There was this chap who was trying to chat up this really beautiful girl at a kiosk in front of his office. She was clad in the tightest skirt suit and killer heels, while he was sweating profusely from doing marketing runs for his bank all morning. She had just bought a soft drink and was about to leave. He didn’t know what to say so he said ‘So you like Fanta orange too.”

Corny, but the girl thought it was rather sweet (him, not her bottle of Fanta).

So she smiled, and the ice was broken. They started a long convo, hooked up on a date, and dated for 2 years.

The problem with this ‘woo-ing’ thing is that there is too much onus (not anus) on guys during the process to make things happen. Girls expect a guy to have smooth lyrics, drop ‘word’ that would hold their attention, make them laugh, hang around or constitute a general nuisance. Did you see all the hassle Kevin Jame’s character had to go through in the Will Smith movie ‘Hitch’?

What is a girl supposed to be doing all this while? What is she bringing to the table? After all, she has a fair bit to gain as well. A guy may be saying or doing the right things but it takes two to tango. If a lass is not sending the right messages or giving the right vibes, it may put a guy off. And that in no way diminishes a guy’s toasting skills. The perfect analogy would be a joke I once heard Basketmouth the comedian crack at one of his concerts. He said that when he performs at a show, if some people in the audience don’t laugh, then it isn’t his fault as he always does his best with his performance. If they don’t laugh, it is because their personal problems are more than his jokes. And in that case, he wouldn’t be able to do anything for them.

Read the rest here: http://woahnigeria./2011/08/12/you-dey-make-me-kolo/

Looking at 80s and 90s Nigeria on YouTube, I was taken back into a Naija innocence we may never see the likes of again. Those ads spoke of an era way before Yahoo Yahoo, 419, kidnapping and extreme corruption had taken a foothold in our national life. Nigeria was younger as a nation, and our national life had an infantile charm to it. The land was green. Now it is the same colour as black gold.

You are an agbaya and enjoyed the good Nigerian life if you recall the following:

You had a Ghanaian teacher in primary school that wore “bongo” flared trousers or thick polyester French suits, sweated profusely and pronounced sentences like “Do ya werk” (Do your work). They also knew how to flog, were dedicated teachers and liked keeping a full beard or moustache. I meant the males, not the females ones. By the way, I would like to shout out Mr. Ableze, Mr. Fosu and Mr. Doe.

·You remember an era when wanting to be a comedian when you grow up was a joke itself. My mum once flogged by sister for saying she wanted to be a policewoman when she grew up. Well, I would still flog my niece if she told me the same thing today. If she wants to wear uniform, there are ample opportunities with all these aso-ebi weddings and events.

· You were aware of your surroundings at a time when spaghetti was was seen as oyibo food for the middle and upper classes. in fact some people called it ‘supa-geti’. Now it is a staple in most homes, though not nearly as popular as its cousin Indomie noodles.

·You know who the original actor who played Basi (before Zuli Adigwe replaced him) in the hit Ken Saro Wiwa directed TV series Basi and Company is.

·You remember the era circa 91-92 of the over 20 presidential candidates – Shinkafi, Yaradua, Jakande, Ciroma etc. That was the most colourful presidential election campaign in Nigerian history. Think you have a problem of choice regarding who to vote for in the presidential election now? Try back then.

·You ate Nasco wafers and drank Samco chocolate drink. These were our own Oreo cookies and milk in the 80s. If you went to a posh primary school, you were given the wafers and a Samco drink during lunch break. If however you attended Gbaja Elementary, you were given ‘food’ money for lunch by your folks, which you used to buy an ice-drink called ‘condensed’, made up of colored watered down fruit-flavoured water pre-packed into small nylon bags and frozen. It was heavenly though, and beats Kool-aid anytime.

·On weekends usually, your mum bought a fowl in the market and it was killed at home for meat. Every part was of the chicken consumed except the feathers. Some families used to carve and divide a whole chicken which everyone selected by order of seniority – the father as the breadwinner took the thighs/drumstick and the gizzard. The mother had the wings; the elder brother took the breast, the elder sister grabbed the back/butt; the middle sibling took the ankle/claws, leaving you the baby of the house with the head and the comb.

Read the rest by clicking the link below

http://woahnigeria./2011/04/06/agbaya/

After the last checking point, I got ushered to the departure lounge. Everywhere was really full, as everybody in Lagos seemed to travelling on that night. I saw some girl I had gone to school with, and she came over to say hi. Then she asked me where I was headed. Before I could answer, she said she was going to Jand for a week, and then going on a girl’s holiday with her mates to Holland. Good on her. But I wondered to myself, whether Holland wasn’t a better destination for guys?

I then realized that I was just being stereotypical -in Nigeria, sometimes people look at you funny if you say you are headed to certain countries for holidays. A girl I know once spun an atlas globe and decided to visit any country her finger landed upon. Thankfully, her finger avoided Bauchi State, Afghanistan and Libya and landed on sunny, zany Spain. She was single so she was travelling alone. She said that on the plane, people raised their eyebrows a bit when she told them that she was a single young woman on a holiday trip to Spain from Naija. Everyone thought she must be going there to sell sex in Barcelona. I am Ibo, and I cannot say I am travelling to China or Singapore without people thinking I must be a spare-parts dealer. And when I tell people I want to travel to Yankee, they always assume my destination is Texas. Ibos go to Montana and Maine too, you know.

I and my ex-classmate exchanged Naija numbers before she bounced.

Getting spots to sit down was hard, and some people had to stand until the announcement to board. The announcement came finally, and I boarded the plane and snapped on my belt.

I had an aisle seat in the middle row, so I was silently praying that the person next to me would not be a woman with a cry-baby or meddlesome toddler, a very huge person who would over-lap into my seat space or a sleeper who snores.

Then a lass walked up to my seat, and when I looked up, it was someone I knew as well. What a coincidence! She squeezed past me, and sat on her seat exhausted. We chatted for a while; she said she was exhausted because she had worked till 7pm at her bank job, rushed through V.I. traffic to Apapa to pack up her stuff, and had to speed to traffic to get to Ikeja on time to make her flight.

By the time she had walked through the aircraft door, she was dead tired, and one of the air-hosts noticed it. After she explained her grueling day, he promised to look for and re-seat her at one of those seats which face a wall and have a lot of leg space. He told her to go to her originally assigned seat, while he would check if the alternative seat was available.

When she saw me, she decided to sit down at her seat for companionship. By the time the air-host came by to move her, she told him that she would prefer to seat next to me. Soon after the plane took off, this lass snoozed off into the deepest sleep I have ever seen anyone have. You know when some people doze off and their eyelids do not shut properly so it looks like they are having a fit? She only woke up to tell the air-hostess serving food a while later, that she preferred the chicken to the meat casserole. She took a few spoons, and fell back asleep, with the spoon in her mouth!

Omo, me sef come de fear small for the girl. You know how they used to do in the 80s. If a passenger slept too much on a plane, when you disembarked, immigration would call you aside for a full rectal search because cocaine smugglers usually slept a lot.

Ah, I had already made up my excuses in my head so I could deny knowing her if it came to that. I would say ‘Officer, I do not know this woman like that o. I have no idea why she carried Dusting Powder inside her nyash o”

When the plane reached Heathrow, I and the lass said our goodbyes, as I was heading to a different terminal to connect my flight to the USA.

