You said I have lost the juice
Looked at me and said, 'you ain't got no mojo, I deduce'
Told me my once mighty pen 'don' turned into a moose
Said my poems can turn no captives loose
Told me the hustle 'don' turned me into a literary recluse
Said all fertilizing words from God cannot get me to reproduce
Then, told me that you saw me and mediocrity making a truce.

Understand this:
Bashorun's pen still got the sauce
The spirit of life giving it a blinding gloss
The ink still delivers a decimating loss
So don't believe it is rendered useless by sin's dross
For it bathes daily at the fountain near calvary's cross
In the city where the savior sits on the throne as the eternal boss.

Beeni,
Mo lo, mo tun pada de.
Afi bi agbo to tadi seyin.

Indeed, I left but still returned.
Like that angry ram that stepped back a bit.

For He that sent me never bade me to stop.
And He that gave me this beautiful feet also gave a terribly strong Aba-made shoe to run always.
#Bashorun
#Isaiah50:4

dominique:
He's a cat with 27 lives, he keeps returning with different handles after getting banned. Freelance writers should be on the lookout for him. Kindly tag me the moment you suspect you're dealing with one of his handles. Those freelance accounts he's using to dupe writers need to be flagged and taken down.

Thank you!

SoapQueen:


This guy just scammed me! What I did was to post the work I wrote for him immediately on my blog, so that if his client tries posting it, it will be a stolen content.

He was begging me to help him complete his E-book! Can you please drop your phone number so that we can talk?

07068571731

delishpot:


Wow. Any way, What kind of things do you write about? I may keep an eye out for gigs for you Sha. I can't promise anything for sure but... I WI keep you in mind.

Academic
Cryptocurrency
Motivational
I have basically written a lot about so many that it is hard to keep up. Been freelancing for three years now

delishpot:
Haba, that 1,8 is it in naira?

Yup
1.8 naira

Picture 1 is one of his numerous lines that he uses to scam writers
Picture 2 is the big reveal where I bust his bubbles

BEWARE OF FIDELIS

My previous messages with him on other line
Where he refused to pay.

And hey, he uses Odama Odama Benedict as a new scam GT bank account to fool writers

Here, I began playing along his game just to waste his time

Fidelis Aganyi is not a new name to many freelancers on the Nairaland platform. Take for instance, if any new moniker comes up offering writing gigs and making ridiculous claim, there is a high possibility that people will suspect Fidelis at work. Trust me, he is like a scammer with nine lives who has wrecked many writers by giving them long projects and then skipping out on paying them.

I first encountered him under his moniker, MesutOzil and phone number, +2347030681752. At that initial contact, I did a backbreaking gig of 30k words for him within 6 days and he skipped on paying me about 30k out of the deal. At first, I was calm about it but then really got pissed off at haven being scammed by him. Just like a seasoned sly son of a b*tch that he is, he came again with a new gig and promised to pay everything at once. Needless to say, he scammed me of 12k extra even though he showed me pictures of the gig being accepted.

I went on a crazy rant on his watsapp page, called and threatened his little cousin, and even begged his mom to talk to her erring son.
Yet, nothing happened as he continued to skip out on paying me. After a while and following advice from other people he scammed, I stopped and focused on other clients. All the while I was silent, the little runt kept on showing pictures of the 550k phones he had gotten while posting meme pictures of hardwork and shit like that. Still, I kept my cool and did not confront him.

Fast forward to last week Tuesday, a new number chatted me up on watsapp with this number +2348066666856 while
claiming to work for a HIGH elite team of writers. At first he wanted me to write me to write on a medical book and while it did not pan out, he returned with another offer for me to write 30k words in 4 days.

The message smelt very suspicious so I copied the number and pasted on Nairaland, guess the moniker that owns the number?
IamVj.
The same that used Forevermore, Vjsmiles, stevengerrard, Benthom, amazinghope, Fidelmalek, HendrixAya and MesutOzil online.

I wanted to discharge a stream of well aimed curses at the thieving welp but I just decided to go through with fooling him. At least, I prayed that the deadline would pass and he would not have the opportunity of going to look for other newbie writers to scam.

Fellas, beware of this beast Fidelis Aganyi.
Beware of this perfect scum and waste of Ukwada's sperm.
Beware of this prowling vulture that lurks on Nairaland and waits to feed off the efforts of other writers.

Always make your research and if it turns out to be Fidelis, I hope you are so close enough to arrest him and turn him over to the police.

