Orin iyin, Orin ogo, Orin ayo
Ni a o fi gbe baba ga."
(Songs of praise, songs of glory, songs of joy. That is what we will use to lift God up)

Nothing seemed to be working.
Yet Aunty Yemisi kept singing this song at every church function.
Clothed in flowing white overalls, and with no shoe or slipper on her feet, she was a sight of joy to behold to every parishioner.

Yet, none knew what she was passing through.

No one knew the pressure she faced every time an incoming call came in with the caller ID reading 'Maami'.

Maami's mission had been simple.
The poor woman had faithfully followed the instructions of iwe (book) Habakkuk and had written her vision on plain tables and in clear language.

'Yemisi must bring home a husband this year'

That had been the daily verse which mama read in her version 2.0 Bibeli that was specifically installed in her head.
That was the incense which Edumare perceived daily from one of the forty altars that prayed to him everyday from Iseyin village.
That was the koko (main point) of the iwaasu (message) which was prevalent in the 2 minutes, four seconds calls which aunty Yemisi received from home on a daily basis.

No one in church knew that her finance was in its lowest ebb.

Her business which attracted customers like a lady in her early twenties attracts a throng of suitors, reduced drastically in size due to numerous misfortunes.

First, the mail order, a girl, who she had received from the village to be her sales girl, had turned out to be a cunny weevil that munched on the profits of the shop without pity.
For the little girl joined a daily contribution organization and began to put in a sum of four thousand naira daily from the profit of the store.

Another misfortune which had befell her were the three 'wise' men who came to pay her a visit with their own unique gifts which were different from the biblical gifts.

The first 'wise' man was a thirty year old local gangsta who had a long scar on his wrist which was self inflicted when he broke a beer bottle and its jagged ends cut his wrists.
All because he was cheated of 100 naira during a game of dice which he and his comrades played in an uncompleted building.

He carried with him a golden gift of a short pistol.
One which he waved in aunty Yemisi's face and threatened to bury its children in her face if she dared to scream.

The second 'wise' man was a much familiar face to Yemisi.
For he was a member of the Iyin rere association in church.
An association which prided itself in giving their monies to support the church in every project she embarked upon.

He carried with him the frankincense gift of a short knife.
One which he threatened to makeup her face with if she dared to raise her face from the lying position which they had forced her to adopt.

The third 'wise' man was a mercenary.
One who they had hired from a gang in Ketu and had paid the sum of three thousand naira for his service that night, with a promise to drown him with a crate of Origin beer if the operation proved to be successful.

He had gone along because he needed money to pay off his debt.
A debt of four hundred thousand which he had incurred when he crashed his oga's bus in an accident which he had caused with his own hands.
For he had smoked twenty wraps of marijuana that fateful morning and had been feeling like king Kong on the road.
Much worse, he had been feeling like Sebastian Vettel and Alonso put together and had thought that the Mile 2 road was just another Formula 1 race track.

Not to drag the mat beyond the room, he was locked up and his face peppered with hot slaps from the cell 'Presido'

A rain of slaps dragged his 'highness' from the peaks of wonderland to the depths of Tartarus where tears are a constant occurrence.

This third man carried a Mryyh gift of cutlass with him.
One which he threatened to carve Yemisi open if she dared to show them a false location of her money while harboring the belief that the police would arrive quickly.

Aunty Yemisi harbored no such intent.
As she knew that the Nigerian police were just like dogs which loved to bark immediately after the danger has passed.
The police were like the African gods which threatened fire and brimstone upon the villagers if they did not offer human sacrifices, and then ran away to hide when white men came into those villages with guns and cannons.

No way.
Aunty Yemisi cooperated with the three 'wise' men and they left her unharmed.

Despite all the harm which had befell her, she still praised Jesus on high.
Despite all the icebergs which her ship had hit, she still chose to keep her course straight on the path Edumare set for her.
Despite all the terrors which had plaqued her night and the Freddie's that had haunted her dreams, she still chose to rejoice.

For she knew that the 'gra-gra' of the garage tout would only last for a little while until the alaga - chairman comes.

For she knew that the madness that plaqued the nurses when the doctor is not around will most definately be cured when the doctor comes in.

