BEAUTY AND ASHES PART 4

“Booo Kpuuu, Booo Kpuuu” Her heart beat so loud, she thought they could hear it. She cringed inside the freezer as silent as a mouse but her body quaked as sweat streamed down her brow.

She hadn’t prayed in a long time, “Help me O God…I don’t want to die” the words escape her breath.

Three men stand across the table a few feet away from the freezer in the dining room. Mr Ben’s Goons interrogate the man, “Mr Man, don’t joke with us. We have eyes all over town and they saw her come in here with someone”, “Oga, I just want to rest, I am coming from the hospital and have been in there for many months. I don’t want another reason to go back there…ABEG!” Tayo pleaded.

She couldn’t believe it, Tayo of all people becoming her Night and Shining Armour after all she had done to him. Meeting him was a coincidence, after running in circles she found herself cornered at the traffic on the Third Mainland bridge, she attempted jumping over the bridge but her legs froze, so she hailed an Okada and lifted one of the cases on to it and they drove down the bridge till she got to the park and realised she didn’t have cash on her and was too afraid to open the case lest the Okada man attacked her. So when she heard her name she freaked out, but then she saw him…even when the fear was etched in the lines across her face he didn’t panic but intervened and 2hours later after dodging and waiting in crannies we finally made it to his apartment but it wasn’t enough Mr Ben’s guys still found us out.

Mr Ben has the town in his pocket; even the police cannot be trusted. But now Nneka regrets her action, She prays, “I owe you my life if you save me this day…I, I,..” “BANG, BANG” Two gunshots rent the air, “Jesus” She muffles under her breath…she lifts up the lid and sees the two men hunched over Tayo. He is on his knees pleading, as the gunshots had been directed at his legs.

“I don’t know…Arrrgh”, Tayo writhes in pain on the floor. “We will be back for you and if we find out that you are lying, the next bullet will be going through your skull!”, he kicks Tayo in the butt, “Useless fool” the man spits. Tayo just lies on the floor holding his legs.

As soon as they storm out, Nneka bolts out from the freezer towards Tayo. “My God, I am so, so, so sorry. It’s all my fault” Nneka cries, “sssh! It’s not your fault…I hurt you and pushed you away and I haven’t been able to live with myself since that day. I prayed to God that before I die He should give me another chance to right my wrong…ARRRGH!” Tayo moans.

Nneka rushes into the bathroom. She comes out with towels and Dettol. She cleans the wound and ties it up tightly with a towel. “Thank God, it’s a flesh wound”, Nneka scrutinises his leg, “Hey, stop fussing over me like a child” Tayo reiterates smiling “Remember?” Tapping his abdomen; were Nneka had stabbed him many months ago “I took care of myself pretty good” Tayo continues.
“Hey, It was an accident, next time you’ll learn a better line to use if you want to get a ladies attention” Nneka purrs, “That’s for sure, I have learnt a lot…I could tell you all about them some time, over dinner perhaps when my leg is better”, Tayo counters with a wide grin across his face. For the first time she noticed. Tayo was beautiful.

Photo Credits: www.chinopoocreations.com

TO BE CONTINUED

BEAUTY AND ASHES PART 3

He had never seen anyone so beautiful; she seemed to glide on an air of power. Ben picks up his champagne glass and in a few strides is by her table, he stands behind her elegant frame for a few seconds, mesmerized. “You could drool or order me a drink” Nneka retorts, she tilts her head slowly towards him while still poised on the tall bar stool with her legs crossed sexily revealing her thighs through the long slit of her turquoise dress.

She leans behind he’s ears, whispers, and then struts out to the lobby. Ben is transfixed in his thoughts but soon wakes up and orders a bottle of champagne, takes two glasses and zooms out of the Federal Palace Hotel in his Cadillac CTS Coupe with Nneka.

She folds her arms around him and lets her lips rest on his lips as she unbuttons his shirt…Ben feels the adrenaline rush through his brain, he had never felt this way with any woman. But he his eyes becomes heavy, he can’t move his hands and suddenly his feet can’t hold him up and he crashes down to the ground. The Diprivan she applied to her lips did it; he will remain unconscious for some hours, enough time for Nneka to execute her plan. Ben Ugbewke, CEO, Germane Finance Alliance, lay sprawled on the floor as Nneka searches his body uncovering, his wallet, Cigar, gold watch, etc. She uncovers it: it is a gold key. She had had her eyes on this key for months, since she started her heist of wealthy men. She had only been able make away with a few millions without being detected but she was desperate and resorted to this drastic method of drugging Mr Ben. He wore on his neck the key to 15,000 troy ounces of pure GOLD!

She un-wraps her tools, hidden in her hand bag and with her electromagnetic rod, she scans the vault. The scanners direct her to the indoor pool of Mr Bens Mansion. Scanning through, she uncovers the key hole underneath the pool. With one quick turn the water floods out of the pool and a huge platform emerges with a 3 large metallic cases filled with gold.

Was it excitement or fear that she felt, as she drags the last case inside the black tinted Range Rover. She didn’t see the lorry coming as she reversed in speed, the impact was like the crunching of metal and glass. the back of the SUV is under the lorry, the Range Rover is crushed. Suddenly, she could see them, Mr Ben’s Goons running towards her…she had made the wrong man for an enemy but she didn’t care all she wanted to do was to get to Benin Republic the next morning and trace her way to Ghana and then off to Brazil.

She turned the key in the engine and it roared to life. Accelerating the tire it screeched but the car wouldn’t move because of the weight of the lorry on the back of the SUV. The two tall men, weighing over 200 pounds were coming closer and they unsheathed their 9x19mm Parabellum automatic pistols. She pressed the accelerator harder and it screeched even harder but still nothing. The men opened fire…she screams and lowers her head as glass shatters over her. She steps on the accelerator and this time it moved crawling out from under the truck. She drove straight at the men and they scampered into the garden.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Photo Credits: www.hubpages.com and www.team-bhp.com

BEAUTY AND ASHES PART 2

There wasn’t always pain. She remembers those cool nights, when the only source of light was the twinkling of the moon in the sky and the fire brimming from the firewood underneath her mother’s cooking pot. Her twin sister, Nkiru would play hostess, whilst she would laugh at her imitations of mama and papa. They were a small family, in a little town in the Plateau’s of Jos and at 8years old they were all she needed. But that was such a long time ago. She is 22 now. She is now a graduate and what’s left of her family now lives in Anambra state their home town. What’s left of her family but her aging mother.

