You can always COUNT on You.

After the leading Nigerian political party primaries in 2011, a winner emerged with close to 4000 votes, the second had little over 700 votes from delegates while the last candidate, Sarah Jibril, had 1 vote, hers. The unfortunate part was she supposedly joined the party due to similar political ideologies. For the same individual to have no vote from others only showed she was playing with the wrong team. Then again, are we ever playing for the right team that would do unto us what we could do for them.

But that is life, you can always/mostly/only count on you. Like a lizard that falls and nods 'well done', we can only represent ourselves, salute our achievements, and be motivated by our failures. How many people do you know that can give you half of what he/she had if you lose all you have? A 'chairman' in my area thought he had the support of his 'boys' until he got broke and became a boy to one of his boys who was now a chairman. Some live life carelessly with the belief someone was watching their back.

I have always known this- that everyman is for himself and like I said, you can always count on you. Sure you can welcome support, but count on you to do the work. Even your family members can desert you when you are down. A friend once told me the dad said "don't expect any inheritance from me". Not everyone enjoys the benefit of hearing that firsthand. I'll suggest you watch the movie 'Million Dollar Baby' where despite the lead character being in her sick bed, her family declared their interest in her wealth and gave little regard to her health. Maybe selfish but they were only looking out for themselves, counting on themselves.

Welcome to Graduation

Wake up Mr. West, Mr. West, Mr. Fresh
Mr, by-his-self-he-so-impressed
I mean damn, did you even see the test
You got D’s mother…, D’s…
And yes, barely passed any and every class
Looking at every ass
Cheated on every test
I guess this is my dissertation
Homie, this shit is basic Welcome to Graduation

I’m not one to fuss over anything, birthdays wasn’t different from any other day so why make a fuss over convocation. So I have a degree, my friend that barely attended classes has got one, the lawyer within the low pay grade has one too, so also the banker and oil worker- spending money they didn’t earn and earning money can’t spend respectively. That shit is basic. But I did learn from school and did meet people. I know a few “that finished school and started their own business, [I was like] oh! You graduated, the reply was, No I decided I was finished”. That shit is also basic, not everyone graduates. They end up either being Bill Gates or the Gate-man.
No doubt university was fun especially if you were a student in the University of Lagos, where you meet the Jennifers and the Hot Hot Lawals. I had fun, did all there was to do [for your sake] so I wouldn’t need to drive in there years to come to pick up your daughters in my machine. And everyone should have this experience, let your most vibrant youthful years be spent in a stimulating environment with limitless temptation to learn how to be matured and build character.
The truth is you don’t need a degree to be educated, “You graduate when you make it out of the streets, from the moments of pain, look at how far [you came], haters saying [you’ve] changed, Now you’re doing your thing”. That is basic. I will not deceive anybody a degree makes anyone special but it does reduce the probability of not making it out of the streets. So if you do see any picture of me in convocation gown remember I wasn't celebrating a 3.51 C.G.P.A, I was celebrating graduating out of the streets. What else can I say… this shit is basic.

Who knows Ella?

A male friend was the first person to tell me about a girl called Ella. He told me she was found dead after leaving home to catch  with her boyfriend. She was a student of University of Lagos. He had one of her pictures on his phone and I had to exclaim "What a waste?" Cause facially her head dey there. He told me he got the picture from a friend who knew her. Also, one of our mutual friend I'll  Alex knew her. It was a shock though, but it wasn't new nor news students dying. During my finals one died from the Economics department. It was quite sad BUT students had finals to write. So I went home thinking that would be the last I would hear about Ella but I was soooo wrong. I met another friend in my area who told me about a girl that died. I was like, "Let me guess her name, Ella" and I was right. She told me she was her friend back in school. She showed me one of her pictures and it was the same one my friend had showed me (it felt like a recycled image). I added Alex knew the girl as well and she responded she was the one that told him about the girl.

Hours later I was another friend who arrived the country recently and he told me how dangerous Nigeria was and made an example with a girl called Ella. I was shocked cause I could not say who told him. To make it more confusing for me he said it was a personal friend of hers that told him. Bear in mind the news of the girl's death was bearly 24 hours so I guessed she had to be a celebrity in UNILAG, but first I needed to find who knew Ella.

