Music and me

dapinkbolt's Blog

Music. They call it food for the soul ,i agree.
There are some songs that give you the ‘out of body’ experience. They remind you of good times you had, good times you never had. Bad times you had, bad times you never had.

They calmly remind of things that never happened, about books that you never read, about movies that never made u sad.
They remind you of your first love, true love and your lost love.
They remind you of your first time..first time you drove a car,first time you were called an ‘oloshi’ by a passing motorist.
They remind you of the First time you fought for a girl, first time you fought over a girl. First time you got laid,first time you got stood up. First time you fell in luv, first time you fell out of luv. First time you cried for no good reason…

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Fast forward into the past

dapinkbolt's Blog

Imagine if I somehow discovered that I could go into the past,using my grandfather’s magic calculator which i discovered in the attic.

I will soo change the past. At first ,i’ll have fun.

I’ll attend a shango festival in the 1300s. Just as your ancestors are about worshipping shango and shouting praises about him controlling lightning, I’ll bring out my taser and tase the Shango Priest in front of everyone. They’ll make me a god and start worshipping me. I’ll enjoy it for a few weeks till the new priest decides to offer a sacrifice to me by killing his two sons,my neighbour’s albino child and a set of twins( probably P square’s first ancestors), then,i’ll shout ‘wayray ma ni bobo yii sha’…and i’ll grab my grandfather’s calculator and return to 2014.

Then,i’ll go forward to Septmeber 2014, and go to Maiduguri to grab a gatlin gun just dropped by…

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of A man,Lagos, Nigeria & Mars

Highlife music. Dont know why it just gets me like it does. Though I don’t speak Igbo but some people like Sir Rex Lawson, Chief Osita Osadebe deserve greater respect than they are accorded. Why do we have Obasanjo Road in Abuja,what did he do,apart from GSM?
Anyway,these highlife artistes have been there for us,through thick and thin. At least, comforted us day in day out. Money dey,money no dey. Woman dey ,woman no dey. They never for once discriminated. They didn’t lower their voices when I was broke neither did they sing off tune when I didn’t go to church on a Sunday morning.
They did not rig elections.They didn’t promise us heaven and earth before elections and then speak big English after 4 years.They didn’t promise us 4th mainland bridge and give us a vibrating 3rd mainland bridge.
Oh,by the way,Fashola dey try ooo.I think I now know where he’s getting money from. As an entrepreneur, I went to the Lagos Inland revenue Service (L.I.R.S) to make enquiries about how much tax I would have to pay.I went there for 3 reasons. Firstly, Pastor Adeboye said God said we should pay tax (Yep, the Advert worked on me).
Secondly, one of my staff eloped with my money,I wanted to report at the police station but was scared they might just ask me for my tax clearance details.
Thirdly, Fashola dey try. The guy is the kind of guy that I think I wont like to have over at my house when I was a kid, he’ll probably be destructive; spoiling my toys et all. Anyway, he’s constantly digging and destroying somewhere …..to make it more beautiful and motorable.
So I went to make enquiries of how much tax I would pay. Nice office they had,entered the first office I could see and told the lady of my inquest.The smartly dressed lady asked me what I did and how much I earned roughly monthly. I said like 100,000.
She smiled and told me that I’ll be paying like 200,000 for my tax..something about 3 precedding years lump sum.blablabla.200,000 during global meltdown.L.I.R.S no get T.V? There is economic crunch men!
Sharp guy like me.Sharp well dressed,well spoken guy like me. I asked her if I could leave whenever I wanted,she looked perplexed and said “yeah,sure”.
I then asked her if she knew who I was,for telling me “yeah,sure”. She said no,but L.I.R.S charges the same for everybody.
I then stood up,being completely sure she didn’t know my name and walked out of their office.
I’ll probably go fill up a form declaring that I earned 20,000 per month,Ill do that next week.
What?what? He who has no sin ,cast the first comment..
Awon elese buruku!
Now my beautiful country. I love my country. Though sincerely
, that’s what this Nigeria is.
This is the only country where PHCN would not give an area electricity for 6 months and when you ask them why,they;ll probably tell you;”Loadshedding” or “Underground cable” or “transformer something something”.
Which kind of load shedding takes 6 months?who are they sharing the load to? Oh, did i tell you what my aproko neighbours encountered when they went to the nearest PHCN office? The ladies met the Nepa office using a small generator to power its office. Oh,and after we contributed(under duress) they finally said it was an underground cable problem. Now the funny part, after getting the cable;they had to wait till midnight to detect where the fault occurred. How? They’ll put their ears on the ground along the route of the Cable and listen for its buzz..till it stopped buzzing ..
Did you know that if you put your 1000 naira in a savings account in UBA for one year,you’ll end up owing the bank like three hundred naira? .
Im pretty sure they had to cancel the current affairs classes in primary school during President Obasanjo’s regime.Then, minister’s changed every time the sun went down, so did governors and commissioners. .
And I just wonder why Im not regarded as a local government chairman, I repair my street roads, I generate my own electricity , I pump my own water…In fact Im gonna start my own country.Really, who do I talk to? I need to be deported to Qatar or something. O ti su mi ni . Imagine if those salve traders came now to Nigeria. They’ll probably be charging 300,000 for entry….like they are now. Don’t call me a racist, I aint a racist. I like whites, I even painted my office white.
Back to me mad country,did you know that you have as much fuel in the country during fuel scarcity and when there’s normalcy? I wont be surprised if you even had more fuel during scarcity sef. Do u see the long queues of black market salesmen on Ikorodu road during scarcity? And you call it scarcity? Your English must be bad.
Now the government wants to be taxing churches? Me, as an individual,I think its wrong. Imagine in the olden days,imagine me taking a male goat to the temple of my Lord for sacrifice. Then imagine,Governor Fashola,dressed as a centurion or something wearing white loin cloth and shouting to the priest, “ I want one of the thighs of the Goat that guy gave to his God”.Bollocks.
One good advice to the government and its officials, I suggest you start investing in heat resistant clothing and airconditioners that you’ll use in afterlife, because you just might not end up in heaven.Awon elese osi!
And everyone is on strike, me too I’m going on strike. In fact I am not writing my next article.Ill probably go to a better place of peace, say Mars.

of A man’s headache

What doesn’t make a man, makes him a woman.
To be a man is not easy. Women tend to think we are lucky if just only because we are allowed to pee standing up and allowed to pee in public. And of course, we don’t have menstrual pains nor labour pains amongst other medical misfortunes.
A man at my age has so many pressures .I took my time to reduce them into five groups. Family Pressure, Women Pressure, Religious Pressure, peer pressure and Media pressure.

Family exerts the most constant pressure which would only stop when you die. Their pressure comes through nudging you to marry, financial expectation, driving you crazy to marry and just generally pissing you off. The funny part about family pressure is that it never wanes .As soon as you have a job and a house and a car, Go-marry is the word. As soon as you marry, born-pickin is the word. As soon as you born –pickin, someone suddenly needs to be staying at your place because you have an infinite supply of oxygen in your house, unlike everywhere else. After that person leaves, you’ll have to sponsor someone to school because the person’s parent went skydiving and lost their lives in the process. And you dare not ask why the parents used an umbrella in place of a parachute. As soon as the sponsored graduates from school, you’ll have to become an automatic chairman of events. If your aunt’s community is building a gigantic mouse trap, you’ll be the chairman who must donate greatly to the cause. Oh, and family is allowed to return your cheque telling you ‘it is too small’. And God help you if you have not built a house as soon as you drive a 3millon naira car.

Women pressure takes advantage of our default settings as a guys. Our default setting as guys just makes you just bloody love anything in skirts, so you listen to them amongst other things you do to them and for them. You buy a lovely car, the woman next to you would naturally tell you that her ex boyfriends baby brother has the same car, though in a different colour . And if you are unfortunately privileged to have a girlfriend, there so many demands. Some bestow upon you so many financial demands that you start to wonder when you told them your surname is ‘national’; meaning you own national stadium, national airport etc. And some don’t bestow upon you much financial demands, just mental demands. They expect you to remember their birthdays, anniversaries, mum’s birthdays, the colour of shirt they wore the first time they saw you, the colour of shirt they wore first time you saw them, their favourite colour, their sister’s boyfriend’s name amongst other seemingly life threatening details. Then they try to make you become someone else, the man of their dreams. The truth in most cases is that the man of their dreams is mostly their exboyfriends that left them for the other three-boobied-lady.

Religious pressure. Simply put, go to God or go to hell. It would have been simpler if being on the devil’s side was so horrible while being on God’s side was so blissful. No doubt, being with God is d bestest that could happen to a smart guy but menh, devil self dey try. The guy behaves like MTN-anywhere you go! So you are constantly caught between making God friendly decisions or not. The pastors don’t make it easier, they are constantly on tv, radio, billboard, handbills reminding that you must be born again. You see a girl that somehow escaped your wrath, now she wants your wrath, in bulk. You wanna give her 3kongos of wrath but pastor assured you yesterday, quoting from the bible that if you do, you might just not have an erection again. You get all kind of instructions, look but don’t touch, touch but don’t eat, eat but don’t swallow, swallow but don’t feel good. So,you are constantly second guessing every action of yours, thinking, what would Jesus do if he were in ma case? Would he post his thoughts on facebook or would he fast for a week for even thinking about it.

