What Would Heaven Actually Look Like?

Dear Diary,

       What does heaven look like?


According to Biblical Descriptions of Heaven, there is a constant chant of holy angels that are continually proclaiming Holy, Holy, Holy over the throne of God.  The Mercy Seat in heaven where God sits is surrounded by magnificent angels full of glory and power that proclaim and bless the holy name of God without ceasing. 


Some of these are described as beasts, full of eyes, with six wings and neither rest day or night in their proclaiming the holiness of God (Rev. 4:8-11).

Ok cool. Butt not enough.

Jesus did say that in his father’s house there are many mansions. And somewhere else he said he would give us the desires of our hearts.

Here’s the thing. I don’t like mansions.
Having a mansion as my own isn’t the desire of my heart.
And I don’t want to imagine that heaven is just a vast glorious land of mansions and more mansions. It would look like Nigeria, if Nigerians all had the money they so desired…especially the Igbo-build-a-big-house-in-the-village type of Nigerians.

Which brings me back to the question “What does heaven look like?”

Searching Google Images for ideas on what people suppose heaven looks like, I only saw numerous photos of clouds, congregating saints and Disney-type castle cities on the clouds with a bright rainbow on top.


I want to believe that heaven is just a better, ideal, more glorious and utopian version of what we’ve seen here on earth. And more.


1. Is there an economy?

2. Are there skyscrapers, expressways, subways, bridges, parks, mountains, weather changes, townhouses, suburbs, housing estates?

3. Is it just a vast extension of more and more mansions?
I don’t particularly like mansions or big houses. I want a penthouse suite in the heart of the city overlooking the city, the Throne Room and all that. Can that be made available or do I have to settle for a mansion?

4. How do the saints move around heaven? Heaven is a big big city filled with the faithful who died since the beginning of time till now. So there must be some sort of transportation, right? Are there heavenly rails, cars? Do we fly or move at the speed of light?

5. Back to the question of an economy. Is there one? There should be some sort of economic activity. I mean, if the economy was ultimately God’s idea, then heaven shouldn’t be devoid of it. Don’t saints buy and sell?

6. If there is an economy, what are the various aspects of it? There probably wouldn’t be much construction work going on when all the saints have gathered for all eternity. So what others could there be? Agriculture? Media? Technology? Finance? Literature? Art? Commerce? Food? Fashion? Would the saints just be sitting idle playing with animals and trees and waiting for the next worship session?

7. Speaking of fashion, would we be in white robes for all eternity? Talk about hardcore minimalism. Ummm, Jesus, what would happen to fashion? I like pants, dungarees, shirts, jackets, trench coats, SHOES, perfume. I mean, robes and tunics are nice but they are not my style. Will high heel shoes, boots and brogues disappear from existence in heaven? Will we all be relegated to forever wearing robes and sandals? I shudder at the thought.

8. I am mischievous. So I want to look for people’s trouble, fart and run away. Would I be able to do that?

9. Will there be food in heaven? I may be picky, but I love food. Will there be parties, wine, loud GOSPEL music, car races, sunglasses, leather jackets and power bikes, beaches?

C’mon God. If man in all his frailty, flawed imagination and limitations could have created Barcelona, Rome, New York, London, Dubai, Venice, Sun City, Jerusalem, Washington, Seattle, Chicago, Rio de Janeiro, Aspen, Athens and all the beautiful cities of the earth, then I am confident that heaven must be an even better masterpiece.




9 Thoughts of an Amazing Nigerian Blogger Boy.

1.   Lagbaja has refused to show his face still. I kinda respect him for that. Or did he open his face at some point in time when I wasn’t looking?
Ego has hereby faded into oblivion. Where did she go sef? Why did she leave Lagbaja?

2. D’Banj basically has become a useless whats-his-face without Don Jazzy. Now Don Jazzy is making all the hits with Tiwa Savage and D’Banj must be somewhere out there in the cold, gnashing his teeth, drinking his Koko garri with salt and fish, Or just an energy drink, wishing, just wishing. 

3. Me too I want to do song with Don Jazzy o. Anyone who reads this and knows someone who knows someone that knows him should link us up o. Please. I can be a great star and I am forever loyal.

4. Where on earth is Tara Reid?

5. I had a dream, did a music video with Phyno, the name of the song was………..wait for it………..’Bitch Face’.

Don’t judge me.