I understood what gave her post humous fame was her speculated cause of death. 'A friend' of hers said her boyfriend used her for blood money and was now behind bars. Another 'friend' said her boyfriend drugged her because he wanted to sleep with her and she overdosed and died. One said she went to the same school with her and her full name was ELLACHUKWU while another said ANTOINELLA. I also heard she was a worker in the Rock Foundation Fellowship. Another said she was a 300 level student studying Marine Science, Linda Ikeji on her blog said she was in 200 level and 17+ years old. With all the misinformation I heard it became difficult for me to find her on Facebook. But, I did find a group page dedicated to her although I couldn't find her on their friend's list.

I don't know who Ella is, I don't even kmow if that was her real name and was buried at Atan cementry two days after her demise. What I do know is whoever she was sho would be missed by those who loved her and those who knew her. With their love they have made a whole lot of people share their loss. Either good or bad or nothing at all, you have known Ella.

I'm on My Way

If I’m to describe myself one of the qualities I’ll attribute to me is patience. Some see it as a virtue but I consider it a weapon. It’s easier for man to wait for something they are not expecting anytime soon (like the second coming), what tests our patience is what quite frankly wouldn’t take that long. Say you want to but credit and the seller is few seconds slow you are likely to react and vent about the delay as if you’ve waited for hours. Those of us who patronise bukas would understand better. What tests my patience the most and I’ll assume you too is when you are expecting someone to catch up with you somewhere, maybe your crib, and you keep calling about their location and their response was “I’m on my way.”

I’ve lost count of the number of times where I was in my crib, cleaned up Stamford Bridge, and expect the ‘away team’ to show only to hear “I’m on my way” until the next day. I prefer to hear “I’m on” than “I’m on my way”. That’s why I snicker when I’m with my guys and they call their chics and she tells them “I’m on my way”. One of my guys waited from 12 noon. He called her and she said “I’m on my way, I just left my house.” Two hours later, “I’m on my way, I had to branch to see my aunt.” This continued until my guy slept off and I decided to wake him up few minutes to midnight. I urged him to call her which he did, and he asked her, “Are you still coming?” which made everyone burst into laughter even her.

The question especially to girls is why can’t you just be honest for once and be upfront? Excuses upon excuses, I know they aren’t superwoman that’s why I respect being upfront. A girl once told me, “I’m about to cook then take my bath then I will come and see you after I fix my hair then I have to see my friend to collect something (that ‘something’ never have names), from there I’ll take a bike to see you. Of course I ruled out her coming and I wasn’t even home myself. She called 10 pm to apologise that she wouldn’t be able to make it.

The guys I pity most are those who make ‘preparations’ when a girl says that. One question I’ve noticed they ask is “What are you going to eat?” Not that they intend to cook but to create the impression how much they expected the girl and what would waste if she failed to turn up. All na format, some would even say I was supposed to go out but I stayed behind because of you. A guy took the regular Kasapreko and one Chinese drug. His manhood was as… (You get the idea). After hearing “I’m on my way” in the space of ten hours, he attempted to cajole boys into patronising po-pos. He needed a release because he was extra-prepared. I felt for the guy, then again it might have been a blessing in disguise cause if the girl had come I would have felt for her considering waht awaited her.

Ojota: The Power of Humour

There are times where we just sit at home and hear about a crisis going on somewhere. These crises usually lead to the death of people unconcerned and the cause is usually something that would have been solved with something as little as the right attitude. Imagine you are hungry and you use your last cash to buy a meal to eat later. Only for you to find an empty plate when you were ready to eat, you walk out hungry and angry and you see someone eating what you guessed was yours. You attack him without warning and he retaliates out of defence. His friends come and you also call for back-up. Any animosity that was buried is now resurrected and unfortunately someone dies or seriously injured. Now blood is a catalyst for crisis, someone has to pay the blood spilled. That is a crisis for you and the media would give them that attention. As a social psychologist or a citizen of this world, how can one stop crisis? I was surprised when I found out an answer.

