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Showing posts from November, 2018

THE OLD RULE OF THUMB

There was a time when the criterion for enrolling children into school was for the hand to go across their head to touch their ear. It was deemed practical and the proper judgement for establishing a child old enough to get an education.  Many of our parents experienced this because there was no documentation regarding age/birth certificates, so the logic was to ascertain a child's age by specific abilities. Take, for instance, Diana in 1985. The education standard for getting into school was from the age of 5. Diana's mother had painted beautiful pictures of a school's appearance and said that only sensible people were considered worthy of being a part of it. All Diana wanted to do was put on the new socks and shoes her mother had purchased. Diana dreamt of reciting the greeting the night before, 'Good morning, teacher; we are happy to see you; God bless you.' And so, Diana was taken to school that morning for enrolment. 'Fine girl, raise your right hand over y...
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JOB FULFILLMENT

JOB FULFILLMENT It is a widely accepted belief that finding fulfillment on a job comes with the money you get - your 30 day paycheck. One cannot deny the fact that monetary rewards are essential. However, there are people whose frustration with their job has no ties with its monetary value. Some could not care less how much their monthly reward is. What they seek is the inner joy, peace and the drive that comes with knowing that you are attending your 9-5 job. Our example is not so farfetched after all. You walk into a bank on a sunny afternoon and despite the cool air from the air-conditioning system to calm heated nerves, the teller you are queued up with seems so far away and you could see the tell-tale sign of tiredness and frustration from the creased elbow of the attendant. She can’t wait to see you leave the hall as she nonchalantly takes the slip from you and offhandedly tells you to drop the control copy in a box meant for the purpose. You wonder what her problem cou...
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THE ORANGE SELLER

THE ORANGE SELLER I had never seen an aboki so fair selling oranges. You could tell that his shelter for a long time had been under the sun. But the fairness was still obvious. He stood there under the bridge with his wheel barrow filled with unpeeled oranges, waiting for descending customers. I was attracted by the yellow oranges and so I walked up to him to sell me four for a hundred naira. And this was how I noticed many things about this man and in turn, learnt something from him. He had mastered the art of orange peeling after so many cuts on his fingers. He peeled them like they were his tender little babies; one in less than a minute. This was not one of those abokis you’ve seen selling fruits. When he asked me how many I wanted, his pidgin did not give him away to any tribe. He sounded like a man of no tribe and had the looks of a middle aged maybe from Chad. He still had his low dark hair with baby curls even though signs of baldness were becoming obvious. He had o...
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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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WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS

In those days, when it rained we would stay by the window and watch how the trees danced to the beats of the wind, the singing of raindrops and thunder. The lighter the music, the closer our legs would get to the door post, quietly watching the eyes of our mother; and waiting for an approval. When she wiggled her legs, it was a negative signal. But when she praised the beautiful works of God in the rainy moment, it was a positive sign. Note, there was no going outside when it rained in the night. That was why Joseph composed the song: Rain visit us when the sun is not old Rain sing for us when the moon is not young So that mother will open the door for us to play with you So that papa will come home dry and happy. Rain visit us as we sing to you. Rain oh rain oh rain. That particular day, the rain was deaf to our singing, or calling and yelling. We became frustrated because the sun was kissing the lines of the sea, workers were returning home while livestock owners were gathering their...
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IF HAIRS 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 hairs could talk. Imagine, a million heads would have a zillion tongues and more! The...
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