₦airaland Forum

Thank you sire.

“Daddy Goodnews is a prodigy of a perfect gentle man...” my friends would always snap whenever that name came up in our conversations. In fact any negative comment about the credibility of his personality was regarded as a faux pas. My friends would sometimes threaten to beat me up if i continued to berate his persona...they would go to the extent of not talking to me for a period of time. Daddy Goodnews was sometimes compared to the persona of Rev. King, they said the anoint in him was too overwhelming that sometimes he needed to dip his head into a cold water so he wouldn’t be too aggressive when he exorcised his patients. “Can you believe he fasted for hundred days and hundred nights; who does that if not a great man of God!” My friend Ogene would yell with his hands gesticulating as though he were a choir master. My friends couldn’t just accept the fact that Daddy goodnews was in any way with sin; they believed that he could never err; that he was immortal to sin, and there was no way he would fall to the temptations that glared at him while he lectured in school. They even told me a story of how a Final year student had come to his office bearing her midriff only for her to be wiped by the anointing of the Holy Spirit...they told me how they could hear from his office window the clatter and natters of the demon begging and beseeching brother goodnews’ forgiveness for their daring test of his spiritual patience. Most times when they prayed they wore in their expression the masking of brother Goodnews: “korima korisha ramaska baska taka lama.” But these friends i knew; they were the craziest guys i had ever come in contact with. They attended every party in the nooks and crannies of school. You don’t organise a birthday party without inviting them and expect to have the rocking your birthday requires...they were simply amazing-crazy; yes! That is the word. Yet, I on the other hand who bottles himself in the coffers of his room most of the times singing sweet nightly prayers with my Carolina was the sinner because i couldn’t simply join them in their episodic and theatrical display of the ‘found’.
It was one morning, the day after my dream girl friend Carolina jilted me for not having money to take her out. I had pleaded with her to wait for one more week when my aunty would have sent me my school fees so we would flex* with it together, but she blatantly refused and accused me of being a broke and terrible Angwan lamgbu boyfriend who should never date a high class Akwanga girl like her. I had gone home lamenting to my friends how i had spent my 100 level and 200 level school fees with her and still be jilted by her because i was just one week behind schedule. My friends confessed in their like manner that i must be under a spell from my village to have spent so much for my heartthrob and still get the lightening and thunders of the heart palpitating and caressing through my focal core. They instructed me that i must see Daddy Goodnews if i truly wanted to see my situation have a turn for good. I obliged to their suggestion even though i didn’t buy the idea. My friends, Tayo and Ogene held me to the hand as they led me to Daddy Goodnews’ office for spiritual exorcism. They feared that I would change my mind if the spell trickles through me more aggressively. So they strapped their hands to my wrist as they led me to the great spiritual spiritualist for deliverance.
As we got to the vicinity of his office, the sense and smell of his office was feministic. In fact i would argue that he was a feminist and a descendant of feminism. Feminine faces of different sizes and species coloured like a roll in front of his office door waiting to receive their blessings in turn. “Today is a special day for the women folk in the world, because Daddy has chosen today as the day to cast out only feminine demons who perambulate and rigmarole around the world...ahhh! ouuchhh! Sweet-gracious...no demon shall leave here today; daddy must cast them out by any means possible ” Tayo yelled in his usual soliloquising manner, clipping his both hands together and swaying his head as though he were a celestian kangaroo. I stood in my position as i supervised female after female limp and joggle out of his office. Some developed broken waist, others with broken thighs, some walked out with their two legs spread wide as though he had asked them to walk 'at easy' as their penance because their sin was too grievous. I was bolted to another continent when i saw the love of my life; the girl that made my heart joggle as if it had a football in it slide into the office of the evangelical feminist. I was irked, for i feared that their prayers would be without the clipping of lips and touching of the body. I couldn’t just see a charlatan and commander of demons rip where he never sowed. In fact it was outrageously abominable to see another man with the girl I had invested my university school fees on. “ohh! This is impossible!” i blotted aloud. “What is impossible?” Ogene asked. “The Devil...i mean he has been tormenting me to sell my right hand so i could flex* with my girl friend....horima shama raskanda...” everybody stared at me as i began the preamble to my conjuration of my conundrum. I raced to a direction where i saw a weighty rod, picked it up and made for the door of Daddy Goodnews’ office. As i approached his door, all the women that assembled in front of his office door waiting for their turn to receive the whip of the great master exorcist and his goblet to declare them clean again immediately dispersed in an alacrity that was worthy of commendation. My friends Ogene and Tayo on the other hand stood at their position shouting "he don mad ohhh...catch am, he don made ohhhh!" Doing nothing in particular to stop me from my spiritual madness. As I got to his door, I hit it hard for the very first time...eureka! I found them. I had never seen any ministration so tensed and bleeding of passion like I saw that day. For the very first time in my life i saw a ministration where two people needed to let go their cloths before the spirit would be effective. I saw Daddy Goodnews riding the love of my life like a Volkswagen without an engine as perspiration parted from his crude skin with great ease. “I talk am, this man na fake man of God, i tell my sister but she no hear...God don catch am today...kill them! Knack them!” These where the many lamentations that shuddered through my ears as i released the rod on my hand to decapitate and disseminate them both. “John, John, please hold me am cold” my girlfriend Carolina called as she curled her both hands through my neck. “ohhhhhhh...i almost killed him in my dream.” “Killed who?” she enquired. “That your pastor that keeps telling you not to visit me at night...i just hate him!”