Aunty Jumoke swings her hand at her again, but Nneka reaches out her hands and traps aunty Jumoke’s slap mid-air. “What! You have now become a Madam now? Okay, slap me!” aunty Jumoke motions her face towards Nneka as if expecting an affirming slap on her face. Nneka stands muted but with a new resolve, she would not let anybody make her a victim any more. She was sick and tired of being every body’s door mat…to hell with manners!

That night, she walked out of aunty Jumoke’s household wearing an over-sized blouse and skirt with N20 that her only friend “Chioma” gave her as her only possession. For the next two nights she slept on the threshold of the Amazing Grace Tabernacle at Ikeja and as early as 4:30am left the church premises to avoid suspicion. However by the fifth night after having nothing to eat for three days, the hunger that ran through her brain was numbing and she couldn’t move. So when Tayo opened the church that morning he thinking she was dead, panicked. With the help of the neighbours he was able to revive her and give her something to eat.

Looking at her, she could have been like one of those beautiful women embalmed in Mary Kay all over Lagos but here she was sprawled on the floor beside him with no name to her beautiful face. He quickly shook away the thought, “this is no time to be fantasying”. Tayo quickly alerted the Pastor and upon instructions created room for her to stay in the church premises.

Every day, Tayo observed her; it wasn’t too hard since his room faced hers, barely a few feet apart. She was beautiful and maybe he could become her friend, but how? She has been here for 2weeks but hadn’t spoken a single word…not even to Pastor. Her door is ajar, he sums up the courage to go talk to her, but as he stretches his hand to knock on her door he catches a glimpse of her back-side: she is dressing. “Don’t look” the temptation wells up within his bowels and he is aroused, he didn’t think but stares just a bit longer then slapping himself again he rushes off into his room ashamed of what he had seen.

It’s been a month now since she arrived at the church. Nneka stares at the door as Tayo comes in with a smile on his face “what does he want?” “Hello” he offers but her face remains bland. Tayo is shaking *Ah, I can’t take it anymore, let me even try* he thinks to himself, “I am greeting you now!” he’s eyes rove down her body, which is scarcely covered by the cloth, partly revealing her breasts and legs. “I, I, I like you a lot and…”, but before the words could finish leaving his mouth she turns her face to the wall, “Mshwew, and you call yourself a man!” The words pierce his heart, and a frown slowly etches across his face, “I will show you I am a man!” He grabs her hands and swirls her, facing him. “Today you will learn to be grateful; nobody is here to save you!”

*He doesn’t know who he is dealing with, I will never be a VICTIM!*, the thoughts play in her head. “NO”, she roars in rage as she plunges the table knife into Tayo’s belly as he leans over her. The blood first trickles then pours like a tap let loose.

Pushing him over, she runs into Tayo’s room; searching frantically through his things. She successfully uncovers it-a wooden box (she had seen him with his knowledge put some money in it). She breaks it open with the cutlass beside the door and a wad of N1000 notes unfold from within. She stuffs the money into the pocket of the shorts that she wore underneath her wrapper and scurries out of his room.

“Yay, what is this Nneka, what have you done!” The woman stares at Nneka’s blood-stained wrapper as she heads out of Tayo’s room. Nneka quickly rushes inside her own room and wears a man shirt tying its end, and slips on a pair of jeggings over the shorts then runs past the woman and out of the church.

“Tonight is the beginning of the end of poverty, I will make money and have power!” she mumbles underneath her breath.



TO BE CONTINUED


Hey you can also check out my articles on http://blog.tariere.com/
Cheers

BEAUTY AND ASHES

“It was a rat, I am sure of it”. Nneka tip toes slowly across the room, navigating her way through the rubble of clothing and shoes pouring out of the baskets and the cupboard which had been unprofessionally nailed to the wall by Musa.

The lamp at the door supplied a subtle illumination to the room and acted as a wedge for the door. She tightened her wrapper across her breasts, clutching the wooden handle of a mop as a weapon. Her eyes searched the room, suddenly she sees it again. It is dark, like a shadow running on the floor that also had a shadow on the wall. Instinctively, she leaps on the stool and hurls the stick at the rat. The rat wriggles in pain and scurries through the gap provided by the lamp but not without upturning the lamp. The kerosene spews over the curtain carrying with it portions of flame.

It occurred so fast, the curtain and door are enveloped in flames, and it starts to creep up the wire running up to the roof from the power switch below. “JESUS!” She turns reaching for the window, and throws it wide open, “Musa, Musa!” She yells, shaking the burglary protector across the window, “biko, help me!” The terror in her voice becomes evident as the smoke barrages the very window she clings to. Her throat and nostrils begin to hurt, “Madam, Madam OH!” She screams louder but she can’t hear her own voice, the room grows darker and for a moment she feels like she is floating, “what is happening”, BLACK OUT.

The ground is spinning, and she can hear people running and shouting but all she can see is the ground and the feet of someone, “why are you carrying me?” But she receives no response “I hope this Musa boy is not up to one of those his pranks. I am not in the mood. Wait, my room is on fire, stop carrying me go and call Madam”, but he still doesn’t reply. Her head feels light and the last thing she sees are the feet of another person standing beside the man that carried her. “This girl is a witch; she will not kill me. Chineke mei! See what she has done!”

The black walls and ashes greeted her as she walked into the Boys-Quarters. Her room was the only place that was affected as Musa the Security-Man had heard her screams and was able to quell the flames with a mix of water and Omo. All she owned was in this room but now they were all ash. Except for the cloth wrapped around her; she owned nothing.

The tears flowed freely down her cheeks. The pain began to swell and like a volcano she erupted; she cried, her soft voice echoing across the hall. “Why?” She mutters and continues sobbing. The tapping on the door startles her and she quickly tries to wipe her face with the hem of her wrapper but the door knob turns without waiting for permission. “Aunty Nne” The head of a little girl pops in, “My Baby, what is the matter?” The girl stands at the door, worried and afraid at the same time. “Aunty, are you crying? Is it because mummy said you should go?” SILENCE. The little girl runs and grabs hold of Nneka, “ Aunty, please don’t go, please, I will tell my daddy to talk to mummy” Nneka, tries to fight back the tears but they are too hot, they spill out of her eyes and she moans as she holds the little girl tightly.

“Bastard” the little girl is yanked out of her grasp and something hits her face right across her cheeks and nose. She didn’t see what hit her but the pain, rushed through every muscle in her face. Her nose burns and she feels fluid trickling from her nose; she uses her palms to clean off the fluid and looking at her palm it is smeared with blood.

TO BE CONTINUED...

A WORLD WITHOUT MEN

As I tapped his giant muscles, in my heart I prayed he wouldn’t toss me into the ocean…to my surprise, he did't. He did what I told him to do, reminding me that they are people just like me.

