Break The Cycle

“I will NEVER call my son from his room to come and hand me the remote that’s next to me like my parents did.

#BreakTheCycle”- Chike Delic Obi.

 

So I saw Chike’s post on Facebook about breaking the cycle and a certain mocking comment “Don’t worry when the time comes” prompted this post.

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Dear Lagos

Lagos,

Foundation of a thousand castles 

Graveyard of a million dreams

City of endless toil

Oasis at every corner

Glittering northstar 

Hell’s embassy

Crusher of fragile hearts

Destroyer of the weak

They say you’re the biggest,

Their geography as valid as a two thousand naira note,

They say you’re the best, Eko for show

They say you’re golden, old enough to have sense.

A plethora of shiny faces wishing you well,

At each succeeding bus stop.
Yet you let him dance with hope, under the tunnel

Bleeding and dying, while life pulsed around him

Three hours they said, he bargained for life,

Waiting for flashing lights to take him to safety,

Hoping to touch love one last time.

But you wrapped him in a bodybag

Your work complete, as his soul rose to the sky

Accepting the sacrifice of your favourite son.

The one on a yellow throne with madness in his eyes 

And gin and weed chanting his oriki. 
Dear Lagos,

In your crevasse I was born,

In your shadow I thrive

I wish it is hate that makes my blood sputter and pop

As I think of you,

Shame lights my veins instead, slowly it consumes me.

Dear Lagos, 

Be kinder to your children, 

Listen please,

For I will say it again.

Stop killing your young.

The trouble with Elu Aku

My grandfather liked to tell the story of how the world came to be. God gave man only one thing as he descended from heaven and that was a palm nut, he planted it and its leaves helped to make man’s shelter, kept the shelter and environment clean, provided kindling for his fire, the wine kept him from losing his mind in the harsh world he found himself and its fruit gave him two different oils. The oil from the pulp to make his soup and to be the bride of the king of food- roast yam (the man loved his roast yam!) and oil from the seed, or kernel if you like, to anoint his skin and hair and to save his children from evil and its manifestations like convulsion and fever. It was the second oil that put my brother and me in trouble many years ago.

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Jesus- patron saint of misfits.

Yesterday morning I headed to my brother’s room in search of my headphones, he likes to ‘borrow’ them and keep them in his room until I go on a retrieval mission. He was trying to cling to the last wisps of sleep but I snatched them out of his grip by shaking his feet and hitting his ankles.

“you’re awake” he mused Continue reading →

Having Fear For Breakfast.

Earlier today, I was browsing through the videos on my phone looking for redundant videos to delete. I have dozens of videos that were donated to my phone from WhatsApp groups and a certain friend in obodo Amelika who sends me every funny video he discovers and the unfunny, scary ones too. When I got to the December 2016 videos, the thumbnail of one of them brought back memories that had me chuckling even before I opened the video. Continue reading →