O Man, Thou art not allowed . . .

You want me to woo you, chase you, tease you, yet you give me just a few minutes of attention,

You want sweet morning text massages, continuous calls and replies to all your chats but no warm text message back, spaced out calls and my replies I have to wait for,

You want me to prove myself, fight for your love, win your trust . . .

 

“It is the fun in the chase” She says,

“I wouldn’t want to come off cheap” She say,

O man, though art not allowed to complain.

 

You dies out of a sickness/accident/mishap, you that bore me. Leaving me to fend for my younger ones, leaving me in this cold world,

You demand my toil, my sweat, my blood for your success and yet insult me, cut my pay diminish me.

You say it is the man’s duty, you mock me in my struggle, you compare me to friends and colleagues  . . .

“You be man” they say,

“You gats chest am” they say,

O man, though art not allowed to cry.

 

We have emotions,

We hurt,

We require attention,

We cry,

We are human, not some muscle built robot oblivious to pain and untouched by a lack of affection. We are imperfect, we are humane and yes we might have egos but in truth it dies in the presence of those we love.

So,

Text back,

Call often,

Tell us those sweet mushy things,

Believe in us, care for us, trust us.

For whether we like it or not, the society will always say “O man, thou art not allowed . . .

 

I know there are players and scums but there are still guys that care, that are nice, that feel. Don’t judge your next with your ex, don’t assume guys don’t feel anything. They may not show it but they do. This is for the good guys. 

– Anonymous Nigerian

Hello from Me . . .

I know, I know, I have been away for too long, it is exams my people. I remember it like yesterday, when my friend walked with me around 5.00 am from my house to where I would get a cab to the park. I was leaving for Ibadan, for a master course. Fast forward 5 months later we have lost weight.

Yes, I went back to school oh. Let us up ourselves, see if money will up itself in our account as well. LOL. It hasn’t been easy. If it was, there would have been time to write. The plus side is I went to Ibadan, as in IBADAN, the capital of Yoruba drama and I came back loaded. So expect some funny, short stories in the coming weeks.

I promise to TRY and write as much as I can and post as often as I can. I hope all my readers are in good health of mind and body. Asides the short stories I have been working on two stories. Unlike Tola’s Dilemma (which I still  don’t know when I will finish it) these ones will be completely finished before I start to post.

Let me know in the comment box which you are more interested in, short stories, youthful banter or a long story.

Good to put hand to keyboard again. Y’all stay safe. Much love.

I weep

I look out into the broad streets,

I see the sorry grief.

The crying child in torn uniform,

The student and job seeker walking in sad unison.

The frustrated traffic warden barking orders,

Taxis, motor bikes and car owners shouting at each other.

I can’t help the tear drop rolling down my face.

 

I look at our politicians fighting each other on the TV,

Students being chased home from school by their VC.

The president sick and unable to rule,

Law makers to busy looting to bother about you.

Rights forgotten, suffering begotten, violence unending,

Oh Lord how do we mend this?

I can’t help the tear drop rolling down my face.

 

I weep for those who are overlooked for jobs because they have no connections,

I weep for youths who resort to theft, kidnapping and drugs because they feel they “are not good enough”.

I weep for the downfall of the economy and our lack of effort to make it better.

I weep for my country to whom much was bestowed.

– Anonymous

Unsaid Toils 2

 

I took quite a number of insults before I was able to get the money to join the network marketing company, contrary to my friend who half his family were either in the business or rooting for those who were, my parents had thought I had lost my mind. I remember my father sitting me down one evening and giving me a remedial course on the importance of working hard and avoiding ‘get rich quick schemes’.

In the first month of being in the business I had lost most of the people I considered friends. “Awon ponzi, Mr. marketer, always inviting for presentation” was a few of the reasons given. And after they heard I had made it big, it was “he is into rituals”. No one would understand I couldn’t lend them money because I had to reinvest in myself. “He is proud now, him no dey our level again” they said.

I didn’t mention the trips, night-journeys because I had presentations at short notice. It would seem I forgot share when I had to sleep in a bus in the middle of nowhere because the bus I used broke down or the number of times I was embarrassed, abused or thrown out of offices because what i was offering was beneath the prospect I spoke to.

Exactly a year after I started network marketing my mum died. And I lost it. She was my only supporter, my one-man fan club. And I lost it, falling into depression made me loose a lot of money. That was the first time I thought about using my Resume which after a couple of interviews drove me deeper into depression. It was a classic hero-to-zero story. My one million I had made disappeared faster than the one hundred and seventy-five Naira.

