It’s been a while and well, this blog has moved to http://www.out-sider.xyz
Thanks for all the nice times enjoyed here
I will always look back at it with a smile
It’s been a while and well, this blog has moved to http://www.out-sider.xyz
Thanks for all the nice times enjoyed here
I will always look back at it with a smile
You look forward to your first time and all you remember is the pregnancy scare. You look forward to your first flight and all remember is your stomach sinking. You dream of meeting your crush and all you remember is that she’s human, a bit.
I have always known fear but she likes to change her looks. First, she was the koboko my dad hung on the wall – 4 strands of dried leather, cream coloured and innocent. Then the silent hush of an assembly as the Principal called out the punishment for the ‘bad eggs that were caught in town’. Then it was the harsh glare of the bathroom light, smell of urine and harsh whisper of you asking ‘What did it say? Are you pregnant ni?’ Then it was your job, your boss and now you called it a new name, ‘anxiety’. So you left the damn job but that was throwing drops of water on a fire because
anxiety fear is a sly thing who knows your home address.
This year disappointed me, like the rest. Maybe because I thought I would achieve Finish. But you walked on water when you published your book, then you learnt how to swim because one thing leads to another and even that didn’t last. I should stop looking for success in one place, because things have come and gone and all that remains is whisky.
Reading is as important as its accompaniment. Read ‘This Bitch of a Life’ with Fela playing. Read ‘A Brief History of Seven Killings’ with Bob Marley playing, and ‘Midnight Ravers’ on a continuous loop. Read ‘Gone with the Wind’ with Frank Sinatra playing. I read this year with the wrong song playing, with no song actually. We experience what we experience but how we experience it is what matters. It seems as if this year was a beach party and I showed up in brogues. It was supposed to be a party but I turned up sober. It was a Muslim get-together and I brought pork chops. I told Efe the background to this and I hope he told you because I can’t write everything down myself
In 11 days, I will be 26 and that is far from 25 and even farther from my twenties and I miss when life was a party to be thrown. But there’s an issue, I can’t remember being 22.
I remember 20 – graduated school.
21 – worked for a campaign team.
Then 23 – changed alliance from vodka to whisky.
But see, no 22. I try to remember being 22 but I can’t. No one can. There’s also another thing, I fear that I never had the chance to be young. I was too eager for life to start properly, and that’s why I pressed the Pause button recently.
If you date somebody who didn’t live good before and you start giving him blowjobs and doing different positions, you can spoil him. – Svetlana Z
That’s what happened to me. I turned down the volume on life but I am not used to this silence. I gave my life’s occupants a quit notice but now there’s air whistling through the spaces and I want my life back, not that one, not that f***ing one.
It’s still not Finish. I fear that I will crash and burn, that I’ll never have kids or be able to afford them. D’you understand what I’m saying without speaking? This year disappointed me, like the rest and I could come here and say I want to do this and that next year but I don’t like people who only talk about what they are about to do.
I logged onto Twitter and saw Kofo tweet, ‘RIP Niggydip’. I remembered a friend who shared same name but I knew he could not be the one, he was too alive to die.
Then I saw someone describe the deceased as a humorous person. This was looking too much like Niggydip so I checked a mutual friend’s BBM update and it was confirmed.
When friends go, you remember moments in vivid detail. My remembrance of Dipo is distilled to three experiences.
On Friday, I noticed Dipo doing pushups. He was a funny soul and I knew he had a funny reason to explain his new physical fitness quest. The next day, he was off to contest at the Gulder Ultimate Search trials. Now, he was recounting his experience: The guy who drank the entire contents of his six cans before contesting, the person who almost drowned, the one who was already planning how to spend his winnings before even getting into the jungle. It was a funny account of the reality show’s entry competition. A story of his own trial and failure was being presented as humour.
Niggydip stayed in a lecturer’s boysquarters. The area was called ‘Computer’, because it was close to the computer laboratory built by Zenith Bank. I came around the BQ at night and Dipo was outside with clothes. He called me and said he had some clothes he had and wasn’t wearing, pointed to a bunch of clothes, some not worn and told me I could have any (or everything). It was a wonderful assortment – a Man U jersey, some denims – it was really exciting for me, the unexpectedness of it all. I tried to thank him but he was more concerned explaining to me how he had never worn most of them.
Niggydip always had something funny to say about anything. I’m not talking about conditional humour. I am talking about self-deprecatory humour, which is the best kind. So say something bad happened to him, expect him to joke about it.