Peer pressure,when your peers pressurise you,duhh. They pressurise you directly or indirectly. They make a benchmark for your achievements and actions even though they don’t tell you how they totally achieved it.You see an old classmate guy drive a Honda accord 09,you drive a honda baby boy 02. The underlining truth is that the Honda 09 accord guy got it as a gift from his aunt who’s a diplomat with a small garage and too many cars. Your own aunt is not a diplomat, she has a big garage the size of an airport and one hyundai accent in it. So, u naturally immediately assume he has he got the car from his salary and he probably has a bigger penis too. You then start taking unnecessary loans to buy a car and even undergo penile enlargement. Too bad. And these same peers would expect you to come drink with them on a Friday night ,a period you set aside for the holy tradition of Grey’s anatomy. Eventually, after been persuaded and called a snub, you go out with them. That night, you meet a girl that would eventually turn into the biggest hole in your pocket. Oh, and your car would get brushed by a drunk teenager costing you N132,000. Long and short, peer pressure, bad pressure.

Media pressure. You watch TV, listen to radio, see billboards and they all give you a benchmark. We naturally assume that the people that put all these media up are more informed ,sophisticated and generally more flammable than we are. So, we trust their recommendations, their judgements and their lifestyle. For example, a benchmark of how to talk. You suddenly develop a pseudo British accent after watching a Hugh Grant movie and an American accent after listening to Jayz. Next week you see an Irish movie right after seeing a Chinese movie. You develop a Chino-Irish accent with an American intonation. You end up speaking like Frank Nweke Jnr. And snoop doggy dog sags his jeans because he couldn’t find his length in jeans; can find yours but still u you sag. The guy on playboy mansions buys a yatch for some girl, you can’t afford to. So, you automatically keep working until you can afford to buy yatch for yourself for some skinny ass constructive surgeons innovation.
In all, it’s not easy to be a man. In all, all these pressures make you a man. Women might want to claim all these pressures ,but from my own point of view .I could break down a woman’s lifetime pressure into the following.
1.They want to be allowed to wear lipstick at age seven.
2. Then they have indirect peer pressure at age 12 to have boobs, and bigger boobs.
3.Age 14,they need a boyfriend or a friend of their elder brother as a crush.
4.age 15,they need a boyfriend.
5.Age 18. They need sex.
6 Age 24-120 they need husband
7. age 26-35 they need kids.
8 age 50-3000,they need grandchildren and in-laws to piss off.
Would have explained all these factors but, I pee standing up. I’m a guy. And mi o foshi!.

of Pleasant

So, you wake up and just get that feeling that everything is sooooo sooo good.

Woke up smiling.Cant remember the exact dream I had last night but I totally remember that it involved a spaceship, plenty ice-cream, exotic beaches and pretty smiling alien air hostesses.

Things are just more pleasant.

Earlier on, some evil Hitler-wannabe plumber did the water connection in the house in such a way that the cold water suddenly ceases while you are under the shower, leaving you at the mercy of angry-hot chicken-wings peeling water. That didn’t happen this morning.

Things are just more pleasant.

While trying to pick what to wear, I noticed that things are just cute… Colors are brighter…somehow there is a scarcity of pink, green, blue, white and black in the whole wardrobe …..Only baby pink, mint green and sky blue, sexy white and ash grey exist. Even the colors seem to agree that things have changed. Finally chose a sky blue shirt and a smiling pink tie. It just felt like heresy if I didn’t wear that shirt and tie.

Things are just more pleasant.

Even my new shoes suddenly become more comfortable. Everything just looks like you are in a Walt Disney fairy tale cartoon. People are nicer. Driver didn’t come in early but no early morning meeting either, so I decided to have a cereal and watch TV.

Things are just more pleasant.

CNN is not just showing on the TV to make me sad; only Soundcity, MTV Base, TV, African Magic Yoruba and BBC entertainment are showing on TV. Settled for Soundcity, met Terry G shouting Swagger Swagger, it somehow sounded non offensive and less pornographic. Mistakenly sat on the remote control and flipped the channel to MTV where I met “The Script’ telling me about ‘the man who cant be moved’….After the ministration, flipped to African Magic Yoruba where Iya rainbow was assuring a guy that he was going to die within 24 hours because he shagged her daughter. One old man came into the house immediately and begged Iya rainbow not to kill the guy within 24hrs….he begged for 48hrs more as the guy was to pay him money the next day. Iya rainbow agreed. Nice.

Things are just more pleasant.

Driver came..gave a story about Ironman and Spiderman persuading him to come late,I nodded.On the way to work,the radio itself just ceased to play Enya ,sad Fela tracks and Youssou n Dour tracks..but it only played travis,the fray,one republic,lady gaga and beyonce. Always noticed that there seems to be some form of echo when my gateman talks…never noticed he echoed because he was toothless till today, when he opened the gate with a hearty smile.Even he too is pleasantly happy

Things are just more pleasant.

There is no usual morning traffic and even the traffic warden has earplugs in his ears hence he’s succinctly swaying to good music,damn sure he’s listening to “kuchikuchi’ by J’odie.

Things are just more pleasant.

Things are just soo pleasant because I just got pimped.