Fidelis omo ale, time is ticking to your tragic end I assure you

Advice for freelancers

This beastial deviant will definitely up his game by getting new phone numbers, so you have to up your ante as well
1. Always research on the client offering you a gig
2. If the client always requests for update every six hours, you may have a Fidelis smiling behind the mask.
3. If he wants you to finish a 30k words at a very short time and with no monetary assurance, be very careful

I TOL EM

I tol em Editor family of mine never to stop writing.
Informing them of the need to string the "ABC" lines if they found themselves being pummeled by that heavyweight champion of despair whose name is 'writers block'.

Tol em to write lines;
About that clear stream they drank from,
Based in the district, 'confession', and protected by the 'maiguard', Truth.
"Call others to come", the words that resound as they walk back to their homes: words spoken by the loving owner of life.

I tol em wonderful teens of mine never to stop reading.
Showing them that screwed up societies are usually products of a non-reading culture.

Tol em to read the right materials;
Like 'the manual' designed to make all machines tick the right boxes of purpose;
Like the 40 days Purposeful walking guide with good ol' Rick and his daddy, Warren.
Like Napoleon, that Hill boy's thinking guide on the plants to grow on the plantation of wealth.
Like the tactical manual on the art of War drawn up by that graceful Ming warlord, Sean Tizzle, Sorry, Sin Tzu.

I tol that graceful angel I love to spread her wings and fly.
Reminding her that her mind is blessed with the necessary tools given by the Heavenly mechanic.

Tol her to push past;
Mind blockades set up by the society to force a halt of dreams;
Physical hurdles set up by the patriarchal society to halt all leadership pursuits of her kind;
And the Emotional feelings of inadequacy, set up by human feelings to force her into searching for thick, strong arms while the glowing nail pierced hands await.

I tol that crazy senate member within my body to take a chill pill.
Saying that everything will fall in place at the right time if he remains loyal.

Tol that serving senatorial giant never to decamp to the party of pleasure;
For it is easy to slide into the Dms of other female senators but difficult to slide away.
For engaging in the secret body rhythmic dance with eager female senators would not guarantee the electoral victory for the seat of joy in the upper chamber of peace.
For it may be easy to secretly pile up the illicit wealth stolen from treasured bodies, but difficulty would arise when called to testify before the eternal court when Encroaching Fiendish Cloaked Claimant (EFCC) officer called Death takes me away.

I am telling you one thing today.
Keep trusting in the Heavenly Father who remains the capable confidant and guide.
#Isaiah50:4
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

If I tell you the wild dreams I have,
Would you cringe at its recitation because you choose to see yourself in the smaller picture of the universe.

Would you be enthusiastic to know that the Chinese gave me a medallion of honor while president Xi scrambled frantically to court my stay by taking me on trips to the ancient Shaolin temples situated deep in the mountainous regions of Shanghai.
Obviously his secret service had done their research and got to know of my love for Shaolin Temple: a film I had binged on as a child while poking the eye of a good friend in a reenactment demonstration the next day.

Would you be happy for me if you heard that the Spanish Prime minister me drove personally and chatted with me like old friends while his motorcade weaved through the snake-like countryside road of Cordoba.
Would you feel a bile beginning to form in your gut just because you saw me kiss the female police officer who is trying to control the raging crowd of tourists who have all flown long distances to be chased around the once quaint city by a pack of enraged bulls.

What if you saw that familiar face you know on the big screens.
Himself and Macron having a little conversation over dinner of macroni while rain drenches eager paparazzi photographers whose eyes show weariness from chasing celebrities over the town but with hearts that hold a little flicker of hope of one day being present to take the most controversial shot of all time.
More like the red carpet enthusiasts who wait to film a nip-slip event that would surely break the Internet.

What if you saw your affectionate 'bro' cruising in a motorcade of Bentley coupes on the streets of Columbia.

Two goons dressed in biker gang outfits riding on both sides.
Ten fully armed men with sunshades hiding their stoned eyes. Wielding the scariest Uzi's you have ever seen and casting dreadful looks at the cameras.
Beautiful 'chicas' blowing kisses from the rooftops as my car passes while their little ones line up to cheer me on.

Would you say 'that boy has finally joined the world'?
Would you believe that I have finally drunk myself to stupor with the intoxicating margarita of fame and pride?
Or would you pause your judgement for enough time till I come back before you throw your bricks.
For I may have been the special guest of honor invited to the capone of the Fuentès cartel.

Yes.
My story that spurned the invitation may have gone thus;

Christian, the only son of the wealthy cartel owner, was a little dude in the same school I attend.

With a duffel bag containing his favorite toys always slung across his back, he would take lonely walks down from the class to the waiting black limo at the end of each day since nobody ever wanted to talk to him after being warned sternly by their parents.

Day after day, a piece of Christian faded into the void as there were no friends who could be bold to talk with him as equals.

Uncles passed nights at the house and tried to make small talks when their heads weren't huddled together in business discussions.