The Fair Life Africa Foundation is developing with the initiative: focusing on street children through the ‘Breakfast and Talk’ approach. Beautiful children who have lived on the streets most of their lives, working in Kuramo beach: cleaning the beach and washing cars are given meals, and an environment is created were these children can share their feelings.

Although my decision to help out with the children was initially selfish, I have discovered a deeper respect not only for the foundation but also for women. I have noticed a certain trend: women are more involved in social work than the men folk. So when I had to face some strong boys whose muscles were bulging through their vests I threw caution to the wind and started organising the boys as much as I could and at the end of the day I knew that I had made an excellent decision.

‘Empowering people for a fairer life’ is the focal point of the Fair Life Africa Foundation; I couldn’t have said it better my self. So as the world had set out a day to remember women, I challenge the men out there to support the women in their lives…support the children in their neighbourhood and if you are not sure how, NGOs like the Fair Life Africa Foundation are in need of volunteers and sponsors, so join now!

Why men? Because a nation without a mother lacks compassion but a nation without a father has no discipline. Our children need that discipline so that they will be able to stand on their own, and in the future carry on the baton from were we stop.

It takes a village to train a child…

Fair Life Africa Foundation

TO SUPPORT CONTACT:
fairlifeafrica@gmail.com
www.fairlifeafrica.org

FREAK OUT

“Jump…it’s the perfect suicide position...” “tufaikwa!” swinging my hand around my head and clicking my fingers as they arrive in front of me. I am still very young…I have not yet proposed to my baby mama (the one still in my head). Looking down that balcony, I can’t look straight down not to talk of climbing and then jumping? “tufaikwa!”.

Oyinbo’s may classify me as someone that has a phobia called Batophobia: fear of heights; which got me thinking what more phobia’s are out there? So here are some of the most serious, quirky and down right ludicrous phobias that I found.

Ablutophobia- Fear of washing or bathing. - Okada riders…lord deliver us.

Alliumphobia- Fear of garlic. – Hope you don’t know any one in this category. MFM still dey Yaba.

Allodoxaphobia- Fear of opinions- Problem with Nigerian Politics.

Arithmophobia- Fear of numbers- my excuse for failing math’s in primary school but mummy will not believe me *smiling*

Arrhenphobia- Fear of men

Bacteriophobia- Fear of bacteria- Adrian Monk…lol

Bibliophobia- Fear of books- Unilag will deliver you of this one, specifically ECONOMICS DEPARTMENT.

Belonephobia- Fear of pins and needles.

Cacophobia- Fear of ugliness- Nigeria had to face this one for 8years…you know who I am talking about! I am not saying but here is a tip – our President btw 1999 to 2007.

Chrometophobia or Chrematophobia- Fear of money- Ahh, they just made this one up.

Coprophobia- Fear of feces- as in fear of SHIT. So does that include the persons own? *thinking*

Coulrophobia- Fear of clowns- Father Christmas when I was four years old. I could have sworn back then that he wanted to suffocate me with his artificial cotton wool beard.

Demonophobia or Daemonophobia- Fear of demons- we have the cure in Niaja: MFM. Yaba…

Dikephobia- Fear of justice. - Why we must register and vote.

Ecclesiophobia- Fear of church.

Gelotophobia- Fear of being laughed at- why many do not live, they only exist.

Iatrophobia- Fear of going to the doctor or of doctor- especially in Nigerian hospitals: with poor service in the public ones and neck cutting prices in the private ones.

Ithyphallophobia- Fear of seeing, thinking about or having an erect penis. *coughs*

Nostophobia- Fear of returning home- the dilemma of many Nigerian men who are tired of their wives.

Novercaphobia- Fear of your step-mother- Patience Ozokwo…

Ouranophobia or Uranophobia- Fear of heaven.-SAD…we don’t understand Gods love.

Yet with so many descriptions of fear we have just one solution LOVE…GOD.

“There is no fear in love but perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment.” There! Pastor Oyakhire said it.

I better get off this balcony, I think I may have found my future baby mama, *winks*





Photo credit: epicreaction.com

CRITICAL

Who decides the shirt, pant or dress you wear on a Monday morning; Eva Longoria, Oprah, Suzy Menkes, the Kardishians or that cute girl on a Nigerian blog?

It was on a dry and dusty afternoon a side effect of the harmarthan which had flung itself upon our lives like a desperate lover-‘like were where you when it was your season?’ Embalmed in Pears baby lotion to combat the dust, I hung out with the guys and discussed about the usual stuff that pre-occupies our minds…then suddenly one of them blurted; ‘there is something important I want to ask you’. I shifted my gaze to him and he had that serious look in his eyes like he was my dad and had discovered something I did wrong and was preparing to corner me into a confession and subsequent punishment-ten strokes of the cane not like those crème children in America who are sent to their room were they still have their T.V and Play-station 2; and they call that punishment!

‘You remember that friend of yours, that one in fashion’ he inquired and I nodded in agreement. ‘What he wears sometimes…I have seen him wear some things and I just over look it but the one I saw in someone’s phone, AH’, he stressed; ‘Really?’ I interjected but he continued like a lecturer in the middle of a lecture not to be interrupted.
‘He was all dressed up in a suit which was alright till I saw him carrying a clutch purse’, and at this point the other guy with us joined in ‘ehh!’ he chorused. ‘What I think you saw is a man bag’ I reiterated. ‘No! I am telling you it was a clutch purse’ he replied almost as soon as I finished speaking.

‘Even the guy that showed me the picture; when he told me that it was something serious I was immediately curious because usually when he says it is SOMETHING, then it really is SOMETHING’ he added with the finality of a lawyer making his concluding statement in court after a gruelling trial.

Sure there are a lot of head turners; like the young dude that tied a scarlet red wrapper to my church on a certain Sunday. Imagine the stares, and yes he came in, in the middle of the service: ooh what a sight it was. He also strived for symmetry wearing in addition a pair of black UGG Dakota moccasins and a fussier pink shirt, and he is also quite good-looking; sorry I am a guy; I would feel really awkward describing a guy in detail like they do it on E!. But to me the outfit was surreally elegant…maybe not for Sunday morning.

I wonder if you get a degree to becoming a critic but like every civilised society where the thump print of a man is stronger that the trigger of a gun I believe that the critic must also dance to the music of a higher power-the people. I sound political (giggle) maybe it’s in the air but it’s just a thought as I must admit that I have judged to quickly in this case before men now.

I was told to wear a pink shirt, red tied and a black suit to usher today and I vehemently opposed the idea in my mind but looking in the mirror now: I look pretty damn good *winks*.