My First Novel

Anyway, my name is Joacqim, Jide Joacqim.Sure sounds like, Bond, James Bond, right?
I’m a young guy whose only constant “features” are my physical features. By physical features, I mean I am 5ft 8. , Dark, kind of cute, Black eyes, pearl white teeth, averagely built though inclined towards the slim side. In other words, a “fine boy”.
My other features change; they depend on the victim, client or partner I’m with, as the case may be. The other features include my age, likes, dislikes, hobbies, past, future aspirations amongst other things.
No, no, no, I’m not a liar, I just have flexible features. Basically, my features change to reflect the expectations of the person I’m with, mostly females .In some cases,it reflects what I think I have to be in order to get what I want. In case you are thinking that what I want ultimately is sex ,then you are wrong, You are wrong because I don’t want sex ,not at first. I bet you are wondering what the book is about. Me too.
It’s not about my confession, rather it’s about my ordeal, my plight, my experiences as a boy growing up in Nigeria in my environment ,time ,circumstances ,growing up in the hands of the female species.
It is about what I had to do, how I did it. What I had to say, how I said it. And most of all, what I made happen, how it happened. Firstly I’ll tell you more about myself. I guess that won’t hurt, won’t hurt because by time you are reading this book, I would have stopped flirting, active flirting anyway.
As at now, I’m 22 years old. I’m a year four student of university of Lagos, doing a pseudo engineering course. I had my secondary studies as a boarding student at Federal Government College Odogbolu .My primary school education as a “day student” (non boarding) at Mayflower Junior School. My mum is a Doctor, A pediatrician. My Dad, a Doctor too, a general practioner.My parents divorced when I was four years old. I’m the second child out of three kids, all boys. My elder brother, Timi is presently a medical student at University of Ibadan while my younger brother, Siju is about entering a hitherto unknown university. My mum remarried ten years after the divorce. We; the kids, mum and my step-dad (a very nice man) stay in sagamu at the doctor’s Quarters of the state hospital where my mum works.Sagamu is a small town in Ogun state which is regarded by all but its inhabitants as a “bush town”. This is because of the level of development there which could be compared to one seventy-sixth of Lagos. Development in terms of public facilities, restaurants, beautiful ladies and eye popping structures. Commercial activities in the town, to we the inhabitants, is “okay” but to non-inhabitants, it is non existent. I mostly stayed in Sagamu with my mum, step dad and brothers till I left for university. Though I sometimes had my holidays in Lagos with my grand parents, uncles, aunts and a select few. Let me guess, I bet you are thinking, ”this must be a bush boy”.Just what I would of thought of you if you were the writer with this bush profile.
Let me see,I think my ordeal with girls on a non platonic note(to me anyway) started in my primary school. “Waoh” would be appropriate here.
.Sagamu being a small town was easily divided into two parts.elites and non elites.I don’t know much about the non elites but I know that all the elites knew each other.
So you could be sure that every doctor, engineer, teacher, banker in the town knew your parents. The bad fallout of that was that, you misbehave outside while walking; all exaggerated details of your shenanigan would get to your parents in a car or on the phone, before you do. The good fallout was a kind of community where joint actions were taken in all aspects. All elites had their kids in my school, shopped in the same market, attended the same church, went to the same salon and some even marry in the same church. Since all kids of elites went to the same school, “they” took joint actions like having all elites’ kids to be non –boarding, getting cars and buses to get their kids to and from school. Did you say “what happened to school buses?” I’ll tell you, Schools in the bush (not bush schools) do not have school buses. Though the school was in the bush, about 20 minutes drive from sagamu; it had very good teachers, mostly Ghanaians. Ghanaians make good teachers, though as at now, I speak English with a Ghanaian accent.
Being a non boarding student in my primary school meant you’ll have a little more than the usual attention from girls your age-mate, both boarding and non boarding. Non-boarding girls because you probably went home together everyday, attended the same church, had your parents visit each other, and you were probably delivered in the same hospital a few hours from each other. For boarding girls, I was a very useful asset. This was because I went to school everyday for six years with a school bag ostensibly carrying books but which housed a mini-canteen. The mini-canteen contained my breakfast pack, my lunch pack, biscuits, snacks (not biscuits), one flask of tea, one flask of Ribena (fruit drink) and serviettes .So, female attention came by virtue of the contents of my bag.
Then was when I made my first theory about girls: For you to be in vogue, you have to have something to offer. Something to offer could be attention, company, money, food or anything you have or can get that girls want.
Whilst in primary school, I was having “serious” after school private lessons. After-school lessons that only ceased on the 8th day of the week, never.Consequently, I was a force to be reckoned with in the academic scene. My academic relevance further confirmed my “in vogue” theory. I had the attention of most girls by almost opening my mouth, I was in vogue. While in primary school, I was contented with just, just talking to girls and being spoken to. Being spoken to meant a session of “Good morning, what did you eat this morning?” or better still “I prefer the evening moon to the midnight sun” or something equally worth talking about. While in primary six, I happened to be placed to seat beside this particular deaf, dumb, blind, proud, ugly and stupid boarding girl called Anna. All those “true” adjectives because she just somehow didn’t know I existed .I guess the primary school was her second degree; she probably did a first degree in “Ignoring superstars”. She just didn’t notice me. And that, that freaked me out, totally. The freak show led to animated hatred. She somehow still didn’t notice me and my animated hatred. Curiosity set in. Then, I started admiring her. Then, I realized she was different. She had this charm called confidence. After a few weeks of the “opera”, I came around because I guessed she was ready to ignore me till two weeks after Jesus came back. One morning, after a couple of suicidal thoughts, I gathered all my guts and said “good morning” to the Anna girl and stepped back a few feet. A big feat. A big feat because, from the way she had been ignoring me, you’ll have expected her to stab me to death with a very blunt object. She looked at me the way King Lancelot would have looked at a crippled terrorist and grunted “hmmmm” .Then, I noticed she sounded good and most of all, I realized she could grunt, hear n’ she was far, very far, from ugly and stupid. A beautiful smile came in the sachet too. After that first mile, I started trying to get a grunt from her Baby majesty. She made it so hard to get one that everyday I got one, I wrote it on the wall of my wardrobe at home. At times I didn’t write anything on my wardrobe for weeks. Then , one day, we were having a maths lesson. Everybody was given a book to check some diagrams. Then, her baby Majesty, Anna somehow in her infinite wisdom, tore the cover of her textbook. Ghanian teachers are nice, but if they decided to beat you, they did so as if you probably made their skin black. This particular math’s teacher, Mr. Sedo, was a man who the devil consulted from time to time for child molesting lessons.That was the first time I realized that maybe the Anna girl’s eyes could produce water.She sobbed quietly throughout the lesson. The math’s teacher either didn’t notice or didn’t want to. At the end of the lesson,the Teacher personally collected the books from each student ,making a brief inspection before collection. When he got to our table,I gave him mine.He “examined” the book , “cleared” it and gave his human carrier behind him.Her majesty’s turn. As she raised her book and her metallic red eyes, I stood up and stammered “I,I,I….I mistakenly tear, no ttttore,…her.. her.. book”. The teacher examined the extent of the “damage” smiled and told me to go and stand beside his desk. After my drama, one other unlucky boy happened to have torn his own book too. Unlucky because he didn’t have any girl to stammer him out of his problem. While the teacher was still busy “examining and clearing”, her majesty was busy shooting me thank you and thank God looks. After the ceremony, the man actually put his hand on my shoulder and told the whole class that I was the bravest in the class, standing up for my friend. I actually smiled. He then said, he had a mind of making me the last brave student in his class. He said he was going to give me 24 strokes of the cane. I heard the cane, then on the teacher’s table, grunt with pleasure. I made up my mind not to cry, to be brave till the 24th stroke. After the first stroke on my buttocks, I had a mind of committing suicide before the second stroke. He literally “beat the shit out of me”. During the session, I was held in place by three classmates who eventually, I didn’t talk to again till I left the school. By the end of the session, all my senses had gone for a coffee break. I was seeing, hearing, smelling, saying, crying, feeling all sorts. Everybody and thing around me were all laughing and saying sorry at the same time. While still in the haze, I felt someone pull me up from my hitherto “comfortable” position on the bare cold floor. It was her majesty. She was actually crying. Her majesty was crying. I guess she was imagining what could have happened to her ass. She was doing all sort of things at the same time, crying, pulling me up, telling me sorry in four languages, telling me thank you in forty languages amongst other things. Then, then she gave me my first memorable hug. Anyway, it was later that I realized that she gave a hug. Where was the teacher doing the drama? He was outside talking to a colleague of his. Under his right arm was the other culprit’s head (the other unlucky book tearer), his ears being turned like a pencil sharpener. The man was probably talking about very important issues like how the sun in Nigeria compared to the moon in his own country. Terrible. I finally came round, my senses resumed. By the time the next teacher came in, I was able to think a little, but not sit. I would gladly have opted for a buttocks transplant at that time, my ass hurt like hell, literally. The remaining part of the “super mannish” day drifted though the pain didn’t drift away for weeks. After that day, I was dubbed by her majesty as a Knight, one with shiny buttocks, maybe. After that time, we lived normally ever after. On my last day in my primary school, we, I and Anna, had a long chat. We probably thought we weren’t going to see each other again. After the sermon she gave me, she gave me a beautiful, classic hug.
On one of my last days in primary school, it dawned on me that I was sort of used to being the cynosure of female eyes around me. I had to be “in vogue” in secondary school .How?