For she knew that weeping may endure for a night but JOY WOULD COME IN THE MORNING.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

Ella baby oku
Ella my barbie looking balm.

Like a raging storm, you came into my life.
I remember, Yes I remember how your touch felt.

Like the current which NEPA supplies to the banana island inhabitants, it fired up all the circuits within this tiny head of mine.
But it waned and later turned into the kind of electric current being supplied to Ajegunle residents.
Those set of residents who patiently allow the light official to climb the electric pole before bringing out their sharpened cutlass and brandishing it in a menancing way.

Like a newly acquired Ferrari cruising in the Lekki estate roads, your touch inspired me to glide seamlessly in the paradise of happiness.
But it later begun to slow down with time and became stagnant like that molue that is stuck in the Lagos traffic.
That kind of traffic where a person can confidently bring out her utensils, cook a meal of beans, sleep off, wake up and still realize that her car has moved only 3 centimeters forward.

Like a Briton oil worker who drives around the creeks without any legion of security guarding him, your touch gave me inhuman boldness.

That kind of boldness that caused me to walk out on Iya mi when the poor lady warned me about you.

That kind of boldness that pushed me to sell off my one of father's land just to satisfy your wish to get an iPhone 8.

That kind of boldness that pushed me to look straight into the pastor's eyes and tell him to go and jump into the lagoon, just because he advised me to come with you for a short deliverance session.

I guess I did not want rain to touch the salt-like charm which you prepared for me.

I guess, like the little Warri child who dreams that he was mistakenly chosen to go on a tour to Willi Wonka's chocolate factory, I was content with living in a farce reality and did not wish to be rudely awakened.

Much worse, I was like that 45k per month earning banker who takes a short nap around 2pm and dreams that Dj Cupid Otedola fell in love with him.

Much much worse, like Vic O and Speed Darlington dreaming to win the Best International Act at the Bet awards, I did not wish any pastor to 'come and pour sand sand for my garri'

Well, Ella nwa.
You have done your worst okwa ya?

You have broken my heart like the news of a fallen container at sea breaks the heart of an Igbo man.
You have shattered my heart like the taste of a stew which has no pepper at all, shatters the heart of a yoruba man.
You raised my hope high and dashed it like that child that sees a can of Pringles in his mother's wardrobe and opens it only to find a set of needles and threads of various colors.
You devoured my heart like that lady that attends the wedding of her friend's sister and discovers that the groom is her boyfriend of seven years.
You tore my heart into two like that little boy who pays 1200 naira for a father christmas show, races home to open the gift given to him by the supposed visitor from the North Pole (even though his reindeer was a black 504 car) and opens the gift to find garri Ijebu wrapped in white nylon mixed with sugar, groundnut and a vcd disc of Barney and friends.

Arrghh.
Bella o.
You do me strong tin oo.

But, I thank my God that I found someone who sewed my heart together.
I met one person who applied a healing ointment to my broken spirit.
I met a friend who held me close as I wept uncontrollably for the hurt you brought.

Ohh.
You thought I was joking when I told you that you shattered my heart?

I was a novice in the art called love.
I was a newcomer to the secondary school class where emotions was taught.
And I was a bloody jambite in that treacherous university called love.

You Ella.
You were the pirate that raided my ship and ran away gleefully like Bellatrix Lestrange after unleashing the death curse on Sirus Black.
You were the strong ekosodin chairman that indoctrinated me into the temple of sense with numerous thundering slaps that reconfigured my mindset.

Aye.
You did me strong thing.

But Jesus revived me quick.
For I had planned to feed my conscience with rat poison.
For I had already purchased a pestle and mortar that I planned to pound my conscience into paste and throw it away.
For I had already gone to borrow a match stick to set it on fire while sitting back and laughing with friends.

Beeni o.
I had planned to turn into a mindless pirate who would cart away the jewels of other girls.

Until Jesus showed and changed my life.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

Please forgive me for not pasting yesterday, I am currently preparing for my exams. This one is for yesterday. I would paste the article for today soon.