I remembered that my cousin in Yankee had wanted me to get her some toiletries from Boots and some British confectionery. It seems that Nigerians in America prefer British toiletries and confectionery as they are seen as quality. I stopped by a Boots and WH Smith, and copped a few things – it all added to my load. My cosuin always made me bring her biscuits (cookies) and chocolates (candy) whenever I went to see her from London. She believes that you cannot beat the taste and quality of Hula Hoops, McCoy’s crisps, malted milk biscuits from M & S, Sainsbury’s Chocolate Digestives and Lion Bars. They are much better than Lays Crisps or Reese’s Pieces.

Me, I prefer Goody Goody. It is very chewy, chewy.

The flight to Yankee was quite bumpy even though the plane was not filled to capacity. It is funny how some parts of the air journey seem to affect the plane ride. I have noticed that when passing through the Sahara Desert – the air in the plane gets a bit hotter and there is some slight turbulence, especially if it is passed during the day. When we had passed the Sahara Desert, negative thoughts passed my head of what would happen if there was an unfortunate crash.

Those Arab desert nomads who wield long knives would be at the wreck in a flash. I would just speak to them in sign language –please point me in the direction of Zamfara State, so I can start slapping across the desert to Naija.

Those desert people are ruthless, I hear. There are tales of desparate immigrants who tried to leg it across the desert from Naija to Morocco and other Mediterranean African countries on their way to Europe. Some die from heat stroke, some are maimed by wild animals while some even get captured by desert dwellers and sold into slavery. Imagine me, Esco, make dem sell me so I go come become houseboy for one foreign country. Ife eme!

The funny thing is that if something unfortunate happened, my fortunes may be better with this desert foxes than trying to cross into Nigeria through Sokoto, Borno or Zamfara. With this shameful killings and lynching going on, wouldn’t it be ironic that I could survive the desert heat, slave runners and carnivores only to be beaten to a pulp and burnt to a crisp by an irate Northern mob as soon as I got over the Nigerian border? Tufiakwa!! Chukwu a ju

Thinking about that, I didn’t know when I sucked my teeth loudly, and did the ‘tufiakwa’ sign, complete with the finger snapping and hand movement around my head. The oyibo man seated two rows away who had been watching me, glanced at me like I was growing mad. He shuffled uneasily in his seat, and cranked up the volume of his in-flight entertainment.

One of the hostesses saw me too, and walked up to me as she gave me the most plastic smile ever ‘Are you alright, Sir?’

Sweating, I replied ‘Yes, I am fine. Please could I have kunu, sorry, Lipton tea with plenty Cowbell milk to drink.’

Ignoring my specific request, she said ‘Oh, yes. I will get you some tea. We do have PG Tips’

Hours later, the aircraft jetted over the coast of Canada, around the Newfoundland area. This part of the journey to Yankee always astounds me. Looking down and seeing huge icebergs floating around in a very dark ocean is a formidable sight. And that was when this yeye plane decided to start doing ‘Yahoozee’ dance with the air. Men, see prayers. That body of water (the Atlantic) is nothing like anything I have ever seen before. The water big pass my village stream. Water wey come get ice block for inside again. E come black like zobo. Fear no go catch you?

To take my mind off the turbulence, I started remembering other flights I had embarked upon.

A long time ago, on a flight to Owerri, the plane started jerking up and down, and everybody in the plane was visibly scared. One man kept acting like he was reading his newspaper but I noticed that he had been on the same page since we took off. Me and another man seated next to me kept on looking out of the window. The plane was flying very high above the clouds, like it was on a mission to Mars. E wo!

The man shut the window, and tried to remain calm. The next jolt of turbulence shattered his calm exterior. He opened the window shutter and what we saw was frightening. There was another plane flying parallel to us about a hundred feet away but close enough to see it. Me and the man exchanged glances – a plane that close; that can’t be right, can it?

Nigerians we de fear! And why wouldn’t we. I have entered an aircraft before where the oye was not working. It was like being in a flying Molue. Two passengers on student rebates had to share one seat as the plane was very full, and they had to be in school by the next day deadline.

That one na small. I remember the BA flight I was on a flight from Heathrow to Lagos. Like 3 hours into the flight, I got up to take a leak. Oh boy, the back of the plane where the toilets were was like backstage of ‘Rhythm Unplugged’ Concert in Lagos. Some Naija chaps were just standing there, gisting and checking out any lass who walked by to use the loo. They were even scoping one of the busty hostesses. The hostess tire sef. She did not even bother telling them to take a seat and strap up when the seat-belt signs came on briefly. The guys were just laughing and cracking jokes and discussing what they would do when they land Lagos. One said that he is heading straight for the clubs that night. He was certainly dressed the part.

Then you have Naija people that immediately the plane’s tires touch the ground, they stand up, head for the overhead cabin, grab their handset and phonebook and proceed to start calling every single person in their extended family: ‘Hello Jibunoh, can you hear me? Ah, the reception is so bad. Yes we just landed. No, we have not disembarked yet. The flight was delayed by 30 minutes due to a connection from Port-Harcourt. Ah thank goodness for safe journey o. Let me hang up so that I can call Mama and everyone.’

Then there are the ones who pay N7,000 like you for a cheap Aero Contractors Economy ticket online, but act like they are Business Class Card holders. These inconsiderate people lean their seats very far back, often without warning, and end up spilling your pea-nut snacks all over you in the seat behind. They also rush to board the plane so that they can squeeze a trunk box into your own overhead cabin, then seat down like nothing happened.

Now in present time, the pilot announced our decent into our destination airport. Ah, my best part of travelling my air – arrival and baggage claim.

I passed through immigration, claimed my luggage and walked into the sunny Yankee afternoon. My cousin was there to get me. Next destination? Whataburger, my favourite fast food spot – for a huge steak and bacon whooper. I needed it; airplane food sucks.

Please share your comments and experiences.



You might see me anywhere, day in the life/
Only thing changed, the tail number on the flight /
I can touch down and take off the same night/

Jay Z (Ignorant, 2007)

C

I did a bit of travelling last December, trying to connect America through England from Nigeria. I got to Murtala Mohammed International on time, but met the longest queue ever, and a busy departure area. It seemed that every person and their dog in Lagos had decided to travel on that particular day.

KLM ‘s line looked like an after-work queue for the BRT bus in CMS; British Airways too resembled a gas station queue during one of NUPENG and PENGASSAN’s off days. Lufthansa did not fare better. I did not even check for Virgin Atlantic or Virgin Nigerian or whatever it is called nowadays.

I got my luggage weighed and failed the test, like any true Nigeria, In our dear country, it seems to be a huge taboo to travel light internationally. Even if you plan to, people just would not let you. Please could you help me deliver chin-chin and ground-nuts for Sister Chop-chop in Kentish Town. Please she will come and meet you at Kentish-Town Tube station on Wednesday. Well, will you pay for my Zone 1-4 Travelcard? Na wa for you o.

Abeg, carry this bale of jacquard lace for Auntie Chinyere in New Jersey. She wants to wear it for her daughter’s graduation ceremony from University of Chicago.

Esco, please no vex. Make you take this Nigerian movie DVDs and CDs for me. My bros go come collect am for your hand, I don give am your number.

In my case, I was carrying a bit of all of the above and more. My mistake was letting some people know I was flying out briefly. One of them had made a late night trip to my house at 11 pm to give me items to help him ferry to long lost relative in Yankee. When I explained to him that his relative lives in Utah which is miles away from anywhere, he refused to take no for an answer. Yankee na Yankee naa! Even if I was going to Rhode Island, he wanted me to take the items and mail them, all 20 pounds of them, to Utah via UPS. At.my.own.expense.of course.

I paid for excess luggage reluctantly as I calculated the number of things I would have to forgo with the $80 charge – fast food, clothes, video games, music. I was not smiling when I got to the Immigration officers who unzip and physically search your boxes.

