A RAT!!!

Dear Diary,
 
    On Sunday I trapped a tiny rat that had been bugging my life for days in a bucket by leaving food in the bucket. The rat jumped in and ate the food but couldn’t jump out.
      I left the rat to die, but Monday evening, I’m back from work but the rat isn’t dead. Still trying to jump out. So what do I do?

I flush the rat down the toilet.

Something told me I shouldn’t have done that. I should have killed that rat with dignity, not so dishonourably. What if it went down the drain and emerged as a mutant man-eating rodent aiming for revenge?

Oh my.

Today.
Tuesday. 4:15am. I’m up, I iron for work and then decide to take a leak.

I’m minding my own business peeing. Next thing, Mr Drowned in the toilet Rat speeds out from that hole in the ground where water is supposed to disappear into when you take a bath.

I freak out. 

pee on myself a bit.

The rat is gone.
Waited for me to show up and then decided to show itself.

It is alive and plotting its revenge.

MEANWHILE

What in God’s name does Kcee think he’s doing in this?

Comments kept rolling in when I put this up as my BlackBerry Messenger display picture.
“He’s a bloody fag!!”
“Who be dis confused goat?”
“No be Kcee be dis? With all him money he no fit hire stylist”

First, what kind of people do I have as contacts? Dear Lord.

Secondly. This isn’t confused or gay. It is intentional. Its intention is deeply rooted in the fact that this here man, is VERY IGBO. The opposite of Emmy Collins extreme kind of Igbo. The type that has so much money but no taste (whereas Emmy has no money…and very weird (pink) taste). So in his mind, he is very fashionable right now in this pink getup. So he is very stylish…NOT.

Please someone get him a stylist.

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On Being Caught in the Middle of a Mob Fight

Dear Diary,

        I was at Orile on Wednesday. As I got there, a young thug started beating a young lady up, and she was not having it. She kicked back, screaming and clawing at him. He kept pummelling her, in public. You know how public Orile is. Next thing you know, a bigger thug tore off his shirt and started beating the younger thug. He punched him, pushed him in front of cars, thankfully the traffic was tight so the cars weren’t moving any faster than freshly-fed anacondas. 

A crowd gathered to watch the spectacle, and before I knew what it, everyone started beating each other up. Punches were thrown without a care, spit flew in every direction, bags and shoes were hurled at people. It was a freak show.

And there I was caught in the middle of it.

How I managed to escape the mob action is a miracle.
When I managed to crawl out from the middle of the action without a scratch or being pulled back in, I saw a couple of Police Officers standing by, watching the action and laughing.

The Nerve!!!

THE END!!!

#Nigeria

Dear Diary,

        It is no news that Nigeria is in a state of disrepair. Utter lawlessness abounds within the ranks of those who are to enforce the law; this morning, soldiers set 4 BRT buses ablaze because one of their comrades on his bike was knocked down by a BRT bus.

Please help me ask them what the man was doing on the BRT lane.

Confab had a protracted meeting and all they could come up with was to add 18 new states to the 36 on ground that the Federation is bursting at the seams trying to keep from breaking into pieces from the whole nation. And one of the delegates said the name ‘Nigeria’ should be changed to ‘Airegin’.

What is this? Game of Thrones?

Why on earth do we need new States? New parastatals? Why does everyone want to be Oga? Why do we abuse power, right from the lowest security guard to the Presidency? Isn’t that the reason why I work in the Aviation Industry where all the Government agencies are separated for no concrete sensible reason; NAMA, FAAN, NCAA, AIB? Why can’t they all just be one controlling-regulating body like it’s done in other countries of the world?

Twitter is abuzz with criticisms, the Government remains forever an information hoarder. Nigerians want to know really what the deal is with the kidnapped girls, the terrorist attacks, because now we know it isn’t a religious crisis. Muslims suffer as well in the onslaught.

Many people I know are ‘checking out’. Nigerians are cutting off limbs, heads and genitals to secure UK, Canadian and American visas.  There is no real sense of safety here. You may wake one morning with hopes and plans and just get blown up to eternity while running an errand before the day runs out.
Is that a way to live?

They say we should be the change we want to see. How in practical terms do we do that? Is it hard? We know it’s hard, but how hard is it really, cause I don’t wanna have to die for Nigeria my country?! Nigerians are nothing like ants. We aren’t bound together by a common aim. We are more like cockroaches; everyone seeking their own personal better. If one dies, we climb over the unfortunate fallen one and continue trying to get our own better.

Is this really a way to live?

Uwa mmebi

Dear Diary,

      OMG.
Remember Jeremy Meeks, the guy they arrested and took a mugshot that has now become the cover shot for sexy criminals all over the world? The one with the steely ice blue stare, the tattoos and the high cheekbones?

Yeah. Him.

Apparently now he has a modelling contract.

LoL. Uwa mmebi. 