SONGS OF PRAISE

001 (Song of Pelumi's praise)

Here is to you ancient one,
My hands interlock with those of my teenagers to give you all the praise.
Our hearts utter a melody of joy.
For You are the one inspiring us all to go for gold.
Through you, we live.
Through you, Oluyole our city thrives.
Through you, my little successors write.
With you, we remain victorious.
This is a song of Pelumi Obiesesan to my wonderful maker.

002 (Song of Daniel's praise)

Oba awon oba.
Here is to the king that gives strength for the hustle.
Kelechi's face glows because you cause it to radiate.
Mama mi's joints remain strong because you strengthen it.
Baami reaches greater heights because you bear him upon your back like an eagle.
With you, I remain unstoppable.
With you, a glorious future for my daughter is assured.
With you, the wars that wreck, are averted.
Through you, I find my peace.
This is a song of Daniel to my olowo ori.

003 (Song of Oluchi's praise)

Chineke nnam ndewo.
Onye ne nme obi m mma.
This is my praise to my Ayaya Abasi (beautiful).
My lips curl together, mind strings together vowels and consonants, vocal cords attempt to evoke a tone.
Yet, they can not create what I truly desire to say.
For You, my lord, has done indescribable things.
Aye, uncountable, uncontestable, irreversible, irreducible, unexplainable, irrevocable and every other ir- or un- that humans say are impossible.
From the day when papa shot his sling to the time I came first place in the race to the ovum.
From the moment maami took me into the daycare center and left me while I cried, to the day I strutted like a peacock to pick up my gifts as the best student on my graduation day.
From the moment I set my foot on the rich loam of Akwa-ibom, to the day an elderly Local Inspector placed a rectangular certificate in my tender fingers.
From the day my farmlands were dry as the Sahara, till the day the thunder crackled and unleashed a shower of blessings.
You alone have done this, and I give you praise.
This is a song of Oluchi Osadebe to my king.

004 (Song of Shola's praise)

Olorun oluda Ikirun.
Edumare oluwosan Estheri Aya oba ati Femi Fatoki.
My father in whom I find my peace.
This is my praise to one so good and so kind.
Owerri to Calvary, He went for me.
Sorry, on the way to Calvary, He went and wept for me.
Lifting that heavy cross with both hands and heaving it up the hill.
Eyes bearing the countenance of love, He kept on moving.
While I stood and mocked from the side of the road, He looked at me and whispered 'I forgive you'.
When I (janded) escaped into Ikirun town under the shadow of the dark, He still kept me safe.
When the pain of loss numbed my sense of right and wrong, He kept me sane.
When my brain betrayed me and people could not help me, He held me tight and took me through the dark and fearsome paths.
I opened my mouth and He filled it with eba.
Sorry, He filled it with laughter.
I opened my palms and He placed a staff of wisdom in it.
I opened my heart like a fallow land and He sowed seeds of roses within the ridges.
No wonder, I love without inhibition.
This is a song of Olushola Fatoki Osfeam to my Edumare.

005 (Song of Deborah's praise)

Chineke m. Onye nwe orji, Onye nwe ndu.
The keeper of my sweet sixteen mummy Ufoma.
The great physician of Gilead that heals daddy Kelvin.
This is my praise to the one who keeps my family safe.
I thank you for that day Jesus.
That day, I was 'jejely' sucking on my feeding bottle and watching SpongeBob SquarePants on Nickelodeon.
That day Chocho slept with a thumb stuck inside his little mouth.
That day when mummy and daddy got into a mini quarrel.
Thank you Jesus that they settled their squabble quickly.
For I do not know what would have happened if mama had gotten vexed to the extent of demanding a divorce.
For I do not know what would have happened if papa had raised his hands to slap mama.
For I do not know what would have happened if Chocho ever got to witness such a scene.
Thankfully, none of that happened.
And that is why I thank you Jesu.
Even though mama and papa may not act lovey-dovey all the time, their bond of love remains stronger everyday.
This is a song of Deborah Attah to my lord Jesus.