I met my mentor in that year of depression and it took a while and a lot of stubbornness on her part but she got through to me. She became he mother I had lost. For every wrong business move she scolded me like little boy and for every brilliant idea she cheered me on. I pull myself up and yes it was a beautiful comeback.

I said I invested in some companies. Last year I almost lost my shares. The year before that most of you would remember the law suit that went away after the hype that followed it. Two very tough situations. This is my eleventh year as an entrepreneur. People still want to sue me, people still hate me, my consulting firm still faces major challenges and as you know telecommunication companies in Nigeria are not finding it funny. I am thirty-five years old, and my wife just gave birth so I have daddy duties. But I am still here.

. . . . . .

This time people were on their feet, some were shaking their heads, some were smiling but everyone was clapping. I had walked back to the podium during the course of my story and I just looked. More overwhelmed at my story than at its effect to the crowd. It really has been a long journey.

I looked up, took a deep breath, raised a hand for silence and decided to continue.

“Folks, that is what most people forget to say. That is what people think. Since they don’t know you one on one, you never told them your story they assume. They think you never really worked hard, IT JUST HAPPENED. For those who feel network marketing is shady, it is simply because you thought it would be easy since you took the stories told and focused on the good part” I looked into the crowd as I spoke.

“It is never easy. And just because it took someone 2 decades to make it in life and it took another half the time doesn’t make either of them less important. If you want to be successful, respect successful people. There is no time to hate” I said.

A number of people were nodding their heads.

“We should be proud of our young folks making it big. We should encourage it. We should support it. Support your children if they have dreams. Learn about what they are interested in and guide them. You job is not to make them do what you want but guide them to do what is RIGHT” I looked around.

I have always had the weirdest type of speeches and this was one of them. I decided to round up.

“I would like to end with this. It is possible for you to be successful, know that for every ‘over-night’ success there is a story of struggle behind it and remember that if you believe it is possible and you work towards it, somehow, some day it will happen” the auditorium roared with clapping.

“Like every speech I have I have to end with the words of my favorite motivational speaker” I smiled as I look to the crowd “It has been a plum pleasing pleasure, as well as a privilege. Good Night” and I walked towards the back entrance of the stage, and like in every single speech I give, tears fill my eyes.

I Apologise

I came across this 4+ minute video clip, an interview of David D-Black Roberts and I was blown away and needed to share it here. Please forgive the transcript errors people. Read and enjoy.

“I Apologize”

I apologize for being a rapper that flood your airwaves with songs that depraves your kids minds making them mental slaves.

I apologize for writing rhymes about crimes never committed, selling drugs, busting guns, prisons never been in.

I apologize for promoting companies lacking respect for me. stretching out their demographics, increasing their currency.

I apologize for demeaning women when some of y’all don’t deserve it. Prostituting y’all on waxes is a means to making a profit.

I apologize for exploiting my hood when I should be explaining it. Using it as a stepping stone when I should be saving it.

I apologize for giving the N-word heavy rotation. Instead of lifting the minds of the masses I am satisfying investors.

But see . . . . . .

I got this A&R saying if I don’t write songs like this he ain’t gonna sign me. and y’all black folks is bootlegging and downloading so what you going about, spare me.

And plus I got seeds to feed and y’all ain’t buying enough copies, but this white kids get a kick outta black negativity. So I assemble on tracks manifest. Coz the black companies can’t offer what these white ones is paying me.

So for an MTV Crib and a chance at luxury, I close my third eye, compromising my dignity. Like y’all females dancing to my number one songs and misogyny.

Rhythmic masochist, gyrating to degradation, souls missing something like single parent housing. Now you know why today’s black youths is unbalanced.

Say hello to our future gang members or corner drug dealers, listening to me, Mike Jones or Jim Jones trying to figure out who is a better father figure.

And our streets is ruptured. Black leaders crossed over selling out our structures to development vipers and our black doctors and lawyers moved out to greener pastures.

No more role models. They left out with the Cosby season, making us fans and victims of these misguided elders spewing the word ‘nigga’ with lousy explanations, y’all are taking us backwards with reigns pulp friction but you call me black-xploitation.

I’m just a sound on a radio station that y’all keep demanding so who’s fault really is this?

I’m from that part of America where genocide thrives as my neighbor. As best as when I wake up, hearing sirens when I slumber.

But now I’m a Stafford wife, stepping affections for my masters, strings pulled by my backers.