Aunties touched his cheeks in affectionate fawns, remarked about his swift growth before telling him to be easy on the little neighborhood 'chicas' and then usually left to join his mother in continuation of their talks which always revolved around the problems peculiar to the Latina community.

Sons of his uncles came around as well and tried to get him to regale them with stories of the men he had gutted with a knife, number of 'Yayo' kilos he had distributed to his school, the number of wild parties he had organized within his home.

When he told them he had painted none of the images they thought of, they tried to get him to smoke some Cubans stolen from their fathers stash but when he politely refused and nudged them towards his drawings of flowers and butterflies, they lost all respect for him since he could not be man enough to paint gory sights of death or the raunchy anatomy of the female body.
Calling him a 'puta' in their minds, they swore never to visit his house. Instead choosing to give flimsy excuses whenever their dads invited them to go visit.

Christian was in disarray and mama knew nothing about it.
Her steamy spaghetti which was always doused in italian pepperica spice could not excite his palettes again.
Weekly gifts of Rolex watches, golden chains and letters from his Dad were received with cold 'thank you Papa' hummed into the phone when his mama put a call through to her beloved 'papi' who could not step on American soil due to the extradition laws that could not cover him.

On a Tuesday morning when the sun shone brightly and wall street traders rejoiced at early gains made by their stocks, Christian decided to slip into the unknown.
With a stash of pills hidden under his hood, he made his way into school and immediately maneuvered his way to the restroom which he hoped would be free of the usual students who were always shit-scared to strike convos with him.

Entering into the restroom, he immediately locked the door and brought out the pills which he laid on the sink.

Cocking his head sideways, he caught a whiff of the scent of molly which had been grounded into powdery form smoked by eager initiates of the frat houses on the school ground.
He offered a mournful nod as he wondered which of the students was beginning a descent into a life of quick highs and destabilizing low moments where reality was a constant bummer that was to be avoided.

He looked around once again.
In careful steps, he removed his Ben 10 customized watch which he had gotten at Disneyland at 10 and placed it into his bag.
A piece of paper then materialized and he begin to write as tears streamed down.

A knock on the door jolted him back to reality.
Two knocks eliciting no reply, the student moved on to another restroom as there was a campus lore that pitched Mr Garrison, the janitor, as a wanton philanderer who used the restroom section to finalize his pleasure deals despite several queries issued by the school board who never quite knew the best way to catch him.

Christian turned back to his ritual and as he made to throw the drugs into his mouth to begin the pilgrimage to the unknown, I jumped out of the hidden place I was and stopped him.

A deer standing still after being blinded with headlights, Christian gazed at the unwanted intruder with a scowl forming.

I could not care less.
First day at school had left me feeling banged up by the regular bullies and the taunts about my color had driven me on a cry mission to the restroom where bouts of tears had been interlaced with mumblings of positive self affirmation which I had copied out from my Bible.

I did a 'two-into-two' quick math and immediately figured out that the dude casting me dagger pointed looks was the 'el-diablo junior' which other students called him in hush tones in the halls.

"Hey bro. I don't think you about to take the right move now."
I said, after giving a mental middle finger to every fears that bid me to stay quiet and ignore him.

"Oh yeah? And why you say that holmes? You know me from somewhere?

He shifted forward as he fired back.
Taking menacing steps which he had seen his uncles take whenever they advanced to the counters in shops where the owners defaulted in the payment of protection fees.
He knew the trick would work as he had always been told that humans are witless beings who always cowered when faced with folks who are suspected to belong to higher Cadres

His tactic did not work as I kept coming.

"Naah bro. I don't know you from anywhere but you are my brother. And I know this ain't the right move cus God don't want you dead.
As I spoke, he retreated a bit and sat down with a quizzed look on his face.

"And how you gon know what the hell God wants. You his padrè or something? Oh, you one of them Jehovah witnesses ain't you?"
His tone was quizzical and harbored a bit of sarcasm.
Still I could sense that his curiosity had left its state of inertia since I had been bold to engage him in little talk.

I smiled and sat down close.
The air auspicious with the deflation of tension.

"I ain't none of that but if you could give me some time, I could tell you a brilliant story and show you where you fit into God's plans"

"Yeah right. Well, you 've got thirty minutes before I bail"

I shifted a little close.
Christian resented the move.
I began the reel of events.
An account of the universe which had started from one word sentence.