006 (Song of Nonso's praise)

Chukwu okike my father that reigns on high.
Chi na za ekpere ndi Orakwe na ndi Okwe.
This is a song of thanks to the one who causes Oge to blossom day by day under the Canadian sun.
This is a rendition of eulogies to the King who causes the Efedi family to arise from their beds with a gladdened heart.
Here, on my head, is a basket containing oranges of thanks for the beautiful omalicha mama that you have given me.
A basket containing mangos of praise for the strong warrior you provided to be my father through the years.
A basket of pineapples of thanks for the excellent mind you have given unto me.
Aye, a mind that is accompanied by crafty hands which have made gain and continue to make gain.
A mind that helped me scale through the fiery furnace of Engineering in that school nicknamed 'Unistress' and 'Unibend'
This is a song of Nonso Orakwe to my lord Jesus Christ.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

ARIYA CENTRAL

Eyin eyan mi, mo ki yin kaabo si eto yin, eto wa, Ariya central.
I welcome you to another episode which promises to be superb.
Se e ti gbo ri?
Wipe Olorun ti n so awon omo Ogun Israeli ti n togbe nitoripe o mu oti sun.
Have you ears ever heard that the good God who created you, is like a man who turns up the Oprah Winfrey channel and dozes off.
Or have you ever heard that He is like that drunk tout that causes kasala in the garage and leaves his folks to fight for him while he sneaks away to be in the arms of the one who is paid to love him for an hour?
Have your heard that His hands are too short to get you out of trouble like the randy arara (dwarf) who ravages the wife of a man and now finds it difficult to open the door in order to escape?

Rara o.
Edumare is our help in ages past and will continue to be our help in the world to come.
That is the Edumare we are thankful to at this morning Ariya Central.

Adekunle o.
Omo wa, omo ekun, omo okunrin mefa.
The man that transforms most things to gold including his photoshop.
Dakun bring your ilu and beat for us that tone which African parents love to hear from their children who they feel are overdue for narriage
Dakun open the cistern of your mouth and let those excellent verses flow.
Sing to us that song called "Ready.

*The presenter moves slowly to the rythm of the song till the song ends*

Yes, yes, yes
Ekaabo pada si ori eto yin, eto wa, eto ti awon eyan agbaye lati London dey Espanyol ni Spain, lati Atlanta ni Merika titi de Kuala Lumpur nibiti awon omo kan ti n ta kidney won.
(Welcome back to this program, your program, our program. One which is being broadcast throughout the world, from London to Espanyol in Spain, from Atlanta in America to Kuala Lumpur where some boys have gone to sell their kidneys)

You are welcome once more.
Let us greet all our sponsors before we continue the segment.

Awon Iku baba yeye, alase ikeji orisha, Lamidi Olayiwola Adeyemi III Alaafin of Oyo, Oba Adeyeye Enitan Ogunwusi, Oni of Ife, and Omo N' Oba N' Edo, Uku Akpolokpolo, Oba Ewuare II, we greet you all.
We greet Senator Ifeanyi Gerald Iwuala his constant support and providing the big hall which we are currently broadcasting from.
Awon Tolu mejeji Bamidele ati Ewuyemi lati London, a ki yin gan o.
Covenant Chimnonso and sons wey dey import Tyre, anyi ne kele gi.
Madame Zainab Onomisi, owner of that wonderful Amala spot in Ikoyi, we thank you for allowing God work magic through your fingers o.
God knows my team and I are still dreaming of that steaming Amala felefele which we ate at your restaurant the previous week.
To our wonderful listeners who are joining us and wanting to advertise their products, send us a text message and we will get back to you.

Ariya central: oyinmomo eto ti n dun bi oyin.
Ariya central: that program wey dey make ya mouth smile like who win two million with 300 naira.
Ariya central: Nke anyi, program ne nwete ndu.

Let us take an advertisement from one of our many sponsors.

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Advertisement ends*


My people.
You all have heard it from the horse's mouth.
Now is the time to start you off with Ariya proper lati Ariya Central.
Eto ti o n mu ogbon wa.
Eto ti o n mi ile tititi.
Eto ti o n mu ki ara yi ya gaga
Eto yi, eto wa, Ariya central.

Today, we bring you a wonderful story that makes the heart to 'jim jim jim' all the way to the end.

We don't mean Jim Iyke oo for all our listeners whose have spent a major part of their lives on watching nollywood films.

You know say some people don too watch dose kain film sotey dem know the best role wey fit everi actor.

