₦airaland Forum

Sitting on that torn and tattered, two seater sofa, Maami was dressing me for school, buckling and buttoning everything on my Pink and Purple Alhikmat Primary school Uniform.

"Vision 2020" a voice beamed out from the speakers of Baba's new, glittering silver-coloured Panasonic radio.

The familiar voice of Tajudeen Ajani Ojuelegba channeled through the Radio with a tone of excitement as he reads out the "Koko inu iwe iroyin" (Newspaper review), I listened with rapt attention as he dallied and lavished his signatory Yoruba chants and word plays on the "Vision 2020", describing how beautiful, inspiring and fulfilled Nigeria will be by that year.

Tajudeen Ajani Ojuelegba, even at that time was a feted Newscaster, respected by almost all the Yoruba parents that I know within and out of our "Face to Face" compound, for his oratorical and eloquent delivery of news items in Yoruba language.

I could see Maami bobing her braided head to the pleasant and obviously awesome picture that Ojuelegba's words were painting in her mind, my eyes roved to Baba, who was sitting across the room, chewing stick plugged into mouth; although his response wasn't as obvious as Maami's, but i could see his pupils dilated as he starred into space with the look of "This might actually be true" on his wrinkled face. 

If my parents can be easily bought by that crispy Agenda, then who am i - a 10 year old boy, not to be sold and entranced?.

I remember hopping happily around school that day as I share the good news with friends, although, few of the naive boys and girls understood the reasons for my sudden and seemingly endless Joy, the joy that, my country, Nigeria, with the green and white flag will rise again above Africa, and won't stop there, until she reaches the wealthy and influential log of the Top 20 economies in the world. 

She will be wielding the same monetary, military and manpower as the mighty U.S.A, U.K, and Russia and other global super powers.

The arrant joy that in just a decade and half away, I will not only be the World Boxing Organization (WBO) world heavyweight champion but my country also will be a United Nation Organization (U.N.O) Heavyweight Nation.

The unbounded joy that in just 15 years time, I will look into the face of Rotimi Popoola "Romeo" - an older neighbor, who loved chewing and drumming praises about America and how you can't grow up in Nigeria and gather riches like Warren Buffet into our gullible brains, and tell him "You lied".

But Here I am, a dozen of years later, in front of that same Panasonic radio or should I say now Old and Rusty "asonic" Radio as the preceding letters in the emblazonry had chipped off.

Yes, Here I am! 
12 years after that Joy filled day, standing in front of that Radio, head bowed in deep thought, remembering everything I had dreamt of.

None, not even one have come to reality.

Me? An Heavyweight champion?
I've got just a year more to complete a lackluster and non-lucrative University course, after circumstances compelled me to switch career paths...four Painful times.

Rotimi Popoola "Romeo"? 
He travelled to his "milk and honey filled land" last year. 
Not without dropping another bombshell on why

"this 'giant of Africa' is nothing but a white elephant that will forever be tagged 'promising' and will never reach its full potentials just like THEO WALCOTT", his Analogy is so lucid especially with the addition of that last name.


And, my Nigeria?

She's been dipped into a gloomy economic recession that's showing no sign of dwindling. Surely, not even Professor Pellar if resurrected can perform an Abracadabra that will rescue her from this economic tailspin and fly her to her supposed position at the summit of the super power nation's log within 3 years,
at least, not with her unity hanging in the balance, as she saunter on the brink of her second civil war.

Was this what they saw and branded "Vision 2020"?, nothing, but Blurriness 2020.



 therenaissanceng.com/vision-2020-more-like-a-mindless-prediction-than-a-realistic-dream

Life is in two phases,
Carved in images and faces,
Too puzzling like mazes.
Damnation, is our cases.

Have you heard of the Ying Yang,
Two opposite energies fused by the big bang,
The symbol to us that life is waiting to pang.
A meeky lamb but with that huge fang.

How about the compliment between Black and white,
How smoothly and efficiently the day replaces the night,
That tells your Weaknesses and strengths are your mights.
Mights that you need to take on those fights.

