Add that to my List

Today was a good bad day. I’ve never had a good bad Sunday.

My Sundays always follow the same pattern – Wake up, church, relax. Every single Sunday when I’m home has been like that. Don’t ask me if I ever don’t go to church. As long as I live under my father’s roof, going to church is not a debatable something. But during the past two years or so, a certain somebody squeezed herself somewhere in-between “Wake up,” and “church”.

The best relationship you can have is a silent, anonymous relationship. This one where the people involved don’t exactly know one another. Yet you both know you have something. That’s the kind of relationship I have with this certain somebody. I like this kind of relationship because it’s almost impossible to get disappointed. ‘Almost Impossible’ because I got disappointed today. This certain somebody is older than me, 4 years lowest. But you know what they say, ‘Age is but a number’. For the past two years or so, this certain somebody has literally lightened up my Sundays. Regardless of what happens between the time I wake up and the very second I get to church, from getting into a silly argument with anybody to having a running nose, this certain somebody makes everything better. Okay I’m beginning to drag this thing. 

She says the same six words to me, always, each Sunday – “Good Morning, You’re Welcome to Church”. You think I’m stupid, I understand. The thing is, the way she says it……. Damn……. She says it to me differently. Anyway, that’s  not what I’m here for.

This morning, this certain short, cute somebody wasn’t around to tell me my day-brightening 6 words. *Sigh*


 ‘You don’t know the value of something until you lose it’. God bless whoever dropped that line. As I walked through the gates of Daystar, past where this certain somebody always is, I felt my heart melt…. All lies. But I had a feeling a not-so-good day was looming.

I feel bad for you cos today’s rant is just starting. Don’t you worry, grab a coke and relax, na almost brief something.

We all have things we hate right?

After eating dodo when I got back from church, I jumped into bed and watched Teletubbies. Home was peaceful fam. Mum didn’t have anything for me to do so this brother was chilling.

That’s how I heard one tiny voice shouting my name. I took the headphones I had on off and went out to see who dafuq was shouting my name. It was my baby cousin. Yaay.

I like little children. If I see a random ‘clean’, I repeat ‘clean’ child anywhere; church, a store, airport, I don’t care, I will touch him/her (Hmmm touch, it’s sounds so wrong, but you get what I’m trying to say, I hope) I must make him/her laugh before I leave them. Unfortunately, since I’m older now, I can’t touch random kids anymore cos these parents believe that chances every adult guy is a pedophile or a kidnapper are high.

I grabbed the little troublemaker and threw him up in the air. He didn’t laugh, he just giggled. I asked him some dumb questions people seem to ask little children and told him to go back to his mummy. Teletubbies was getting boring and since these FIFA people don’t want to include player transfers in their updates, I did the transfers manually on the FIFA on my laptop and that’s where I’ve been playing the game for the past week (Fam Diego Costa in Chelsea makes life easier; I can’t wait for FIFA 15).

Normal dubz, I launched the game and continued one player career I started last year not too long after the game came out. Ah, the things I’ve achieved! Soon after, Mr. Little Cousin appeared in my room and kept shouting that he wanted to play. I like children, but I hate noise, so I gave the boy the game pad and went to get my lunch. About 2 minutes later, I got back to my room and saw that this boy had magically found his way to the game’s main menu. He wasn’t supposed to be old, well,  wise enough to understand such. I chose to believe that this chairman finished the match that was on and decided to play a regular match. I collected my pad and went to the career mode tab. LOL e be like joke, I didn’t find my career mode file


I don’t have the strength to waste on words to describe how hard I wanted to slap this boy. All my effort, sigh. I couldn’t vex.

But this boy had no remorse. He kept doing shit to annoy me. He spilled Ribena all over the floor, he scattered all my stuff. I lost it when he stepped into my plate of rice and walked all over my bed. Call it what you want but I jammed La Famalia extremely loud and beat the youth, hell, everything beatable out of this boy. I beat him harder than my Dad beat me many years ago when I broke the TV with my Health 4 ball. Then I covered his mouth until he was done crying, told him to smile and sent him to his mum. Judge me not, they did it to me when I was his age.

I thought this boy came to torment just me but when I heard my sister almost crying that the boy had restarted her Kim Kardashian: Hollywood game (I know what my sister had achieved brethren. All the K stars…Dammnn), this was me


I still like little children but once you’ve been alive for more than 4 years, I don’t like you. So add it to my list, I hate kids from ages 5 – 7.

Blame this certain somebody…


Two In One?

Sometimes, I find myself in the weirdest of moods. It happens rarely before you begin to think I’m a mad person. Anyway, I got into one few weeks back and I ended up writing this. I’ve read it so many times and I honestly don’t get what it is about  (No, I was not possessed) I’m sure it’ll make sense to someone somewhere so lemme just drop it here for whoever it is. 