Getting into any secondary school was not a problem considering my relatively high common entrance scores, the 3rd best in the school with 562 in 600.The problem was which secondary school I wanted to attend that had my mother’s consent. The schools I though were boring, anti-human, Nazi oriented remand homes, my mum thought were divine ‘homes away from home’.
We finally settled for Federal Government College Odogbolu, another school in Ogun state, a “bush school” from my point of view. We settled for the school for a number of reasons. Mainly because my elder brother was in the school, the school had an outstanding record of good results, and most of all to my mum, it wasn’t too far from home. The school, Federal Government College Odogbolu, was a very big, standard, well equipped mixed school built in the middle of an archaeologist’s pride, an ancient town. The school was built in the living museum to develop the “museum”, so I was told anyway. The town was strange; it only had old people and buildings. The school had a lot of classes, staff quarters, hostels and any other land reducing venture you could think of, even farms. The school was actually fine from far though far from fine.
I remember my first day in the school, school captains all lined up at the entrance of the hostel to welcome us into the school and check us in. The school just didn’t feel right to me, I just could feel it. Then, alas, a sign from heaven. On one of the posters meant to welcome us to the school was a drawing of big outstretched hands; in those hands were drawings of four boys carrying school bags. The drawing was captioned; your children are in safe hands. The boys in the hands looked happy but I couldn’t help but notice that one of the hands had just four fingers; three fingers and a thumb. I was in shit, I thought.
When I was in my first year, my elder brother Timi was a “big boy” in his third year. So he was supposed to take care of me in case he was ever through with taking care of himself. Though in all fairness, he helped me find my feet being the first time I was alive without a house-help to tend to me. In my first few weeks in the school, I didn’t even notice any other being in the school. This was because I had a problem with everything in the school. I didn’t know how to wash my clothes, the eating schedule was diabolic, the sleeping schedule was inhuman, the reading schedule was diabolic, and everything was diabolic to me. “Oh, these devils want to kill me” I yelled everyday. I somehow adjusted, with time. My brother came in very handy in helping find my ropes while at the same time he was, as I heard he was a pathetic ,”out lawish” Casanova. His triggering code was “Do not…..”Though he wasn’t that wayward, never broke any “very, very, very serious” rules like beating all the school teachers at once, individually maybe.
No matter what he did, he never got more than a mild detention, while his co-perpetrators got nothing more than a “mild” expulsion or an indefinite suspension which lasted mostly for just thirty years. All this was because my mum was the chairman of the medical committee of the P.T.A (Parents Teachers Association) which was charged with the supply of all drugs to the school dispensary, treatment of all students who were transferred to the teaching hospital due to inadequate staff and services of the infirmary. My mum’s biggest task was standing in as a surety for the medical bills at the teaching hospital in sagamu. She was a kind of collateral till the school organized it. So, my mum and by extension her children, were a force to be reckoned with.
Through my brother, I got like 5 x 1062 (five magabillion) “school mothers”, all his “friends”. There was something mysterious about them that I noticed out rightly. They all wanted to hold me, hug me and say sweet things .Amazed I was .It was in my later years that I realized the reason for the melodramas. They, at thirteen years, had just discovered some things. Firstly, that they could hug a non family member of the opposite sex and say all sorts without turning to a pillar of salt, contrary to what their mums told them.
Secondly, what better sounding board to test their newly discovered “powers” to say part of what they wanted to say, touch a boy without crucifixion and hug. What better sounding board than a school son who felt very good with you testing powers on them?
I can remember vividly my first un-chaperoned encounter with a prospective school mother. My previous ones were well rehearsed playlets. A normal chaperoned encounter simply entailed the chaperone usually my brother or his friends saying to a prospective school mother, “This is Timi’s BABY BROTHER Jide, isn’t he cute?” The prospective school mother usually said “hellooo, how are you? He’s soo cute .huhhh.” Then, I’ll do as preplanned .Firstly; I’ll dig up a cute smile inclined to the left, then a right handed smile then a full smile revealing any dentist’s yardstick for a “good dentition”. And then the session ends with the now registered school mother saying “in case you ever need anything, anything, check me up, or in fact, I’ll be checking up on you, what class are you?” The truth in fact was that the school mother was probably on her way to see her guardian, usually a teacher, to tell him to please help her send an S.O.S home because she had “financial brouhaha”. So much for “anything, anything”. At first, I thought the title “baby brother” depicts a picture of a crying device residing in a baby cot. I later realized that the title “baby brother” is actually given to a baby abomination that is entitled to thrice the ills and the harshness the school the elder brother. But the title, “Timi’s baby brother” actually is given, as in my case, to a cute, well mannered, neat, presentable, smart and popular boy who inherits all the good and favors of the school. Fair world, right? Thus, my chaperoned encounters went by.
My first unchaperoned encounter occurred on a hitherto normal day. It was a few days after my thirteenth chaperoned encounters. Yep, I was counting. It occurred on my way back from evening lessons. My brother and his friends were meant to have a football match on the pitch, so I was on my way there. The predator was with her “socialite” friends and by the football pitch waiting for the match. Though I recognized her, I didn’t notice her. Didn’t notice her because “cute boys don’t notice girls, girls notice cute boys”, so said my well “learned and experienced” JSS 3 tutors. I was silently praying that she wouldn’t call me because I wasn’t sure I could handle her without my tutors and prior rehearsals. “God let me disappear, be invisible or in fact let her be temporary blind”. But at that point, God probably thought the “movie” shouldn’t end there. “Hey, hey, baby Joacqim”, I heard. I stopping my recently developed occupation; staring at my slippers and took my time to raise my head. Praying that by the time I raised my head, Jesus would have come to take all girls away. He didn’t come. I managed to mentally pick a scene from my previous “playlets” and said “He…He…Hello, I…hi, what’s up, hi”. And then I tried to smile from all corners of my mouth. Unfortunately, at that point, fear had sent all my facial muscles on exile. I actually forgot how to smile. After what seemed like fourteen months of smiling, she sneezed “how you doing’? Timi’s brother, right? What’s your first name? What are you doing here? What class are you? JSS 1, right? I guess you came to see the match. You are Jide, right? I heard you are the newest sensation on the JSS I block? Any girlfriends yet? I guess not. Anyway, I’ll get one for you. By the way, my name is Dotun .I heard you met my twin sister, DDoyin. Anyway, How are you?” all in one breath. While she was talking her friends were staring at me as if I was the outcome of a scientific experiment by a crazy scientist. I guess for her, it was like a “big sister chat”. For me, it was like a nodding session. Though while nodding, my confidence and my facial muscles resumed bit by bit. Then I heard my mouth say, “fine, thank you and you?” Then I think she said fine. Then she introduced me to her friends; Efex, Funkex, Ritex and Rex. I thought the names sounded like names of some “Jurassic Park Creatures”. Of course, I smiled normally at first. Then I just thought, why not finish the scene according to the script. Then I completed the scene by dropping the characteristic cute boy smile; Left side, right, then a full smile. When I remember that smile now, I always think of a “toothpaste T.V commercial”. Now that I had recuperated, I could at least talk. We rambled on and on about inconsequential things. Asked questions that we both knew we knew about and we both appeared genuinely surprised when our questions were being answered. So that was how I survived my first unchaperoned encounter with a school mother.
My school mothers’ attention came with a lot of things, which included “school-fathers” who wanted to be closer to my school mothers, lots of male classmates who just thought they were the solutions to my non-existent problems and most of all, girls, females classmates. I tell you, it was beautiful. It was like everybody wanted a piece of me. All my male classmates wanted to hang out with me because I had the girls attention and I had my school father’s protection which means I couldn’t be punished for not doing the right thing. I had my female classmates’ attention because I knew the “seniors” that punish them for big offenses, like looking at the midday sun. I had the guys, I had the girls. I was in vogue.
Then, my relationships with the girls were just “hi, do you have a pencil?” relationships. I didn’t expect anything from them other than them talking to me and occasionally getting a hug to feel their sternums. I was like a baby boy. With time, the attention started fading when the boys started having at least two school mothers each, the girls started having school fathers to help talk to their seniors, and the boys started talking to the girls themselves. Though the attention was still there because I was the pioneering school son in my set, I had a brother and I still didn’t have pimples all over my face. By then I had started learning some skills which I would end up using all my life. Then, I realized that some “moves”, when it comes to girls, always worked. One particular timeless move was the one I used, or rather still use to chat up a girl that I just met. Firstly, before working up to the girl, look at her decently and let her know you are looking. Then walk up to her with confidence oozing from your smile. By the way, I think confidence means; less than overconfidence or arrogance. Put her at ease by smiling, then crack an intelligent joke (not a “why did the chicken cross the road type”). If not a joke, just make sure the first thing you say is memorable, a classic, at least to the girl. Then chat, maybe ask for the name but don’t say your name until she asks or you are about to leave. Then along the line, improvise.
While in my second year, I realized another funny things about girls; you are wanted only if at least one person else wants you. They more other girls wanted you, the more other girls want you. It was like the more girls that were my friends, the more girls wanted to be my friend. Luckily for me, I had the first few girls to want me through my school mother connections. It wasn’t that difficult for me to be a ladies man after sometime. I was very good academically ( I had more teachers during the holidays than when in school),I was good looking, I had a very good sense of humor ,I was never low on cash(my mum stays 30 minutes away) and I was smart n’ randy.