It was at Ojota, midday Sunday. A man was driving and was about to make a turn when an Okada man, in an attempt to make the turn before the car, sped in front of the moving vehicle from the side. The man must have been unaware of the okada and there was a collision. The impact of it all left the okada man on the ground with broken bones. It was evident this man was likely not going to use his legs anymore ‘cause his right leg for one looked like just skin. The bones looked like stones from the outside, totally crushed with blood everywhere. Everyone rushed to the scene even the driver. You should trust Nigerians, everyone was screaming for the injured man without any initiative to help him to a hospital. Instead one of the supposedly angry men decided to express himself on the car by hitting it. He even suggested the car be burnt. Others soon joined them only to be approached by an ‘intellectual man’. He suggested that wasn’t the option instead he could use the car to drive the bleeding man to the hospital. To me that made sense but to others No, angry Nigerians think differently. One of the men suggested he was the driver and was the person that caused the accident. Before you could say Jack Spa…*SLAP*. Others joined in beating the man who was screaming he was innocent. Somehow the man was able to spot a police patrol van and ran towards it, after all police is your friend. The mob was on his tail and warned the police to release him to execute jungle justice. Those people were no doubt furious. The man managed to explain that he wasn’t the owner of the car but by then they felt he was lying to escape being lynched. The driver on the other hand was witnessing all these and must have been glad he wasn’t spotted. However he blew his cover when he made a phone call and made a statement in Yoruba meaning, “The car was not burnt.” Someone heard that statement and alerted others that he was the driver. While taking steps backwards he denied being the driver until he sensed his cover was blown and began to run. They chased him into a bus garage. Naturally in Lagos touts pass touts. The touts in the garage saw the mob as attempting to barge into their territory. One of the touts in the garage decided to hold a weapon, anything, to break up the mob. He saw a man holding a long stick vertically on the ground. He shouted at the man to give him the stick but the man moved back. He charged forward and shouted, “Ogbemi fun mi ni igi yen (Give me that stick)”. He stretched his hand to pull the stick away from the man’s grip but the man held on tightly. Everyone was questioning what the tout had in mind. When he got possession of the stick the other man fell and he realised he was a cripple and that was his walking stick, so he made a statement, “Oba ti so (You should have talked)”. Everyone began to laugh and it was a genuine laugh caused it cleared all the tension in the air. Everyone was back to their senses and finally had time for the okada man which I must add was being given pieces of his bones which he was putting in his pocket. Everyone surprisingly found humour in everything.

525,600 Minutes

525,600 minutes

525 moments so dear

525,600 minutes

How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylight, in sunsets, in midnights, In cups of coffee

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife

In 525,600 minutes

How do you measure a year in a life?…

As the year comes to an end, it isn’t unusual to retrospect. Either it was a remarkable year of the days flew by there should be something worth remembering. To some the end of the year might not be a big deal, just 365 days or 525,600 minutes. But remembering the END of a year is important cause it gives an opportunity to see a fresh start, a NEW beginning or an opportunity to move to the next level.

…523,600 minutes

525 journeys to plan

525,600 minutes

How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?

In truth that she learned

Or in times that he cried

In bridges he burned

Or the way that she died

It’s time now to sing out

Tho’ the story never ends

Let’s celebrate

Remember a year in the life of a friend…

The question of how to measure a year in a life gives us the unique opportunity of having answers without being wrong. Each of us have unique experiences of what made us laugh, cry, love, hate, regret, and most important of all praise God. There were those we shared those experiences together and now they are gone leaving with us their memories. When you now think about it the year was a rollercoaster of emotions.

There’s one thing I do anything I meet someone new to have an idea of their personality and I’ll suggest you do the same thing for yourself. If you have a Facebook account, perfect. Click to view your wall (do not confuse this with the home page). You can do this by clicking on your name then you would be able to read only your status updates and those pasted on your wall, pictures and comments. Once you have done this keep clicking to see previous messages until you get to your first post of the year. Sounds stressful but I can assure you by the time you are done, you would see the past 525,600 minutes differently

25th of December, 2010

Christmas is one of the holidays I look forward to, for one it’s just a day but it’s so big the whole month of December is associated with one day, 25th. As ‘usual’ there’s the rice and chicken which at least man must taste one. Even Muslims enjoy Christmas; those I know have their Christians neighbours knock on their doors to serve them with the usual. The fact was I never got to worry about what to eat on Christmas; I just wake up late expecting the usual but this Christmas…

I woke up with the sound of my neighbours chatting, they really sounded joyful and I was glad they were up early. At least I knew it wouldn’t take long before I had my usual plate of rice and chicken plus a drink to go with it. Next sound I heard was that of their car doors, their gate, the engine, and the sound of it fade off after the gate was closed. I stayed in bed trying to rationalise what I heard. I hurried down stairs to hear from the house boy they had travelled to their hometown to celebrate Christmas. Who travels from Lagos to their hometown on Christmas day? No qualms, it was Christmas day and there was bound to be surplus food somewhere. By 1 o’clock, no show. I was stuck at home with a friend looking at each other. Everything wasn’t going on as expected. There was no Rick Dees top 40 on 96.9 Cool fm. We decided to go to the one place Christmas was bound to be celebrated.