He leaned forward and listened intently with a firm gaze boring into my face.
A babyish smile began to spread across my face as I recounted the tales I had been told while in toddlers class back in my country.
Tales of a God who was distressed about the lack of communication with humans.
Tales of a Father who could not bear to wipe out his erring child from his book of inheritance but chose to travel to the den of thieves where the boy was to save him.
Tales of a son who carried on like nothing happened and even shot the father in the belly while laughing and watching him crawl away in anguish.
Tales of a father who died and then came back to life to show the son the victory over death.
Tales of a tearful ending when the veil of foolishness was torn from the son's eyes.

A chord struck within the heart of my listener.
A flood of tears erupted from the broken dam of masculinity which had held it back for years.

With no kleenex in sight, my shoulder became the tissue that wiped his tears.
With no cassock donning clergyman in sight, my ears became the willing confession booth which listened to tales that would give nightmares to Hollywood directors.

Two other students knocked.
We did not care.
A long lost pilgrim turned sojourner was being led back to the path.
And a son was returning home.

The restroom incident sent shockwaves through his whole family.
The reclusive son had returned home and remorsefully narrated the turn of events to his shell-shocked Papa and mama.

Papa had requested for an immediate audience with his boy and flown him home.
Papa has requested another special meeting with the savior of his son to find out the best way he could repay the kindness shown at the time his son was knocking furiously at death's door.

I was flown to Columbia in his father's private jet with the intent of going to tell him about the savior.
A motorcade of Bentley coupes had awaited me at the private hanger of the don.
The public had been told that the saviour of their beloved don was going to pass through the streets and were urged to show their appreciation.

I remained seated on the leather seat wondering how much good the little toddlers class tales had done and how much better the spirit behind the tales would move when it would be recounted to the Don's hearing.
A drug cartel may fall,
But a soul would be saved.

So hey,
Before you throw that brick of judgement at me, wait till I get home to tell you my side of the story.
#Isaiah 50:4
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

Before people join the bandwagon to hurl stones at those people who are feminists, I believe you should research the history of the movement as well as the motives and also note that Chimamanda Adichie is only one voice among others.

Let me get in into the specifics.

What is feminism and why has it become popularized now?
Feminism is a gender movement that advocates for the recognition of the roles played by women in the society as well as granting them equal participation in every sector of the society.
Everyone knows that the world today is a patriarchal one (another way to say that "it's a man's world" and this has always been from history. Women, before the 20th century, have always been disenfranchised in terms of political issues and deprived of their fundamental rights of voting and being voted for. Check out the pre-colonial igbo society where a girl child was considered only useful for the husband's house and not to ever go to school. Women have been deprived of basic rights such as ownership of land, ownership of her will after her husband dies. The girl child is the weaker one who has been dominated against her will in the society and for a long period of time, Society has been cool with that while these women died inside.

Here comes the feminist movement which began officially in Europe but had already started unofficially within numerous places where certain women chose to fight against injustice meted against them. The new wave of feminism fought and guaranteed the rights of women to vote and be voted for. It guarantee their rights to own anything that actually belonged to them. With the new wave which found expressions through novels, public protests etc, the public began to recognize that the fact that something has been the norm does not mean that it is right (case study of the Twins killing in calabar). That the girl child did not protest when been bethroted to her husband does not mean that she was happy with the decision and the fact that a woman recieves her salary at work and gives her husband does not mean that it was done out of a willing heart.
If it was done out of a willing heart then feminists have no qualms but the fact is that most of these women fear the reprisals that they would face at the hands of the society, some churches and also their families.

Please dear critic, understand that the true feminist does not wish to demean any gender but ensure that equal rights are granted to both. The trend in the world now is that there is hardly equal pay for women and men alike in the same position and in most cases there are bottled up cases of sexual harassment which the women are afraid to speak up against.
Sadly the only way you can get Nigerians to understand the gravity of an issue is when you forcefully bring them into the narrative so here goes,

Would you prefer you daughter to be known as someone bred to become another man's property in the future or as a unique person herself who should be comfortable if she does not marry?

Would you prefer that your daughter remain in a marriage where the husband beats her to the brink of death each day and yet she remains there because she is trying not to offend the pastor or maybe afraid that Jesus will banish her forever if she does seeks for divorce?

Would you want your daughter to keep mum (silent) over things that have happened to her like sexual abuse like rape and harassment (perhaps someone just randomly smacks her in the bum just as it happens in the public)?

Would you want your child to be deprived of something as happiness just because a culture of bride price in place which chases away her fiance?

You want your daughter to aspire to become anything she can be in the world abi?

You want the world to be an environment where your girl can say what she wants and associate with anyone she wants (after you have trained her well) right?

If you desire this, stop throwing stones at the feminists and join them in advocating for a better world for the female child.

And please do not pay attention to those radical feminists who advocate that #men are scum. They lack the history of the movement and anyone who does not learn her/his history will be consumed by the raging inferno that comes along

#Peace from Bashorun