6. I will soon start posting videos on Youtube. Videos of me singing of course.
Watch out!!!

7. I think Nigeria is the only country in the world without steady (or close to steady) power supply. I haven’t Googled it. I don’t think I need to. Just tell me if I’m right or wrong. But I feel I’m right. This country is a jungle.

8. I shouted at one man at the International Airport Immigration desk on my return to Lagos. He tried to skip the line and I went out of my way to cause a scene shouting down daggers and thunderbolts on the man. At some point he started to cuss in Yoruba and from the depths of my soul I raged “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! AT YOUR AGE YOU CANNOT SET A GOOD EXAMPLE BY STANDING IN LINE. FILTHY IMBECILE!!! IDIOTS LIKE YOU GIVE NIGERIA A BAD NAME!!!!

When I was done, the incredible hulk vanished and the immigration officials came begging me to calm down, and of course they made sure the ugly eel was attended to last. And I left smiling, fine as ever.

9. This morning, while I was walking to work, the Federal Road Safety Corps stopped me and tried to arrest me. I asked them why, seeing as I was WALKING, they told me I was too fine to be walking the streets thereby constituting a hazard to those driving past who may be in too much awe of my presence and crash into a pole or other not-so-glorious pedestrians.

*puts on sunshades*
*adjusts shirt*

If only.

Dear Diary,

       So here’s an interesting story. I got to South Africa to compete in a TV music game show…and failed spectacularly.


At this moment, I’m simply trying to feel something. I’m sure I will soon. Just not yet. And I am yearning to feel something; hurt, disappointment, gratitude, shame, tears, anything. Maybe I need to process this with time.

But before I start feeling any or all of those, here’s what I know firsthand

1. It is a learning experience. Granted, the song I sang wasn’t my strongest, definitely not the intended way I would have sang it. But I did. And I’m gonna learn from it. Maybe write an album. Be stronger. Bolder.

2. It is never the end. I am gonna be a singer. The fact that I got voted off a show doesn’t mean I have no talent or I’m less amazing. I know who I am, what I have and can do. And now I will fight uninhibitedly to do what I love to do and can do. Sing.

3. I think I needed this fail more than a win. I really do. I kinda almost expected to get this on a platter of gold, no matter how nervous I was about doing this. Now as I said before, I’m gonna think long and hard. And I’m gonna learn something from this. Not sure what yet. But I will. I will not make excuses. Destiny depends on me.

Now I have to go. I feel something welling up in my inside.

Maybe it’s the tears.

I don’t even know what to say at this point.

Ebuka Obi-Uchendu

Dear Nonso’s Diary,

       This is Kayito. 


You may have read about me from previous blog posts, and have learnt that I am a very good friend of Nonso.


After much persuasion from Nonso (actually, it wasn’t much at all. It only took a text), I have decided to be a contributor to his blog.


As I write, it is 10:20pm, on a wet Sunday night. Get your mind off the gutters. Pervs. Not that kind of wet. Wet meaning that it rained almost throughout today, and my plans to “get some” was disrupted by the stupid rain. 

Weather for two my ass. -__-

So I just returned from seeing a movie,


Edge of Tomorrow starring Tom Cruise and Emily Blunt (fantastic by the way, though the kiss between them was a very uncomfortable one, particularly for Tom), with Nonso at Leisure Mall, after which Nonso and I branched into Shoprite because he was ‘in the mood for chicken’. He bought it, and being the local and bush (but still classy sha) dude that he is, he ate it as we strolled to the end of Adeniran Ogunsanya.

All of that aside.

The main reason why I’m writing this post is because for the first time In years, I had low self esteem. Ever since I’ve gotten more in touch with myself, accepting the way I look/am, I’ve never felt that way. Till I saw Him.

“Him” is Ebuka Obi-Uchendu.


Google knows everything, apparently.

I know I’m very good looking. I actually mean to brag. I’ve been hearing that since I was 3years old. To me, it’s no longer a saying, but an obvious and established fact. People do a double take when I walk past them. I get compliments, from both sexes, on how good looking I am. God actually made me fearfully and wonderfully. I am grateful to him.


Don’t hate. Appreciate.

Today, I saw my competition. I wasn’t star-struck or anything. I work in fashion, so meeting celebrities has become a norm for me. The moment he walked in, I suddenly felt inferior. He looked like what I hoped to be in the future: still handsome, still tall, very fit.


Save for his clothes though. They were a bit too tight.

Till when I have the strength to write again, bye.