He is gone now and I don’t remember things like his oil company job, the cool car he had as an undergrad or that he was one of the first people I saw with the iPod Touch. What I remember are scanty conversations in the night, chance conversations at the doorway, random run-ins.
I don’t remember the things we spend our life living for, but the moments. It makes me fear; if I go now, do people have any swear word free moments of me?
Out beyond ideas of right and wrong, there is a field, one filled with moments. What are yours and mine made of? When you lay in the earth and vain accomplishments do not mean a thing, what will people remember?
I will always remember Dipo as a smile, a laugh, a streak of light, an easy soul. Keep making beautiful moments up there bro!
You’re invited to my event next month
I’m not gonna come and say s**t like ‘dusts cobwebs’ cos I didn’t forget about this here platform, I knew about it, I was aware of it, shii, I even read it sometimes – and complained about the blogger not updating frequently before I remembered I was ‘the blogger’ – I just didn’t write.
I can’t give what you have (or something like that). See, I started this thing as a comedian. Now, I have to keep being funny, which is not funny. I live in Lagos and work in Access Bank, it’s not funny. So I have been writing tons of not-funny but real stuff which I couldn’t publish here.
But here we are.
Swimming in Eko Hotel
Was in Eko Hotel the other day to have a drink during their price slash hour.. Next thing, body started sweeting me so I went to the men’s changing room, stripped, had a shower and entered their pool.
I was all up there – freestyle, breast stroke, dog paddle. At a point, I noticed two waiters in uniform were walking beside me around the pool, I stuck my head out and they were very courteous.
‘Sir, hope you are having a nice swim?’
I said ‘But of course’
They said ‘Are you a guest or visitor?’
I told them that I just played and entered Eko Hotel ni.
They said ‘Good’
Later one said, ‘Sir, you forgot to take a bathrobe and towel’. That’s how they gave me all these things and were just doing me as if I am more than I am.
I just came out of the pool and started reflecting on my life. That so there is a place in this Lagos I will come and they will treat me like this, and I have been wasting my life in that bastard Shaunz Bar that sometimes you will not see where to sit. I was surprised cos if you don’t have accent in this Lagos, that’s how they will just be doing you anyhow.
As I stepped out, they approached me with silver tray that had paper inside.
I opened the paper. What did I see in the paper?
BILL OF TEN THOUSAND NAIRA!!!
I told them that I did not drink anything when I was inside the pool, apart from maybe a little pool water.
They smiled and said No, that non-guests that use the pool are to pay Ten Thousand Naira. At this point, I was wearing just boxers near the cold pool, but I was sweating.
I wanted to reflect but shebi I just finished reflecting?
See, it’s not everywhere you go and pull cloth and start showing yourself in this Lagos, you hear?! There are places like Shaunz Bar that with small money, you can have a nice time and they will treat you well not the ones that will seize your cloth and
I was at the long tennis court this Saturday morning, just having fun. Next thing, one guy won someone 14-0, won the next person 14-1. Ah!
His game was on fire. We noticed he was just serving people with force and he was not talking much. Just giving everybody 14-0 as if it’s communion.
At a point, someone asked him ‘Bro, is everything alright?’.
That’s when he replied
‘Today’s my wedding…stupid woman…she’s in the church now…I’m not going to pick my call. Let her suffer. She’s a stupid woman’.
As he was talking, I used style and peep into his knapsack, the thing showed 104 missed calls.
I just went to sit in one corner and said ‘Chi’m!’
See, I want to pray for all of you that visit my blog
You, kneel down! You’re the one that is single, you’re the one that is stubborn.
‘May they not be playing tennis when you’re in front of altar. Amen?’
You women too should be careful. Only God knows the kind of evil one of you did that a man said it’s tennis he will go and play on his wedding day.
Ah. 2014 man.
2014 felt like a free kick. Defence lined up in front, protecting their crotches. Team mates waiting for the loose ball. Muscle pull.
I walk into my compound at the end of a work day. I walk in on Simba as he chases a lizard into the space between the AC and the wall. He looks up at me, confused. If he comes to ‘greet’ me, the lizard escapes. If he chases the lizard, he breaks our unspoken human – dog respect arrangement. He has to choose between me and the lizard, and it’s a tough choice.
That was my 2014, man. I had to choose between friendship and stuff. I’m just here looking at these stripes wondering if it was all worth it.
Simba chose the lizard over me btw.
