You woke, and realised you had slept off leaving the Bob Marley's mixtape beating from your phone. It's 2am and in few hours time, some fellas from your WhatsApp group would start sending 'happy sunday' wishes and messages. Your bae would call. Your church brothers too. Everything bored you.

"What exactly is special about this God?" You asked with fear written on your face. You are not sure about the myth that holy spirit doesn't forgive sins. Silence heals.

You wanted to stop the music to save your battery when you noticed even your phone AIMP player read your mind. It knew what you needed. It's three little birds by the Jamaican raggae god. You sat still letting the lyrics sink.
"Don't worry about these things. Cos every little thing is gonna be alright. I say don't..."
You realised further listening would keep you awake and you had to sleep. You had to run.

But what are you running from? Something mean, dark and voiceless asked you.

What else but the reality. The fact that soon enough the sun would shine and teach your stomach the easiest way to get what it wants. Sometimes light is violence.

The reality that Airtel NG sent a message the previous night that your #100 for 30mb data was almost finished.

The reality that the usher will look at you in church with the kind of eyes that reflect how filthy and blur your life is.

The reality that your project supervisor doesn't understand 'God bless you sir'. Something must drop.

The reality that Poly will not accept 'letter for teller' like you always did in secondary schools.

A lot of realities kept coming and coming, and they won't stop coming until sleep eluded you.

"Hey Bob, nothing is going to be alright as long as a Congo of garri (a food that once belonged to the poor) sells for #500.
Maybe not today, and perhaps not tomorrow. Though some symbols on your palm still stood firm with the inkings of hope.

You didn't need what you actually needed. You needed what you wanted. So you scrolled through your playlist and hit Special by Akon. Just one line made you love the song...

"Don't try to wake me up I'm happy in my dreams".

But you didn't succeed. You know why?
Because if you hadn't woken up, you won't be thinking about how this week has ended again without a reason to smile in your pocket.
.
.
Thay say alcohol is a good antidote for reality. Maybe not for a lifetime, but a few moments of peace and no-worry do count.

You still have #300 in your pocket.
" Barman, give me a chilled bottle of Goldberg. God will understand."
.
©Micheal Ace


They say, in Nigeria, if you want to walk fast, take bike; if you want to walk far, walk with your earpiece.

It was a sunny monday afternoon. The only thing special about that Monday was the less busy road. I didn't need to jack someone off or squeeze my body through the crowd before I had my way. I was coming from a job interview in one big IT firm around Iwo road, Ibadan when I felt the need to use the ATM. The two thousand in my account would last me the whole week if I spent judiciously: no forming big brother and no miscellaneous spending.

I walked to a nearby bank and Immediately I saw there was no queue on the ATM stand, I knew it was either not dispensing or 'service unavailable' so I moved up a bit to the next bank and to the next bank and to the next before I finally found one. The queue was long and horrible but I decided to wait. After about two hours standing, it got to my turn. I slotted in my card only to read on the screen 'Hardware Error'. I tried two more times and later called the attention of a security guard. He said it might be that my card chip has damaged and advised me to visit my bank to make complaint. That would be a job for another day, so I plugged in my earpiece and embarked on the long journey home.

On my way home, I passed through an estate and did actually saw heaven on earth: beautiful set of houses and flowers, well tarred and clean road, silent atmosphere and a very cool environment. I was busy seeing this when a gate opened and I peeeped inside. I saw a very young man I supposed would be in his late 20s climbed up a very new and sparkling Lexus. I saw his face so happy and relaxed with a gentle smile labeled on his lips. I saw his skin so smooth and stretched like the surface of a still water. I saw his shoes, clothes and the wrist chain he wore which was definity much more expensive than everything I put on. His neck chain was pure gold and I would say his wrist watch was one of those new expensive Rolex.

After the gate was closed, I thought about my life for a bit and then continued my journey. I would not let depression throw me into a roadside river. Even if one will die by water, the mainland bridge is more fitting. I plugged back in my earpiece and on it went...

"I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky. I dream about it every night and day, spread my wings and fly away. I beleive I can soar..."


Micheal Ace


If your money or phone goes missing on the street of Ibadan, it's either you are careless or your purse is damaged. If that happens on the street of Lagos, don't even think about it. Lasgidi boys have taken their offering. Lagos is a city of hustlers. They say the blessings of the street end on the street, that's exactly how and what Lagos is.

My first time in Lagos since i became a grown man was May 2, 2012. Everyone at some point in their lives leave their father's house, or let me say comfort zone and search for a green pasture. Only a foolish full grown man lives by his mother's meal everyday without having anything to call his. They won't tell you you're becoming a burden, at least not directly. They won't tell you it's time you find yourself a life somehow somewhere and fulfill that which you call dream, but if you're very observant, you'll notice almost every of your actions displeases them. They have invested in you so far, there comes the time when you need to pay back in folds. It's normal.

I arrived at Ikeja some minutes to twelve in the night. It was the first time I realised Ibadan people were bunch of lazy bums. At 10pm, you can't find any shop still open. All doors closed and even the street as silent as though there were no lives around. It surprised me to see food vendors on duty, even the bus stops were loaded with buses waiting to transport passengers. Lagos life is beautiful. You will keep saying that until you experience the trauma that comes with it. I called my uncle and informed him i had arrived. I decided to sit and wait on one of the benches beside a paraga woman. There is nothing as interesting as listening to drunk men argue. You laugh and pick points whenever they stumble on sanity.

I was lost in this adventure. How could I not be engaged when full grown men who probably fathered children attacked themselves verbally over issues that didn't warrant discourse? The scene was entertaining enough that I forgot I had waited for more than an hour. It came to a time one of those men threatened to stab the other over calling him a drunkard. They lost control and finally began to throw fists at themselves. I watched until I received my brother's call. It was then I realised I've been robbed. I was perplexed, i still saw the small bag few minutes ago. I never knew I was alone until everyone ignored me despite my cries and pleas. I looked at them and I felt hate grew strong in me. I hated Lagos that very moment.

The very first day I arrived at Lagos, I paid my tithe. I was robbed of a bag which contained my wallet, earpiece, charger, hard disk and some of my precious belongings and I didn't even know how it happened. I thought I was smart but I wasn't. To live and hustle in Lagos, you have to sacrifice your conscience and grow guts. That I wasn't ready to do. I left Lagos few days later and never returned.

And i will never return!

By Micheal Ace
A Poet and writer from Ibadan, Nigeria. He tweets @lordace32. You can follow his series "Diary of a Nigerian hustler" on ynaija.com