One of them saw me and his face lit up like a Christmas tree. Pulling the latex gloves on his grubby finger taut, he smoothed the creases on my box, and unzipped it with much speed like someone busting for a pee.

‘Good travel day sir’ he and the others chorused in unison. I thought to myself, good travel day?!

I ignored their verbose greetings, and replied with a grunt like Okoronkwo in ‘Things Fall Apart.’

One of them caressed the neatly packed items in my box, and his greedy eyes fired up as he saw 5 plastic bottles of chin chin and groundnuts. Licking his cracked lips he inquired ‘Why you de travel with all these foodstuffs? So na only you go chop all these items? You de carry chin chin and gra-nut go America? Why na? Food already boku for America.’

I replied curtly ‘ It is for my cousin who has not been in Nigeria for years. He likes Nigerian confectionery.’

The word must have confused him, as he waved me away.

I did not crack a smile when one asked me for a ‘parting fee’. I would have rather given him a parting shot, if I could.

Please I know I have broached this subject before, but why are the airport immigration top brass in Nigeria usually thick set with huge pot-bellies. Wetin full am? Someone once remarked that na egunje money full the belle so. Another person added that that explains why Fashola is trim. Then why isn’t  the slender Buhari our new president then? And maybe it is true, because ill-gotten or easily made money is always spent on thrifty things. I means the immigration man is not likely to use the bribe money to plaster or paint the parlour of the private house he is erecting. It is more likely to end up paying for big stout at a beer parlour.

And the extortion bid did not stop after I had passed the first batch of immigration. In fact, extortion in Nigerian airports begins from the moment your car drops you at the drop off point.  Forex merchants try to convince you to buy CFA even though you are going to Dubai. The trolley-guy tries to coerce you by snatching at your luggage, into renting a 2 wheeled contraption called an airport trolley, which is not free! And if you oblige him, you discover that he is also a part-travel agent. He can move you to the top of the check-in queue, or help you repack your heavy luggage to reduce the weight.

The chaps who man the X-ray machines are the most persuasive extortionists I have ever met, more tenacious than those sea shell and ornament sellers at Alfa beach; these X-ray guys should be political campaign fund-raisers. I cringe for womenfolk when I think about the immigration officers in charge of the X-ray cameras and who views the images. If you are a voluptuous female, then it is happy days.

Then I got to the final officers at the post before the waiting area. These people look through your hand luggage. I was carrying a laptop bag, and once the inspecting officer saw me he smiled. I knew what that meant – he wanted mula.

‘Anything for us sir, we are loyal’ he saluted.

‘Nah mate, sorry. I spent all the naira I had on excess luggage’ I explained

‘Bring any change you have; I am loyal’ he insisted.

‘Ok o, but you would not like it o’ I warned.

‘Make you surprise me’ he dared, closing his eyes.

I reached into my pocket, and out came the only change I had in naira. It was the crummiest, most tattered looking and cello-taped  10 naira you could imagine.

I attempted to squeeze it into his hands discreetly, but as soon as his eyes caught a whiff of the red coloured notes, he suspected that I had given him the ‘wrongest’ denomination.

And he withdrew his hand like I was a leper trying to make contact. ‘Ah! 10 naira, na him you wan take tip me? And you talk say na abroad you de travel. Abeg carry go jor; save journey.’

Na wa o. So this chap is the last line of hospitality between our dear nation and another country? And he is doing security!

These chaps are so focussed on getting tips that I would be surprised if they did their jobs properly.

I can just imagine Mutallab or any other silly terrorist wanna-be being searched by one of these money hungry security agents.

The agent would open the chap’s bags and say ‘ What are these brown candle sticks with peanut powder inside? You de go celebrate birthday for abroad? Abi NEPA de take light for oyibo land?’

The threat would reply uneasily ‘ No, it is just dynamite. I, em…’

Not listening, the agent would interrupt ‘Leave that thing abeg. Anything for the boys…’

With a sick smile, the bomber would reply ‘Yes, how much do you want…’

Stay tuned next week for part 2 of ‘Fly With Me’. Besides do please share your own experiences in Nigerian or foreign airports.

Culled from www.woahnigeria.





I don’t land at an airport/

I call it the clearport/

Jay Z (Excuse Me Miss, 2002)

speak or forever hold ur peace

Girls We Love and Hate
Posted on April 15, 2011 by Esco
Sometime last year, I had an airport run to pick up my aunt from MM2 Ikeja, where she was flying in from Abuja. To beat Lekki traffic, I raced to the airport with hours to spare, and learnt that the flight had been delayed by over 2 hours due to the foggy weather. The airport was chaos defined, with travellers, stranded passengers, ticket touts, skimpy dressed air hostesses and the smell of fufu from Mr. Bigg’s African Kitchen all sharing the same space. The airport AC was blowing hot steam. I decided to split.

To while away time, I decided to drive around the Ikeja area for a bit. I then remembered that I had a friend who lived off Opebi Road. I gave her a ring and she told me to come over, because she was home.

I got to her place, and as soon as she opened the door, my heart missed a beat. In her small living room were 6 night-gown wearing girls, some eating, all gathered around the TV watching a movie. It was like they were having a pyjama slumber party or one of those Ann Summers girl meets. All that was missing were the cuffs and whips, sorry kobokos.

The last time I was around this many women in night wear, I was a 6-year-old who had accompanied my folks to go see my sister on visiting day at her boarding school. My sister, the ever proud elder sibling, had smuggled me into her dormitory to show me off to her friends, as she was putting the provisions we had brought her away. When I entered that Queens College dorm, even at my young age, I knew I was in the presence of greatness. Females of every shape, color and persuasion in a crammed space. They all came to say hi, rubbing my cheek, and pecking me as they remarked on how cute I was.  I like cougars, eh?

Here in present time, the girls nodded as they acknowledge my presence politely before they turned back to the screen. They were watching the Funke Akindele movie “Ladies Men”. They were laughing out loud and passing comments about the film, while criticizing and dissecting the male psyche.

Basically, the movie was a story about how there are different types of men. – the mummy’s boy, the player, the lady beater, the workaholic and the ‘mugu’. The story of the movie revolved around different  female characters’ relationships with men each of whom had the above quality and how that had impacted their relationships.

One of the chicks in my friend’s house (her name was Ese) looked like one of those love battled-scarred females who has had heartbreak trauma from men in her past. She kept on sucking her teeth, anytime any of the male characters in the movie messed up. She kept going on and on about how all men were dogs, especially Nigerian ones. I didn’t mind her saying that, but she kept on looking at me at the same time. As the movie progressed, I noticed that Ese’s aggression had transferred to all the other girls, as they started really cursing out men in general and ex-boyfriends who had wronged them in the past. Suddenly I felt all eyes on me – like small chops on a wedding reception table.

When confronted with hostile situations like that, I did what I do best; I remain as cool as fan, and my mind begins to wonder.

Utilizing the classifications mentioned in the movie, I began to think about the types of girls we have in Nigeria.

The Mummy’s Girl: This type of female divulges everything to her mum, including the words you used when you ‘toasted’ her. In fact her mother has knowledge of the fact that you used a lame line from a Katy Perry lyric when chatting up her daughter for the first time. Baby you are a firework. I means who says that?
Ma has probably read most of your BB messages to your girl, including those ones in which you included those girly smileys J. She has even seen your camp BB profile picture, and is following  (monitoring) you on Facebook under a covert name. Your girlfriend also told her mum how you were a cheap skate on your first date taking her to ‘before 12 noon’ movie on a weekday at Genesis Deluxe Cinema to save the pennies. You didn’t even get popcorn for yourself.

