Oh no!

It’s not like I was among the top 15 players on the pitch. I was every other guy on the back line that would kick the ball with either foot just to make sure it leaves our half of the pitch. Right after this long energy draining 90mins match with our greatest rival, my fellow comrades and I eagerly made our way to the side lines to “grab a sip” as Coach Emma would say, right before extra time. Okondo on the other hand, wasnt in so much of a hurry unsurprisingly -you can count on him to act contrary to coach Emmas orders- he was a doosh bag and our MVP aswell, a “necessary evil”.  With our legs stained knee-level with red earth, we left  the pitch dotted with thousands of footprint as  we galantly made our way to our pseudo locker room. Then I felt this sudden awkward urge to wee, how would I want to wee, when I’m supposed to be thirsty, i thought. Well, its natures call, God works in “mysterious” ways they say. On that note I changed my bearing and headed straight for the nearest tree. The ube (pear) tree felt unusually soothing as I endlessly eased myself along its trunk when it happened.


I gradually regained consciousness as the wet sensation within my thighs heightened. I hopped off the bed instinctively with shock in my eyes as I realized I’ve made a map that looked very much like the map of Africa in one of Ekene’s text book……oh no!……I have done it!…..I have we-weed on the bed.


Ekene!….Ekenne!!!…..Ekenne wake up oh, I don pis!!!


Ekenne wouldn’t wake up even if a match band paraded our room like the Israelites did the walls of Jericho that I knew but was still hoping for a miracle. The only way to get him up would be to kick start-the hard way. With grief and despondence weighting down on me, I recalled Ekene’s sanity with a resonating slap and watched hum convulse to life.


Watin happen? You dey mad?

He muttered in a brisk whisper.


I don piss for bed oh


As was an expert at wee first aid, I knew I could count on him on this one. Besides, I had covered well enough for him so I guess he owed me this one good deed at the very least. Without uttering a word, he got off the bed and went for the pressing iron. Plugging it into the socket right by our bed he immediately started rubbing it against the infected area, in time water vapors-or should I say wee vapor- filled the room as it left a more vivid map on the mattress. It’s a good thing we didn’t use the bed sheet, I thought to myself, that would have meant extra items iron. As soon as he was done he gestured  at the other end of the bed, and I knew from old routeen that it was time to flip the bed over. That we were at the verge of sucessfully completing when our already shakky bed frame collapsed, striking the ground hard enough to awaken papa.


It was as though time stood still as the increasing sound of papas approaching footstep was all we were consious of. Papa had unpredictable reactions to varying situations as the  “spirt lead”. Ones at our christian meetings, despite the fact that we were sitted on the sercond row, he made ekenne stand right in front of his sit, practically before the congregation for sleeping during the meeting,  on another unfortunate occasion when i came 14th out of the 15 pupils in class, he made it a self assigned point of duty update all our family and friends on my current acedemic excellence. Ekenne had his “straight face” on and I was forced to hide the fright written allover mine under a smug look, as we fixed our gaze on the wooden door awaiting impending doom.



As the earth kisses the sky
And the moon rises in place of the sun
The stars remain awake
Piously bearing witness as his very members abandon his mortal frame
Leaving him nothing but a log
A log of nothing
That used to care for one
One that made his heart quiver – in her touch
That caused his heart to bleed
Down to the day he expires
Taking his heart and leaving him behind, she left him for good, for nothing, for dead
If only he could see through loves blindness.

Eko ( i )

“Ejor oh! Ewure kò le kó oh!”

Yelling from behind were the resounding words of a female passenger.We had barely left the Bagger bus park for yaba with the driver proving irrelevantly that Nigerians can make to the formula one tryouts – with the wrong car, on the wrong road. I was sitted right by him on a pathetically positioned stool with the hang gear between my legs, I had to station my self acutely such that he won’t assault my winkie each time he violently attacked the gear.

There were two slots left on the bus when I arrived at the park, it was either that or the one slot left on a four sitter row already occupied by two corpulent women and an average weight lady grappling for fresh air by the window. “Nay! Nay! I’ll pass, I told myself”.

Soon after I reconciled my soul with my unfortunate fate on my stool, an ill fated gentle man came along, with no choice but to take the spot I rejected.

He steared at the little space and realised at once he was doomed, taking some steps back he asked the conductor for the next bus, who replied scornfully :

“Bus no dey again, o ti e dupe pe o ri moto. Oshi!”.

Chai! He must have thought to himself heaving a sigh, he got in.

“Madam abeg shift” he said to the fat lady by him.