For my first three years in the school, I was a ladies man but wasn’t any lady’s man. I was just a “know them let them loose” type. Though I later became, a “know them all, kill them all, take no hostages” type. During my incubation period, I always knew about the word love. Four letters that explains forty billions human tragedies, I later realized. Anyway, I got into SS one without a girlfriend though all my friends had one. Actually, in my SS One, I was in a technical class. In a technical class because I was very good at math, hated biology and I was always lucky at fixing faulty electronics at home, pure luck, and no skill. I was then in SS one Blue, technical class. The blue arms had a history of hosting most of the most notorious and talented students in the school. In my set, we had fifty eight boys and two girls. So it was like an all boy’s class. One of the girls had a hand in my first clash, battle, with love.
The two girls in my class were basically pathetic tom boys. Before you find a girl that decides to leave luxury (art and commercial classes) and come to an asylum which made further maths, metal work, technical drawing, physics, and chemistry compulsory for all, it would mean the girl is a boy in a female sachet or rather the girl thinks she is one. One of the girls was pretty normal. The other was very beautiful, neat but rough and very argumentative. She could argue your mum’s maiden name with you. She was daring, troublesome and good-looking when she wasn’t abusing you. Ironically, she was a long –term member of the school chapel choir. Her name was Dayo Alade. Being the ladies man meant I was in charge of the Dayo. She was always in a dick measurement contests with boys. She loved arm wrestling. She loved arguing. Anytime she got into a fight, I always bailed her out. Bailed her out because I was the gentleman. After the first few months in the class, she took a liking to me. We started hanging out when we weren’t having lessons. Then after sometime, she moved her chair to the back with me. This was actually my suggestion because she was always shuttling to and fro and getting in trouble while doing that, and I didn’t want that. After sometime we actually became very good friends. From my point of view, she was just a friend of a different sex whom I was just slightly fond of, nothing more. While gisting, she always said she had a younger sister in the next class, violet; a commercial class. I just never thought of the younger sister as being the cute silent one. Though she had described her sister to me thousands of time, the description just never matched anybody I had ever seen before. I just assumed that the sister must be one of those quiet and not too attractive types. Then one day, during our further maths lesson, I and Dayo were told to stay on the first row because we were giggling for ostensibly no good reason during the further maths class. After the class, for being troubleshooters, the teacher told us (I and Dayo) to take some class assignments to the teacher’s common room for him. On our way back, Dayo just pointed at a girl shouted (she always shouts) “J.J, that’s my baby sister”. The baby sister turned out to be a very, very beautiful cute –ass cutie. I had been seeing her face on the block but she was one of those girls who tried their best to be invisible. Wore a scarf in the evening, always looking at her shoes and most of all, had long skirts which tried to unsuccessfully hide her massive posterior. While giving the girl’s face my undivided attention, while in a surreal state, I heard something call my name and say a few gibberish words. Then, Dayo knocked me on the head .She later claimed that when I saw her sister, I stared unrepentantly for two straight minutes. And while I was staring, she was introducing us .She must have been the thing I heard saying gibberish. When I had taken a full mental note of all facial pores she had, I finally said, “You are soo cute”. Dayo just bumped my shoulder and said “let’s go, let’s go, you never see small girl before? ” That was the beginning of a beautiful tragedy. When, I got to class .Dayo’s sister was all I could think of. Then I still didn’t know her name but I knew I wanted her on my side of the world, at whatever cost. The next class we had held for twenty three hours, at least to me. The next one was even longer to me. After what seemed like a century it was break time. I felt liberated. As soon as the teacher stepped out of the door, I stepped out of the fastest exit, the window. I landed exactly at the tip of the teachers shoes. I spent my entire break kneeling down and counting the afternoon stars on the field, as I was ordered. Normally the break lasted for twenty minutes, that day‘s own was extended to three and a half years. I felt like a sun worshipper. After the break, I just noticed everyone and everything seemed lighter and all had bright yellow spots all over them. The lessons after the break were very slow and boring. It was as if time was going slower. I looked at my wrist watch, the second hand was actually taking one step clock wisely and three steps anti-clock wisely, further buttressing my “slow time” theory. All I could think of was Dayo’s sister. When I got tired of thinking of her, I started making mental dialogues. In all the reasonable dialogues I formed, her reply was always the same; “I’ve been waiting for you”. When it was finally two o’ clock on my wrist watch, I waited for thirty whole minutes before the time keeper finally rung the closing bell, I must have unconsciously altered my wrist watch. As soon as the teacher left the door, I ran to the same door, being twice shy. I heard Dayo shout “where you going to? Wait for me.” I didn’t. I walked briskly to the next class and caught Dayo’s sister writing on the chalkboard. I took my time to evaluate my findings and realized that earlier on, I wasn’t hallucinating, she was damn gorgeous. Then my mouth turned up at the extremes and said “hi, you still Dayo’s sister? With a name like “Dayo’s Sister”, I guess you don’t need a middle name”. She smiled and said, “I’m Doyin, You are J.J, I’ve heard so much about you”. Then we ranted on and on and on. It was almost like the day Adam met eve. Love at second site. Curiosity and amazement at first site then love at the second. We both decided to stay on after classes and skip afternoon food for snacks. We had soo much to talk about. When it was time for siesta, we were forced to go to our hostels by some overzealous teachers who claimed sleeping is better that a boy and a girl reading in class alone. Dirty minded leprechauns. After the siesta, for the first time in my four years in the school, I was the first to get to my class for the evening “preps”. I dropped my books in my locker and went to the corridor .After what seemed like nine months, I saw a shape that looked like Doyin’s own in the distance. Thank God. When she finally swayed to her class, I was waiting by the door with a plastic smile. We had a little small talk, and then the bell was rung for evening “prep” lessons. When I got back to me class, Dayo was waiting with an eighty five year old frown on what used to be her face. She then started a kind of soliloquy dialogue, “where were you after classes? I guess you were with my sister, right? What were you doing? I guess you were talking. What were you talking about? It better be books. When I came in now I saw you talking to her in her class. Jide, that girl is a small girl, stick to your size and level, you know, people like my level. Not as if I’m saying you can’t be her “hi, hi” friend ooo but I was curious .Anyway now that I understand that you people were just talking about books, it’s alright”. That was one of the funniest scenes in my life. She said all that in just one breath. I didn’t even breathe, not a word. She suggested, backed, accepted and believed a lot of lies in that playlet of hers. Had that happened now, I would have taken cue that what she meant was that she was the one to be slaughtered, and maybe her sister later. But then, I was quite naïve, I wasn’t well versed in the art of reading between the lines. Now, I can even read between the pages, chapters too. Anyway, then, I thought maybe she was just looking out for her sister’s back. I almost read between the lines, but I convinced myself that “what?, what?, nothing’s going on between me and Dayo. At least, I‘ve never kissed her or anything, soooo.” At times, it is sort of fun lying to yourself and bringing out lies to support your earlier lies, beautiful, right? Anyway, during the one hour “prep” I had so many assignments doing, so I didn’t even have time for the Alade family. Though, occassionaly, I looked at my watch to check the time, like sixty times. Normally, after prep, I and Dayo would stay for thirty minutes while I was putting her through with assignment and hanging out with my other girls on the corridor. That cute day, as soon as I heard the first chime of the bell, I jumped through the window and was in the next class before the second chime. When I got to her class, she was busy doing some maths assignment. And that being my turf, I took my time to put her through all the aspects of maths she would ever encounter in her lifetime. While putting her through, her sister, Dayo ,popped in like a hundred times to ask irrelevant questions from her and also to give her some instructions in a pro-Nazi manner .She first started with “have you picked your clothes off the clothesline, it might rain?”, we were in dry season then. That was followed by ninety-nine other dumb rhetorical questions. Then came the instructions. “Doyin, when you get to the dormitory, tell Sola she should not forget to send the money she is owing me because as at now ……” After a while, Doyin said she had to leave to run all Dayo’s one krekezillion errands (One krekezillion equals one jamabillion in forty billion places).
I walked Doyin to her hostel with Dayo a couple of yards behind. After that, we promised to see at the night “prep classes”.
I went back to my hostel wondering why there had to be a break between evening and night “prep” classes. All I could think about was Doyin, Doyin and more Doyin. When I got to the school, my “boys”, my friends were already waiting for me with enough questions to form a career. What is happening with the Doyin girl? Are you guys “going out”? …our slang for dating. So many questions, just one answer, silence. My friends interpreted it to mean “yeah, we are going out, I’m being mature about it and not saying anything”. The truth was that I just thought talking was sacrosanct, after being with a super-being all evening. Simply put, opening the same mouth I have been using to talk to the Doyin to answer these guys might defile the mouth. So I just smiled al through. All my friends translated my silence into different meaning, ranging from we were dating to we have been married for six years with three kids and a dog.
When my friends were tired of making UFO tales about my affair, they all turned to dust, disappeared, exploded, I just realized they were not there again, their voices were not in the background of my Doyin thought again. While still in a daze, I went to have a cold shower, sprayed my “Lomani” perfume all over like I was fumigating.
I knew everyone would be watching all my moves, so I decided that I wasn’t going to go to class for evening prep until the bell was rung.
So I waited for the bell.
So I waited for the bell.
So I waited for the bell.
So I waited for the bell.
So I waited for the bell.