That na why e dey dey rare say you see Mr. Ibu dey act like rich man wey get sense.
That na why you no fit see Chiwetel Agu dey act as good uncle for film make im no later go bury something for him brother farmland.
That na why you no go fit see any film wey Mercy Johnson and Ngozi Ezeonu no go cry.
As their two don already turn president for professional criers club.
That na why you nor go fit see say Kanayo o Kanayo or Pete Edoche dey poor for film.

Taa!!!!
People must die and those two must belong to the billionaires club.

To be continued in later broadcasts
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

HANNAH'S TALE (AFRICAN EDITION)

"Awon Iya ile, won ko ni omo. Awon iya ile, wo ko ni ayo,
Awa layo, omo si repete.
Awa loko, ife si repete"
So sang Iya Risi as she continued sweeping the veranda with a short broom.

While she swept, she increased the tempo of her song and swung her hips to the song and stopped at intervals to adjust her Iro.

Nothing was going to restrict her from being rude that day.

Apparently, she had woken on the wrong side of the world that day and was spoiling for a fight against anyone that dared to cross her path.

Apparently Ige, her husband, had told her to sweep the whole house since his first wife, Asake, was ill that day.
An illness which had come up as a result to the traumatizing experience which she had gotten the previous day.
For Iya Risi's stubborn twin boys had sprayed dried devil's weed in her bath water and rubbed it on her towel.

Apparently, her children had complained to her that their father refused to give them money for the textbooks, 'dic' 'tion' and 'ary' which were valued at 25 thousand naira each.
Instead, they reported that their father had chosen to give Asake, money to refurbish her shop which was already in a terrible state.

Iya Risi was ready to fight that morning, and that was why she kept on directing the song towards Asake who was quietly picking the beans in the corner.

"Edumare oba Oke, eshe wo ni mo se ti o ko le dariji mi. Which person's farm have I raided and whose yam have I uprooted that you have decided to punish me thus"

She could remember the good old days.

When herself and Ige would sit close to the river in Abule, while basking in the undulations and teasing of her friends around.

Days when they would both eat 'oka' with peace of mind in their little room.
Days when Ige would swear, with his cutlass firmly clenched in his fingers, to behead any man who dared to look at his dearest Oyin.
Days when he would call her 'Ife mi' with his left hand caressing her tender cheeks, while his right hand admired the texture of her suku hair and the ileke that she bind her it with.

Those were the sweet days until Iya Agba barged into her sweet home with a sledgehammer.

The sledgehammer was in form of a young lady.

One, whose looks were so repulsive to Ige that he immediately told the woman to leave his home.

One who could not dare to match Asake in any beauty contest.
For she had a long scar at the left side of her face.
A scar which had been put there by her opponents during her 'Sunday dagboru' days in the Abule.

A scar which had been replied with a stab in the chest of the opponent with a 33 lager beer bottle with jagged end.

Iya Agba's wishes later triumphed.

As Iya Agba kept calling Asake a witch who had eaten all the children which God had given her from 'ode orun'.

As iya Agba kept inviting all the herbalists in the village and telling them to come and break the jinx which Asake had placed on her son.

As the old woman insisted that she would kill herself if Ige refused her request to take the woman as a second wife.

The new wife came in and Ige reluctantly went to her bed.
Praying that she would not conceive at all so that he could chase her away quick.

Iro oo.
The bullet, he shot, killed two antelopes.
As the new wife took in and gave birth to twins at the first attempt.
A birth that solidified Iya Agba's accusations that were hurled against Asake.

Iya Agba had returned home after Iya Risi had given birth.

A return that had unleashed the beast which the new wife had kept in its cage.
For she was already tired of trying to conceal her true nature from public glare while iya Agba was around.

Just like the 'ijangbon omo' that keeps a smiling face and sits calmly on the parlor chair while the visitor is around.

Just like the sisi oge who keeps smiling even though the wig that sits comfortably on her head, is itching her badly.

Just like the yoruba demon that keeps acting humble in church so that the pastor can give him a much needed recommendation for a job he is applying for.