She slightly lifted herself up and down in a pretentious attempt to compact her corpulence. All the while, the conductor had began his money collection ritual, this took quite some time considering most of the women had to begin the ultimate search for the nylon  containing their money either deep down in their braziers or meticulously untie the tip or their wrapper that serves as their mobile micro finance bank.

“Madam abeg shift” he pleaded once more after paying the conductor, and got the same response as he did the first instance. After the conductor had successfully done the needful, the driver mounted his miserable cockpit and reached between my legs for his hand gear. He turned on the car and after two or three squeals from his crooked engine, he practically liped out of the garage.

“Madam you no dey shift anything since, abeg shift na” he lamented once more. She replied with the default high pitch of a furious yoruba woman:

“I have shaft na”. She turned to the other chubby lady by her and continued

“Moti shaaaft abi kilon sheleyi”

I turned my neck slightly, right on time to meet the partly retarded / hilarious facial expression still lingering on her face seconds after her exclamation. I could swear her lower lip was skewed exactly as the Nike logo. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to fill pity for the innocent gentle man hanging with half his buttock on a hard wooden chair and the other suspended on nothing. In that very second I almost forgot I was almost on in the same predicament.

We had no choice but to subject ourselves to our confined slots on the bus as the driver drove recklessly. Each time he abruptly  steps on the breaks every one bows involuntarily and time and again a lady would scream the above words

: Ejor oh! Ewure kò le kó oh!

(Please! We are human and not goats)

And I thought to myself, even goats deserve better.

I Shot The Cupid

Love isn’t a pit u fall into

The thoughtless mumbles of the non compos mentis craving companionship

The severe agony and self disdain

The pungent whiff of misgivings that never diffuses, persistently lingering, as a remembrance of sore escapades

The gitters and giggles steaming from intimate closure

The warm embrace and kisses

The hurt you shelter within yourself knowing affection has left you for good and would forever remain a stranger

The affectionate pity you feel for him, despite the passion in his eyes, for as he loses his heart to her, it would never be returned the same

The seed of doubt she planted in him, leaving him too fickle to trust ever again.

The pride and prejudice

A lie meant to make you blue,

Some fools revel happiness, blissfulness, togetherness, fooling themselves, but not me,

For I know,

Love is just a cloud that holds a lot of rain.

The Injection


Right there I was on mama’s lap bent double with my rare end heaven wards, at the mercy of Aunty Nurse as mama detaining me as still as can be. I could hear the shattering sound of the syringe pack as aunty nurse violently attacks it, she performed some rituals and before I could say Jack Robinson it was half full with a urine colored liquid and a pointy needle atop it pointing upwards as though she was to inject the roof, she tapped it twice-God knows why- , and yes I could see her crystal clear through the tiny gap between my legs.

Then she brought this white nylon tore it open and yet again brought out one whiteish something, grabbing a bottle of another something she took of the cover and used the white something to cover the bottle and turned it upside down. She came too close, so I couldn’t see her anymore, but it seemed like she put a soft cold something on my bombom, I felt the sudden chill-the same filling as papa’s aromatic schnapps, yes! That’s what aunty nurse had in that bottle.

“Ochuko you no go soft ya yansh, you want make needle break inside am” were the wise words aunty nurse resonated, as she rubbed the upper right part of my left bombom with papa’s aromatic schnapps and that white something-i can’t wait to tell on her.”Donald you no dey hear word “mama echoed in response to aunty nurse, “oya soft ya yansh dia now OR!  Knowing mama too well, what follows that OR! is nothing pleasant. The last time she made that statement in an injection room it was to Onome my elder sister-miss stubborn-true to her name, Onome did nothing after mamas famous “OR!”-am sure she took it as one of papas empty  treats-but mama was the real deal, she donated on her mentum a resounding smack dab from behind- the right dose of tranquilisers needed –she woke up 5 hours later with her eyes still blood shot .

I wouldn’t dare take such a chance “mama, I go soft am” i replied subconsciously and that i did pronto. Before long aunty nurse had her needle in my bombom, it pierced through me and a evoked a mixed filling of excruciating pain and self-pity that awakened the roaring lion in me


I was on my highest pitch and was still screaming minutes after the injection.”Oya sheytop ya mouth dia Na” mama commanded”your mate dey fight war u dey here dey cry for my lap”. mama likes relating everything to wars “go chop dat fufu finish, if na for war u no go see anything chop” was one of her favourites. As for aunty nurse, its no wonder she’s still single at her age ,what man will even want to put such a woman in he’s house sef, mtcheee….w.