I walk into my house, sorry room. There’s no power. Simba wants to come in too. I don’t have a problem with this when there’s power and the AC is on but with no power, his presence just makes the room hotter. But I am a good man, and I let him in. He repays the kindness by farting in the already hot room. One moment, the room was calm, next moment, the air is tense with dog fart. I’m just like ‘Et tu Simba? But I trusted you’.
That was my 2014, man. In my search for companionship, I allowed people close and they fucked shit up. I’m just here looking at my symbols wondering if it was all worth it.
I swear, sometimes I be at the beach and I see something from my past life; like my ex. So I call Simba and ask ‘Oi homie, ain’t that ***** in the distance?’.Simba comes over, takes a good look and says ‘It’s aii master, it’s just a wave’.
That was 2014 man. In 2014, loneliness became a place, something I could walk into and tell you the colour of its walls. It’s actually a mix of pink with soft grays and slightly damp walls. You know, the kind of loneliness experienced by one in a big city where there’s a traffic jam, but you are alone in your car, windows wound up, doors manually locked, playing the latest Asa album. The one where you celebrate victories by opening a bottle of red alone, or giving your dog an extra helping of Jo-Jo lamb sauce.
In 2014, I learnt gratitude. I’m thankful, man.
In 2015, I just wanna be more deliberate, man. And more thankful. I wanna be like the leper that came back to say Thank You. I wanna look at these things and understand they were not here before, identify my objects of gratitude, yeah that kind of thing.
I wanna use this moment to just say thanks to a few people who made 2014 worthwhile.
First, the Johnny Walker Company.See, when you are in my place in society, it can be stress going to the mall everytime to buy a bottle of whisky. But the good folks at Johhny Walker just brought out this 1 Litre bottle of whiskey. So now, I can buy a few bottles and they will last me a week or two. Also, between August 27 and September 8, they had this price slash. So a One Litre bottle of Johnny Walker’s Red Label retailed for #1,560 as opposed to #2,870. I will forever be grateful for that, man.
Then the folks at Chocolate City, for dropping the most fire album of 2014. I put that ‘Chairman’ album on some whisky and got hit with some clarity.
Then most importantly, my landlady. Paid my rent for the 3rd consecutive year last week Wednesday and this good lady has still not increased the rent. That’s rare in Lekki, man. I’m blessed, man.
I don’t even know, man. See, last post, I said I wasn’t gonna come back here if the book wasn’t in print already. Well, it has been published. That’s it.
But you can’t buy it. Listen, man. I’m not yet ready to be a writer. See, in preparation of being a writer and stoffs, I’ve been fuxing with the writer community. Hell, I even made a checklist of things to get (and I’ve gotten them): Ray Bans, keep bushy hair, wear ankara print shapeless blouses, write with pencil instead of biro and pause after every sentence.
Then this happened.
Was at a book reading the other day, author reads from his book then folks in the audience hit him with a zillion questions: ‘Are you ghana dance? If we show you the money? Are you Ghana dance? If we show you the way?’ I said fuck you man. See, I hate to be asked questions man. So these books are gonna remain in their pretty brown cartons in my room till readers change. Or maybe I can reach an understanding that folks read the book, understand it as food for the soul and let things be. You ain’t Frank, I’m not the audience. No questions man.
I don’t know man. It’s tough man. I gottta go. No, really I gotta go.
The first time I took weed, my dad gave it to me.
I walked into the compound and there he was sitting on the brown chairs in front of our house.
In his hand was a piece of paper with premium high grade weed in it.
He motioned to me wordlessly to come over.
See, I don’t claim to be spiritual and all but I know an epochal moment when I see one.
I approached him wordlessly.
He passed the open, crumpled sheet of paper to me and said ‘Wetin be this?’.
I sniffed, I sniffed again. I placed some grains and dried leaves between my hands, tasted it and proclaimed in a low, sober voice, ‘Igbo’.
‘Na wetin I see for inside the bus. That’s what the driver has been taking. No wonder he doesn’t bring complete money again’.
I just shook my head.
Later that evening, as I went around my baby boy business, my dad called me again ‘Osis the Boy’
I said ‘Sah!’
He said ‘How could you recognize weed so quick? Have you been taking it too?’
See, I am not criticizing anyone but I felt betrayed. You stand up for family, you do some research for family, you dedicate your nasal glands, taste buds and years of experience to the service of the family business and this is what you get? This!?
Look, why did I share this with you? I don’t know man. I really don’t know.