It’s just who you are; who we are.

People always want to know what’s going on. It’s not entirely true. Most of the time, they ask to start a conversation; that’s how most conversations begin anyway. They ask questions; what’s up? How are you? What’s going on? You good?  And you, like it’s a fixed thing, reply ‘I’m fine’ ‘Not much’ ‘I’m good’…

It’s not the truth. Many a times, you’re not close to being fine. But there’s this kind of  fear; this fear of being seen as stupid cos you don’t know what they would think about how you truly feel at the time, the fear of confiding in another person, the fear of being seen as depressed, the fear of opening up to someone else. You find it difficult; difficult to let people know how you feel, or who you truly are. It’s not your fault; it’s just how people are. They make it hard for you to trust them. They are quick to judge too. And so you find yourself, hiding behind a fake smile, or a screen sometimes.

They don’t need to know. But sometimes you want them to know; need them to know.  No. they probably won’t understand. Or you don’t know how to communicate your feelings through words.

It’s not that complicated. Or is it?


I like solitude, she said. Okay that’s sounds a little scary but I mean it, a little. I find peace in being alone. But it’s just the way the world is set up. I almost don’t like people. Of course I do, but then I don’t. Besides, when I try to ‘open up’, nobody understands me. They think I’m too deep. I like myself; I like you.


Haha, why always flirt? And you sound like a loner. But I think I know how you feel. I feel the same way sometimes. Piper asked me how I was the other day but I didn’t know how to explain. It’s like when you’re playing FIFA, against a total learner. A lot of people are watching. You’re dominating, eighty nine percent possession, thirty four shots, but no goal. And then from nowhere, you concede a late goal, literally the last kick of the game, and you lose. It’s a shit feeling; a feeling that can’t be explained; a messed up feeling. That’s how I felt. But I wasn’t sure how to tell her. She might think I’m stupid if I told her it was the late goal feeling. She probably doesn’t know what that is. 


We can enjoy solitude together, she said.  (And in my opinion, your late goal description of how you were feeling is multiple shades of messed up)


But that’s impossible. It goes against what solitude means. (And that’s the best way to describe how I felt at the time)


I don’t care, she said. We can redefine it. You seem to understand me, but you also don’t. It’s like being the black egg in a room full of white ones.


Huh? I thought we were talking about something else. But I like the topic of fitting in. It’s a general struggle.


I know right, she said. They want me to be like them. I want to but I can’t. I want to wear the best clothes and be famous like they are but I can’t. I really want to but I…


*I could feel it. She was trying hard to hold back the tears. I didn’t know what to say. Thank God she saved me*


I have to go now, she said. Mum needs me in the kitchen.


You forgot the three dots, so I’ll know the conversation is not over.


I didn’t. I wasn’t ending there. Besides, I always lie, she said. 


 ‘I always lie’? But, that is a paradox because if it is true it must be false.


Ode, she said






No Words – The Turning Point

After that conversation with Emmanuel and Rachael, I began to believe dopplegangers existed. I had to. That was the only plausible theory. Quite frankly, that side of the supernatural does not interest me, but it began to after our conversation. I honestly feel uncomfortable recounting the experience but I have to finish what I started. No complications. I choose to convey my feelings through plain simple words.
Before I could react or respond to Rachael’s exclamation, she sat right next to Emmanuel and hugged him. Rachael was obviously too young to be a mother, so I guessed she was his sister or an aunt. She was surprisingly calm for someone who had just shouted when she saw me.
My mind was spiraling uncontrollably. I did not understand anything that was happening. Racheal was saying some really scary stuff to me. She was asking me where I went and why I left. I really wanted to laugh because this young woman had to be joking but I could feel the pain in her words. She could read the shock and disbelief in my face so she blurted out, ‘Is your name not Seyi?’ There was no reason to hide my name and so I answered yes. This was the first time Rachael said my name. With every passing second, fear consumed me. I kindly asked her to explain how she knew me or my name. That’s when the whole thing got real.
Rachael seemed to take offense in my question. She begged me to take the matter serious and that it was in no way funny. I made her know that I was equally as serious as she was. Rachael was close to tears. She began to sob. She began to complain that what I was doing was so unfair. I was so so scared there because this woman was looking so believable.
Well she wasn’t ready to give up so I asked her to explain her story to me. She told me that I was her cousin and that I went missing two years ago. I wanted to laugh to be honest but it would have been rude. It sounded so funny. She went on to say that the whole family had been looking for me and that they cried and cried. I thought this woman was joking because this whole thing felt like it was straight out of Nollywood. But for some reason, I couldn’t stand up or walk away or anything. I just sat and listened and my heart was melting. She went on and on. After repeatedly saying they had been praying, she said ‘the person she was talking about’s’ mum had died a while after their own Seyi had gotten missing.
This was some supernatural bullshit; it had to be. If my own mother told me she experienced something like this, I would definitely break all the rules and hit her.
Rachael went on and on and on about how the depression made different people act funny. She said ‘Her cousin’s’ dad had gone mental because he went through a lot to pay his fees and the money had practically been wasted.
After some more scary stuff I’m so sure isn’t about me, Rachael mentioned something about this person that made me almost believe the whole story. I didn’t, in fact, I probably still don’t believe her story but this was a point that caught me off guard.
Argh, I really want to mention what exactly, but everyone has those details we can only share with a trusted select few. My sincere apologies. I can’t share this detail because I don’t want to answer questions. For the curiosity, I can only say that Rachael mentioned a specific scar from the past, a very, very specific scar.
There was a period of silence. Emmanuel held my hand tight and seemed happy to be around me. I knew they wanted me to say something but I couldn’t. I opened my mouth but the words didn’t come out. Rachael wasn’t the only one crying anymore. I shed a few tears.
Thank God for this random man that called Rachael from across the street. If he didn’t, I still don’t know how I would have parted ways with Rachael and Emmanuel.
I sat there for about 10 minutes and began to think about my life. About how this person she described was practically me and how the loss of the person had affected her family.
The longer I sat, the more painful and scary the situation got.
I found my way home prayed about it and watched a match to clear my mind. It worked.