Photo credit: Google images

RUSSEL'S TALE PART 2

My gaze shifted from the man to the girl; she just lay there as if dead with her clothes ripped like she’d been attacked by a wild animal-I guess in a sense she’d been attacked by a man-nimal. As my gaze lifted it locked with hers and in an instant i felt like I was sucked right into her-I couldn’t move for a moment. Suddenly I was filled with rage and I picked her up in my arms and dashed for the mobile vehicle parked outside. I opened the door and moved all the clothes and bags off the front passenger seat and I sat her up.

As I reached across her to strap in the seat belt my eyes stayed on the pistol that lay on the driver’s seat just then I felt a burning sting at my back; the man snarling behind me ‘you dey craze do you know who are messing with’. In my back on my left shoulder was a large kitchen knife, the blood flowed across my back: it was warm; it felt sweet till the pain came like thunder after lightening. The girl suddenly as if waking up from a nightmare reached out and grabbed my hand ‘please don’t let him…’then she fainted. Then I felt the rage again like steroids pumped into all my veins; I reached out and grabbed the gun swirled around and pointed it at the man. ‘Bros make you put that gun down…you know who I be’ the man said staggering backwards but my hands trembled as it caressed the trigger, I didn’t know if it was loaded or cocked but I didn’t care it was like being high on crack-I have never been high but I have seen many guys in the club after a wild night; it was like walking on air, I felt bullet proof. ‘look you, I go give you chance to commot before my boys come back…drop the gun and walk away from the girl and I will pretend like say this no happen’ he started walking towards me and stretched out his hand to grab the gun but my mind raced as my finger squeezed the trigger tightly; my fingers remained glued to the trigger as the gun fired away, the sparks from the gun were blinding and the force swerved my hands to the left and to the right. It seemed like hours but the bullets finished and the man was sprawled on the floor before me ‘my God…my God’ my lips moved to say but the words stayed in my head. I moved closer and looked but he still wasn’t moving. I reached down to look closely then I noticed the uniform on the man-the ranking, the badge, the colour black: he is a police man. Suddenly he reached out his hands and grabbed my shirt ‘you’re dead boy; DEAD! You hear me.’ I pushed him to the ground; I could hear him grunt in pain as I run towards the mobile truck. I shut the passenger door were the girl sat and got into the driver’s seat ‘were are the keys’ I searched frantically in the glove compartment, under the seat, then it hit me: the car light is on so the keys must be in the ignition. I put my hands on the ignition and felt for the key, my hands hit the key; it was in a bunch and jingled to my touch. I turned it in the ignition and the car engine wheezed ‘shit…start’. Suddenly I hear their voices, ‘Oga, Oga…wetin dey happen’ the man on the floor pointing to the car ‘stop that car…the boy is mine!’ The three armed police men rushed to the car. ‘oh God, please’ I turned the key one more time, the car wheezed longer this time then suddenly it roared to life. One of them pulled out his gun ‘STOP!’ he yelled. I put the car into gear and stepped on the throttle with all my might, the car screeched riding up sand and stone in air. The gunshots followed immediately, bullets whizzed past the car, I could hear them brush my ear-it burned. The road ahead was misty because of all the dust in the air but I didn’t care my legs were like lead on the throttle and the car roared out of the site. I could hear the treats of the men fade away but my heart continued to race as I caught a quick glance at the men from the rear view mirror; their eyes were bloodshot red, their muscles strained against their bullet proof vest as they fired at us ‘you are f@#$$%kd’ they yelled one last time.

I turned the wheel sharply, steering us onto the highway. I didn’t know were I was going but I was on the highway and that was better than being dead-how did things get so messed up. I turned to her, she still wasn’t awake-she looked really young; from what I could I see I’d guess she was sixteen. There was a bright light in front of me and I heard the car horn; I looked up just as my hands turned the wheel; the car whirled a 180 degrees angle and flipped-it was uncomfortable all my insides were tumbling, I looked at her face as her body bounced around the car she didn’t seem to feel anything. I tried to hold her in but my hands couldn’t reach her, I stretched again and then the car bounced hard one last time and splashed into the lagoon. The shards of glass and grass started to rise as water filled the car; ‘arrrgh…just a little further…yes!’ I grabbed her hands firmly with one hand and with other I pried my side of the door open. As I pulled her across, the water rose to my nostrils and spluttered into my eyes but I wouldn’t let go. I slipped into the water and pulled her all the way through to my side and into the water. It was dark and reeds were everywhere, I put her arms around my neck from behind me and used my hands to remove the reeds from our path as I swam towards the bushy shore.

Holding onto a bunch of elephant grass I pulled both of us onto land and continued to tread through the bushes till I found denser grass then I lay her on the floor before my knees gave way and I slumped to the floor-I could see my mother smiling with her outstretched arms towards me, she looked so beautiful then suddenly I felt these strong hands with no face or body just hands pull me into this darkness: ‘MAMA…help’ but no sound came out from my throat. My mother reached out and grabbed my hand but the hands wouldn’t let go there then ensued a thug of war between mama and the hand-mama is unbelievably strong- the darkness became stronger but mama wouldn’t give up and suddenly the hands gave letting me fall into mama’s hands, gradually the light tore through the thick darkness and I could see mamas face smiling at me again-I could hear a rumbling sound and then a lorry’s loud horn blaring and mama’s face began to fade but she still had a smile on her face, I reached out to touch her but couldn’t ; ‘mama…mama’, my eyes opened.

I looked up and she laid beside me my hands around her-‘where are we?’ I scanned the area, we were in some container, then I heard the lorry’s horn blast through the air: she must have dragged me all the way to the road and gotten us a ride on the truck, I looked down on her hair which was so close to my face and a new respect for her swelled within me. We finally got to the city, I found an old wrapper on the lorry and put it around her; I hopped off and caught her hands and helped her down the lorry. As I started across the street her hands wove instinctively around my hand and I paused for minute and looked in her eyes then I nodded and she nodded in reply in some coded language then we went across the street. My wallet wasn’t with me but we would have to find a safe place, till I could figure out my next move.

The time is 8:30am, looking at her face one last time and suddenly that rage burned in my belly. ‘Somebody must pay for this’ (gritting my teeth). Immediately my legs spring up from the chair and I trace my steps out of the room. Walking across the living room into my grandfather’s room I brush aside the beaded drapes and turn the door knobs. That ancient creaking sounded as I open the door- the musty smell that poured from the room was a reminder of how long we had not lived here since grandpa and grandma died. I head for the drapes on the window pulling it aside, flooding the room with light-I reach underneath the bed and pull out a box covered in dust. Blowing the dust away the inscription on it reads; GENERAL. Sitting on the floor I pull out the top of the box and reach inside the box; my hand encases a 39millimiter revolver; a crooked smile forming on my lips ‘she will be free again’ and I get up and head straight for the door.