Her mum may also know the size of your agbunna, and have a copy of your birth certificate and passport – as insurance. I can bet that your girl’s favourite movie is Sly Stallone’s “Stop Or My Mum Will Shoot”

My friend dated a chick like this, and he nearly went crazy after a few weeks. The girl confessed to him that she had asked her ma’s permission before she agreed to go steady with him. The mum once called my friend out of the blue, to give him an unsolicited hint as to what Valentine Day’s present to get her daughter.  Thank you Ma, but with all due respect there is no way I am getting your daughter “a mother and daughter” ring set.

I have had a little experience with a Miss Mum’s pet many moons ago. I had been getting prank-calls on my house-line, and whenever I picked up the phone, the person – a female, snickered and dropped. There was this chick I suspected was doing it because we had decided to cool things off some days back. So I called her, and asked her if it were her. Her tone of voice and manner of denial convinced me that it was.

For one, her ‘anger’ seemed to be more than the ‘crime’ I had accused her of. She started laying into me seriously, asking me if I thought that she was so desperate as to be calling my house and hanging up. She started raising her voice, and so her mum who was sitted in the same room as her, asked her what the matter was.

She said “Mummy  come and see this boy  who is feeling special with himself. See me see wahala o. He is accusing me of calling his house and dropping the phone, like I don’t have better things to do.”

I was like ####?

I overheard the mum hiss, and get up as she came to phone, and cursed me out in perfect Edo language: Kevwe apkolovo sakpoba……!!.

All I could get in was “ Mama, o gini biko?”

Moral of the story: beware of lasses with Patience Ozokwo type of mothers.

Workaholic chick – Ah, nothing do this working girl. This one is a career girl who clocks in crazy hours including weekend shifts. In Naija, this type of babes are usually bankers, doctors or private business owners.
A working girl is great; a workaholic one may be a bonus. Unless she is a marketer – then be afraid; be very afraid. Generally, there are few jobs in Nigeria. As far as her office is not Adeyemo Alajika pavement at ungodly hours, you should support any overtime she does.

Career women though, if they get their work-life balance right, are top of the food chain. Babes get your Dora Akinluyi on.




Player- Yes there are women players, and guess what – what a man can do, a woman may do better. Nigerian chaps have egos and every chap will swear on a cutlass that he will cut any cheating girl loose immediately he finds out. Story! Some of these ‘poisonous’ girls, as my pal calls them, are so slick that you would only find out when they themselves are ready to dump you like a pure water sachet.
Bros, you would be there flexing like an oko iyawo, but your position in her life may actually be “assistant boyfriend”. Don’t be mad though; your own even better, as she also has several other males with varying titles on her food chain – deputy boyfriend, mugu, marriage plan B, Aristotle (aristo).

These girls are takers – they will take your time and resources, and take you on a ride.

N.B: Chop and clean mouth. Sing along with me *there are many fish in the sea*

     

4.    Abusive ladies – A more common breed than you think, seeing that most people believe that Naija men are built like tanks and would win any physical fight. Good argument, only that being an abusive lady has nothing to do with physical strength.

These lasses physically and emotionally manipulate and devastate their partners. Who can remember that relationship between Apeno and Chief Jegede Shokoya in the 80s popular TV comedy “New Masquerade”. Jegede was scared shitless of his wife. He also spent many sleepless nights on the couch.

An abusive lady can deny you sex, food, a warm bed, rest of mind, and some can actually beat the crap out of you. Who can remember Serakus the really short Nigerian comedian who was married to a Lady Goliath?

I know this chap who used to date a wildfire chick called Uche. Uche was like that chick in “Why Did I Get Married.” Times 100. The funny thing was that she was a lekpa, but she had rage embedded in her veins.  She was paranoid about her fella cheating on her, and showed up to his office and apartment at impromptu times. If she came to his flat and she suspected that he was in and refusing to open the door to let her in, her mind went on a fantasy spin. Once she kicked in the door, and ran from room to room looking for the ‘girl’. No one was in – not even her boyfriend. She called a carpenter pronto.

Another time, she knocked and he did not hear because he was passed out on his couch, so she smashed his car side mirrors and headlights with her Birkin bag. It did much damage; the bag contained make-up, a Harry Potter novel, a huge dictionary, 3 phones, keys, and some other heavy material.

These types of women are difficult to decipher. When you break up with them, your  clueless family members wonder why you sent a wife material away. In fact, your siblings may say you were just tripping as all they can see outwardly is a “model citizen”

In fact chicks like this are nice to all your friends and family while you are dating. Two days after the wedding, they are trying to force you and your mum into the washing machine and press “fast spin”

N.B: Avoid unless someone in your village is a dibia or babalawo, and you want to send business his way frequently.

Also memorize the road to Yaba Hospital; you will visit there often.



Mugu – These are feeble ladies who do everything their boyfriend tells them without protesting. Girls like this usually fall out with or do not keep in touch with their close friends once they get into a relationship.
All this ‘ride or die’ babe want is love and attention from their chaps, and they will do absolutely anything. In the hands of the wrong man, a mugu girl can be a dangerous weapon. She soon gets transformed into a cook/washerman/sex machine/house-keeper/bank/messenger/obi oma.

Of course there are your average “girl next door” type of lasses, who do not necessarily fall under any of the above categories but it seems they may be an endangered species.

Which type of female are you; and if you are a lad, tell us about your experiences with any of the above.


Got a project chick, that plays her part/
And if it goes down y’all that’s my heart/
Baby girl so thorough she been with me from the start/

Jay Z (Girls, Girls, Girls 2001)

culled from www.woahnigeria.

There is a statistic that one out of every four black African persons is a Nigerian. Seeing that we are a nation of nomads, travelers and soldiers of fortune, we are to be found in almost every nook and cranny of God’s green earth.  There is probably a Nigerian somewhere selling tippers of sand to Eskimos in the Arctic region. However, the common countries where Nigerians seek better fortunes are the UK (Jand), USA (Yankee), Canada (Ice Box), South Africa (Southie) and recently Dubai (Sandie?).

Every now and then, you hear an adventure story of ‘The Lord of the Rings’ proportions about Nigerians who travelled to places like Gabon, Singapore and China for education and hustling. Sweden seems to be popular recently, though Nigerians that venture there do not do so because they love Abba and Volvos; the tertiary school tuition is said to be free.

However, recently on the Nairaland website, I was surprised to hear that Nigerians can be found in places like Cuba, Andorra, Croatia and far-away Australia! Na wa o. Nothing surprises me anymore, so do not be awed when you hear that someone is raking in millions, selling a delicacy called Kangaroo suya in Sydney.

Nigerians are known to look out for each other at varying degrees; depending on what country they are domiciled. You will find that those living in America and Scotland are a bit closer. In the latter, cold and congee may have a say. However some have complained that Nigerians in Canada keep to themselves, and Nigerians in Jand have an unfortunate reputation as being ‘aka gums’ (tight fisted in Ibo) who keep to themselves. Having lived in England myself, I always tell the critics that they should try driving to meet up or buying a 5-Zone Oyster card every single time someone visits from Nigeria on holidays. London is bloody expensive sha, and there is precious little time for anything else but work. Nigerians do try to keep in touch and remain friendly with their compatriots living in the same country, but only for economic and emotional benefit. I wonder what the Nigerians in Cuba say to each other when they meet?