But now, for the second night in a row, the thoughts fill my mind and make it hard for me to sleep.

Truth?? Or coincidence??

Why Twitter is the Devil’s Weapon

Children of God, May the devil and his agents never play ping pong with your lives. Say amen.
I need to fast and pray. And I need to do so NOW. Something is definitely wrong somewhere. I cannot understand why unfortunate events must occur with me as the star of the show.
My story began when I decided to get out of the house and do something tangible with my life. African mothers carry no man or woman for nine moths so that they will come out and be lazy. Therefore, I found my way to a family friend’s office to learn some skills. Office work is not much fun especially if you’re not getting paid and so you can imagine the joy in my heart when it’s time to leave. I left rather early because nothing worthwhile was happening. 1300 in my pocket because there was no reason to spend much. Left hand in my pocket, right hand just dilly dallying, I set forth on a journey to the bus stop.
Recently, everytime I go out of the house, or come in contact with non-family, nothing good happens. So you can be sure that I wasn’t suprised when it began to rain. I did not want to smell like wet clothes so walking in the rain wasn’t an option. That’s how one of the devil’s people fired an idea that turned out to be wretched into my yoruba head.
I saw this restaurant. Okay that’s a lie. It was a ‘food place’. Okay that’s another partial lie. It was a ‘Buka’. Or ‘Mama Put’. But it was a tush ‘Buka’. I have some standards.
I entered this ‘Buka’ for shelter people. The rain didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon and so I took a seat in the ‘Buka’.
This is where the devil used that thing called ‘Twitter’ to attack me. I opened Twitter; time had to be used up. Two tweets down, I started seeing tweets about Ewa Agoyin. Every normal human being knows Ewa Agoyin is the wife of the Great Ruler of the Food Kingdom, Dodo. I had to get in on the topic so I began retweeting anything Ewa G related. Next thing, I started to smell Ewa G. I thought I was imagining it initially but I shit you not, the smell tapped my head and told me to turn around.
Behold, see Ewa G. Hot Ewa G. Steaming Ewa G with one very red stew. People of the Most High, Body no be firewood na. This was temptation at its highest. Potiphar’s wife’s temptation game was not second or third to this. As I said, body no be firewood so be not amazed to know that I stood up and found my way to the table where the Ewa was being sold.
Okay. Everything that follows was written in complete pain and agony. (But first of all, where is this Agoyin place?)
When I got to the table, I waited in line till it was my turn. It was a very short line. I’m guessing that was because it wasn’t lunch time for most people or something. Anyway, when it was my turn, or when the thing knack me, as some people say, I told this Yoruba woman to give me Ewa G. Mind you, this was not my first time at a Mama Put joint so I knew the whole food purchasing procedure. Everyone was speaking Yoruba and so I felt I had to. So in Yoruba, I told this woman to serve me Ewa Agoyin. I even said ‘Eating’ so she would know it wasn’t ‘Takeaway’. And so this woman began to serve the Ewa G. She didn’t ask me how much I wanted or anything, she just served. Acting like she was my mother. She motioned her lips to the pot of stew cos that’s how Nigerians point and I got her message so I said ‘Two’. Iya Wunmi gave me my plate of Ewa G and two meat.
He who is without sin should cast the first stone.
I politely asked this woman how much the food was. She answered ‘450’ with a disgusted look. I’m no mumu fam. 450 ko? When it is not beans from The Garden of Eden. (Remember that this whole conversation was in Yoruba). I told her to stop joking but I said so in a polite way. Next Thing, e be like magic, Iya Wunmi stood up and started shouting
‘E gba mi o. Jesu! Iru weere buruku le gbe wa sinu shoopu mi. Ase weere lomo yi. Hee, ko ma ye mi o. Won ti se pe fun eleyi lati ibi to ti’n bo’
In English, ‘See me see trouble o! Jesus! Which kind of mad person did you bring to my shop. So this boy is a mad person sef. Ehh, I don’t understand o. They have cursed this one from wherever he is coming from’

Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause.