Basically my weekend was…


Yesterday Vivienne dragged me to a wedding.
In Ikeja.
As her date.
Much younger date.
You know,
younger men…
older women…
All the rage now.

Anyway, the wedding, I don’t want to diss it, but I will summarise it all:
the rude caterers, the waiters that bluntly refused to serve us food or drinks, the rowdy guests; more than half of which of course are unknown to the bride and groom, the few polished people that looked so uncomfortable seated amongst the uncouth majority, the male and female M.Cs that were deeply not-funny and whose jokes grated on my nerves, the passersby who saw a wedding party and crashed it to eat free food, the people who went around with crisp N100 notes to sell for those archaic people who still spray money on newlyweds during their first dance despite CBN’s ban on that Naira-bastardizing act, the simply awful people who hid their plates of just-finished food under their tables and then said to the waiters “Since I came, I haven’t even seen water to drink.”,
I summarise it all with this picture of the plate of small chops I finally received.


Today, Service was great. My old friend I don’t get to see often, Kezi came to my church and since people seem to think we look alike, I took him round and paraded him off as my brother and everyone fell for it.


He so vain, ain’t he?


It’s raining profusely. It’s Segun’s birthday


and he (left) Gbenga. (right) and I(nowhere in sight) were supposed to go see X-Men together but alas, the rains would not let them even near Surulere. 😦 ߘȰߑ

Tomorrow is the day I shall summon the courage to inform my boss that I am off to South Africa to partake in a televised music talent competition show. I hope he takes it well, and says yes. If he doesn’t, well, I’m still going shaaa.

If Everyone’s A Blogger Who Then’s The Reader?

Dear Diary,

          If everyone today is a blogger, who then will perform the highly rated and important task of reading, responding, critiquing and discussing? No doubt I have read many amazing blogs about different subject matters, but the thing is everyone wants in on the writing action despite their writing abilities or lack of.

Last time I talked about fashion and how everyone and their mothers have started fashion houses. And of course all the colourful boys have now become stylists and all the long-legged girls models.

Of course there’s also music. Everyone wants in on the get-rich-and-famous-quick scheme that is the Nigerian Music Industry. And just like most blogs and fashion houses out there, very few artistes pay attention to detail, and subject matter and lyrical content and vocal dexterity. They just go in high, bang on a beat and BAM, we have a hit.

0% Originality.

Whatever happened to the arts?

Everyone is copying the other. No one is original. Everything is the same. I mean, there are the real talented ones, the originals. But for 1 true artist, there are 5 copies. It is all so…so….
I can’t think of a word.

That time everyone wanted to be a lawyer or doctor or engineer. At least everyone’s parents wanted that. And being an artist meant poverty and shame. But now that the arts have proven to be lucrative, more people seemingly want a place in the arts. Of course by arts I’m referring to music, fashion, literature and all other genres.
No one wants to be a farmer, or teacher, or mechanic. They aren’t tush enough. We seem to forget that these are the bedrock of every society.

If everyone sings, who will produce the food?
If everyone acts, who will teach our children to make our nation better than we have left it?
If everyone is an engineer, by all means who will plan our weddings and parties and other events?

At this point I’m done ranting. I’m on to read more blogs. You get my point.


Stayed Up All Night Watching Scandal

Dear Diary,

       I slept at Ego’s house last night. (Ego is my big sister. Not so big though. Just 2 years bigger)
I went there because she cooked Afang soup. And I had to eat that.

Although it’d be more apt to say I STAYED at Ego’s last night considering that I didn’t sleep one wink. Ego, her friend Precious and I were up all night watching Scandal season 3 reruns. 


That show is amazing!!!

Shonda Rhimes is AMAZING!!!

Ego wasn’t up for watching the show with us but at some point she had to wake up because Precious and I couldn’t ‘HMMM’ loud enough. Between us both we downed 4 bottles of Pepsi, Coke, Fanta and Mirinda and actually clinking our bottles and saying cheers to every one of Olivia Pope’s victories.
God that show is amazing!!!


LoL don’t they look just terrible? LoL

We finished Scandal season 3 at 4:52am and then I tried to sleep. I dreamed that I was also amazing, like Olivia and Papa and Mama Pope. But just as soon as I was about to crack a case and have a major victory, Ego kicked me awake. It was time to get up for work.

She ruined my victory!!
My Olivia Pope moment. Ruined!!

I Hate her.!!!!!!!!

In other unrelated news. It’s Africa Fashion Week Nigeria.
How do I know? Well, it pays to have friends in fashion…and also the thing held in the hall next to the one my church meets at at the Eko Hotel.