So how do you recognize your countryman at a public place in a foreign country? How do you tell a Bolaji apart from a Taniqua, Shaniqua, Quanesha, Lashonda, Tomica and a Kenyatta? How can you find that? How do you know that girl sitting across from you in the Tube is even from your hometown, before she betrays that fact by answering a call from Nigeria, during which she starts her conversation with ‘How far now?’ Where can you locate the Nigerians in your town for carriage or marriage?

I must warn that there are no hard and fast rules. I promise to give you some guidelines, if you promise to go over and say hi, anytime my guidelines work. Deal?

■Nigerians walk into a place like they own it. That chap that struts with his chest out as he strolls into the lecture room at your postgraduate university even though he is late and everyone is seated is most definitely a Nigerian. He was most probably a banker in Nigeria, who decided to save up and travel to do his Masters. And.he.wants.everybody.to.know.


I remember travelling for summer to America from Jand some years back. My cousin decided to take me to a mall which is one of the largest malls in the U.S (think more than 5 times bigger than Shoprite) because I wanted to go to the Lacoste flagship store to cop some alligator polos. When we got there, we parked in the indoor garage, and I got down from the passenger side and started working towards the entrance to the Mall, as my cousin locked up the car.

When we both got inside I was walking in front of my cousin strolling through the aisles.  After a few minutes, cousin tapped me on the shoulder and drew me aside, with a confused look on his face and asked ‘Dude, you done come here before?’

I replied ‘No, at all. Why?’

He sighed as he shrugged his shoulders ‘Men, the way you just waka enter inside with your head up, you dey flex like say you done come here like one million times. Na wa o.’



Ah, make them write JJC for my forehead because I never come somewhere before? That attitude we have when we enter a place, stand at the entrance, and throw a sweeping gaze at every one of the million bewildered people there is called ‘I No Send.’

Good or bad? You be the judge.

■Nigerians talk on their phone like they are speaking into a microphone connected to a public address system. They put their business out there like you won’t believe. So if you spot someone from afar chatting into the phone, while gesticulating wildly with his arms, like he has beef with the handset itself, that’s probably a Naija person. Never mind, if you do not recognize the dialect he is speaking.


■In Yankee, if you see a middle aged person in a nurse’s uniform, go and hug them and introduce yourself. You probably have just seen a brother or a sister. It does not mean you will get free medical treatment.


■Our appearance. Nigerian men can have huge folds behind our heads! I don’t know what it is about our food but it goes straight to our ogos and necks. Huge neck folds may combine well with traditional clothes, but when a thick necked fella wears a skinny tie and a waist coat, We also have a culture of wearing slippers, so you are likely to recognize a Nigerian when you see a monster toed man wearing a bathroom slippers (some people pronounce it as ‘silpas’ to a public place.


■During my stint in Scotland, it was noticed that Nigerian guys usually liked hanging out in clubs, leaning against the wall facing the exit. Two or three guys would contribute and a 30 bucks bottle of champagne, while 6-10 other Naija boys would scramble around, trying to get some in their plastic cups or pint glasses.


■Take a trip to any major NEXT clothes store every December 24th/26th (when they have their annual 40% super sales), you will see people that you had not seen since nursery in Nigeria. Even that uncle that owes your folks money, and faked his own death and burial in Nigeria, would be here. Nigerians love NEXT sales, but most of all they love awoof!  The NEXT Clearance Store in Leeds used to clean out due to Naija people who would book cheap tickets week in advance to take a 3 hours train journey from London to Leeds; we have now shifted our custom to the Clearance stores in Bicester, Oxford.


If you also see a black person pushing a trolley overflowing with both men and women’s clothing in Ross, that person is Nigerian.

■Go to the Bissonet area of Houston Texas, Woolwich in England, or any major square in Toronto, Canada or Frankfurt Germany and shout out randomly ‘Emeka! Ade!’ I swear someone will answer you with a ‘Present Sir!’


Do not shout out the name ‘Efe’ or ‘Alero’ in Rome though, unless you have change for agbanas.

Nigerians boku for some areas sha.

The one that always amuses me is that the ones that live in the less glam areas or slum parts of the cities are usually snobbish and unfriendly to each other.

■We fancy big and flashy cars. Even the ones struggling to make ends meet, make sure they drive solid whips. Some brands are better preferred like Toyota Camry or Corolla. In fact if your car breaks down on a major road, do not bother calling the AAA; just stand by the road and wave any dark skinned drivers in Toyota Camry, and beg in pidgin ‘My car  battery done pafuka. Abeg make you help me come push am make im jump start.’


■That sister who does not smile, and is always typing away on her BB. Sorry but some Nigerians girls, especially when they just move abroad newly should start their own BANS movement – Babes Are Not Smiling. Why are they always screwing their faces in the public like ‘No one should dare approach me; I am not on your level.’


I know one oyibo guy who fancied this bootylicious Nigerian female at one firm I was doing part-time work, but he complained that in his team, everybody was scared of the lass. She was always short with everybody and ate lunch alone.

Nigerian girls fit bone face! Dem no dey get neutral facial expressional at all; especially if they are in a place where they do not really know anyone. That’s how you can identify them in a room full of Taniquas and Desantas.

Sister cooloo temper o. Approach a brother and tell him that you need a hug.

■They love wearing leather jackets. After watching all those hiphop artists like P.Diddy and Kanye sport leather jackets in music videos, some Naija people decide to wear all the leather they couldn’t wear in Nigeria when they get abroad. Some even start from Murtala Mohammed Airport, in damn near 70 degree weather. Some break out stone-wash jackets with studs and shoulder pads like the Felix Liberty and Alex Zitto era.


Some chaps here sport head-warmers in the summer, confusing the poor oyibo people they school and work with. One oyibo man had to ask one Naija JJC who had reported to work in the middle of English summer, wearing a jumper with a button up under, and a bubble-goose Northface jacket on top ‘Are you alright mate? You are sweating buckets, ”

Share your thoughts and experiences.

culled from www.woahnigeria.

Even our public office holders in Nigeria have caught the bug. Trust them to take it to another level that even Research In Motion had not even envisaged. I was watching a program on national TV some weeks back, and it was interview between a government official and a talk show host/ social critic. The host asked the government official how he keeps in touch with his local and state constituency in the South South, despite always travelling abroad on ‘official trips”, living and operating from Abuja and not going to his state due to the political upheavals and rising crime rate. He answered with a straight face ” How I keep in touch with my constituency? Very simple. Two words. Blackberry.”

I thought blackberry was one word.

The BB is also guilty of being at the centre of a few incidents too.

About two years ago, I used to work for this company where all the senior managers were given BBs for official tasks. There was this particular manager, Mr.Babatunde, married, about 38, who was very loud. He fancied one of our co-workers, a svelte, pretty girl called Nora whose desk was in the open plan layout just in front of his. Nora was not interested in him in the least, so Mr. B was fond of doing stuff to try to get her attention. He would come out of his office, acting like he was on a very important call to a foreign client with his voice loud saying stuff like “Yes Mr. Smithers. You can email me anytime on my Blackberry” or boasting like ” Please forward my itinerary to my Blackberry. I fly out to London, first thing next week.”

It was hopeless because Nora refused to give him the time of day or go out with him.

On one particular day, he was bragging away loudly to someone on his BB as he was coming out of his office, and looked towards Nora to see if she was listening to his conversation. He did not look at the ground in front of him, and tripped over a stack of cable wires which connected the office server to all the PCs. Some of the wires cut, and disrupted the whole company’s internet connectivity for the whole day until an engineer came over to sort it out. No real work could be done in the office for almost 24 hours. Client deadlines couldn’t be met that day and everything regarding office work ground to a halt. Not good.