searching4love:


CHINUA ACHEBE IS OVERRATED AND SHOULDN'T BE ON THAT LIST. THE ONLY FAMOUS BOOK HE WROTE WAS "things fall apart" AND IT WAS A FLUKE COS HE NEVER REPEATED SUCH. HE IS AN AVERAGE WRITER WHO DOESN'T DESERVE SUCH RECOGNITION

"If you don't like a story, go and write your own." I think Achebe had the likes of you in mind when he carved out this quote. It is quite pathetic that you are the only one who holds this view, the world does not share this view with you...infact the world has succintly made it conspicuous that Achebe is the greatest writer that has come from this continent. You and your ilks would continue to suffer from brain mirage if you keep trying to alter this lucid truth.

When i was a little baby, my mother would hold me upon her hands and ask me to look up into the sky. She would say to me “oh what a beautifully spotless world we live in!” She would sing lyrical songs that glorified and immortalized the infiniteness and definiteness of our globe. She would sit on her desk scribbling long narrative that depicted the aesthetics of our world. She would soliloquise to herself on how she wanted me to write long heart clinching vignette on the beauty and innocence of our world. Whenever it was morning and the cock crowed she would leap from her bed with a spondaic glow that depicted her valaintness even to life, and exclaim, “What a beautiful morning, even the cocks know it!” She would rhythm with her body, twisting her backside in a tow and slow movement that was only a bodily expression of how she couldn’t get enough of the world’s guiltlessness. My mother would tell me salivating stories of how God created the world; how he blessed the stones, the trees and everything he created, and certified them good. She would eulogize to me how i have been destined to be the best thing that has ever happened to the world; how i would grow up to make the world more scenic than it is. She would sing sweet sumptuous lullaby into my ears that could barely satiate my ear drum...i would rattle my legs and screak my hands against her face to tell her i needed more of her sonorous voice parcelled into my ears...she would sing on because in the beautiful world where we lived in people were meant to get whatever they wanted as much as it made our world sparkle. In our world, life was soo simplistic and romantic, yet i saw in it a labyrinth that i couldn’t flint. Whenever mother’s friends came to visit, they would slide their cheeks to expose their shining white teeth just because they stare at me; it was as though my presence gave them a joy they couldn’t refuse...they would carry me on their hands, shove my hair, crisp their hands on my body, handle my heavy cheek and then bellow, “oh my God! See how his skin glows, he is soo beautiful!” Whenever i felt emptiness in my gut, i would simply nimble out some sound from my mouth and wuuuuuuuuuushhhh! I would suddenly feel the milk suckled from her served breast limping graciously into my front. She would carry me with her hands and rest me against her side shoulder; and this she did all day just to ensure that i didn’t sing songs that irked tears. At some point of the day, she would sit soo meticulously on a stew, rest me on her clinged legs and water my body with a gentility that was soo exaggeratedly frolicsome. And when she is through with the watering, she would dry my body with a cloth like material and then oil my body; giving it a radiance that depicted the smoothness and pristiness of the world...and this routine she did day after day. Life was beautiful because mother made it feel so, made it smell so, and made it look so. She made me see everything in the world as perfectly beautiful, I was soo glad that i was born into this perfectly
gracious world...in my face was the masking of my unwavering joy; i couldn’t dwarf the happiness that was inherent in me because of the opportunity i was given to be present in this world of perfectacy*. Sometimes i would lie on my bed, trickling my legs upon the blank air and carving my hands upon the ceiling that i couldn’t reach. I would make several bilabial and velar sounds that only i could understand; and yet, whenever i made these sounds mother would swiftly amble to my bed in a manner that usually shuddered me into appreciating the world that i lived in. In this world, i had everything i needed, everything i wanted even without asking for it. It usually seemed mother was intuitively fashioned to decipher every cipher that was clipped to my brain. Everyone in the world loved me, cherished me and adored me; at least that was what i was made to believe. Everything about the world revolved around me, it was as though the people that existed in the world were just me and others...my world was perfectly beautiful!