You confide to your Pastor that you are worried that your fiancée snores. He then asks you if you’ve been fornicating cos how else will you know if your fiancée snores. What you gonna do?
You take a female interest for Bobo Omotayo’s book reading and midway she looks at you with doe eyes, squeezes your hand and tells you she loves Bobo Omotayo’s mind. I say what you gonna do?
You got a crush on your superior and express it by sending the most detailed meeting minutes hoping she notices that such pristine meeting minutes are art and show intent. Yet she doesn’t notice. I ask again, what you gonna do?
You’re on the akara queue, you have paid your dues: you didn’t cuss, you didn’t shove, you swear you didn’t for once say ‘Madam, hurry up’, yet the person in front of you buys up the entire tray. I am crying here. I say, what you gonna do?
Your younger brother has a light skinned, sixteen year old girlfriend and for all your hustle, all you have is a ‘bestie’ that doesn’t stay in Lagos. People treating you anyhow cos they know you’re single and don’t have anyone to cry out to; I say what you gonna do?
I recently took up salsa man.
It’s my retirement plan.
I wanna leave the bank and you know, be a dancer.
It’s all too much for me here
So in my bid to make everything art, I recorded my resignation on a mixtape with Chris Brown’s Deuces playing in the background, please give your opinion before I forward same to HR.
Kindly preview here:
I had a customer experience issue the other day.
No , I am not angry but I have just one wish: when I die, can some Konga staff be among my pall bearers, so they can let me down one last time?
Listened to ‘Di Spear’ by Nas and Damian Marley? Heavy. Holla, let me link you up.
The island is crazy man. But some business owners are keeping it real for hustle boys. There’s this place called FarmFresh. It’s just after the Place. It’s a seaside bar and the carpet is made of green turf. Well, their beer is N500 and their asun is N500. That’s as good as it gets here.
My book matter: I swear the book will be in stores by my next blog post. Please see a review of it that was published on the Guardian. Almost there now.
An online version of it is also available here: http://ngrguardiannews.com/artnew/178630-a-narrative-that-s-40-per-cent-fiction
I was in my room, it was raining heavily. The breeze zipped in past the mosquito net, filled the room and made cold catch me
You say weather for what?
Nigga, we here fighting for survival!
Immediately, I noticed the oncoming rain, I called Simba inside cos rain almost carried him the last time
Then we waited.
The rain started outside, then it came inside.
And this time, turtle floated into my room too.
I said ‘That’s it. I have had enough. I am going to learn how to swim’
Simba himself is a dope swimmer, so only me signed up at Aquasaf Swimming Institute.
I said as I was almost drowning during my first lesson, I saw a three year old girl swimming backwards.
I tried to remember what I used my own childhood for. I remembered I was always playing counter game and doing tospee back then.
I just went under the water and cried.
It’s my last swimming lesson. Coach Sunny brought fifty kobo coin; he would throw it into the pool and say ‘Fetch’.
That’s karma for you, what you do to your dog will come back to meet you.
End of lesson, he calls me to the side and gives me final advice: ‘So Osi, when you come here alone, make sure you stay in the shallow side and make sure people are around so they will save you if you are drowning in the shallow side’.
I thought I was now a professional swimmer. I was so confuse. I couldn’t even ask for refund.
But this is a video of me swimming these days sha: https://www.dropbox.com/s/kdf9ms1lsmmagqk/Pool%20Video.mp4
Please ignore the weird way my ass shoots out of the water. Ladies, I have a little something for you at the end of the video *wink*
It’s Hard To Be Straight
It’s hard to be straight, man.
We’re in the canteen and I casually ask my male colleague, ‘You get Snapchat? Add me’
Nigga looks at me like, Nigga!
I just started swimming and it’s sweeting me. I ping male friend and say ‘Make we go swim’
Nigga looks at me like, Nigga!
And the Book matter
You guys know I’ve been working on a book ba?
It’s now ready sha
Please help me choose which one to use among these book covers:
And see review Thisday published on Sunday about my book here: http://bit.ly/VGMF1v
Everything will soon be ready sha
There Are Levels
Guys, there are levels to car wahala
There is when they remove your four tyres and put the car on stone. It’s painful
There is when they put your engine under a jangolova, and use chain to jack up the engine and jack down your savings
Then there is when the spare part they need for your car, they will call courier to bring it and those ones will use power – bike to come and drop the part
The baddest is when Rewire will bring out the wire in your car and start joining – joining wire and saying ‘Se o ti tan?’