TO BE CONTINUED

RUSSEL'S TALES

The room is dimly lit, and it’s already 8am in the morning. The blinds are really thick and as I walk in my hands brush the strings of beaded cords used to drape the entrance to the room, the effect of my contact with the beaded curtain reverberates a tinkle sound like Pixies dust. I pause, and then considered my next step-left or right- I see the faint angle of the chair and decide to go right towards it. I reach out towards its arm rest, feeling my way along its mahogany and cotton body till I determined it was safe and resting both of my hands on the two arm rest, I let myself softly ease into the chair. Hopefully I didn’t startle her; she lay curled in a ball on the bed, her hair fell loosely around her face hiding her eyes from the faint, laser like ray that streaked through the gap in the curtain.

Adanma. As I stare into her face my stomach churned, and my teeth gritted. I have never felt this way about someone I have only known for only three days but I felt like i could strap myself to a bomb and even throw my hands in the blade for her to be safe. I look at her tightly shut lips as she whimpers in her sleep; she is having another nightmare. The beads of sweat begin to appear greasing her brow and I can only imagine what ghosts haunt her. But I do know, well at least I do know the tip of the iceberg because I was there-it was the night we met; the night she changed my life forever.
It was a Tuesday night I will never forget. My car broke down, actually it was my mother’s car and of all the time to disappoint me it was at the beginning of my career in the movie industry. I was making my directorial debut after so many years of hustling in this city. I had come up with the perfect script and finally had the financial backing to shoot the screenplay-I was officially a film maker. Tonight I shot the first scene; I had worked all day at it and finally was I making my way home from the outskirts of town to the mainland where I lived but I hadn’t even made it across the border into the city when my car broke down, ‘I should have left this car at home. When Friday will not fix the problem-you him give one thing and he wanders off fixing something else…msheeeew’. After popping the hood of the car to let the steam out of the engine I attempted opening the carburetor to pour in some water; it was like a glacier as the water erupted out of the car. Immediately I swung sharply under the car, the water was hot on my arm and I writhed in pain as I lay under the car covered in dust.

After sulking I came out from under the car and dusted myself with my hands brushing and flapping my shirt and pants in all directions. I looked out towards the stretch of road before me; there wasn’t a soul on that dark lane excerpt the bushes thronged with rusted vehicles as a memento of uncared for accidents on both sides of the road. My mind quickly replayed all the stories I had heard of armed robbers attacking people whose car’s broke down on the high way but I quickly brushed them away as my hands motioned across my face and chest in the sign of a cross. ‘I need to find a way out’ I noticed ahead a faint light coming from a bend in the road on the right hand side. Amidst the uncertainty of who I may meet I mustered the courage to check it out- ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ so I thought.

It was about a kilometer from where I was and I walked like a Kenyan in the Olympics, I kept going and continued to strain my ear for any unusual sounds just in case I needed to bolt across the bushes for my life’s sake; I heard nothing unusual and my confidence increased as I could see the bend clearly, it had an old sign board standing at its entrance which read NATIONAL ELECTRIC POWER AUTHORITY at the top. Now I could see the source of the light, it was coming from a truck similar to the type used by the mobile police but the light was right before my eyes and so I couldn’t tell with certainty that it was the police. So I dared further towards the vehicle. I could see much clearly now, it was a mobile vehicle; I wave as I step to the window ‘Well done oh! Please I need your help…is anybody there, please my car broke down on the main road and I saw your car light that is why I came here...I’ but I paused just before I could say another word because I looked inside the window and found to my dismay that there was nobody inside. ‘Maybe they are at the back of the truck sleeping’ but I thought ‘that would be really stupid to rundown the car battery by putting on the light and sleeping’ but I went to the back anyways but there weren’t there, so I continued. In front of me was an abandoned old NEPA power station and close by was the gateman’s quarters; I looked at the one of the gateman’s rooms and saw what looked like a flash light ray swirl around the room but I wasn’t sure because it went off almost as soon as it came on but I continued to walk forward.

Finally at the door, I leaned over and I could hear a frantic shuffling sound and moaning ‘what could be happening’. I rested my hands on the door and gently pushed it and looked through the tiny space; I saw his dark frame backing me, he was bent on all fours with his knees firmly on the ground encasing her legs as he had his pants down to his knees. He laid on top her with his hands firmly pinning her hands to the ground. It was then I heard her voice, it was croaked as if muffled up in cloth as she cried ‘No, no’ (sobbing) It was weak like as if the very life from her was completely drained and she would soon pass out. Suddenly, like as if my feet was unglued and I was pumped up with steroids I pulled him from on top of her, and as he staggered in shock I let my fist smash right into his jaw; the pain that rushed through my knuckles was piercing-it wasn’t like in the movies where the actor was immune to the pain.

TO BE CONTINUED

RESURRECTING MY PHONEBOOK

Is this silence, this silence is so unnerving; like the few moments just before the SWAT barges in on an unsuspecting marijuana cartel. So in reality the silence I speak of cannot compete with CSI Miami but it is nonetheless scary.

A business man is not one of the many titles I am known by and I am not too eager to be dubbed one yet. Still this is my fate because as I speak to you I currently owe someone some money and I am awaiting a call from a friend who in a few minutes from hence forth may become my lender and I his debtor all because I want to do business in Nigeria. So my silence, my wait is all about money, money, money.

Imagine the biggest multinational companies all over the world run on the wretched system of credit. The Western community started this ideology that you do not have to wait to get what you want; you can have it now, and the thing is this credit thing has crept into Nigeria. And I am slowly realizing that this is the way business works here. I can still feel the sting in my pride looking back four months from the time I promised to pay up the debt I owe and I haven’t even scratched the surface in trying to pay what I owe before, and I am already pursuing another loan.
I remember my secondary school and University days: I absolutely hated borrowing, I had seen my mother work hard to take care of myself and my three siblings and I witnessed firsthand the rugged nature of the banking system and I vowed to steer clear of credit cards, money lenders, lotto’s, etc. Fantastic, just fantastic that I didn’t last long enough because just five months in the fashion business and I am beginning to borrow and the interesting thing is all my debts are justifiable on paper but in my heart it feels wrong.