One of the directors called him into the office and gave him a reprimand and an official query. By the time he came out, he looked really humiliated. I guess, for him, it was a huge learning, err, Curve.

We are all guilty of going to public or private functions – parties, weddings, get togethers, restaurant openings, barbeques, and bury their heads in their phones and so do not interact socially. Balance is crucial.

The BB has even created a special industry – the BB pouch or rubber-case making industry. Some people have 3 or 4 different BB covers or pouches to protect their dear BB, but no deodorant or anti-pespirant for protection from sweat. Charity starts at phone, sorry home.

A few people simply detest the phone’s popularity and believe that it to be a symbol of the excess, materialism and vanity that is plaguing middle Nigeria at the moment. Dude, it is just a phone. Blame it on the individual and not the product. Don’t shoot the err, blackberry, messenger

http://woahnigeria./2010/09/16/naija-berry/

The date was 30th of September 2010, at about 2100 hours. I stopped over to visit my sister and her kids, and she had convinced me to stay over for the night. I was about to tuck into a nice plate of ngwongwo, when PHCN (NEPA to you) did what they do best.

So I stepped outside to the generator house to put on the 5.5 KVA machine. It was very dark everywhere, so I was using the light from my blackberry device to guide myself.

I grabbed a hold of the cord for starting the generator on, as it was a manual starter “I better pass my neighbor” brand.


yanked the manual start cord



As I pulled at the cord to kick start it, the momentum took me backwards and I tripped over a rubber football (felele as it is known as) left behind by my sister’s kids and fell and bumped the back of my head on the hard concrete.

Dazed, I passed out….

…when I opened my eyes, I found myself surrounded by people.

I started hearing different voices:

“I hope you are alright mister…”

“Somebody, call a doctor…”

“Can I get some change? Please does anyone have 5 kobo so that I can use the phone machine…”

“There you go”

“Hurry call the paramedics”

“Oh he is trying to stand up…”

I looked around me, as I tried to get up to my feet. It was daytime, and I saw well dressed people in city striped suits and formal wear, looking like they were on their way to work.

Feeling a bit groggy, and shaking my head, I said “I’m fine, cheers…”

My words trailed off, as I took in the scenery around me.

I was on the sidewalk of the widest boulevard I had ever seen. It beats the Vegas strip hands down.

Looking around me, with some members of the crowd staring at me to see my reaction, I saw what looked like a central business area with wide roads, sky scrapers, apartment blocks, glass buildings, over-head trains like the ones in Japan, trams, metal dust bins, people scurrying to and fro, outdoor cafes serving bistros, lattes, rolls and coffee.

I was astounded.

Most of the crowd around me had dispersed, but there were a few people who were still hanging around, including the middle-aged man dressed casually in corduroy pants and a button up shirt who had asked for change to call the paramedics earlier.

My mouth still agape, I whispered the question “I have a feeling I am not in Kansas…sorry , Ketu anymore. Where am I?”

The guy didn’t know what to make of me but replied “Welcome to the New Republic of Nigeria”

Spreading my gaze at the streets and well dressed commuters I asked “Who organized all this? P.Diddy?”

The man said “No, our president is called President BRF the III”

I was confused “Did you say JFK?”

The man corrected me “No, his name is BRF.”

I was like “Wow!”

The chap, who later introduced himself as Tamuno, further said “It seems that you are still in a trance. People saw you walking past, and the next thing, you just fainted. Don’t try to talk, the paramedics and police are on the way”

Ignoring his latest comment, I spied a neat yellow and black stripped double-decker bus with number 50 on top of the driver’s wind-shield, stopping to pick up a queue of neatly dressed passengers at an air-conditioned bus shelter.

The bus also had its destination written above its number.

I asked “Where is this? Canary Wharf?”

Tamuno replied “ No, Apapa Wharf extension. Ajegunle to be precise.”


Ajegunle, yes I know



Ajegunle was better than Canary Wharf in London. People were whistling as they went about their business. I started walking on the streets, trying to take in the wonderful sights of a metropolis around me. Everyone looked cosmopolitan. No putrid smells, no poo and piss on the floors. I saw a butcher’s shop and he was offering prime cuts of ponmo, shaki , okporoko and obokun fish for sale at N1.50 per kilo! He also had suya for sale at the back of the abattoir. I suddenly developed a craving for steak!

Tamuno was staring at me, like he wondered whether I was losing my marbles.

I saw phone boxes and lamp posts on every corner. A newspaper vendor was selling papers from an air-conditioned off-license shop. I was about to step into the shop to take a closer look at the newspaper headlines, when a police car, with its siren off, pulled up by the curb.

A smartly dressed cop came out of the car. He was dressed in a white epaulette shirt with green trimmings, with smart black pants and the shiniest boots I had ever seen. His cop hat was pure white too, and he had a walkie-talkie and a baton. I noticed that his uniform did not have big pockets. How dem one do that one. This na designer olopa.

“Hello Sir, we got a distress call.”

I explained what happened to him, that I just found myself on the floor in a daze. I also explained that I could not remember what had happened before. I was lost. All I remember was driving to my sister’s house in Ikeja.

The police man took out a pen and a pad, and asked me if I could remember my post code.

Post code ke? All I could remember was that I lived in Lekki, after 3rd roundabout. There was a big refuse dump post around there though with scrap metal hawkers and “I-wan-buy-paper” merchants.

He opined that my postcode will probably be LK 20.

Wow. So them get postcode for Naija now? I mean some streets never even used to be numbered properly. You fit see number 3, then see number 205, and then the house after that will be number 15b then an empty plot of land with a “Beware of 419; Land Not For Sale” sign bearing plot 48.

http://woahnigeria./2010/09/30/no-malice-in-nigeria-wonderland-nigeria-independence-special/

The date was 30th of September 2010, at about 2100 hours. I stopped over to visit my sister and her kids, and she had convinced me to stay over for the night. I was about to tuck into a nice plate of ngwongwo, when PHCN (NEPA to you) did what they do best.

So I stepped outside to the generator house to put on the 5.5 KVA machine. It was very dark everywhere, so I was using the light from my blackberry device to guide myself.

I grabbed a hold of the cord for starting the generator on, as it was a manual starter “I better pass my neighbor” brand.


yanked the manual start cord


As I pulled at the cord to kick start it, the momentum took me backwards and I tripped over a rubber football (felele as it is known as) left behind by my sister’s kids and fell and bumped the back of my head on the hard concrete.

Dazed, I passed out….

…when I opened my eyes, I found myself surrounded by people.

I started hearing different voices:

“I hope you are alright mister…”

“Somebody, call a doctor…”

“Can I get some change? Please does anyone have 5 kobo so that I can use the phone machine…”

“There you go”

“Hurry call the paramedics”

“Oh he is trying to stand up…”

I looked around me, as I tried to get up to my feet. It was daytime, and I saw well dressed people in city striped suits and formal wear, looking like they were on their way to work.

Feeling a bit groggy, and shaking my head, I said “I’m fine, cheers…”

My words trailed off, as I took in the scenery around me.

I was on the sidewalk of the widest boulevard I had ever seen. It beats the Vegas strip hands down.

Looking around me, with some members of the crowd staring at me to see my reaction, I saw what looked like a central business area with wide roads, sky scrapers, apartment blocks, glass buildings, over-head trains like the ones in Japan, trams, metal dust bins, people scurrying to and fro, outdoor cafes serving bistros, lattes, rolls and coffee.

I was astounded.

Most of the crowd around me had dispersed, but there were a few people who were still hanging around, including the middle-aged man dressed casually in corduroy pants and a button up shirt who had asked for change to call the paramedics earlier.