Whenever I am in mechanic workshop, I say I will just be walking around, looking at these levels and saying ‘I am covered by the Blood of Jesus. Not my portion’
I don’t like to share joints with people. Because you carry your friend somewhere, next thing, he will do birthday there and carry the whole world there. Next time you go to your own joint, waiter will tell you there is no space. But Lagos is hard. One stick meat there, one fish roll there, they will tell you your bill is 12k. So I will start sharing my okay and cheap places to help you people. See, this place in Agungi. One k (N1000), and you get this. It’s after VTL Supermarket. Cheers.
There are some things that are either done too early or too late. One of those things is learning how to drive.
Tried to join a driving school the other day.
Bee Driving School
Every weekend, I wear shorts and slippers. A friend made the mistake of inviting me to a wedding once, and I stepped in like that. There’s just something totally liberating about wearing shorts without briefs and slippers without socks so your body can breathe.
Anyways, I went to Bee Driving school in my knickers and bathroom slippers and the Instructor said:
‘Just bring fifteen thousand naira, I will teach you how to be a good company driver. I will teach you how to behave in interview so that they will collect you’
I quickly brought out my GALAXY S4 and said in a very polished accent, ‘I only want to learn how to drive automatic’
This time, he hit my shoulder for emphasis, ‘As a good company driver, you mustu know how to drive both automatic and manual. That’s what will make you be a Chosen: your Oga will like you, and start insisting that only this boy must drive me!’
A-M Driving School
The Instructor was real nice and respectful. Called me ‘fine boy’ which is a compliment that really gets to me so I signed up.
First driving lesson: instructor told me to reverse and I put the car in Drive instead, next thing I heard was ‘Se ode ni e ni? You blind?’
‘Don’t insult me sir. I paid for this driving lesson, you’re not doing it for free!’
‘Wetin be insult for there? You pay to learn how to Drive, you no pay learn Reverse! Na me just dey help you. Your money no include learn Reverse’
See, that’s how driving school continued o: three weeks of abuses.
Only joy was on last Saturday of driving School, my Instructor bashed the car. Me and him looked at each other after the accident and in that glance, we passed an irrefutable truth that ‘Nobody holy pass’.
Car Owner. Day One.
I set out. My maiguard looks at me with renewed respect. I drive for some meters then I can’t see. I swear I can’t see. It’s like the Nigerian movies where a man buys a new car and as he is driving it, his village folks hit him with something. This is bad: I think of Simba, I think of you guys: who will blog for you now? Then I notice the windscreen is misty. I stop at the stall where I usually buy bread and beans and ask for a napkin. The windscreen is cleaned and the journey continues effortlessly.
I enter the Lekki Ajah expressway. I am happy to be here: to be with people who are driving to work. I am just happy to be one of them. I don’t even want to be popular on the road. I just want people to see me in the mall, in the office corridor and say ‘I saw you driving this morning’. I want to sit in the cafeteria and talk about leaking radiators and greedy mechanics. I am so happy to be one of the mobile people. I look at the many people at the Bus Stop as I pass. I want to drive close to the Bus Stop, stick my hand out of the car window and shake everyone as I pass. I’ve seen Davido do that at a concert before. Can’t I do that too? No? Okay. I continue driving.
Cos This Post Isn’t Random Enough:
Agbalumo reminds me of life. Whenever you bite into a globe of agbalumo, you can never tell whether it is going to be sweet, salty or sour. You also don’t know how many seeds you will find inside. Many times, I have bought a big agbalumo and been hard pressed to find two seeds inside. Other times, I have bought tiny agbalumos – for the road, just something to pass time in the traffic, something to chew on before the traffic light turns green. And in these small globes, I have found so many seeds that I thought of business ventures that could arise from agbalumo seeds like accessories, ear rings, car dashboard decorations – probably childrens’ game that would come with many seeds of agbalumo that can be aimed at two to four players and the players would all have agbalumo shields. I think there is a lot of insight to be gained from agbalumos. Sometimes, you buy a spotless agbalumo with taut skin, a curved stem and sharply pointed peak and find a withered, dark red skin. Other times, I buy a spotted agbalumo with a weak peak, a gaping hole in place of a steam and inside I find milky goodness, fleshy innards and I know there is a God. Surely, it is not a matter of knowledge to select the perfect agbalumo, it’s God.
Was in an interview the other day and they asked me my weakness, straight up told them ‘’I might be weak but in him, I am made strong’ [2 Corinthians 12:9]. I got the job. I’m serious!