I was around to see the preps for the show, all the models on full display; long legs, diva attitudes and all. And of course no fashion show would be complete without The Gays of our Lives, strutting their…stuff across the hallways, selling their market, helping designers and other preparations for the show or pretending they actually have any single shred of talent for designing clothes or putting clothes together.
Just because you wear ‘different’ clothes don’t make you a designer or stylist. I’m just done with this.

So, in honour of the current fashion week, I chose to do something I would not normally do. Be fashionable.

OK I just lied.

But I did put on white trousers though.

Yes. And I don’t look like a mafia gang member or a secondary school boy.

No pictures please.

So I urge everyone this week to just do it. Throw caution to the wind and live vicariously, dress-wise of course.

Now I’m at work, sleep-depraved. Turns out The Star audition I went for and got in showed up in the Vanguard on Friday. Now my colleagues are all over me. Could today be anymore embarrassing?

Seriously guys, I’m wearing white pants here.
And I look juvenile in that newspaper article photo.


*covers face*

I popped the question.

Dear Diary,

I fake proposed to the love of my life yesterday.


You never met her.


Her name is Faith.

She is beautiful. And funny. And smart. And witty. And petite. And.
She is amazing.

And she said yes.


Together we shall rule my DREAMS forever!!!



p.s. Happy Anniversary to my wonderful parents. Y’all have been the parents of my life, literally.



Dear Diary,

      You will never believe what just happened to me today.

Wanna guess?

I just scored a place on Music Reality TV show!!!
Or is it Reality Music TV Show?
Or whichever way it chooses to be.

The name of the show is Star!!



STAR. Never heard of it before. But I think it used to be Star Search or something like that.

I didn’t see this coming. Nkem hollered me this morning about the audition. And I didn’t wanna go because I hate auditions. And also I may or may not have been rejected at music show auditions before. No names called.

Project Fame.

Well, now I’ve gotten a Golden Ticket to South Africa where the show will happen. Cool, huh?


Oh yeah, what did I sing? I started with Bruno Mars’ Grenade. They stopped me and asked for something upbeat, disco and funky.

Ummm. What other song of our time mixes all elements?

Love On Top. Beyoncé.

Now I And my $2 Ron Bei sunglasses are off to South Africa.
I don’t know when. But still. This is quite a surprise. I think God is telling me sorry for Sunday night when I was hit in the face by a drunk passerby and then dashed my foot against a stone and had my guardian angel fired!!


I’d love to lock my hair

Dear Diary,


Look at that magnificent head of hair.

I’d love to have that at some point in my life.

Really. I do.

I know there are the perks and the obstacles to achieving this. And I shall hereby enumerate.


1. I shall look like a rockstar. Yes I shall, not exactly an actual rock rockstar, maybe a Bob Marley type character. Only hotter.
2. If that fails, I shall look like one of those Tyler Perry actor men people. I grew up with the notion that people who keep dreadlocks are possessed by demons or have been sacrificed to the gods to be Nazarites for the rest of their miserable lives.

Not anymore.

3. I wanna be a singer. And it would rock big time to whip my locks as I titillate and mesmerise the audience with my insanely amazing talent and persona.


Of course I do not want locks that long and thick and wild.

I didn’t mean that to sound sexual at all. I am a child of God.


Now the challenges that face the achieving of this goal.

1. Parental and Social Wahala.

I can imagine the three day long lecture I shall receive backed with scriptural quotes and traditional and customary proverbs and parables. And of course, some people would ask me silly questions. “Ah Ah? Why are you keeping dada?” “Se owa okay?!” “Don’t you know it’s not good?”

I can’t even roll my eyes hard enough at the thought already.

2. The job.

I am currently a civil servant. We are set in our ways, you know. My new look shall be frowned upon.
It is unfair.

My friend Bem who is an amazing artiste has the most beautiful afro, and his office hasn’t forced him to remove it. I envy him so much right now.

Anyway, I will lock my hair at some point soon. And bulk up as well, because dreads happen to look phenomenal with a muscular body.
Yes I am a vain, vain person.

3. The greatest obstacle to achieving this look is ME.
Yes. Me. I am my own greatest obstacle. Because I am afraid of the outcome, the reaction and perception I have hereby crippled my mind from willing my body to move and do the needful. (speaking of which, where is Stella Oduah our fired Aviation Minister?)

I hope to one day break from societal expectations and just play with my own hair. image