My mouth still agape, I whispered the question “I have a feeling I am not in Kansas…sorry , Ketu anymore. Where am I?”

The guy didn’t know what to make of me but replied “Welcome to the New Republic of Nigeria”


, Spreading my gaze at the streets and well dressed commuters I asked “Who organized all this? P.Diddy?”

The man said “No, our president is called President BRF the III”

I was confused “Did you say JFK?”

The man corrected me “No, his name is BRF.”

I was like “Wow!”

The chap, who later introduced himself as Tamuno, further said “It seems that you are still in a trance. People saw you walking past, and the next thing, you just fainted. Don’t try to talk, the paramedics and police are on the way”

Ignoring his latest comment, I spied a neat yellow and black stripped double-decker bus with number 50 on top of the driver’s wind-shield, stopping to pick up a queue of neatly dressed passengers at an air-conditioned bus shelter.

The bus also had its destination written above its number.

I asked “Where is this? Canary Wharf?”

Tamuno replied “ No, Apapa Wharf extension. Ajegunle to be precise.”


Ajegunle, yes I know


Ajegunle was better than Canary Wharf in London. People were whistling as they went about their business. I started walking on the streets, trying to take in the wonderful sights of a metropolis around me. Everyone looked cosmopolitan. No putrid smells, no poo and piss on the floors. I saw a butcher’s shop and he was offering prime cuts of ponmo, shaki , okporoko and obokun fish for sale at N1.50 per kilo! He also had suya for sale at the back of the abattoir. I suddenly developed a craving for steak!

Tamuno was staring at me, like he wondered whether I was losing my marbles.

I saw phone boxes and lamp posts on every corner. A newspaper vendor was selling papers from an air-conditioned off-license shop. I was about to step into the shop to take a closer look at the newspaper headlines, when a police car, with its siren off, pulled up by the curb.

A smartly dressed cop came out of the car. He was dressed in a white epaulette shirt with green trimmings, with smart black pants and the shiniest boots I had ever seen. His cop hat was pure white too, and he had a walkie-talkie and a baton. I noticed that his uniform did not have big pockets. How dem one do that one. This na designer olopa.

“Hello Sir, we got a distress call.”

I explained what happened to him, that I just found myself on the floor in a daze. I also explained that I could not remember what had happened before. I was lost. All I remember was driving to my sister’s house in Ikeja.

The police man took out a pen and a pad, and asked me if I could remember my post code.

Post code ke? All I could remember was that I lived in Lekki, after 3rd roundabout. There was a big refuse dump post around there though with scrap metal hawkers and “I-wan-buy-paper” merchants.

He opined that my postcode will probably be LK 20.

Wow. So them get postcode for Naija now? I mean some streets never even used to be numbered properly. You fit see number 3, then see number 205, and then the house after that will be number 15b then an empty plot of land with a “Beware of 419; Land Not For Sale” sign bearing plot 48.


, The Eko City Project was now New Eko City. Apartment blocks and commercial buildings there surpassed New York’s Time Square or London’s Leicester Square. I rubbed my eyes in amazement.

Imo State Airport was now a huge international hub with landing for all sizes of planes. You did not have to wait for 2 hours to collect your luggage after a 45 minute flight.

But there was no need to travel by air all the time. Trains from Iddo St Pancras Terminus in Lagos ran to all 36 states and major cities on the African continent.

Nnewi in Anambra State now had a Rolls Royce manufacturing plant for both car and airplane engines. ANAMACO made all the buses and heavy haulage trucks used in Nigeria and most of Africa.

A Nigerian Fortune 500 company based in Ibadan produced mix and match chocolates sweets with Choco-milo, Goody Goody and Go-go in a bag. People came from all round the world to buy Nigerian confectionary. With its abundance in cocoa, Naija was better known than Switzerland and Belgium for chocolate making.

Nasco cornflakes and Okin biscuits had staged a successful comeback. Nasco Industries had bought a 60 per cent stake in Kelloggs, and were producing Nasco Cassava flakes which were a hit. There was version with ‘gra-nut’ in the bag too.

The entertainment industry had witnessed a second boom!

Eze Goes to School and Tales by moonlight were hits with the kids all around the world and were a huge franchise with on branded mugs, school bags, plates, bed-sheets, duvets, toys etc.

I saw a kid playing with a Kunkuru action figure. The action figure looked more buff than He-Man.

I was amazed.

A father was in a store trying to buy a gift – an Uche Jombo doll (miniature) - for his daughter.

The Jombo doll was now outselling Barbie and Tickle Me Elmo as the top toy for kids.

Fans from all over the world came to FESTAC to see Tuface Idibia’s house, as it was listed on the Nollywood star maps.

Aki and Pawpaw were now dating the Olsen Twins. Good on them!

“Captain Africa: The Movie” was a major hit in Nollywood and Hollywood outselling Spiderman 10 and Iron Man 6.

Superstory had up to season 14 and won an Emmy, and Binta was bigger than Blake Lively of Gossip Girl!

Benbella comics were now as world-reknowned as the Archie and Tin-Tin series.

The story of Ananse (the tortoise) became the new Harry Potter. Children from all over the world camped outside major stores like Abiola Bookshop and Baba Odu Bookshop in Surulere, waiting until midnight to buy the new book in the series, by the name of Ananse: The Witch’s Stone.

I passed by a plasma and LCD television store on Oshodi high street and one of the TVs was showing the preview of new Nollywood movie and amazingly nobody was slapped in the preview. You still needed to make any enquiries at Iweka Road Onitsha or Pound Road Aba though.

Jim Iyke wore clothes that matched.

TFC was the largest food franchise in the world with more than a 1000 outlets in North America and Europe.

Kas Chicken made a comeback and became the new TGI Friday, offering 33 beer and puff puff as their specialty.

In fashion, Kesse Jabari also made a comeback, and became so big that he made bespoke outfits for Obama, and had just bought over Marc Jacobs. He ran amok with his scissors and colors combinations.

The Super Striker cartoon had been made into a hit anime, with fans exchanging and trading Manga cards on the internet for big bucks.

We could order all types of items on Amazon and E-bay to be delivered to Nigeria because Nigeria had been delisted from the fraud list.

Jenifa 3D had just come out in the cinemas, though Aiyetoro village was now a seaside resort

Osaze Odemwengie and Munachi Abi were the new Posh and Becks.

Banky W and Craig David recorded an album together.

Nigeria’s space program was the most advanced one in the world, and our Space Agency had sent people to the planet Mars years before. In fact LCC had even built highways there and were finishing touches on a toll-gate. I hear the native Martians were not happy about it.

Nigeria was not dependant on petroleum anymore for its main source of revenue. There were huge farms and plantations in every state growing and exporting cash crops and food crops like cocoa, rubber, groundnuts, beans, rice, yams etc.

The Federal Government was paying farmers an incentive to discourage them from growing palm-oil as it was now over-produced.

In fact individual states had found various mineral resources to export. Delta State produced some of the world’s most decorated water Olympiads winning gold medals at the recently concluded Zamfara Olympics in sports like diving, swimming and water polo.

Imo State now looked like Monaco. Tourists came from far and wide to sail their boats on Oguta Lake and jet-ski on the Imo River. Owerri was a sprawling city, transformed from an education and civil service town to an industrial powerhouse courtesy of its oil wells.

READ THE REST AT: http://woahnigeria./2010/09/30/no-malice-in-nigeria-wonderland-nigeria-independence-special/

I have an aunt who asks you for where a person is from before the person’s name, occupation or achievements.

Say auntie, my friend won a 20m contract. Where is he from?