So I waited for the bell.
The time keeper had probably been struck by smallpox, I figured.
So, I waited for the bell again.
So, I waited for the bell again.
So, I waited for the bell again.
So, I waited for the bell again.
Finally…
“Gbagaun, Gbagaun, Gbagaun…….” By the second strike of the bell I was already halfway to class. By the third strike, I was already in class putting my books in my locker.
You know, now that I think about it, I think my legs were already subconsciously forcing my body towards the class area before the bell was rung.
Anyway, I can’t be held responsible for all my body parts’ actions.
On the corridor I was, waiting. My mind was whispering, something is not right, something is not right..
I was still waiting, then it occurred to me that not only was Doyin not in sight, but there was nobody in sight.
Ah! My head screamed. Then my head arrogantly told me the bell that was rung was for evening supper not for evening prep classes. I still wonder why I screamed after then .I decided to skip supper and wait in class till evening prep. That supper was the longest period yet in my life. After waiting for what seemed like fourteen years, I eventually came to the conclusion that either the school had decided to graduate all students directly from the dinning hall or that rapture had occurred, Jesus had come to pick up everybody but me.
While wondering what I did to deserve such an exemption, I saw a figure in the distance. My first thought was that,” I wonder what the girl coming did to make Jesus exempt her too”. While trying to wonder what her sins were, wait a minute…. behold, the sway, the hips, it was my Doyin. Yep, she had become mine, My Doyin.
On the corridor I was ,wondering whether I should go meet her downstairs via the stairs or should I just jump down( I was on the second floor) to make it faster or should I just wait for her to come over .I was weighing all my options till she was standing right in front of me. Damn, she was beautiful. As in, her picture should be in Webster’s dictionary as an illustration for the word “diva”. We stood there for like five minutes staring at each other without saying anything, with a plastic smile on both our faces.
Finally, my facial muscles creaked and I had to snap out of my daydream. Hi, hello, how are you, I said. She widened her smile moved closer to me, with one hand clutching her books she drew me closer and hugged me with the other. I was in heaven. Really, I was in heaven .At that point in my life, I could gladly have committed suicide with the conviction that I had done all I was sent to earth to do. C’est fini. While she held on to me, she whispered,”I’m fine and I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you all my life”. Hold on to her I did, for the next seven days and seven nights, or so it seemed to me. We then went to her class to sit and talk. We spoke about everything, our past, our present, our future, my bedwetting days, her “boobless” days and all humanly possible gist. We just had so much to talk about. While talking, she confessed that she knew it wasn’t time for prep yet but she just couldn’t wait to see me, which was why she came back to class so early. Oh, I forgot one thing; she had this perfume that made her smell like flowers, freshly picked exotic flowers. A kind of smell that just stays with you all your life.
Finally, evening prep came, I couldn’t bear going to my class and leaving her alone, so we begged her seat-mate to read in my class, on my seat, during which I “enjoyed life”.
The unfortunate seat mate happened to seat in my seat, beside Dayo, Doyin’s sister, my seat-mate. Dayo chased the girl like a thief; onlookers claimed she even threw a chair at the poor girl as she retreated. Somehow, I didn’t hear about the drama till next day during our afternoon break.
During the night prep, we were told by the Health Captain ,who happened to be reading in the class, to stop giggling, like ten jamabillion times( one jamabillion = one billion in one sobogillion places). The poor captain, all he could do was tell us, he dared not separate or punish us lest he faced the wrath of my diabolic brother, Timi. After an hour, the health captain “found” us a comfortable space in the back corner of the class. The two seats he found for us had a beautiful view and it gave us enough privacy, so that the class won’t disturb us with their silence, so he said. I had a lovely evening, I didn’t read a single letter throughout the evening, and neither did my Juliet. After the prep, I walked to a distance as close to her hostel as the school allowed at night. Those perverts who run the school claim that some boys, while walking close to the female hostel peep through the cracks in the wall. Not me, I’ll rather look with eyes, why peep with one eye? The walk to her hostel environs was beautiful. The weather as cool, it was as if an angel was following us with a hand-fan. After we said our goodbyes then a hug, I went back to my class to read. I spent the next one hour staring at the class ceiling and dreaming about nothing in particular, just Doyin. Then, I went to my hostel to sleep, before which I spent another hour staring at my hostel ceiling and dreaming about nothing in particular, just Doyin.
The next day, I got to class to notice that the space beside my seat was empty. I was furious, “who comot Dayo table and chair for here”, I yelled. Nobody answered. Then I noticed that Dayo was already in class, in the front of the class, sitting on her table and her chair. With a blemish-free
mind, I walked up to her side and asked why she had moved from her throne of grace. My greatest undoing. She snapped and asked what my business was with where she sat and asked if I thought she could only be relevant when she sits beside me, on and on and on she went. She blamed me for black slavery, the solar eclipse of 1947, global warming, the gulf war and the famine in Ethiopia amongst other recent offences I had committed. Luckily, a teacher came in for the first class of the day and rescued me.
Though I didn’t understand what just happened, I just concluded that she was probably having menstrual cramps. I gave her five days to come round. I couldn’t wait for the afternoon break; it finally came after what seemed to be eternity. I dashed into Doyin’s class and bumped into her at the door. I gave her a” couldn’t wait to see you see you smile” and she responded with a “where have you been all my life” look. We had lunch at the canteen together.
The next weekend was the school’s inter-house sport, my mum and my step-dad came. It was really fun, though I couldn’t wait to see them leave and be with My Doyin. After the event, I raced to the girl’s hostel and got someone to call her out for me. She once again looked dashing, her hair pulled back in a piggy style with ribbons. We decided to take a walk. We ended up walking to the school’s assembly hall, where I officially “asked her out”; to be my girlfriend in sickness and health, for richer for poorer, yada-yada-yada. I had my first legitimate, official and mutually consenting girlfriend; Doyindamola Oluwadurotimi Alade. I’ll always remember the moment she said yes; she looked beautifully beautiful, eyes all eager and oh, there was Madonna’s “Take a bow” playing in the background in the assembly hall.
So, we lived happily ever after; for the next two months. During these two months of unrivalled bliss, Dayo was always angry; I just had to stay away from her. I just assumed that either she was going through mid-teen crises or she was still having constant menstrual cramps; day in day out.
While the sister was having menstrual cramps, my lucky self and Doyin were having what seemed to be the most blissful time of our lives. Oh, by then, we were kissing and all, no sex though. I remember sending a note to Doyin through Dayo a couple of dozen of scores of times. She didn’t seem to mind though I noticed that I never got a note through the same channel; always through other friends. We dated for eight weeks, two days and six hours.What?what?Im just being meticulous.
Then, one hitherto blissful day, tragedy struck. Tragedy struck, tragedy. The day started without giving a hint of what it had in store for me. The sun came out in the usual place and the usual time. No earthquake, no eclipse ,no stormy rain ,no hailstones, no rapture, no flood , teachers and students all spoke English and most importantly; my Doyin still loved me. I saw my Doyin in the morning before classes, during the afternoon break and after classes we stayed together and skipped lunch. We were in class together gisting, kissing, “tapping legal current” and generally feeling really lovey-dovey. After the session, I walked her to her hostel, as far as I could go. Then I went back to my hostel, feeling like a million bucks .Since we had agreed to meet again during the night prep, I didn’t bother going for afternoon prep. I slept and loafed around all through. Night prep. I got to class early, as agreed with Doyin. I hoped we could see for a few minutes before the night prep kicked in, so I waited on the corridor.
I waited, I waited, and I waited, No Doyin.
Finally, the bell for the resumption of night prep was rung; I decided to read in her class, beside her seat. I was in class supposedly reading when a friend of Doyin, Tosin Ahmed ,tapped me on the shoulder and dropped a note from Doyin.
The note was written in Doyin’s handwriting, confirmed.
You want to know the contents? The contents are in my next book……just kidding.
The note was a break-up note. It was something about her not being ready for me yet, she being young, she being religious, she liking me but that she was not ready for the relationship we had.
I felt like I was punched in the stomach, I instantly suspected that I had cholera, I felt like vomiting and defecating at the same time .I was devastated. I stood up like a man, walked to the back of the classroom block and cried like a baby. It hurt, really. Since my brother never attended evening prep, I took the letter back to the dormitory to show him and his crew .They all gave smart suggestions ranging from pouring a bucket of faeces on her to begging the god of smallpox to please strike her to death. Meanwhile, I just realized that it just felt like the oxygen available on earth was just enough, I was having a breathing problem. I was just short of breath. I had an epiphany; I had to survive this firstly by breathing, so I don’t die. I started making a conscious effort to breathe, while doing that I noticed that the breathing was making my eyes watery, I was crying again. And this time around I couldn’t hide it, I had audience; Timi and his friends. Upon seeing my tears, they gave more suggestions ranging from abducting Doyin to getting me 40 virgins to “pop”. I thought the pop theory was more achievable, so I made them elaborate on that. In summary, the pop theory was “why should the shepherd stick with one sheep when he could have all sheep, any sheep”. Oh, and all women were meant to be sheep. So, I made up my mind, or rather, we made up my mind to forget Doyin. And for pop theory’s sake, I was meant to date all her friends, her sister and her mother.
With my new faith in my heart, my heart immediately forgot about Doyin , though I failed my further-maths test the next day because I couldn’t concentrate.
After my test, which I knew I failed before I submitted the answer sheet, I started feeling feverish. An hour later, my head started feeling swollen, I was running temperature and I was dizzy. I had to go to the school dispensary before the end of class. I was diagnosed with having malaria and typhoid. The incompetent doctor didn’t diagnose the heartbreak. I insisted that the dispensary inform my mum. They were glad to oblige because they didn’t have enough bed-space anyway. The nurse gave me some recognizable analgesics and some other unidentifiable pills; told me to go rest in the observation room. On my way to the observation room, through the haze, I saw two of Doyin’s classmates at the reception. I gave them a “I would have killed you if killing was not an offence” look, they responded with the same look. As I hissed audibly and walked away, I heard their own orchestra of hiss behind me as I left .By the time I got to the observation room, I was really dizzy. I jumped on the nearest bed I could see and passed out. I woke up an hour after, feeling like an agricultural experiment. With my head aching real bad, my sides were feeling sore, I turned to face the other side of the bed; as I had hitherto been facing the wall. I turned to find myself staring at Doyin on the bed beside me .She was obviously fast asleep. Her face looked peaceful like she was almost smiling though I couldn’t help but notice the tear stains on her face. It must be a dream I thought or perhaps she had come back to apologize while crying; she fell asleep. The apology theory seemed to appeal more to my senses ; so I decided to dwell on that. I expanded the theory to include her telling me that she was sorry, she didn’t mean to send the letter and most importantly; that she was willing to marry me immediately. After the apology theory ,I started the projection theory. The projection theory included the fact that we were going to get married and have 3 kids and a dog. The first girl would be called Plaintain,the next Kettle and finally,the boy called Ndubuisi .Though I later figured that Ndubuisi would be inappropriate since myself and my wife were not Igbos. Then the pain in my head returned to abruptly end all my theories.I passed out while wondering how to contact the nurses to inform them of my forthcoming death . I woke up in heaven to find my mum staring at me. Everything looked kind of hazy but I couldn’t help but notice that my mum had the head of horse under her arm and she had a lot of legs.Some angels came right behind her holding what looked like a chart. I instantly guessed they were telling my mum all the offences I had committed on earth. They were all speaking in a heavenly language, but I couldn’t help but recognizing a few of the heavenly language..novalgin, paracetamol, chloroquine. While I was wondering why my mum had to follow me to heaven, my brother Timi came in through what looked like big brown shoe stuck on the wall. He looked funny with so many eyes on his head, then he asked my mum ‘how is he? Has he started seeing things again?’.Then it clicked. Anytime I had malaria, after a while, I started having auditory and visual delusions. I figured I must be having those delusions. So, I simply chuckled and turned away from my mum and the nurses to face the other side of the bed just in time to see Doyin’s mouth swap places with one of her eyes. I then closed my eyes and simply listened to the heavenly language, which was safer.
After what seemed like eternity, my mum and Bart Simpson woke me up and helped me into a horse drawn carriage that oddly looked like my mum’s earthly car.I didn’t even think of Doyin. I was in pain, dizzy and rather confused.I woke up a couple of days after in my room at home. The room smelled funny.I smelled this cologne composed of sweat, drugs, puke and dettol. I was disgusted. I felt like a bad chemical experiment; mixed, funny smelling and almost aflame.The good part was that I had stopped seeing and hearing things. I spent the next one week resting, recuperating and making deliberate efforts not to think of Doyin .By the sixth day I could conveniently say that I had reduced my efforts to nil; there was so much T.V to watch so much pity and sympathy to feast on. My mum took time off during working hours to drop me off at school, since by then, I was healthy enough to be back at school. I think its worth noting here that as at that time, my mum was one of the twelve W.H.O malaria specialists in the country. So, when she thinks you are fit, W.H.O concurs. Went back to school on a Wednesday, got in during ‘labour’ .Labour was this inhuman activity which took place on Wednesday evenings ,its major objective was to punish good students and bruise their hands. Its side effect was that the school and its environs were cleaned by students.
My mum drove me straight to the dispensary, probably to show off her repaired device, me. While passing, I saw unfortunate humans cutting grass with flattened and sharpened metals, cutlasses they called them. Such an uncivilized and inferior race, bloody humans! At the dispensary, my mum went in to see the nurse in charge while I stayed in the reception looking at weak humans with various ailments.Weak race, I thought. Also in the reception were humans feigning all kind of ailments just to avoid being a part of the day’s labour activities. These deceptive ones were the ones arguing with the attending orderlies that they had all kind of diseases, from cancer to menopause to smallpox. Humans, a weak, uncivilized and deceptive race. It suddenly occurred to me that I was thinking like I was an alien, calling my fellow students ‘weak humans’. Ah,I then remembered that that was my last method of avoiding Doyin thoughts. Perfect defense mechanism,it would be inappropriate for an alien like me to be frolicking with a human like Doyin. I then started thinking of alien variations of my name.I came up with Jidesu ‘Joacisu’ or better still ‘agent X54’ or better still ‘450code9’.I was still in a happy haze when my mum came out from the nurses station.She came out with the nurse who felt obliged to rub my head with foul drug smelling hands.Then she felt that was still not enough,she moved closer and bent close to my face like I was caged in a glass cone and said ‘ah,mummy’s boy…….and some other smelly gist’. I instantly named her ‘Smelly du’ nurse’ in my mind.I unconsciously politely stepped aside while Smelly du’ nurse was talking because I strongly suspected that the ground was going to open and swallow her for boring me with her gist and drug smell. Then I saw Doyin.Apparently,she was there to take her drugs left by her parents at the nurses station.She was obviously as surprised as I was.Her eyes opened and in that same instant I saw something sad,really sad in her eyes.The sadness in the eyes were as noticeable as her cornea. My mum and Smelly du’ nurse’s voices were in the background of my private cinema experience. Seeing Doyin glide pass by woke up so many memories and thoughts, and the same time, it killed so many unnamed things inside me. I am pretty sure that at that instant, if a CT scan was done for me, all the sophisticated thing would have caught in my brain would have been an unripe slice of cocoyam .My head was empty. Words, feeling suddenly ran out of the window beside Smelly du’ nurse and got replaced by a rush of mad mad mad really mad emotions. Mad emotions suddenly started giving malaria relapse symptoms. I instantly told my mum and Smelly du’ nurse that I thot I was having a relapse. My smelliest mistake. Right in front of my mum Smelly du’ nurse assaulted me, violated me and defiled me. She pulled my cheeks with smelly hands ,rubbed my head ,rubbed my back while telling me that I’ll be fine, that I was nervous et al .I didn’t feel clean for the next seven months.
To cut the long story short ,I was dropped back at school. By evening, I was having a fever and the whole malaria thingy came back, fully. My mum came back first thing the next morning and picked me up at the dispensary.
I spent another week at home while recuperating from my ostensible malaria relapse.
While at home ,it occurred to me that malaria was just the diagnosis but my very problem was Doyin .So, while in a drug induced haze, I vowed to avoid her like a plague. Eventually ,I was good enough to return to school .My mum dropped me off,as usual with Smelly du’ nurse.