Just like the smiling 'oloshelu' (politician) that keeps smiling for the cameras, eating maize from the roadside and seating to eat Amala with small children just because he is trying to canvas for votes from the people.

This was the way the new wife acted while Iya Agba was around.
And then, she switched into her real colours when the old woman left.


Asake continued worrying as she absent-mindedly picked the beans she intended to prepare for her husband
.
Her eyes had swollen from the tears which had gushed out the previous night.
For she was lactating with her breasts full of milk, even though she had no children.
A medical case which the doctor called Galactorrhea.

"Ni ijo wo ni emi na ma fi eyin gbe omo kpon?" (Which had day will I carry a child with my back)
She asked as she momentarily paused and stared into the empty space in front.

She had already decided not to go to Yemoja to ask for a child.
As she had heard that such children fully belonged to Yemoja and could be called to do anything the goddess wanted at any point of their lives.

She had already decided not to visit Esu for a child.
For numerous people had told her that the god had enough children in his stock.

Agbako children who would fully drive their parents to their graves even before the time which Edumare had destined them to go.

Wicked children who would use catapults to kill every lizard in the neighborhood while young and then graduate to using big sticks to clubber human beings to death when they eventually grow old.

Evil weak hearted children who may decide to keep coming to the earth and returning to their spirit world at will.

'Ogbanje' was the name of the last set of children which Esu gave.
And they would only stop whenever the earthly father decides to disfigure their corpses in a crude way before burying them.

Asake looked to the heavens and uttered a deep cry.

One that caused Iya Risi to stop her mocking momentarily.

One that caused Ige to quickly rush out from the 'baluwe' with soap still on his body; intent on knowing what had happened to the 'Iyawo ti mo fe nisu loka'.

One that caused the twins to momentarily stop in their act of lifting meat from their mother's pot of Egusi.

One that caused Edumare oba Oke to rise in order to grant her request.

To be continued in later posts
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

There are the days;
When mummy walks into my pink themed room and sits on my sheets.
Then, she picks up one of my pillows and rests her arms on it and I immediately become giddy with excitement,
As I know that mummy wants to 'gist' me about anything and everything.

Mummy tells me about her past.
About those days which, like the morning dew, have long faded.
About those escapades which like the taste of honey, is long gone.
About those fancy things, which like 'Wili wili', has long disappeared.

Mummy tells me about the time she was a 'sisi oge'.

That time when she was the real Carolina which most muscians were looking for.
The times she would 'jejely' be reading her book in the library and a boy would walk up to her with their best toasting presentations.

They all came in different shapes and sizes, she said.

The one with gold chains on his neck, a venza car key on his left hand, a ripped jean trying not to fall from his bombom, and a flowery shirt with two buttons opened to reveal his chest.

The one who was old enough to be her father with a potbelly the size of a 8 months old pregnancy.

The geek with glasses on his face, braces on his teeth, smartly ironed shirts with fidgeting fingers and shifting shoes, also came to try his luck while his friends cheered him from the window without knowing that she had already seen them.
They all came, but she rebuffed their advances.

I would throw my head backwards and laugh at mummy's description of the men.
Then, she would hush me up and continue her story,
Telling me that daddy would soon be home and she would have to go and take care of him.

Mummy would continue her tales.
Of the times she passed through a neighborhood and got a letter from the association of housewives in that neighborhood begging her not to come again,
For their husbands had lost their senses and were also losing their homes.

Then, mummy told me about the girls that envied her.

About the hostel friends that had gone to meet the herbalist for 'atike' (facial powder).
Not the kind of medicated 'atike' that she uses on me when I have rashes.
But the kind of atike that casts a charming spell on men around.

Some other girls asked the herbalist for perfume.
One that they would spray on their bodies in order to attract men around.

Mama laughed hard as she told me about the results of such ventures.

The girl who had gotten the 'atike' (charming facial powder) had mistakenly rubbed it while making up in her room and had quickly ran to the toilet to go and answer the call of nature.

Then her father, who had just eased himself, came out and looked squarely into her face.

The poor man who had no 'oogun' (power), became transfixed immediately and began to profess love to his daughter.

Poor man that had to be tied and taken to the herbalist who gave him twelve strokes of the genie's cane before senses returned back to his head.

