to be the latter. I arrived home one night to a message telling me she had called. I dialed her number, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. I braced myself. In the nicest way possible, she told me she couldn’t go to prom with me and apologized for disappointing me.

I’m not ashamed to admit I shed a few tears. I didn’t bounce back quite as I had after homecoming. How could she raise my hopes and then drop me like a stone? I hadn’t actually changed at all; I was still scared to talk to girls and understood nothing about how they thought. Was it too much to ask for someone to give me chance?

Fast forward to the summer before I started college. I had just gotten ice cream and was outside the movie theater in the cold, dark night. Next to me stood a girl whose cute smile made me forget the chilly evening. Her name was Cait, and we were nearing the end of our first date. After a concert, we decided to take a walk to pass the time until her curfew. We held hands – something I hadn’t done since fine arts camp. A tingling feeling ran from my fingers all the way up to the back of my head. The experience felt very surreal; it almost didn’t register that I had a girlfriend who liked me. We had talked all during the concert, just like we had during the youth group trip when we had gotten to know each other. My mind was calm. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone actually wanted to spend time with me.

Did I ever figure out how girls think? No. I learned something much better instead. Through all of these trials of high school love, I’d come to believe that men and women are more alike than either is willing to admit. I’ve decided that although I’ve faced rejection, I won’t let it bother me. (I was turned down by four girls for senior prom, but that’s another story.)

I am much more confident now, and I’ve learned to appreciate the strengths that others see in me: kindness, honesty, and my skill as a good listener. I learned not to give up or give in to despair, and to always be myself. I could stand to gain some more confidence, but I’m working on it. All things considered, there isn’t much about my life I would change, even those parts about high school that I try not to remember. I wouldn’t be who I am today without those experiences.

It is the summer before my freshman year of college and Cait and I have been going out for two weeks. I’m driving her home after a day of fun. Using her cute voice, typically reserved for “Good night” or “I miss you,” Cait says, “Mike, I thought you were going to try to be less shy today.”

“What more could I have done?” I ask.

“Well …” she says, her cheeks slowly turning red, “you could have kissed me.”

We pull into the driveway and I walk her to the porch, my breath slow but silent. I try to hide my pounding heart and nervous sweating. Cait is still blushing, afraid she ruined the moment by speaking too soon. I fold my arms around her in a good-bye hug that seems endless.

“Cait.”

She locks eyes with me and smiles. Her lids slowly fall like a curtain after the final encore. My pulse quickens as I tilt my head to the side. There, under the pale yellow lamplight, our lips touch and I experience my first kiss.