The tale of how AIT lost the bid to air the Premiership games to DSTV because they couldn’t come up with the funds blur reason out of my mind, driving me to make phone calls like crazy. It will amaze you the number of contacts you can resurrect out of your phone book when you want something bad but just as I make another frantic call with one hand whilst the others hits the keyboard, the wise words from a friend rings in my head-“do not confuse what is urgent with what Is important”-but that is easier said than done; is it not another wise saying that puts it that “it is he that wears the shoe that knows where it hurts”. Still, (shaking head) I can’t shake my friend’s words out of my head.

The end of this tale I do not know but just one thing is clear, the clothes for which I need the money for must be available before tomorrow and the models must be rocking them by this time tomorrow.
I guess this is probably the tale of many Nigerian entrepreneurs, so talent is not enough…see I am already picking up on the moral of the day (smiling). I pray it translates into “ego” by tomorrow evening, but till then who’s next on my phonebook? Let’s see…it could be you.

A GREENHORNS OPINION-BLAME IT ON LOVE

Talking of greenhorns, I find myself again at this stage of my life being one in the razzmatazz world of fashion-saying that word with certain Italian swag - fashion.
Okay, so talking about greenhorns; I am spurred by the ardor of recently graduating from the university and hungry to do all those things I have seen from afar in the recline of my sofa opposite that magic box called the T.V. From afar I have I longed to tread those so called sacred grounds of the Nigerian creative industry one of which is the fashion industry. The thing is that I am not a designer, heck I can’t even tell satin from velvet yet that’s not to say that I have not been grounded on the basic rules of dos and don’ts - so glad I am not a guy because the ladies have it hard – but I must say that I was a bit of trouble finding the were I fit till I got the opportunity to P.R for a rising fashion label – must admit I am tempted to do small advert (sniggering).

Therefore my to do list became to learn the fashion lingua franca, understanding Aba boys and tailors – some of those tailors are a true test of ones patience – fashion events, people, etc. but my ‘palava’ today has top do with a certain demeanor I have observed characterizes some Fashionistas. Before I go further I must say that I am the new guy, the greenhorn with an opinion so I may be wrong; so I’ll let the experts be the judge.

The demeanor I speak of to be direct is snubbing. It may be a Lagos thing with all the affluence and the need to show whose boss on the one hand or it could just be an after effect of the stress in this city that never ever, ever seems to sleep. Even the nicest guy would become a grouchy ogre if care is not taken but still my short time in this business has been a mix of applause, with a reoccurring shallow gaze, blank faces when you smile, then with nice comments and then later with absolute battery on blogs, and then misguided eyes from living human beings faces to the screens of their lifeless blackberries as if the world revolved around only them.

Well just to rub it in, my efforts to becoming a socialite today saw me attending one of those elite fashion fairs for networking , window shopping and just plain gawking at those gorgeous people whose skin seemed never to have felt the harsh rays of the Nigerian sun. So I am standing in the middle of the market and I am shocked there is no cajoling or a least an inviting glance when I seemed particularly interested in an item – well to be fair I was starring a female bag so I guess that doesn’t count – but still a customer without a buyers attention to me seemed like bad marketing but again its just a greenhorn’s opinion.

A certain “lady of cultural in betweens and political contradictions” of whom I am an aficionado of, spoke of the press being to quiet because of capitalism; so for opening my big mouth, I have a defense. My defense? I blame it on love, a love for my new found muse: fashion.

VACANCY: THERAPIST FOR HIRE, APPPLY WITHIN

I never gave much thought to therapy, heck if you say therapy in Nigeria everybody’s mind like an alarm screams: Yaba Left, Yaba Left i.e. you don dey crase, Yaba left was actually churned from the Yaba Psychiatric hospital, my greatest Akokites are familiar with this terminology already because there was a particular period after a major riot in the University of Lagos that the school administration were purported to have declared that all students in addition to a fine of N10,000 per student must go for psychiatric check-up...Kaiii imagine the embarrassment after THEY DON HAMMER collecting 10,000 from over 36,000 students - you do the math.

Don’t mind me hating on the school, I am just upset about the Nigerian education system: I don tire for their wahala. Back to my ramblings about therapy, do you think we need it in Nigeria? Or maybe at least for us Lasgidi people because i am telling you sometimes if you try reading the looks the faces of people...omo, some people need to untie that worrisome knot before it chokes them.

Let me put my self on the HOT SEAT; borrowing my padi Dapo Ajayi’s line, I have been on this PILIGRIMAGE called education for a while now (forget it I aint giving specifics on how long), but finally after all the wuru and magomago I finally reached the final stage, and then like a serpent all sort funny issues started to crawl out of their murky, scrawny holes. I mean they literally threatened all that I had worked so hard for.

Imagine all the speaking in tongues and shaking of head (you know how we do it in MFM...lol). After all even the bible says that a worker is due of his wages which in my case is a student is due of his GPA (Grade Point Average). I do not stand alone in this quandary because any one that has gone through a Federal or State owned Nigerian university especially in recent times know what I am talking about...Kaiii(the thought just stung at my heart again).

I mean that is my story imagine the rest of Lagos; scorching sun, LASMA, PHCN, Unemployment, bills, etc. And multiply that times 365days, aha, are you sure that we still don’t need that therapy.
See for me, therapy is an healthy occasion to release the stress from your mind before you go BOOM like Tom after being hit by Jerry’s rocket - I wonder when Tom the cat would give up and realise that he aint ever going to have that mouse for dinner...:)

For some their spouse is their therapist, others have family and or friends to pour out their heart to, still again we have fellowships both corporate (Yaba left...Lmao) and informal, and in my case today it’s you guys...mischievous me (grinning). Let’s not forget that Baba God dey there oooooh.

Thank you for your time with no charge, you should try it sometime its amazing.
I can even be your therapist for a day for a small fee (chuckles). So you need a therapist, apply within.

The Son

The room is dim, slightly light by a glowing toy lamp which casts a warm glow over the landscape of the 4 by 6 room filled with a rampage of toys and crayons.

Suddenly light floods in from the hall into the room as the tall frame of a man glances in before proceeding to the bed where a little boy lay.

Dad: Tomi, you are still awake?

Tomi: dad, (with a sleepy drawl)

Dad: (sitting beside the bed) did you enjoy your friend’s birthday? What’s her name again…? (Searching Tomi’s eyes)

Tomi: Tayo, she is not my friend again.

Dad: Why? (With a Puzzled grin across his face)

Tomi: She always plays house and it is not a fun game because every time she plays house she says that I am her husband and she is my wife. She now says that we have a child and, and (pauses)….i don’t like the game.

Dad: but it’s just a game… (Laughs)

Tomi: I don’t like it. Our baby is her doll baby and I am telling her that that is not a real baby.