You will gnaw on Evil while you munch Good,
Like that stone you've just crushed in your food,
Surely it will hurt you and change your mood,
Give up? There are things you don't know but should.

Life will be so till its ending,
Two contrasting powers blending,
Get the message this piece is sending,
That You can't get a perfect life without calamities shelling.


https://onaplatewiththeunchoppableeba./2017/04/02/the-bitter-honey/?preview=true

Akande swinged the creaking door with all his might as he staggered in, a capped Macdowell bottle clamped underneath his armpit. 

His tattered shirt that was buttoned incoherently was reeking of everything from alcohol to Marijuana, as his groggy eyes searched the stuffy and dimly lit one-room apartment for his wife. 
He has been like this since his teenage years, 
Alcohol has been his holy water, without it he would go insane and Marijuana has been his numero uno vegetable, abstinence even for a day means doom. 

"Hey! Stupid. Why didn't you open the door for me on time?" He queried, spilling spit at the pronunciation of every syllable. 
His wife ignored him, shifting her attention to the baby in her arms that was suckling hungrily at her breast. 
She reached for a napkin from the wrecked wooden center table and wiped off the beads of sweat that the intense heat had brewed on her forehead and on the infant neck of the two months old baby. 
"Is your mother deaf? I asked you a question" He bellowed sending out additional wads of spit. 
At the hearing of "your mother" the wife couldn't belly this insult. Not her mother again, he can't keep mentioning her mother at the slightest of altercations. 
"Baba Taju! You know you've started again,  Go back to wherever you are coming from and fight them and not me ooo. Stupid Drunkard" she said, batting her eyelashes and a shrill hiss followed.

"Me? Stupid Drunkard? It's your Father that's a Stupid Drunkard"  He retorted and turned the door key to lock the door before wobbling forward towards the wife ready to pounce on her like he's been doing for 3 days consecutively now. 
With little regards for the baby in her arm, he threw her a punch underneath her rib cage. 
"Ye!!!" She cried, clutching firmly onto the baby. 
But when a more powerful one landed on the corner of her mouth, she couldn't even hold herself not to talk of the baby. 
She was sent head first into the hard floor 
The baby? He landed on the cemented floor with a loud thud that culled out a cry of anguish off his thin lips.
The cry that woke the entire compound,
Who were now banging on the closed door. 

But that didn't stop Akande's assault on his prone Wife. Sending waves after waves of punches onto the supine body of his wife. 
She was struggling. She knew he wouldn't stop until she became numb. 
And she must help herself. She must defend herself...else, she will be history. 

Hands scrapping around, searching for something; anything...that can save her. 
She felt her hand touch something, 

Something thick and heavy, 

She held it firmly and when he bent down to drill another punch into her, 

She smashed it hard on his head. 

Bottle clattered, blood mixed with liquor spilled everywhere. 
With half of the bottle shattered, she clutched onto a bloody shard. 
And aimed strongly for his left chest with the shard and it pierced into it. 
"Uhmmm" he screamed in agony, slumping to the the floor as blood oozed out. 
She removed it and stabbed it in again. 
Again 

And again. 

The door was knocked down and their neighbours rushed in, 

Greeted by the gory sight of a disheveled woman grappling a bottle fragment with blood dripping off it and a man worming in the pool of his own blood and a still baby with a cracked and bloody skull. 

They were too late. 
The devil has done his work. 
**************************

Say NO domestic violence. 

Why box when all you need are talks. 

Livid situations need placid composure.

Link: https://onaplatewiththeunchoppableeba./

Shhhh! Will you keep your mum, Or we tell you to your mom, Like a rubber loaded with cum, My words trashed; bits and sum.
Shhhh! Eyes shot, Hissing; Like an angry snake, They strike away the thoughts I stake, My brain drained, all I could do was shake, On they rambled, unaware of their mistake.
Shhhh! My confidence crippled, My glossophobia tripled, My budding esteem nibbled, My tough spirit Feebled.