Auntie, my work-mate’s dad died of cancer. Where is he from?

Auntie my wife is with child. Where is she from?

Auntie, my dog got kidnapped on the street. Where is it from?

Give it a rest already.

You wouldn’t want to be like her though. She met her husband at the village stream in the 1960s, and has only been outside her village once. She calls Lagos, Ragos and cooks all her meals. She also only found out that Nigeria has 36 states. She thinks Obama is Igbo too. And from Ebonyi state. As if.

People in Nigeria that are well travelled or have lived in states outside their state of origin are better informed, more tolerant and less likely to be racist or “tribalisitic”. The only exception is if you are Igbo and live in Festac, Bariga, Okota, Ikate or Houston, Texas. Or if you are Yoruba and live in Peckham, Brixton or Woolich. Ha-ha!

A Yoruba friend of mine married an Ibo girl, and the mother -in -law changed her name the day after the wedding. Her name was changed from Ada to Adebukunola. She learnt the culture and now serves him akpu combined with eforiro and ewedu. She has learnt to pour raw garri on his cooked beans too.

Wow. Talk about racial integration.

http://woahnigeria./2010/09/17/you-must-love-me/

a little off topic but read this:

At times, it is possible to get a brief peek at the mindset of men on the subject of roles and get a sense of the kind of relationship and communication some men expect from a partner. You may get an idea when you hear opinions during general conversations among singletons in a casual environment like a bar.

A good few years back, I was at bar and grill somewhere on the mainland with about 6 friends and a discussion came up what we would do if any of our girlfriends told us she was pregnant.

Some answers were straightforward, some were downright bizarre. But there was this chap called Triple X whose answer shocked everyone, as he dragged on his Benson cigarette nonchalantly: “If my girl got knocked up, she would not even come and tell me because she knows what my reaction would be. Rather she would tell me later that she was preggy before but she has now removed it via abortion, so I should not worry about it as she has now taken care of it.”

http://woahnigeria./2010/10/15/let-us-play-mama-and-papa/

pls how long does an EAD take to arrive after the I-765 has been filed. any info will be appreciated.

It is Sunday February 13th, and I am at a convenience store picking up my favorite box of cereals and a gallon of milk to boot. Everywhere is full, especially with anxious looking chaps trying to do some last minute Valentines Day gift shopping. There are a couple of females too, but they look far more relaxed, picking up stuff like gadgets, electronics, video games and perfumes.

To my right, I spy a nervous looking man. He picked up a box of Godiva chocolates and a Sex and the City box set. Looking grossly undecided, he dropped it and then picked up a huge Teddy bear. In my mind, I was like, don’t do it player! After reflecting for a while, he decided to get a sizzling La Pearla lingerie set. My man! Love is about sharing, no?

When it comes to V-Day, I must confess, I am the worst. I once had an ex-girlfriend tell me that I was very error prone during Valentine’s Day. I seem to endure a reluctant passion towards Cupid’s birthday. I get it all wrong, just like a rich Igbo millionaire trader does with his pronunciation when he calls it “Valantine.” So shoot me. Some girls I dated nearly did,

This blog is crazy. Read the rest on this link; http://woahnigeria./2011/02/15/valentines-day-blues/

yes it is, call me on 08027977777 and quote nairaland

When I look at the world today, especially Nigeria and I see the way children are brought up and the influences they are exposed to, my heart weeps. Not to be a doomsday monger – I mean Nigeria is one the last cultural bastions of child discipline and infantile nurturing. Back in the 80s, there was a hit program on TV where the key word was “Shokolokobangoshe”; there was an Uncle on the program, I can’t remember his name, who asked the kids quiz questions on random subjects, and if they answered correctly they had the chance to play a shooting game with a toy gun with rubber bullets aimed at a dart-board. If they aimed and shot properly, they got a commendation from Uncle and a pack of Yum Yum potato chips, the coolest snack ever. That was childhood defined in 80s Nigeria in a sense – a strong, moralistic nurturing uncle or adult, snacks or treats to reward resourcefulness or good behavior, and a lesson to be learned at the end of every interaction.

Now children sit in front of the TV, watching a huge pot-bellied purple dinosaur jump about excitedly like bad eko. I was at a Genesis cinema at Shoprite some time back, and some parents brought their kids to watch the movie “Zohan”. Are you kidding me, http://woahnigeria./2010/10/15/save-all-under-aged-children-esco-s-a-u-c-e/

Still available

Still available

There seems to be a misconception that all people that live in the Lekki area are affluent and will be able to afford any tolls or levies imposed on them without breaking a sweat. I respect a government trying to develop infrastructure by private participation and concessioning but utlimately the government has to consider the socio-economic effect on the common man.

LCC keeps insisting that there will be an alternative route to the planned tolled expressway for road-users who want to avoid paying the toll but we all know that when the Nigerian factor comes into play, that "alternative road" would be more gridlocked than the road to Noah's ark.

Lekki is the more overrated place on planet earth, and yet the government wants to make it more expensive to live in. Please everyone should read this article, it is a fantastic read: http://woahnigeria./2010/11/02/pump-pump-and-the-scramble-for-lekki/

I have read some of the comments here, some funny, some outrightly ridiculous, some moot.

I believe that we are all citizens of the world, and can live and work anywhere they please on God's green earth. Mobility of labour is a 21st Century concept, anyway.

@OP: when you move to Nigeria, you will find out that earning N2m will not eradicate some of the challenges you will face. Nigeria is a land of "bosses from hell"

Please everyone should check out this funny blog article: http://woahnigeria./2010/10/04/bosses-from-hell/

In Nigeria, cops would never police you properly, and never seem to be available when a crime is being committed especially violent ones like armed robbery or kidnappings. It makes you wonder where they are always rushing to when they try to force other road-users off the road by blaring their sirens and waving their guns and batons to weave through heavy traffic. All their braggadocio and fearless swagger seem to be only for unarmed civilians, or when they are manning check-points where they collect their direct deposits. It is funny how their usual investigative question to the robbery victim is “Who do you suspect?” Be careful who you make enemies with,

Many times I have switched lanes on the highway, because a van carrying policeman or members of the Rapid Response Squad are driving in front of me. That is because a policeman in the van had his AK47 rifle sitting idly on his lap with the nozzle pointed directly towards me and my windscreen. Accidental discharge no be crime.

What especially gets my goat, are officers who can’t speak proper English are able to quote verbatim, the rules and laws an offender has purportedly broken, and off course the penalties as well,

Click on this link for the rest: http://woahnigeria./2010/09/05/mr-officer-mr-officer/

It is a popular school of thought that Nigerian marriages last because our institution of marriage is premised on core African cultural principles.

The husband and the wife know their clearly-defined roles. The man is the bread-winner/hunter/gatherer and custodian of the community ideals. The woman is the home-maker/chef/nurse/change-nurse/ incubator and the conduit pipe of moral values.

Of course, things are changing; Western education, exposure and global culture continually erode traditional roles and notions of the duties of spouses in their marriages. It is not uncommon to see Mama Wale pursue a career in investment banking, while Papa Ihuoma may happily help change the baby’s soiled nappies. Baba Ismaila may even be persuaded to operate and push the baby pram while his wife sorts out the blown electric fuse in the house,

For the rest, read this link: http://woahnigeria./2010/10/15/let-us-play-mama-and-papa/

So many comments on here. I would refer you to these links on marriage. Please also let your husband read them, especially the first link

http://woahnigeria./2010/10/15/let-us-play-mama-and-papa/

http://woahnigeria./2010/09/12/marriage-or-carriage/

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sold! sold!! sold!!!

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