First few days were uneventful;No Doyin, No earthquake, nothing just happened.nothing.i avoided Doyin like a plague .The only good fallout was that I developed the world class method called the ‘stop and stare method’.The aim of the stop and stare method is simple;to enable you walk around with your eyes closed literally. The purpose was to help not see things we didn’t want to see. It basically involved walking only in straight lines with eyes closed, stopping at intervals to stare ahead, shutting the eyes again and walking in a straight line again. Personally, I consider the method flawless save for the toes bruises and reputational smear of being a snob.

While utilizing the method, I suddenly realised that walls and gutters were following me wherever I went. No matter how keenly I looked ahead, I still bumped into a wall that wasn’t there earlier on or a gutter that was obviously freshly dug and cemented. It just had to be Doyin, she was definitely responsible for building walls and digging gutters in my path .Any girl that could break up with me for no good reason could definitely build more than walls, she could build fences. I instantly imagined her fencing me in a pit latrine. That day was the last day I used my world famous stop and stare method though she had built enough walls and gutters in ma paths so much that by the time I stopped, my lips had been flattened by walls and falls till they almost touched my eyebrows.
Somehow ,I didn’t see her for the first two weeks .I guess she was avoiding me, though I went to my class through the staircase farthest from her class and I got to class late and left early daily.She must have been avoiding me.
After two weeks of not seeing Doyin , my school fathers and my brother had finally convinced me that the reason why she left me was because she was a dendromaniac. They claimed she was one of those wierdos that preferred dating iroko trees and furniture to dating men. They even assured me that the reason why I had not seen her in two weeks was because she had gone into the bush for two weeks to look for a red baobab tree. I bought their theory though I still felt hollowed out, I felt like someone had painstakingly carved out my heart with a teaspoon, and ate it without belching. I silently cried so much at night that I had to tell my bunkmate that I was bedwetting.I just guessed he wont have believed that all the water in my bed was tears anyway.

Two weeks and eleven hours after we broke up, I went for an assembly session .The assembly session was a Monday and Friday punishment ritual which the school authorities insisted we attended. All students were expected to convene at d auditorium and listen to announcement, news and naughty students who were stupid enough to be caught were beaten and publicly shamed. Good students and naughty students who were not caught were equally punished and shamed by making them stand on their feet for hours, while the teachers sat down on comfortable seats.

I was at the assembly hall praying fervently that God would send a meteorite to strike the hall, knowing fully well that the teachers would be hit first, since they were seated on the raised gallery. As I could hear the cries of a student being beaten for stealing a chicken from the school’s piggery in the background of my prayers, I intensified my prayers for the meteorite. A spirit within me suddenly told me to open my eyes. I did, and I saw Doyin. She was my meteorite.

She had obviously been staring at me while I was praying for the meteorite. My mind went blank. Suddenly, I noticed that everybody around me was slowly getting taller..or my knees were buckling. As I tried to stop the buckled knees, I fell backwards and hit a classmate who was obviously tired of standing for hours. To cut it short, I started what was like a Mexican wave. In all, thirty four of us fell down. How do I know the number?..because we were immediately rounded up by the teachers, beaten for disrupting the gathering and told to go back to the hostel to change into our ‘house wear’. We all spent the day cutting grass on a field the size of Pluto.

The field was soo big that I suspected that my mother’s house was at the other end of the field. I cut so much grass and trees that day that I still suspect, till today, that I’m responsible for global warming. While cutting grass at the field, it just occurred to me that myself and Oyin started out officially in that same assembly hall and it would be proper to officially end it on my terms,at the same assembly hall. So,I vowed to do my own version of the break up on the following Monday,at the same assembly hall.
I didn’t see Doyin all through the weekend. My brother suggested that maybe she had gone into the bush to seek for a green baobab tree this time around. Being clear headed then,I disagreed with him, I suggested that since her favorite color was pink. So ,she would have gone to seek for a pink baobab tree instead.