Shhhh! It keeps ringing in my skull, I try forgetting but I still recall, I could feel it deep down my caul, I feel worthless, i feel like a cull.
Shhhh! They're elderly but nonchalant, Oh! How bad I wish I could stand Gallant, Tell them their attitude is malignant, I wish I could but my muscles plead stagnant.
/p8sfJH-C

Like a lightning bolt, the blow struck my belly.
“Oh” I whimpered in pain clutching it tightly.
Another to my unprotected head, sent me head
first into the marshy, slimy floor.
Blurry sight, bloody nose, chipped teeth.
I could feel the rough hands ripped my Gown
from my neck and squeezed tightly at my
breasts.
I wanted to fight but my muscles weren’t mine
anymore.
“Oh Lord! please help me” I muttered as the
harassing hands scrapped my belly.
“Lord help me from this!” I kept chanting, eyes
tightly shut expecting the worst.
Those coarse hands made their way down my
body as I lie paralyzed on that marshy
pathway.
This pathway was one of the roads that had
been abandoned by pedestrians since the
government reconstructed and reopened the
Expressway.
Only few people still ply this road.
Few people still take this route to their
respective farms.
I tried attracting the attention of these few
people but my throat’s weakened muscles could
only manage whispers.
Those bawdy hands lacerated my thong, I could
hear the ripping sound as the cold, rainy
breeze swept over my exposed private part.
“Please!” was the word on my lips, tears flowed
sadly from my fuzzy eyes as my entire body
quivered to the unwanted sensation that was
surging through my body from my opened
member.
The body that own those rough hands jumped
on me as if I was an inanimate mattress, not
minding if I could get crushed.
His awful stench permeated into my nostrils
and nearly knocked me unconscious… as if his
blows weren’t enough.
I sighed, as my pride was about to be ripped
like my gown and pant.
I felt his Engorged and aggressive member peer
itself into my body.
“Aw” I exclaimed as a shot of pain rippled
through my body.
Deep, deeper and agonizingly deeper, he
burrowed aggressively into me with subsequent
thrusts that were accompanied by low grunts.
Suddenly, the piercing pain was replaced with
a new gush of pleasant and elated feelings.
I was just starting to enjoy the intercourse
when he twitched, spasmed and groaned as I
felt something watery splash into my intruded
part.
He leapt off me almost immediately.
I heard faintly, his footsteps shuffling away
from me.
I can’t still recall how and where I’ve
summoned the energy to drag my disheveled
and disfigured body off that boggy pathway,
blood trailing every step I took.
Gboom!
Like a sack of beans, I collapsed on rolls of
mats that were laid at the Baale’s palace.
Startling every one including the Baale and his
chiefs.
“Who are you?” They queried.
“Rape…Ajani” I responded incoherently.
“Which Ajani?” The Baale asked
“Otun’s son” I spilled, pointing my bloody index
finger to the chief sitting next to the Baale.
“My own Ajani! My own Ajani will never do such” he
retorted, springing off the stool as if it was on
fire.
Then the Baale released an atomic bomb.
“I’m sure you dressed seductively, that’s why you got
raped, Eyin Omo oniranu buruku yi!” he bellowed.
Oh! My God
That statement aggravated the pang that was
flooding me.
I wanted to stand up, hit the Baale with
something on his head and knock senses back
into his head.
I wanted to tell them that my dressing doesn’t
matter.
I wanted to tell them that I can’t be blame for
somebody else’s inability to hold and control his
manhood.
I wanted to tell them all that they were wrong.
I wanted to…
But my borrowed energy was far spent,
I saw the world take a swirling spin and my
eyelids became heavy, my neck heavier.
I dropped my head on the floor with a loud
bang.
I fainted.
***********************
Rape is Rape, no matter how the victim dressed.
Rape is ruinous, the trauma is eternal.
Rape should be a crime punishable by castration or
death.


culled from
https://onaplatewiththeunchoppableeba./2017/03/04/maimed-raped-and-blamed/

His name isn't Charles truly, his name is NEMESIS.


Leigh! Leigh!! Leigh!!!


Come and Quench the fire you ignited ooo.



Awesome Opus.

keep it coming bro. I am in ur Elemental world already. in Ali's voice "bring on more".

The day the world ended by Royver...creativity at its mesmerizing best