The perfume lady suffered a much worse fate.
As she sprayed the perfume from home; entered her car; locked her windows and firmly drove off.

All with the intent of reaching Mike Adenuga's house at Banana Island before coming down.
For she held on to the hope that the perfume would attract only the big men there.

The lady's plan backfired big time.
As her car broke down in the middle of a street in Ajegunle.
And the poor auntie was forced to come down from her car in order to complete the mission.

Mummy laughed so much that her ribs hurt as she described the next thing that happened.

Immediately the lady opened her door and stepped out, all the men who were around caught a whiff of the perfume and began to come towards her.

The ones playing draft and 'ayo' left their games and began to come.

The ones sitting on benches and dictating numbers for the Baba Ijebu agent to play, immediately stood up and began to advance.

The masons with sand and sweat plastered on their bare chests, left their 'ponkpon' (iron bowls) to join in moving towards the lady,

And even the man in suit, whose hand was already ferrying a ball of Amala mixed with egusi, dropped the Amala, rinsed his hands in the oily soup and walked out of Iya Tajudeen's Amala spot,
All to the bewildering looks of the other female customers.

From all directions, these men came.
And Aunty had no choice but to race for her dear life.

Mummy looked deep into my eyes as she finished this story.
Then she told me that there was time for everything.

Told me that I would one day become the Caro that would give boys sleepless night.
Told me that I would be the Centre of attraction for most people.

But she told me never to compromise.
Never to think that I would hold their attention for the rest of my life.
Never to make any decision without consulting my best friend, Jesus.
Never to make myself so cheap to anyone.
For everyone likes cheap things, but only the best go for the rare things.

"You are not a thing meant to satisfy any man's pleasure only" she said.
"You are a priceless jewel of Inestimable worth created to conquer the world" she concluded.

Then she stood up, and told me to come and wash the dishes.
#AtinukeBashorunwrites

Okontas.com

Sometimes I watch daddy box while we are at the gym.
Looking at him in awe as he throws punches at the punching bag.


Watching as he dances around a real life opponent; attempting to find a weak spot to punch.
Watching as he unleashes a fury of uppercuts that land on the opponents face.
Watching as he sways his head quickly to avoid a punch being aimed at his head by the other fighter.

As my daddy has already told me how deadly a punch to the head can be.

He had already showed me a tape of Klitchsko landing a huge blow on Samuel Peter which caused the big Nigerian to stagger around in the ring like a drunk man trying to put on his slippers.

He had already played the dispairing pictures of Tyson Fury before the Klitchsko match and a Tyson not-so--Fury after the match.

He had already showed me tapes of a lion looking McGregor before the boxing match against Mayweather and a cat looking McGregor after the match.

Telling me never to bark out loud to an opponent before a match,
For the shame which would follow my loss, would be massive.

'Keep silent and let your actions speak' my daddy had told me.
And he was doing exactly that to his ringside opponent as other trainers gathered around and watched the match intensely.

Then, a mini disaster struck.
One of the opponent's blows connected with my daddy's temple.

My heart flew to my mouth that moment,
As I watched daddy fall down in slow motion like Kanye West did in Knock you down video.

Would daddy still remember my name after that punch?

Would the bolts in his head still remain fully tightened after that surprise 'Gbii'?

Would he still be able to recognize his wife's face or would he become a vegetable for the rest of his life?

Obviously I was not the only one asking these questions.
As the gym owner raised five fingers to daddy's face to confirm if he could still count.

As daddy's friends had already began hurling invectives and threatening legal action against the opponent for landing such a blow when he knew that it was only a sparring match.

Still, daddy arose like a phoenix out of the ashes.

Still, daddy scrambled to rise up like Harry Potter against Lord Voldermort in the battle of Hogwarts.
Still, daddy turned to face his enemy like Luke Skywalker against Darth Vader.
Still, daddy heaved himself up using the ropes just like Rocky.

For he was the rock.
Not like the other Rock that is only strong in movies and staged WWE matches.

No.
My daddy was a fighter who would not give up like the rest.

For he had told me,
That the path to the top is filled with opponents who would knock you out cold.