They are even contacting designers to provide him with clothes for his court appearances to help with public opinion. Public opinion? I mean, half of the ladies in the world already are hot for him. He could strut out to that courtroom stand in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs and his public opinion would remain unscathed.

God help him if members of the jury are old Jehovah’s Witness men. He is finished.
Let him shaa finish his court wahala.  

Good things happen to unfortunate people.

SPEAKING OF WHICH

A man Viktor Jasinski, 32 went to rob a hair salon in Meshchovsk, Russia. The female owner of the salon, Olga Zajac, 28, an expert karate fighter allegedly overpowered the would-be robber with a single kick, stripped him naked and, for the next three days, used him as a sex slave to ‘teach him a lesson’ – force feeding him Viagra to keep the lesson going.

Boy did she teach him!!!
When she did release him, he had the nerve to run to the police to report the rape and admitted his intention of robbing the salon. Now they are both arrested, he for attempted robbery and she for rape.

LoL.
Uwa mmebi.

Grievances Part 2

Dear Diary,

These things grieve the hell out of my spirit.

1. People that push the door open when the door sign clearly says PULL.

Umm…can’t you READ?????? The door sign says PULL. Don’t push. And you’d be the first to call me an idiot if I mess up.

2. People who quickly revert to calling guys who pay other guys compliments fags. Such people are the worst set of humans on the earth; idiots.

3. Talkative People who know too much.

     Let me explain. I like talkative people. But there are some who really talk too much, know too much and make sure you agree with them all the time and won’t stop talking till you do. You’d probably be reading or minding your own business and they will snatch your book and talk and talk and talk…to you. By force.

Or you’re trying to get into your house and they stop you at the door and talk for an hour, and talk and talk and talk again…to you. By force. And you’re of course way too polite to tell them “You know what? Shut up!!!”

4. People who think they are the funniest comedians since Kevin Hart and persistently crack ‘jokes’ or tell ‘funny’ stories when in reality, they are drabber than Halle Berry’s acting.

5. Case in point, Arsenio Hall.

Who lied to him and said to him “Arsenio baby, you are the funniest thing since the first fall of a fat lady. You know what, you should have your own show!”

They lied.

Cause each time I watch his show, I literally cannot roll my eyes hard enough.

6. Men who undo their belts to eat. This doesn’t really grieve me per se. I just don’t get it. Has someone died from not undoing his belt to eat before? What special thing does undoing the belt to eat do for the digestive process? Isn’t it the same damn thing when you buckle your belt right after eating the food? Or isn’t it even worse?
I don’t get it. Someone please explain it to me.

7. Rich Kids of Beverly Hills.

If you haven’t already seen the show on E! Then I suggest that you do. Cause that’s all I’m gonna say about this.

8. Rich Kids of Lekki.
There is no such show. But I can’t help but imagine that there is such a show and it grieves me baby, it grieves me. The level of fakery there would be thousands of feet above sea level. And of course, they will all have accents; real or fake. Faux British or American. Of course no one would want to have a French or Indian accent or God forbid, a Yoruba or Igbo accent. GOD FORBID!!!!

9. Yoruba films again.


The God that I serve will not let me have a heart attack because of these movies and the people who make them.

Well. I’m done making myself angry. I’m going to go watch a game of cricket.
Does that grieve you? I like Cricket. Not Soccer.

Grievances part 1

Dear Diary,

A few things grieve me deeply.

1. My ears that itch like a particular sonofa*#%h whenever I don’t have any cotton bud to clean then and suddenly become sparkling clean and itch-free the minute I buy a pack of cotton buds.

2. People that ask how my night was. Seriously, was I supposed to sit up and watch the night pass? I have a life. I was asleep. Duh!!!

3. Cockroaches that switch to winged mode whenever I’m chasing them. That thing is like witchcraft plus horror movies plus Jim-Iyke’s-lips-touching-your-skin-level of grossness all in one.

4. This particular picture of a Mr Universe Nigeria contestant.

Does he want to poop? Does he have diarrhoea? Constipation? Cardiac arrest? Who even selects these people anyway?

5. Some of the other contestants. Shake your head with me as we both peruse.

Me too. I am worried.

Haha. Fish face!!!

Despite all the labour he is apparently putting in to look sexy (FAIL) abs no show. Chai!!!

See the one they put to represent my beloved Cross River State.

6. This screen shot from a Yoruba movie.

Please God. Stop yoruba film makers before they ruin us all.

7. Mariah Carey’s plenty plenty hand and head movements whilst she sings.

Madam please stay one place. All that hand-flitting is giving me a headache. You can’t even sing like before. Stop using your fingers and flailing arms to distract us from your obvious lack of vocal je ne sais quoi.

8. People that will yab me for dissing the Queen Mariah Carey.

9. The skinny Jennifer Hudson.

Girl, put on some weight!!!

10. What was the inspiration behind the expression “wee hours of the morning”? I get that it means early hours of the morning. But what’s the ‘wee’ all about?