Every thing is always the baby is hungry, the baby poo poo…(squirms in the bed sheet)I don’t care.

Dad: (with emphasis) Tomiiiiiiiii.

Just because you do not like her baby doesn’t mean it is not special (chuckles), you may be surprised at what you are missing. Let me tell you story.

A long time ago there lived this wealthy man and his beloved son. They loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael and they would often sit together and admire the great works of art.

Sometime passed and the country was experiencing war between each other, and so the son went to war like many other young men his age. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier.
When the wealth man; the boys father was told he grieved deeply for his only son for a very long time.

(The sound fades as the father is sitting in his home distraught when he his gateman ushers in a young man in army uniform)

Gateman: Oga, this man talkam say, him know am for your pikin (gestures to the young solider).

Solider: Good afternoon sir

Father: How may I help you, you say you knew my boy.

Solider: Yes sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart but one thing I remember him was how he often talked about you, and your love for art."

(The young man held out a package).

Solider: I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.

Wealthy man: The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears.

Wealthy man: Ah, how much do I owe you for your trouble….i must give you something for this (gasps)
Solider: Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift.

Dad: The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

Time did pass again and this time the man died. There was therefore to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people were gathered, and were excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.

On the platform sat the painting of the son.


The auctioneer: (pounding his gavel) we will start the bidding with this portrait of the son. Who will bid for this painting?

(Silence)

Chief Ekwem: (with an igbo ascent in a loud voice from the back of the room). We want to see the famous paintings. Carry this one comot

The auctioneer: (Persisting) Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? N10000, N2000? Somebody…anybody…

Monsieur Patrick: (angrily.) Wi didn't come to see this painting wi came to si the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. c’est absolute mais non.

(Crowd murmuring and nodding in agreement)

The Auctioneer: (still persisting) the son! The son! Who'll take the son?"

(More murmurings)

Gateman: (from the very back of the room) I'll give N5000 for the painting, its all I have (opening up his savings container)

The Auctioneer: We have N5000, who will bid N15000?

Alhaja Biola and Hamsat: Give am now haba, e never do.

The Auctioneer: Won't someone bid N15000?

(The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the painting of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.)

The Auctioneer: (pounding the gavel.)Going once, going twice and SOLD for N5000 to the man in blue uniform(the gateman)!

Chief Ekwem Ehen, let us get on with the collection!"


The Auctioneer: (laying down his gavel). I’m sorry, the auction is over. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will.

I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.

The man who takes the son gets everything!"

(Disappointment drains the colour out of the faces of the people and disarray ensues amongst them as they realize their loss)

Dad: You see; as Tayo loves her stuffed baby so also does God even much more love his son and all his children in the world: you, me, mummy, Tayo; everybody, and yet

He gave his son 2,000 years ago to die on that old rugged cross wasn’t that indeed a great sacrifice but many people like the Chiefs, Alhajas and Monsieur do not get it and they pursue so many things and forget the True One .
So, like the auctioneer and even Tayo, His message today is:

"The Son, The Son, who'll take The Son?"

ONYX AND PEARL: THE UNVEILING

The experience at the just concluded Trendy Bold and Righteous Fashion show hosted by Daystar saw the emerging of fiery brand ready to rock the fashion and business world.

ONYX AND PEARL
Onyx and Pearl metamorphosed out of the vision and entrepreneurial drive of one which eventual spread to another and two more, to now constituting a powerful blend of Vision, Intelligence, Creativity and Raw Drive.

MISSION
Our mission is to Induce the forwardness of fashion through perfectly tailored and very unique clothing with close attention to details, making the customers choice of Regal priority.

ABOUT ONYX AND PEARL
In 2008, after a lot of watching and thoughtful anticipation of what could be achieved, Abiodun-Lisk Oluwaseun started the brand with a captivating Bespoke Suit trend. He successfully mastered the knowledge of combining the right blend of colours, fabric and skill to creating exceptional designs for the sophisticated Nigerian man but after much work he realised that there was still more to be done and in a bid to assume greater heights he required the much needed help of skilled and intuitively genius minds like his. The resultant effect was the introduction of Ajayi Oladapo an incorrigible business minded guy; he’s flair for numbers and handling delicate financial details in addition to his drive for excellence were complementing factors that made him indeed a round peg for the round hole which was vacant in this brand. Another intuitive addition to this brand is Oke-Lawal Adebayo a young man with an acute creative faculty for anything fashion and style: his creative fire sparked the diversity that this brand boasts of which include exceptional high fashion feminine designs and daring masculine clothing which define our belief in ingenuity, fashion forwardness and excellence. The final compardre Russel Oyakhire who is an aficionado of style and exquisite work brings to the table the connecting strings of branding and class to the brand.
This four angled brotherhood are the mechanics that drive the locomotive engine of this dynamic enterprise.

The journey indeed has come with its tales like most businesses but the vision remains firm reaching: beyond NAIJA. We have crawled and we have learned to stand but we want to walk and we acknowledge the importance of the platform of this fashion exhibition as we take those long strides into the future.

COMING SOON WITH PICTURES FROM THE SHOW.

MY KUNGFU STORY

Hmmm you there (mouth moving with out words), you kill my Papa; you kill my mama, hmmm (more mouth movements and no words)... taste my Iron Fist, hmmm.

KUNGFU STORY: starring my brothers
VICTOR RUSSEL AS SENSEI SHITU


IZ RUSSEL AS SENSEI SHAMALA



Yes ooooh, welcome to the masculine world of few words and more punches courtesy of our Wung Pei Yung’s and Jackie Chan’s all over the world...(grinning) I saw a Naija kunfu movie once, LORT HAVE MERCY, I don’t even want to go there today.

YOU KILL MY MAMA YOU KILL MY PAPA


I TASTE MY BLOOD...HMMM




See, there is such mystery behind these Kunfu movies, it amazes me, I know a lot of people especially the ladies may not agree with me and yes, this is not a battle of the sexes but since I got the pen today listen to my Kunfu story and let me make a believer out of you... (As in, this is exciting...Let’s go there)

SHADOW KICK STYLE


CHIDORI (TOO MUCH NARUTO...LMAO)



This tale transcends from Michigan in the United States to China (I know everything is always America; well ‘no be me’ write the original script; I am just giving you the gist). The life of this black kid suddenly is thrust into an unfamiliar world when his mother moves to China to take up another job and start over like most single mothers trying to cope, she is burdened with the pressure of surviving and China offered her an opportunity which she accepted and so her son had no choice but to go with her.

