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Showing posts from July, 2018

WHAT ARE YOU THANKFUL FOR?

As the final hours of the year slide quietly away, it is only human to look back, tracing the paths of our days, sifting through moments that have shaped us. With the twilight of 2025 upon us, will you gather at a humble or grand table, surrounded by laughter, silence, or absence? Perhaps you have already counted your blessings—each one a dim light in the dark. Or maybe your mind is busy weaving hopeful blueprints for the dawn of 2026. Just the other day, I watched the children in CoComelon sing their gratitude for life’s simplest gifts—things we often overlook, absorbed as we are in our hurried routines. How easily we forget that wonder. If we slow down, just for a little time, we all have so many things to be grateful for. Even the most ordinary blessings are worth our quiet thanks. In this spirit of reminiscence, my heart swells with gratitude for more than I can name, but here are a few gifts that shine especially bright: Sanity Good health A job/craft The gift of memor...
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Human Resources: Part 2

Human Resources: Part 2 Mololuwa eventually returned to the mini office the following day, to fulfill all righteousness and convince herself that she had all the self-control in the world to do the right thing; who knows, luck might just shine one her. The reception room was very busy with people this time, unlike the previous day when she felt important enough to get the job, being the only one that had showed up for the interview. Now she understood why she was told to return the next day. There were youths and even grandpas present there now, all eager to get hired. They had on desperate expressions, especially the men. Mololuwa could not breathe freely anymore for the air had been choked with nervousness, desperation, anxiety and every other punitive feeling one could think of. The security guard was quite friendly this time as he smiled at her and told her not to worry about the day’s register but to go straight into the office space with the other pack of wolves who...
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Human Resources (part one)

Human Resources (One) S he woke up earlier that morning, ready to take on an interview that would probably click this time. She had applied for an HR job with a genuine firm, after she had googled the name:  Prime Platform resources. Three days earlier she had got the email to come for an interview due to the satisfied credentials they had received in the application process. She thought about looking good but simple; she did not want to be debased like the last interview she had with a pension firm where her interviewer bashed her for putting on a three quartered pant trouser to an interview looking like a flippant candidate. She never concluded if that was why she didn’t get the job. This time was going to be different. She would make sure no one held her in low esteem just because of her appearance. She was going to look like her 24 year old self. The night before the star day, she brought out her best corporate white shirt that she had never worn after she was given...
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Self Immolation: Ahmed the Barber

Ahmed set himself on fire because he was fed up with the hardship in his country (Nigeria). This is similar to the story of a man from another country whose action triggered an uprising and changed the negative normalcy in his country. His name was T arek el-Tayeb Mohamed Bouazizi;  a  street vendor from Tunisia who set himself ablaze on 17 December 2010 in response to being harassed by an officer while selling his wears. This resulted in an uprising; a revolution against the dictatorial system of government, by the citizens. We are yet to know Ahmed's surname. Ahmed was a barber in his twenties. He was probably not a father yet or a husband; just a son to his parents. Eye witnesses reported that he smoked regularly and was on drugs and acted crazy; once a good guy turned bad, but no one investigated why. Before his scary action, he lamented about the hardship in the country and decided not to be a part of it anymore. He had reached his climax. People watched, some took pi...
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Reputably Drenched!

It was going to be a rainy day in June. Chioma's interview had been slated for 9am as stated in the text message she had received the previous day. She had applied for the position of a Customer Service Officer online, in a Reputable Globally Known Company. With raised hopes, official killer outfit, rehearsed poise, and the Lord's Prayer keeping her almost calm throughout the bumpy drive, Chioma headed for the interview. After following the directions given to her, she still couldn't locate the company; she refused to, even though it stared her in the face like an angry mob. It was a kiosk-like room opposite the street's waste centre. After much consideration, she decided to go in. She was there already and had nothing else to lose but time. "Good morning. May I ask if this is T&G Solutions?" She was dead deep inside now when the scrawny looking receptionist answered "yes" to her question, and was led into a dingy space demarcated from the r...
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The Normalcy Talk

It could pop up as breaking news, a social media post, a gossip from a neighbour, an observation by a pastor or a rumour from a beer parlor. Then it develops wings and flies through every section of the country and then it becomes a broken news. "Have you heard what is going on in town now?" "Oh that one na old news sef...na so we see am o my brother. Wetin we fit do? Na only God fit help us..." And then there might be committees set up to combat the negative views of the given news; a way of looking into the issue by the government. In no time there will be new news to take its place and the ball just won't stop rolling. Unemployment has not always been, but it is now the Normalcy Talk like "no water, light, food, housing, etc. When it becomes normal it becomes accepted comfortably like a prodigal son returning home. It becomes celebrated via speeches, conferences, songs, films and the like, still it never goes away...Stalemate. Are you a Normalcy Ta...
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MORALITY IN TRANSIT

It was a cool, quiet evening—one of those rare days when the city seemed to exhale. I boarded the bus home from work, grateful for the unusual calm. The vehicle was only half-full, a welcome contrast to the usual chaos of rush hour. The driver was sealed off in his little cubicle up front, and we passengers were scattered like leaves on a still pond. Among them was a man who immediately caught my eye—late 60s, wearing a crisp white cap that read ' Chosen One' in bold black letters. He was flipping through a newspaper with such frantic energy it looked like he was searching for something long lost—or perhaps arguing with the headlines themselves. Opposite him sat another older man, though you wouldn't know it from his clothes. He was dressed like a teenager—like someone clinging to relevance with both hands. Then, out of nowhere, the man in the cap spoke, loud and clear, as if addressing a courtroom rather than a quiet bus. 'Does time determine what's right or wrong...
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IF HAIR COULD TALK

  “You know, I get nervous by the sight of unkempt hair” “And why’s that?” “Well, it makes me imagine the worst of the man or woman in question.” “But you can’t always have clean cut or well-made hair. It’s hard work and who has time for such beauty strife. Or why do you think Beyonce sang that beauty hurts?” “I’m not talking about beauty. Rather I mean responsibility. Bad hair must surely birth a bad day. Look, I hate seeing my wife without her hair done or at least covered. I blame it on Medusa. Should have never seen that movie, T he Clash of the Titans .” “Hahaha, that’s just cracking! Now you blame your sick theory on a movie? Buddy, your wife must be tolerating a whole lot of shit from you. Cut her some slack and leave her hair alone. If you continue shaving yours all the time, you’d be bald before you’re even 40, man.” I’ve been thinking. A thousand tongues there would be if our hair could talk. Imagine, a million heads would have a zillion tongues and more! The ...
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MAKEOVER

  When she realized her hair was gone, the barber had increased the volume of his radio and India Arie’s ‘I am not my hair’ filled the room. ‘If I can manage the situation like a professional, my construction contract with her father will hold tomorrow,’ I thought. I breathe in and out, a logic that never works for me, but I do it anyway. I rehearse my words, changing each sound to a softer version of the previous one - aligning my looks to the words so that my eyes become half closed and there is a faint smile on my face. I wait for the explosion. All the while, the barber is busy touching what is left on her head with his clipper. He says it is the final addition and calls it the moon look. He fumbles with the chair, turning Stella from left to right like a child’s play. The large mirror in front of us escalates the mishap and the fumes on my girlfriend’s face seem to be burning the white walls. It was meant to be a makeover since her 25 th birthday was the next day. Now it...
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