But regardless of these factors . . . . .

I’m the one in control of my actions . . . . .

And I should still know better . . . . .

So . . . . .

“I Apologize“

Have you ever thought about it before? Hope it gives you something constructive to think about. If you would like to watch the video for yourself Click Here. Check him out via my space. Have a fabulous week guys.

The Unsaid Toils

I want to start this week by addressing something we all tend to do or have done. Consciously or unconsciously. I hope it strikes a nerve. Enjoy!!!

“He looks so . . . ordinary” the guy three seats way from me whispered to his friend. He must have thought I wouldn’t hear him.

“Yeah. So young too” his friend replied. I tried to hide my smile as I waited to be called to the podium. I have had this habit of sitting with the crowd instead of in the designated seat whenever I am to give a speech. I come early, sit and let the crowd flood in. Most times I am lucky to not get noticed, apparently today was not one of those days. The moderator, a very pretty lady was giving a brief summary of my background and the stares which I have grown accustomed to, started coming in my direction.

“. . . he is going to be talking on “Understanding and Respecting Success”. So please let us now welcome, as he comes to the stage, Mister . . . ” before she called my name, the crowd was already on their feet clapping. I stood up, waved to the crowd as I mounted the stage and walked the short distance to the podium. The moderator gave me a quick peck, shook my hand firmly, and gestured towards the podium for me to take over.

“Thanks . . . ” I had to smile, they wouldn’t stop clapping. I waited for some seconds and still they kept clapping. it was now getting uncomfortable. I raised my hand in that familiar manner of politicians. It shows both appreciation and a call for order.

“If una no calm down we no go leave here oh” I joked in pidgin English. A mixture of shock and laughter filled the place as everyone began to settle down.

“Thank you all, I am so humbled” I said, “It is always a pleasure to be in the presence of great minds and no, I am not flattering you. I want to thank this fine organisation for giving me the honor of talking you you all today.”

There was a round of applause.

“I chose this topic today because of a notion that was proven just a few minutes ago before I left my seat.” I said my eyes drifting towards the two men who had been whispering to each other about me.

“Through the years, I have heard it all: ‘He is too young to be this successful’ they would say, ‘She is obviously an overnight success, used her father’s wealth’ they would say. ‘They are young CEOs? They look so ordinary’. People assume, and most times wrongly too, how people who are successful got their success” I said. I knew I had struck a nerve, there were whispers and nods of agreement.

“So I am going to give you two stories, I will explain both and I will leave you to ponder on them.” I smiled, the hall became quiet and I began.

I finished NYSC with one hundred and seventy-five thousand Naira in my account, I was just twenty three years old. The largest amount I had ever had to my name before, I had painstakingly saved through the twelve months I served and it was an achievement for me. I was a ‘big boy’, moved to Abuja to live with my brother. The dream was to go to the big city, get the grand job and live large. I felt I had started off well already. Three months later, no job, no prospects of a job and worse, no money. Up till today I can’t explain how I spent it.

So there I was, unemployed, broke and in my brother’s house, depression flirting with me. Then I get this invite to a network marketing presentation by a friend. And my life changed. I was introduced to a sale’s pitch that involved what we called ‘sowing for the future’. The product was a daily consumable so it was just to give it to people to try out. I quickly borrowed money to join and I started off. In two weeks I had made two hundred and fifty thousand Naira. Seventy five thousand Naira more than I had made in a year of NYSC, I quickly paid back the money I borrowed. By the end of the first year I had made over a million Naira. They said it was too good to be true and it seemed so. But I was blessed to have met a great woman, mentor and friend in the business. she taught me the tricks of the business, but she also taught me about life. She said something that for me, has been the key to my success.

“In everything in life, you have three choices. You either go in first (i.e early), go in fast or go in big. Any other thing won’t do. And remember, nothing lasts forever“.

So I did my research. As legit as network marketing outfits come, there is always a loop hole and once found, it is exploited and the inevitable crash of the system happens. With that knowledge, I started diverting funds to other profitable ventures and only used spare cash to maintain the network marketing business. By the fifth year when the network marketing company I was involved with finally crashed, I had created a consulting firm with a large clientele and had stocks in two major telecommunication companies in the country. My net worth was almost 20 million Naira. A lot of people called it luck and every single time I heard that, I smiled.

This is my eleventh year as an entrepreneur. My consulting firm just successfully opened our latest branch in the US. I and on the board of directors in one of the telecommunication companies I invested in, and I am thirty five years old. If I can know that you can too.