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.

Lagos Fashion and Fake Accents

Dear Diary,

          Can I please for a moment talk about how fake many people who “work in fashion” are?!

No?

I will anyway.

Got together with a friend last night and we got talking about this. It is really sad, and funny, and appalling to note that people who once lived (probably still do) live on the mainland and spoke normal English and took buses and okadas and keke marwas now form nonsense forming. We talked about a stylist whose name I shall not mention, he can form nonsense forming for Africa. He would come in speaking with a faux British accent and air kissing all the people there. When they all had to go out one time, someone suggested chartering a keke, he gasped “No, I don’t do keke. Strictly cabs or I’m not going.”

Shooo???

Wasn’t it later that the office driver confronted him “No be you I see for inside keke that day? I dey shout your name, you form say you no hear me. Will you shut up your mouth there!!!”

Or the other ‘famous’ stylist guy who like the first one “doesn’t take buses” and “doesn’t shop at Mr Price” because it is “beneath him”. Shebi this same office driver was instructed to take him home. The man was expecting the young stylist to direct him to Lekki where all the cab-taking, British accented people live, but alas, Ikotun is where they found themselves. The boy instructed the driver to stop at a palatial looking mansion and drive off. The driver thought “OK at least the house no bad” but no, the boy entered the shanty house next door.

If I call this guy’s name, eh?!

Let’s not even head up to the more “affluent” folk cause I have a potload of names and head-shaking stories of fakery.
Is it that because you work in fashion you lose the right to be real to yourself and those around you?

What is with the fake accents and bitch attitudes? What is with the lack of originality? What is wrong with living in Surulere, Agege, Egbeda? Must you live in Ikoyi or VI to be cool? I mean, those who were born there, or whose families live there, or who can honestly afford to live on the island, I’m happy for them, good for them. But please for Crying in a bucket’s sake, be real.

Some model called me a bitch when I said I would be going to church instead of coming to watch her during a fashion show. I almost forgot my Christianity and strangled her to death. But thank God for Jesus.

p.s. Not everyone that works in fashion is snooty o. The surprising thing is that there are many real people, true to who they are. If you genuinely have an accent, speak it well, good for you. But if you don’t, then give me that crap cause I will hiss at you.

p.p.s. To those whose eyebrows are raised to the sky asking me “but don’t you have an accent?” No darling, what I have is proper intonation. You won’t get it. So just leave it alone.

I put sugar in my rice.

Dear Diary,

Dear Diary,

        I put sugar in my rice.

I hate stews generally. So whenever I have to eat white rice and stew, or jollof rice, if there is no banana to eat it with or a drink to down it with, then I sprinkle a teaspoon of sugar in the food to make enable my taste buds tolerate it.

Over the years, this habit has attracted a heckload of criticism from my mother, sisters and friends.

Do I care?
(let me think about it).

-_-

I haven’t heard people nag people that drink fizzy drinks or sweet juices with their food, I haven’t seen people glare at them in disapproval. People down 50cl bottles of Coke, Fanta and others, some even down an entire juice box and no one bats an eyelid. But when I sprinkle a teaspoon of sugar over my rice, then everyoneremembers to lecture me on diabetes.

Please spare me the hypocritical double standard.

Unlike most people I don’t sit on my behind all day, I exercise and sweat to burn all the sugar I take, which by the way, isn’t that much. And I only sugar my rice if there’s no drink around or a bunch of bananas. I don’t like rice that much.
And comparatively, sprinkling a teaspoon of sugar over my rice is much less than drinking a 50cl bottle of Fanta or an entire pack of 5 Alive juice.

So please let me hear word.

I am Nonso and I put sugar in my rice!!

Women shouldn’t wear pants to church?

Dear Diary,

         Walked into the office to hear my colleagues agreeing that it is wrong for women to wear trousers to church.

I was like, huh?

People still think that way? In this day and age? In a metropolis as ‘forward’ as Lagos? Wow.

I of course had to disagree. I asked why it is a sin for a woman to wear trousers to church. They had no answer, it was just a sin because it is a sin. No explanation. It is what it is. Then a certain Mr I-Know-It-All said it is in the Bible. I asked for the scripture. That’s where the debate got stuck.

I really feel bad. Because doctrine has us hooked on silly things that don’t affect our salvation as Christians and as people free to live in liberty.

Perhaps the Bible does say that women shouldn’t wear trousers, perhaps it does. I ain’t never seen it before though.
But I’m glad women wear trousers in my church. And God uses them wella, and they look damn good in them pants and high heel shoes.

I guess they’re all going to hell for wearing trousers to church.

And I guess that leaves men completely without the option of wearing skirts to church.
Darn!!!!
I was so looking forward to the day when cross-dressing would become the order of the day in churches.

Oh well.

Ghen Ghen. Mr ITK just gbagauned, “Womans likes to feels too big for their husbands!!!”. That’s the man we are taking advice from.

Smh.