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WHAT MY MOTHER AND DOLLY PARTON TAUGHT ME

When the cassette tape played, I was seldom interested in the lyrics—how likely was a 6-year-old to care? Yet I could feel sorrow, compassion, and sadness in the singer’s voice. I imagined someone hurting her. Was she hit, betrayed, lonely? Her voice held a mystery I wanted to uncover, but she was miles away from me. Since I could not unravel the enigma, I let the thought go. As I grew older, my mother did not grow tired of playing the cassette tape. I could not hide from hearing it either, unless I could afford a roof over my head. One evening, during the holiday and with no homework to attend to, I had to ask her. ‘Mum, who’s this person always sad when they’re singing?’ ‘You mean all this time, you don’t know it’s Dolly Parton? And who told you she’s sad? When you truly express how you feel, it is not always a sad tale, my girl. Do you even know what this song playing is about?’ ‘Yes, ma. It’s her coat of many colours, just like the one Joseph had, right?’ ‘Eh en. Only hers was give...
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WICKEDNESS IN HIGH PLACES

  WICKEDNESS IN HIGH PLACES Look at this child hustling to survive. Mehn this country is too hard. Jesus! He will fall o..! the crate of water is too heavy on his head…! This was the beginning of a show of wickedness. We see a white bus filled with men and women looking like crusade members with some wearing face masks. One of the passengers calls out to a child hawker selling water for a bottle that costs N100. The child looks not older than 11 years. He struggles to catch up with the white bus as the traffic moves from time to time, with a crate filled with cool bottles of water on his head. His Ankara - up and down - is wet with sweat from the marathon of the day. It is past six in the evening. The bus moves in the traffic, enough for the child to hand over the bottle of water to the passenger in demand and just when it is time to exchange notes of change by the child and payment by the buyer, the bus driver increases the speed of the vehicle. The traffic had subsided.  We ...
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HOW TOUGH IS YOUR TIME?

  HOW TOUGH IS YOUR TIME?   Look up the definitions of pressure, stress, toughness, challenge, hardship. Yes, these are not mere words; they are situations we face as humans in a world where time gives no hoot about what you are going through. It keeps moving like an endless train with many passengers confused about the next stop or the condition of the engine, or the longevity of the journey.   The world faces its problems. Countries fight their wars; continents battle their evils. States wrestle their fears, and it goes down to the individual. A woman fights just as a man does his demons. They come in the form of psychological traumas, financial hardships, career blocks, relationship ghosts and all sorts of whats and hows and when and who and where.   In my father’s time, the challenge was having values. In my time, it is acquiring wealth or being successful. In the future, it might be visiting Mars like it was a stone throw. Who knows? Still, time is havin...
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OUR SOAP IS IN US

  OUR SOAP IS IN US “We should be participating in all sports at the Olympics. We have different states known for their gifts. Some can swim and paddle, many can race, some are from hilly states and can be trained, some can wrestle as it is part of their festivals, others can...” “Abeg na who go cut soap for me I dey find. All these can…can…can… you are saying is a far cry. Even if we are given 10 years to prepare for the games it will not be enough. How many swimming pools do you have in your state, talk less of all local government areas? Did you hear the name of the swimming grounds at the Olympics? It is called Tokyo Aquatics Centre; aquatic animals fit camp there no shaking! The pools I have seen in this side of the earth na inside people compound dem dey to use differentiate poor man from rich man.”   “Pessimism has eaten deep into your membrane. Imagine if we harness our sport sector and top it up with tourism, we will not need any oil to survive man! See, all t...
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A WASTE OF MANHOOD

  A WASTE OF MANHOOD     “Young lady, are you familiar with the news that the Chinese authorities seized a cargo ship that sailed from Nigeria with 7,200 refrigerated penises? I ask myself why single ladies in Nigeria have not gathered to stage a riot”   “Just like the Aba Women Riot of 1929?”   “Exactly! I mean, the number of unmarried women today is alarming. Yet potential organs are being shipped to another man’s land as what, meat? What a waste of natural, human, God-given creation that would have made many ladies happy. No wonder many of you are on the edge every now and then. Hm, 7,200! And they even tagged it ‘Organ Harvesting' can you imagine. Is it a plant?   As usual, a committee has been set up to investigate this illicit act. Wait, it was first condemned. That is not the end of my point. Young lady, have you visited a prison in Nigeria? I don’t advise you to. If you see able-bodied men locked up, waiting for trial for over 10 years, mo...
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SNOW WHITE

  SNOW WHITE It is 6 AM. Yaba bus stop is already crowded with workers struggling to board comfortable buses. Many ignore smoky, scrappy, dirty and high-fare vehicles; Friday gives you such luxury. It does not take too long before an accepted bus stops in front of me. The bus is barely empty; occupied by the drive, conductor, a man and a woman dressed like it was snowing that morning. I board the bus and suddenly, this winter like woman hands me a tract which I turn down. She looks at me like the devil’s advocate. I sit as far away from her as possible.   The bus is finally ready to kick off with all passengers in their seats. Many of us are with our face masks but not Snow White. Suddenly, we are jerked from our sleepy states by a deafening shout: “repent my brothers and sisters, everything is vanity. God loves you so much even if you cannot create the world, or the rivers or the sky. Or can you.” A man in front of Snow White suddenly remembers his face mask and digs ...
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FAITH

FAITH There is one power so great - the wisdom of tomorrow. No one wishes ill on themselves but when we are in a fix, we tend to wish we had the power to tell what tomorrow would bring. Just like Mama Iliya. The night before was so cold that she took her last available wrapper, covered up her son and lay by his side all night long to keep him warm enough to see a new day. Afterwards, she was going to meet with her pastor to pray out every sickness from his lanky body. He had been sick for two days; would not eat, could hardly breathe, see or taste anything. After selling Wankee the week before, he had complained of a headache and was told to lick red oil by his mother. The bottle of oil is empty today, staring at Mama Iliya as she rolls on the sandy room begging Iliya to wake up. “No be wetin we talk be this o Illiya. You tell me say we go go market this morning together go buy meat to use cook food for our customers. You say you go use Wankee build me big house. You even say Ame...
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THE TAKSI THAT TALKS!

  THE TAKSI THAT TALKS! If you are A TAXI driver, please do not talk too much. It is not every passenger that is interested in chit-chatting. It is even worse when you have body odour and spit out, leaving long lines of liquid on your car window. Please stop it! Oluwafemi was his name. He picks me up from Berger; we head for Yaba. It is at about 7:00 p.m, the roads are not so free. I am seated in the passenger seat, a decision I regret. I should have been at the back with my eyes glued to my phone. Unfortunately, we all make wrong choices sometimes.   “Sister abeg you get USB cord for there? This my phone go soon die.” I replied with a NO and he asked; “why you no go get na? You no carry phone comot for house? And I need this thing badly today o as the one wen I buy for traffic na wash. For that guy mind now e don gba me. Na why I deyhope say one rider (like Me) go dash me cord.” A call comes in to save me from the beginning of what was yet to come. I am on the phone for anoth...
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IF ONLY YOU CAN BUILD YOUR MIND TO BE IN CONTROL

  If—  BY RUDYARD KIPLING If you can keep your head when all about you        Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,     But make allowance for their doubting too;    If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,     Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,     And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;        If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;    If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster     And treat those two impostors just the same;    If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken     Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,     And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnin...
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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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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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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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