I paused and took a long look at the crowd as they all got up and applauded. Everyone had that ‘wow’ look. I took a sip of my water. The expected reaction.

“That is my marketing story,” I said smiling. “What do I mean by marketing story, you may ask. Well in network marketing, to make a person buy from you, you need to win them, and the truth is you don’t make noise about the product. NO, . . . you sell the dream of what the benefits of getting into the business will give them. Selling the product gives you a customer, selling the business gives you YOUR business,” I said. There was another round of applause.

“So, you tell them your story,” I said “you let them see through your successes that they to can be successful. You make them believe it is possible, despite the hardship in the country. You create a seed of belief” I paused for effect.

“But what most people don’t do is tell the WHOLE story and that brings me to the second part of my story.” I left the podium and walked into the crowd.

“Why do businesses fail? Why do you think most Nigerians think all network marketing companies are scam? Why do you think most people actually believe there is such a thing as over-night success?” I asked.

“I will tell you” I said and I started the second story.

 

High on Words

A friend wrote this piece on Facebook. He was gracious to let me repost it here. He didn’t title it so I gave it a name alot of people used while commenting in the comment box . . . “High on words“.

Enjoy

I love the smell of whiskey and vodka
Tempted to test it
I see the rise of religion against me
I miss my grandma’s burukutu
I miss the feel and smell
I miss the bubbles as well
And now that whiskey calls
I won’t pretend when I heed the call
I won’t be hypocrite- without balls
I love CHRIST
One greater than the temple
I’m greater than both whiskey and my belly
Test not, handle not
Things to perish with it’s using
Ain’t we greater than these lifeless laws?
I’m beyond the power of elements
So when religion judges
I laugh at their attempts to incarcerate a freeman
I drinkard in the Spirit
No excess wine
I speak glorious tongues
Wine of vine divine
I love whiskey smells
And how vodka feels
But ain’t their prisoner.

– Richard Abutu.

Learn

An illiterate is not someone who can not read and write but someone who can not learn, unlearn and relearn.

– Alvin Toffle

Your Worth

It is all about self worth today. Are you holding on to something or someone because you care? Afraid that if you let got they may not comeback? Do you doubt how valuable you are? I hope these words give you some perspective.

“Two things you will never have to chase: True friends & true love.”
― Mandy Hale

“When you think this pain is all you deserve, you are right. You are the only one that can decide how long you will walk in hell.”
― Shannon L. Alder

I don’t know why we hang on to something we know we are better off letting go of. it’s like we are scare to lose what we don’t really have. Some of us say we would rather have something than absolutely nothing. but the truth is, to have it half way is harder than not having it at all.

― Meredith Grey

Never beg anyone for the things you know you deserve. The right person will give you everything you deserve and everything you didn’t know about

― Anonymous

Assumptions

If there was anything she knew, it was that she wasn’t going to be taken for a fool. Rashida had had enough, no more bullshit, no more swallowing it, it wasn’t going to go on any longer.

“Usman”

“Hey …” The words were lost in his mouth once he saw her face. He put down the game controller and put on his ‘whatever it is not here please’ face.

“Guy I go score oh” his friend Sadiq shouted oblivious to the situation brewing.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Rashida’s voice was as cold as ice. Usman closed his eyes in an effort to hold back the frustration and anger that was rising in him. He took a breath.

“Oops, errmm ….” Sadiq started.

“We have talked about you going through my things Sheeda, like seriously?” He said still trying to be calm.

“That is what is your problem Usman? Right now that is your problem ko?” Rashida ranted.

Sadiq quietly dropped his controller and got up.

“Bro, I think I should go” he said already heading to the door.

“Yeah, I think so too Sadiq” Rashida replied him. That got to Usman.

“Kai, ki na da hawuka ne (are you mad)? What the hell is wrong with you?” The words busted out as his fingers rolled in a fist. He wanted to scream. She had a master’s degree on how to get on his last nerve.

“So he can lie for you ko? A ah (No), there is no getting out of this one oh. Not this time” Rashida said sticking her face towards his daring him on. Sadiqu was already opening the main door.

“Woman what are you talking about?” Usman asked frustrated.

“Who is Bukky?” Rashida asked holding his phone. Usman was confused? Bukky form where now? Then it hit him and a smile crept on his face. But as soon as it did he knew he had escalated the issue with his own hands.

“Oh, ha ka ko (so it is like this)? You feel it is a laughing matter ko? Kai ne wawa kwai (you are very foolish)” Rashida rained down Hausa insults on him. He had to salvage things before it got out of hand.