I did not understand. This is way beyond the ‘I didn’t ezperrit’ jokes. I couldn’t laugh and I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t shout and I couldn’t keep quiet. This woman did not stop. She went on and on. I stood there and began to explain nothing in particular. I tried to calm her down but all efforts proved futile. She was drawing serious attention. I couldn’t take it anymore. I began to fidget. The Ewa G didn’t fall, trust your boy. I put my hand In my pocket and pulled out a 1000 naira note. After begging her to calm down, she collected it and I made my way to one table to consume my food. Embarrassment or not, money cannot waste. After eating it, I remembered my change. Iya Wunmi gave me that ‘Won o bi e da’ look (Them no born you well).
I didn’t ask for my change. She didn’t remind me.
How would I get home now??

Imma trek trek

No Words

(The title is ironic. It says no words, when in reality, there are seven hundred and forty four)

Wow! It hit me really hard. Who knew a random conversation could bore deep into the soul of a young man? It’s possible, but words from someone that is not even an acquaintance?
What seemed like the average afternoon for me turned out to be the turning point in my life. Thirty minutes or thereabouts of what started out as unimportant banter ended up with me reminiscing; thinking about the entire almost nineteen years of my life.
It started out as a normal day. Everything went fine; normal. And then I had to leave the house to go get something that belonged to me.
Sure enough, at about 3:40pm, I had gotten what I wanted to get and so I began to head home. I was walking along the road; somewhere in Surulere, on the road practically since the sidewalk was wet, looking ahead and thinking of nothing in particular, you can say I was in my own world. Odd?
Then all of a sudden, I heard my name. I am definitely not the only Seyi on earth and so I imagined whoever shouted the name was referring to someone else. I kept walking and then I heard my name again. The street I was on was sane; sane because traffic was light and not so many pedestrians were around. Owing to that fact, whoever was shouting Seyi had to be referring to me. This time, the voice sounded closer. It’s a popular superstition around these parts that if you hear your name, and there’s no familiar person you know around, it is a spirit that is calling you; reaching out to you. I personally do not believe some of the superstitions but then I can’t be taking chances. I’m still young and there’s so much I have to do before death becomes an option.
Again, I ignored the voice and kept walking, much faster. And then I heard it again, this time very loud and clear. It was the voice of a boy. I stopped and turned around. There was a middle-aged woman that seemed angry, two men laughing annoyingly loud as they walked together and then there was a little boy. The boy smiled when my eyes met him and immediately, I was consumed by fear. He said my name once more and began to come closer.
This boy was definitely not one of those street urchins that disturb you for money. I could tell from the clean pair of black jeans he had on and this really nice yellow And1 t-shirt he had on. It was when I saw the Heely’s on his feet that I was convinced that this was a normal little boy with parents.
Then he grabbed my hand. It was a soft grab so he obviously meant no harm.
‘What is your name? Who are you looking for?’ I asked him. He stared back at me and his eyes began to well up with tears. Lagos can be a very dangerous place and so naturally, the first thing that came to my mind was to leave this young boy and keep going my way. But I felt peace in my heart. There wasn’t a slight hint of worry in me. It was a feeling that assured me that this wasn’t part of some kidnapping scheme. Besides, God’s angels are always with me.
So, I crouched and asked him why he was crying. My thighs were sore from some work-out I had done not too long ago so I couldn’t remain in that position for too long. Luckily, there was this bench close by and so I held the young boy’s hand and led him to the bench. We both sat and I asked again, ‘Why are you crying? What is your name?’. He stopped crying and answered ‘Emmanuel’. ‘Okay Emmanuel, how old are you?’ I asked in this tone those primary school teachers use when they pretend to be nice. ‘Eleven’, Emmanuel replied. ‘Where are your parents?’, I asked. Emmanuel pointed to a store that was not too far from where we were sitting.
I was about asking him why he wasn’t with them and how he knew my name but I sighted a young lady that was clearly walking towards me at a suspicious pace, and so I paused.
Wide-eyed, obviously filled with shock, she exclaimed, ‘OH MY GOD!!’

To Be Continued…