It’s been a while and I missed this, and I’m talking too much, and I just gotta go!
(i) Been to the Lagos Polo Club? You should? Place is cool man: open air, cool breeze, horses grazing and racing and company so fresh, like see: they give tips in the toilet and the money remains there. Had to snap this for the family!
(ii) Biko, if you can, buy this month’s copy of Y! Africa, that’s the magazine of Y Naija. They interviewed me on Page 15 as per my oncoming book launch and all.
(iii) Listened to ‘Say Something’ by Christina Aguilera and A Great Big World. Soulful song. Indicate interest and I mail it to you, just like that!
We were in the cafeteria, and the conversation spun, from Manchester City’s win, where to get beer at pump price, who looked pregnant, to the feasibility of office crushes and finally to…Dads. Surprised?
E Go Show You Your Sin For Bible!
When you annoy my dad, he will bring out Bible and show you where you offend. He will show you your sin in the Bible and both of you will pray about it. After una don pray, you think the next thing is to hug and talk about how to further grow your spiritual lives ba? That’s when he will bring out the pankere – cane that bends but does not break – and almost claim your life with beating!
Wa rora ma mu ni o!
I remember first time my dad saw me drinking. We went to a wedding at some faraway town. When we got there, there was no water or juice. My dad ordered beer, I was thirsty: I ordered beer too. I made sure to avoid eye contact. They brought his beer, cold and frothing. He poured and gulped.
They brought mine too, as I poured, I avoided eye contact. I could feel him staring me down though.
Immediately I brought the cup to my lips, I heard him bark, ‘Wa rora ma mu ni o!’ (You will gently drink it o/Drink with caution a.k.a Use soffry and be gulping the drink)
Immediately I finished the first cup, he took the remaining in the bottle and said ‘Ehn-ehn! O ti to’ (It’s enough/You have reached your limit/I will now take over from here/Kindly exit the building)
Guess who finished the remaining in the bottle? My dad 🙂
‘Would you like a taxi or the ferry?’
Back then, my dad had a girlfriend. Whenever we were headed to school, she would join us on the ferry. My dad would tell us to move to the backseat while she would sit beside him on the ferry. On the return trip in the evening, he would ask her, ‘Would you like to take a taxi or the ferry?’ (in British accent)
One day, we told our mum this.
In the evening, as she served him dinner, she leaned in and asked loudly in pseudo British accent, ‘Would you like to take a taxi or the ferry?’
My dad looked at us with what in later years I got to realize as the ‘Judas Stare’.
From that day onwards, we got no more ferry rides and thing is till date, we don’t know how they got to resolve that issue!
I Could Be Your Pasta Queen
My dad liked Spaghetti Bolognese, you know jollof pasta with minced meat and very visible green peppers ontop!
The secretary knew and brought him a cooler of this once in a while.
My mum got wind of this somehow and the next week, we had on Monday morning: pasta and stew, Monday evening: pasta fried in curry sauce, Tuesday morning: Bolognese pasta, Tuesday evening: pasta and hot chilli sauce, Wednesday morning, pasta with palm oil and dried fish.
On Wednesday evening, as we chomped mouthfuls of pasta wondering when the tribulation will end, my dad publicly said ‘Abike, ma binu’ (He publicly apologized to my mum on the dinner table).
Only then was normalcy restored.
Whatever you do: under-dress!
When my sister brought her husband for traditional wedding, my dad took one look at him and decided he was but a struggling young blogger man. My dad sent my elder brother to make sure the women who usually came, took off their wrappers and put it on the floor asking for money did not get to do that and he basically gave out my sister for free!
At this point in the conversation, I decided when going for my traditional wedding, I would go dressed in shorts, beach slippers and hoisting a tiny knapsack. Hopefully, the bride’s parents show me such mercy and ask for only one pineapple and watermelon for their daughter. Amen?
During holidays, we followed my dad to his office. Deal was we were to read there. Mumu me come carry love letter along with my books. It was from a girl that I just bought perfume for. When we got home, I checked for the love letter, I could not find it, I bone! As we entered the office, the next day, there was the crumpled, forgotten love letter on my dad’s table. He took it, opened it and read.
Immediately he finished reading, I say immediately he finished reading….
Guys, I can’t! Bahahahaha!
I am currently reading ‘I Am Malala’ by Malala Yousafzai: the girl that was shot by the Taliban for going to school. It’s a good read considering the feminist talk social media has been awash with recently. If you want a copy, do like this: O/