On Saturday night, I told my brother, Timi and his friends what I wanted to do on Monday morning. They unanimously agreed. They then suggested that I make a scene after the assembly meeting, to give an official public break up. My advisers suggested that the only way to get my ‘mojo’ back was to break up with her and ask five other girls out on the same day. The most religious amongst them however insisted that I go to church on Sunday to seek forgiveness for the sin which I wanted to commit on Monday, and to ask for God’s consent in the sin.

On Sunday ,I went to the church service looking all white n good, in preparation for my next day evil activities. The sermon was short, curt and to the point. The sermon title was ‘God punishes all sinners. repent or perish’. Simple. I was already getting remorseful when the student pastor announced that the choir was going to give a special song rendition. The song was nice, till the second verse when there was a particular refrain where the choir was to be saying ‘God punish satan’. The guy beside me tapped my shoulder and said ‘that lady in the choir keeps pointing at you anytime anyone says ‘satan’’.I looked up to see the lady,it was Dayo,Doyin’s sister.I totally forgot she was in the choir.
I somehow, took that as a sign from God that he’ll overlook my evil next day. Yeah, I knew there was no correlation .

I had lectures till late Sunday night from my tutors, on how to break up with a girl that has already broken up with me.

The tutors gave me several advice including one which involved doing the Michael Jackson slide to her and then dancing for a while and when the crowd was gathered, I’ll shout ‘Doyin , I break up with u’, then do a full split. Another guy, Otito Hanson, calmly advised me to take a hoe- stick to the assembly hall and club Doyin to death .After clubbing her to death. I was to take her body up to the gallery where the teachers sat and the push her downstairs. After doing that, I was to now put my left foot on her body and shout ‘I break up with u’. He then insisted that I must run back to the hostel and change my clothes and come back to the assembly ground. He said when I got back, I should just tell anyone that asked that I was ‘temporarily insane’. I asked him why he thought a claim of ‘temporarily insane’ would get me off the hook for killing a girl in public. He said an Uncle of his did a similar thing to his wife and claimed temporary insanity. I asked him where his uncle was and he said he was hanged to death in Austin Texas three years before then. I then asked why he wanted me to do the same thing and he said his uncle got caught because he didn’t change what he was wearing after clubbing his wife to death, which was why he insisted that I must change my own clothes after clubbing the girl to death. I made a mental note to make sure all female members in my family stay away from anyone with a surname of ‘Hanson’.

Another tutor of mine offered to go into the bush to get me some ‘devil beans’, a plant which made people itch uncontrollably. He said I should meet Doyin after assembly and go on one knee and sing a variant of the popular ‘Boys II Men’ song- ‘I’ll break up with you- like you want me to- and I chase u right’….then I should open my palms and spray devils on her and then runaway.

At that point in time, I just had a vision of the devil and his boys in hell sending mails, handbills, text messages into the heads of my tutors. These break-up ideas were definitely inspired by the devil.

Finally my brother, Timi , spoke. He and his closest generals had apparently been plotting their own grandiose break-up agenda behind the other ‘devil- inspired break-up specialists’. He said I should meet up with Doyin after assembly. They claimed they would inform the other school prefects to ensure that all students stayed behind immediately after the assembly. I was to go up to the pupilt where the school Principal just vacated and make a public announcement that I was breaking up with Doyin because she had Gonorrhea and Syphilis .They also claimed that they had plans to make sure that the event was colorful and sonorous. I kept on wondering what could be ‘sonorous’ about breaking up with a girl. Timi later said I should go into their own private room , an annex, to sleep ,while they concluded the plans.

I went into the annex with a heavy heart. I couldn’t help but wonder if I really had to do this. Why not just send her a note through the same person she sent hers through? And if I tell the whole school she had Gonorrhea, how would I defend that on judgment day? If God asked me if I lied and started a public false rumour about a girl he created and I denied, all he’ll have to do is to call up all my secondary school mates from hell and they’ll confirm that I did make that public pronouncement. I was still wondering if Doyin was worth going to hell for when I heard a massive movement of feet outside the door.

I opened the door and I heard someone shout ‘yeee ,my head’.I stepped out to the corridor to see whose head the door had hit when I heard another person shout ‘yeee! my hand’. I looked down to see Deji Adeyemi and all my classmates lying down on the corridor. At the far end of the corridor was my brother and his generals holding belts and shouting ‘flat, lie down flat, lie down flat’. I wondered what all my classmates did to my brother and his generals this time around. Last time he beat my whole classmates, he said someone farted near his wet shirt and made the shirt smell.

I instantly went back into the annex because my brother didn’t like me intervening when he was being devilish to my classmates. After like ten minutes, I heard the people outside the corridor chanting ‘Doyin Onyeoshi, Doyin Onyiara, Doyin Onyeoshi, Doyin Onyiara, Doyin Onyeoshi, Doyin Onyiara’….meaning ‘Doyin is a thief and Doyin is a ruffian’ in Igbo language. I went outside to ask what exactly was going on. As I opened the door, I heard ‘yeee! My head again’. As I stepped out to see whose head the door hit, I heard ‘yeee!, my hand again’. It was Deji Adeyemi again. I immediately stepped off his hands and tried to find somewhere to put my feet on the dark corridor. As I stepped off Deji’s hand and tried to step on real floor, Deji shouted again ‘yeee! My other hand’. I instantly started wondering if Deji’s hand were glued to under my feet.

I decided to go back into the annex before I made Deji crippled. Suddenly the chant stopped. Everything was quiet for like ten minutes .Then I heard the shuffling of feet. I figured my brother had let the students go or something. After ten minutes, I decided to go outside to confirm what just happened. As I opened the door, I heard someone scream ‘U want to use door to break my head?’. As I stepped out to see who it was, I stepped on Deji’s hand again and he shouted ‘ahan, u want to break my hand?’. I immediately went back inside the annex and wondered if the Deji guy was an octopus. How many hands the guy get?…why were his hands always roaming around?

As I went inside I noticed that only one person was singing the ‘Doyin Onyeoshi, Doyin Onyiara’. And the person seemed to be singing it in different tones. Ten minutes after I heard the whole corridor come alive with the song of ‘Doyin Onyeoshi, Doyin Onyiara’. They were singing it in Alto,Tenor and some people were saying ‘ Doyin Doyin Doyin’ in bass.
This was sure going to be a sonorous break up.
I went to bed with the Doyin Onyeoshi, Doyin Onyiara song as a lullaby.

I woke up next morning to …

If you want the balance of this story,mail me…ojrunsewe@yahoo.co.uk

White Shirt..Grey Suit

The truth is that I have soo many things I could write about. I could write about my life, your life ,my experiences ,your experiences, my dreams, your dreams, my fears, your fears, my fantasies, your fantasies ,my mama, your mama….etc.

It’s just that i believe that to write at all, I must be prepared to either write about a different subject or a different angle on an old subject. Whichever way, it must be unique and worth reading.

Im tempted to write about Aliens and UFOs but I’m sure Teju would not appreciate me exposing her kind.n I just cant help but wonder if she and her kind have a hand in global warming n all.

Im tempted to write about mad men and women but im pretty sure most of the skuris would find that boring since they see more madness in mirrors daily.

Im tempted to also write about beautiful women …but Oma just cut her hair which by the way,makes her look like me in 30 years. So,im really uninspired.n the other beautiful lady,Maria Kuforiji is presently freezing in a refridgerator or in london..or both.What if she’s freckled with zebra-like stripes by summer?..so,i cunt write about beautiful women.

Maybe I should write about my ex-girlfriends..but they are probably reading this…wont want them to think I remember their names n all.Dont wanna rekindle all flames as im presently practicing abstinence.N that even leads me to the moral question- if u have sex for 10 years n abstain for d next 10 years,do u go back to being a virgin?

Maybe i should write about my next gf….but,she’s probably reading this,wont want her to think im doin an advert.

Or maybe i should write about demons …but they might just stop haunting Labi and start stalking me like they are stalking Ada and Samson.

Or maybe i should write about sex…but what can i write about that Edith doesn’t already know more?…n dat leads me to 2 d classic riddle. Edith has never had sex once,but she has a cute baby,how?

Or maybe I should write about men that impregnate women in Nigeria and escape to other countries..but Pintos ,Deji King and Ogika would believe I cant keep a secret…though i cant help but wonder if Pintos and Deji know that UK and US offer tax-relief for new baby fathers.n i wonder y Gambia doubles tax payment for new fathers?…wait,i think that explains y Ogika is losing weight.

Or maybe I should write about women who have funny habits ..like biting their toe-nails and nibbling on their armpits….but Yemi Olorunda and Funmi Idowu too would believe i cant see and not talk.

Or maybe i should write about people dat fell on their head when they were babies…Laolu Aina, Ada,Deji Adeyemi,Savage….the list would just be too long.

U know what ive resolved?..Im not going to write anything.Nope,im not writing anything again.

Oh,and as regards the title of the note,it’s so titled because im wearing a white shirt and a grey suit to work tomorrow.Simple.