This boy is in a country were he can’t even speak the language; he completely hates his new life, and like most boys his age he gets into trouble just on the first day (yep it was of course about a girl...another ‘tori’ for another day). Unfortunately for this boy whom by the way was acted by Will Smiths son (Jaden Smith): Ooops, let the cat out of the bag; well for those of you may have watched this movie just play along with me the ‘yans’ will soon make sense.

JADEN SMITH


The boy’s life however would change dramatically when he meets this old man whom at the beginning was just a mere repair man to him until this old repair man saved him from getting thoroughly beaten up (in Waffy translation it means that ‘dey be wan arrange the boy’..lol). The old man (Jackie Chan) took the boy under his wing in a bid to help the boy learn Kunfu and then participate in a Kunfu competition were he would prove himself before his foes that he wasn’t afraid of them. Well guess what; like joke, like play for weeks this boys training was a simple routine: remove your jacket, pick it up, hang it, remove it and drop it again; the poor boy did this every time he ‘trained’ with his new master. Of course the boy got tired and screaming angrily he told the old Chinese man that he had learnt all he had to learn from doing the routine; you see he assumed that he was only being taught to be respectful to his mother since he had the bad habit of throwing his jacket on the floor when he came home, a feat which infuriated his mother a lot.

HMMMMM...YOU ARE GOOD




This is were it gets interesting; the old man like a typical master orders him saying ‘Hmmm come here’ and the boy reluctantly obeys and from those supposedly stupid actions of dropping the jacket, hanging it and picking it up the Chinese old man brought out the moves of kunfu; you see all this while the boy’s body was constantly making Kunfu structured moves but the jacket blinded him from seeing that there was more, you see: he wasn’t only learning etiquette skills he was also acquiring some serious Kunfu skills. So when the boy was attacked he’s reflexes were immediate and it was then that his eyes were opened.

Hey, just like this tale I am not doing a movie review, instead my ‘yans’ is more; I am curious and want you to see that those words scribbled on the pages of Gods word is more, much more than letters, that the rising sun is much more than science and indeed that journey from intercourse to the conception of a child is much more than a 9month fairytale.

That Chinese master philosophy was in these simple words to his young protégée:
Kungfu lives in everything we do...it lives in how we put on a jacket; how we take off a jacket, it lives in how we treat people...everything is Kungfu.

Check my version out (as in people would be quoting moi in a few yews...lol)
God is in everything we do...He’s in our going out (putting on the jacket) and He’s in our coming in (taking off the jacket); He is LOVE ...GOD is our EVERYTHING.
So you think you really know it all...think again baby.

SENSEI...

ME, MY PEEPS AND MY AUNTY B.

The weekend came a little earlier for me his week since the last time I dropped my ECONOMIST YANS, (Still feeling like an efiko)...*wink*.

So the occasion was originally to celebrate the birthday of someone really dear, our very own Aunty B; she means a whole lot to a special group of people: the Rechabites (my family from another mother but from the same father): so much so that we prepared a long elaborate scheme which took over a month of strategising and concocting (Kudos to Anna aka anna banana, Itunu aka itunes and Lilacious lily...I am in trouble, exposing their aka*grinnning*).

Well, like I said earlier the plan was to celebrate some one but I also put my own twist into the story: you know, spice it up a bit... (Smiling). Imagine: City People Magazine style...lol .

Enough talk, lets get down to business; Rise and Stew Very Plenty...LMAO.

ENTOURAGE: Lagos big boys, Michael (centre), Big Mike (left), Dare aka man of God (back with two fingers in the air) and Lagos big babes; Osarentin aka Tinker bell(shiny teeth in blue), Anna aka anna banana in red and Joy.

’


SET UP: P.B (in pink), Ifedayo (in black covering her face: coded runs going down), Micheal and Afolabi aka Afo baba pretending like they understand...lol.
And we were in the dark at this time...’see as we be like sardine...kai, na love wan tin tin for anuty B cause am *grinning hard*.


LYRICS: ‘Omo’ I just have to pause at this point for the lyricist himself Damilola Famaks aka babaaa, This guys lyrics as far back as 2007 was still deep as we read them to aunty B; I guess the pen speaks from the dept of the heart of a man more than spoken words...’babaaa, I hail oooooh’
. BABA DAMI (IN THE CENTER WEARING A BLACK SHIRT)



Still Lovebirds: Mr and Mrs Kalejaiye


Seyoooooooooooooooo baba blessed art thou amongst he women LMAO


Family: Notice Anna banana the only girl among the boys in the picture below; yep, that is aunty B’s baby...lol. We are jealous!!!



The MEN...lol

All my single ladies...lol (well but one...*winks*)



Mekus Money and his new bussiness partner Mr. A (Mekus, all my pics of you, you are always doing business...Cheiiii)


MY AUNTY B



Pheeeew, i just got carried away: let me slow down before people think this is some Owambe blog.

Now that I am still, I look back at all the times shared together with our Aunty B: all the vigils we stayed awake, all the Praise Nights we danced and sung our hearts out, all the gist we had every Saturday, all the scolding we got when we misbehaved, every meal we shared, and every heart we touched together for God this I will forever treasure.
This is my heaven right here on planet earth: ME, MY PEEPS AND MY AUNTY B.

Play, play,...LMAO.

So you know Thursday is the new Friday; we just cant wait to get out of the craze of the week and have fun and like my fellow Economist we model every thing which means we create a blue print of what we intend to describe or explain. So I am going to try to explain fun in NAija from my experience in working with my peeps during this week *winks* (efiko)

ECONOMIST MODEL FOR HAVING FUN IN LAGOS

F = B0 + B1 M + U

F = Fun
B0 and B1 = Coefficients
M = money
U = Random variable

LMAO... for my non economist peeps it simply means having fun is a function (as a result) of ego (money...LMAO)

I know I am a little partial today just talking about only economist but my pre- weekend revolved around them as we had a get together at the beach as we draw closer to our very last days together as a class and as a family.

Right now i am beginning to feel all mushy as i think now of the inevitable that one day some of us may never see each other again and so today here are some faces I could lay hold of their pictures; some of the most intelligent, crazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzy, STINGY (PLS NO KILL ME AFTER THIS OOOOOOOH) and interesting people that form a part of life my life that I am going to miss.

So i didn't put everything because i almost went blind when i saw some “tinssssssssssss” that I saw *winks* you know this is a family friendly blog... LMAO.


I GOT PHONE NOS TOO...LOL














AS IN...I STILL GOT MORE PHONE NO'S...LMAO



























WATCH OUT FOR PART TWO... Dinner and Award Nite (BIGGER AND BETTER)