It was on that serene tranquil morning, i had waited patiently to feel mother’s warmth and gentle touch nestling around my body but she was conspicuously missing from my world. So restless was i, because my world always felt empty and gloomy whenever she isn’t around me to make me feel the beautifulness of life. Then i began to make several sounds that usual drew her attention to me but still she didn’t come. I felt rage; a rage i didn’t know existed in a world as beautiful as ours. I increased the velocity of my voice but the beautiful one who made life soo beautiful for me didn’t answer. I felt drowsy from strings of tears that were nestled through my cheeks as i chorused several enchanting sounds...i knew inside of me that i couldn’t allow this soo beautiful world of mine to collapse just because i wasn’t ready to make it exquisite. So i leapt from my bed, i was soo stunned that my hands and knees could make movements mother and her friends made with their legs. I crawled gently and passionately down from the square sized bed mother always laid me on since the day i began to see myself in this perfect world of ours. I kept seeing my hands and knees moving in tandem...it stunned me; for i never knew there could be a locomotion this stringent steaming from me. Then i crawled through a door; a door that had upon it a world as vast as the ocean...then trepidation nipped through me; for i felt as though i was about to be eaten up by this great sea. The sea looked ruthless and pitiless...and the more i crawled the closer it came. Then a saviour i saw, structured like mother, beautiful like mother, huge, with skin radiating like the sun...with hair dark and long like the Eiffel tower. She was a beautiful that sparkled like a goddess of magnificence. Then relieve i felt, for a saviour was at bay to clip me from this vast sea and beautify my already stymied resolve. So i sauntered on to where she stood, it was clear to me that she didn’t know i was coming. As i got to where she stood attention-less, there lay seeds of grains that looked like mystified toys i had never seen before. I was curious, so i crawled into the grains and began to play with them...it triggered again the joy i had lost because i couldn’t find mother to leap me up into the sky and clip her soft lips against my cheek. As i played on, i felt pressed to release some drips of liquid from my body, so i let it run down without hesitation upon the mystified toys i played on, because as i remembered, mother would always joy anytime i did this...she said it made the world beautiful. “Na who get this useless pikin wey come piss for my beans?” She yelled as she smacked me upon my buttocks in concessions that felt and looked magical. Her face was as stark as rock, she stared at me as though i was a beast. It marvelled me, for i couldn’t understand why a world that couldn’t do without me would be soo hostile to me at a time i needed them most. As i stared at her, i felt streams of tears dripping from my eyes even when my lips were clipped against each other. Then i realised that a world without mother would never be beautiful; that infact my world was beautiful not because the world made it beautiful but because mother made it so. “Ogenevo! Ogenevo! Ogenevo! Where are you my son?” Her voice bellowed from the room, as she ran out to the balcony where i lay about to be devoured by this beast of a beauty. She shuddered as she saw me on the ground and her hands quivered as she carried me away from that cruel danger of the sea. “Mama Ijeoma, come and thank God ohhh my son almost fell from the stair rail.” She hollered, and then i saw the beautiful goddess who spanked me on my buttocks make out from her world after she had sneaked into it when she heard mother’s voice. She pranced up, masking on her face a jubilation that was in essence a glorification. “ ohhh thank you jesus!” She yelled, with an angelic swagger that was crisped with innocence...it was as though she was ignorant of what had happened. Then she made to carry me with her hands wide spread to see if i would accept her touch of sympathy and joy. I swiftly obliged her gesture in a manner that made me ignorant of the foregoing. Then she placed me against her breast and patted her hands upon my head as though she was trying to console me from an excruciating pain. As i lay on her, i felt soo raged, i felt a strong urge to console my rage and make it fade into happiness. Then i moved my mouth to the bulged area of the gigantic object on which my head lay and clipped it with my teeth till she shouted “Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh he don bite me!” “Very good, very good, very good!” i said.