We got to a Pastor’s house in my area, we heard from the niece say pastor don go Kwara state with his wife leaving the children behind. His kids, five of them, had to entertain us. They played interesting movies to watch, and I meant interesting movies to them. I mean, the oldest was in primary school so we had to watch Christmas sing-along, Adventures of Superbook, and…was it Iganpa Master (or something). We left there to continue our journey in search of Christmas food. I checked my Facebook page and from the status of so many people the celebrations were already in full swing. Someone even posted she had had enough to eat. I updated my situation on my wall only for me to get comments from friends suggesting I should go mama put. Even Iya Bola that I was referred to did not open for business. My friend suggested we go to his cousin’s house which was also in the same area. We got there, only to hear that the chicken was just killed. Give or take, we could come back in an hour and a half’s time.

My friend was a popular producer in the area so it wasn’t a surprise when he received a phone call about a party and there were going to be enough chops and chics. All we had to do was take okada to his house. We got to his house with our pockets one hundred and forty naira lighter but he wasn’t in. Apparently that was his mom’s house and he recently moved out. He called him and he gave us his address. We weren’t sure of the location so we had to take a bike (minus one hundred naira), at least there would be Christmas food and girls to compensate our financial loses. As we got closer we heard music blaring but we got there only to realise we were deceived by the speakers. It was just guys drinking alcohol and dancing alanta to the songs of Terry G. I did eat chicken but compared to the beer I drank, it was nothing. Initially I was counting how many bottles I had cancelled 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 6 damn! I lost count and had to start again. After pissing like half of what I drank we decided to go back home to find real food. We asked from the host our fastest route back and he pointed down the road. That was when we realised the okada we took scammed us, instead of telling us all we had to do was “take the second turning by your left” he drove us round three streets to justify the one hundred naira he charged us.

As we were walking home I knew I was tipsy but I didn’t know how much I was, at least I knew I was still walking. Suddenly I saw a naked woman fun across the road. It wasn’t like a ‘mad woman’ kind of naked, I mean, this one looked clean. I asked my guy if he saw anything he replied no. I told myself “Yes, you don dey.” I found it hard to believe that I got so drunk I saw a naked woman. As we walked further down the road we both saw the woman again, I look at him and had to tell him, “You, don dey,” for not seeing her earlier. She was walking casually on the road and everyone had a look as if they knew who she was and kept shaking their heads. To be honest, she looked fresh.

I got to my area knowing I had to eat something. Someone told me about a small get-together in his house. I opened the gate of the compound to hear prayers. I later heard it was organised by the landlord for his tenants. I was impressed. It was obvious the tenants made the landlord happy for actualising such initiative. Few minutes later the occupants were being served. I noticed some had two pieces of chicken on their plate of rice, others just one. I noticed the guy that invited me had none so I had to ask, “Guy! You know dey pay rent?” It was as if the number of chicken was determined by how diligent the tenant paid his rent. I didn’t want to be disgraced so I walked out after all I wasn’t an occupant. You know, being drunk wouldn’t be complete unless you do something ‘stupid’ and I did.

For those of you who have read this blog well you should be familiar with the name [Any], she’s a girl that stayed in my area and well she’s… (just read [Any] or Nothing). So I called this girl hoping to hear there was food at her side but she didn’t pick. I used another line after several tries and she picked. She heard my voice and stopped talking. I was confused cause the last time I had any form of communication with this girl was my birthday where she sent me a birthday text (courtesy her network that gave her five free SMS weekly). I was tipsy, hungry, and angry so I sent a text to her;

“You know my laptop has a camera, it’s not HD but it’s clear and has idle mode where I could be recording things that happen, let’s say in my room without anyone knowing. Merry Christmas.”

I didn’t send the text for her to want to pick my call, I wanted her to know the consequences of what ‘could’ happen if she pushed me to the wall. If she had replied I had only one response waiting for her, “Youtube.” I still don’t get what’s wrong with her. I don’t want to believe she was trying to discourage me from having interest in her because I have gotten that point and most important of all, Now I have [Faith]. Due to all these events, two things I learnt on that Christmas was there was no such thing as a free meal even on Christmas day and it’s never too late to ruin your day, year, or even friendship.