“Rashida dan Allah (because of God) listen to me” Usman tried to cajole her.

“Now you are calling God ko? Usman you are calling God” Rashida shouted, tears threatening to come out. Pushing his phone in his face she continued, “did you think of God as she was messaging you ‘we should do this again’? or when you replied ‘we would continue were we left off’? Noooo, God was not on your mind then”.

Usman held his hands in his head. He wouldn’t let her make him react, he had to stay calm. But her voice, oh that voice he had fallen in love with on the phone every time he had called was now the voice tormenting him right now.

“Please Rashida let me explain, it is not what you think” Usman tried again.

“It is not what I think ko? See proof on your phone but okay, I am hallucinating. Ba damuwa (no problem) Maybe you need to upgrade you OS so it and decipher the message” Rashida retorted sarcastically. she had sat down on the couch opposite him.

She had had this feeling for ages. He had been keeping late nights. They had been having fights and to be honest there had been no spark in the bedroom either. Her mother had a saying, ‘when you feel it in your gut, it is probably true’. She looked at him, it had not even been 2 years into their marriage.

“Just tell me why” she pleaded quietly. He raised his head up. “What does she have that I don’t?” oh gosh he mentally rolled his eyes. “No Usman I want to know”. He had had enough.

He got up and was headed for the room. He wouldn’t get into yet another fight. When she was calm they could talk he though.

“Don’t you dare turn you back on me Usm. . . .” the words were caught in her voice as all of a sudden he was standing infront of her. Two long strides and he was in her face brething down hard.

“I have had it” he spoke in a quiet voice that sent chills to her spine.

“Your bickering, your ranting, aaaaaaaaarrh, I have had it” he screamed. “What level of insecurity have you fallen into? What the hell is all this?”

She was scared, point blank scared. She had never ever seen Usman this angry. No this was not anger, she had never seen him this enraged.

“You see me with this woman, problem, I smile with that woman, silent treatment for a week. Nothing I do or say can explain any action towards anything in skirts” he had taken over the pacing.

“Do you know why I stay at work so late?” he stopped and came close to her. “Because I feel if I can just stay away from home, I will shorten the time we will have to fight. I can’t even touch you anymore, so much hostiliy”.

“I have never denied you” Rashida forced her voice.

“I have never been one to take in malice and you know this. In fact” he reached for her hand and she quickly pulled away. She had no idea what he wanted to do.

“Give me the phone” hi voice was both reassuring and yet direct. she gave him. He fiddled with he phone for a while. then gave it back to her.

“Read the chat”

He had opened a whatsapp conversation with the supposed Bukky.

B: Thanks again for dinner; the food alone sealed the deal

U: Are you for real?

U: I better go and thank my wife. She suggested it for all my meetings.

B: Smart woman. We must go there again, maybe make it a couple’s thing.

U: That would be fun.

B: It is to get my husband to find time.

U: lol, so when can we continue discussing what I proposed.

B: Oh yeah, saw your text. Calm down, the deal is yours. Get your MD to set up a meeting. Make sure it is in an office oh.

B: Don’t go and take me for another meal that I will forget to play hard ball.

U: hahaha, never. Will get back to you on it

A gush of relief flooded Rshida’s veins. it had all been in her head. He wasn’t cheating, they were going to be alright. It was all good. She smiled.

“Thank God nothing happened” she said looking up at him. She was astonished at his look. Usman pulled away as she reached for him.

“Never have I doubted you” he said, pain filled his voice.

“Baby no now” Rashida tried to reach for his arm again.

“Not once have I questioned your relationship with any man” he ignored her.

“Usman listen, understand with ….”

“Understand? Till now all I have done is understand” Usman said looking at her. Rashida’s heart broke. The look on his face said millions. What had she done.

“I tired to understand you were being protective of your man, I even liked it at first till it brought the fights. I tried to understand the cold shoulder in the bedroom, I would never touch you just because it was your duty. It had to be something you wanted to do” he shook his head. She felt stupid.

“All you needed to do was ask your husband” he said sadly, “give your husband the benefit of a doubt and ask him, but no. Is this how it is going to be? What happened to the self confident Fulani girl that blew my mind?”

She looked at him, he looked sadly at her. She said nothing, he shook his head, picked up his keys from the key tray on the dinning and headed towards the door. Just as he opened the door she spoke.

“I am sorry?” she said, tears rolling down her eyes.

“So am I” he said without turning and walked out.