Just like Christian in the Pilgrims progress.
Just like the traumatizing pregnancy incident that happened to Oprah Winfrey when she was young.
Just like the heart challenges that attempted to stop Papilo Kanu from donning the famed no. 25 shirt for Arsenal FC.
And just like the cross and the grave which had both tried to hold my lord Jesus Christ.

All were blows to knock them out, but they still rose up.

'Tough times do not last', papa had said,
'But tough people do', He concluded.
#AtinukeBashorunwrites


MA JE KI

Ma je ki a fa oro gun ore,
Ko si nkan ti o le te omo araye lorun o.
E ba wu o ki o ra gbogbo oko ayokele fun won, nse ni wa so oro re lai da.
E ba wu o ki o to gbogbo omo won dagba, nse ni wa re Ile onisegun lati ba aye re je.
E ba su o ki o ra gbogbo Igba aso lati fi bo ihoho won, nse ni won ma wa ona lati tu aso kuro ni idi re.
E ba wu o ki o ko ile lanti lanti fun won ni abule, nse ni wo o wa yara kan ti won o ma se epe fun o ni Igba gbogbo.

Ma je ki a fa oro gun ore.
Nkan aye yi o kin dun fun igba ti o po.
E ba wu o ki o lo mu gbogbo jedi pelu opa ehin, ko le mu ki ibalopo fun e layo.
E ba wu o ki o lo ra gbogbo oti ati emu ti o nbe ninu Igba iya Kamoru, ko le mu ki ayo re pe.
E ba wu o ki di Ololade Mr. Money ti n fi owo toro, ko le mu ki ayo re pe.
E ba wu o ki o ni gbogbo agbara bi eni ti o se je ogun fufu, ko le mu ki o layo laye yi.

Ma je ki a fa oro gun ore.
Eni ti o ni Jesu loni ohun gbogbo.
Nitoripe ni ikawo re ni ohun gbogbo ti wa.
Nitoripe a ti odo re ni afefe alaafia ti n bo.
Nitoripe a ti odo re ni ategun isegun ti n ya wa.
Nitoripe a ti odo re ni odo ibukun ti n shan bo.

Ma je ki a fa oro gun ara mi,
Eni ni Jesu loni ohun gbogbo.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

HELP SERIES (MOMMY'S EDITION)

Mummy mummy.

'Omo mi, omo daada' as grandma calls you anytime she arrives from Asaba.
'Bae, Bae' as daddy will call you when he wants you to help him cook Amala and Ewedu.
'Lolo m' as daddy will call you whenever he enters the kitchen, smells the wonderful aroma of your food and comes to hold your waist like those hollywood husbands do.
'My beta pikin' as he calls you whenever he smiles mischievously.

'Mummy mummy'
I love you, but you must change somethings about you.

Carelessly, that word dropped from your lips that day.

Joyously, the angel of pain picked it up and drove it into my heart like a nail driven into a board.

Then the word grew with time.
Day after day, it was nurtured by your continued silence.
Month after month, it shot up its ugly stem due to your lack of apology.
Year after year, it deflated my confidence every time I entered the exam all.

"DULL HEAD"

That was the word you uttered mummy.
That was the 'nigger' word you uttered to a little African American girl.
That was the 'kaffir' word you uttered to a little South African girl.
That was the 'cracker' word you uttered to a Caucasian little girl.
That was the 'iya n miri' word you uttered to a little Igbo girl.
That was the 'omo ale' word you uttered to a little yoruba girl.
And that was the 'banza' word that you uttered to a little hausa girl.

All forbidden; all demoralizing.

I guess that was the reason I failed at most times.
I guess that word was more potent than the pain that your 'pankere' (cane) unleashed on my tender back.
I guess the word was more potent than the prospects of eating all the ice cream in the world that you promised to buy if I passed.

I guess,
I guess words are like eggs which cannot easily be scrapped into its shell after it has fallen.
I guess you will have to do a lot more than spanking and promising if you want to convince me that I am not a DULL HEAD.
#AtinukeBashorunwrites

Okontas.com

Note from Baba Atinuke: Watch the words you utter to your kids. Be extra careful never to allow yourself get so angry that you begin to utter some words.

EJE TI O JU EJE LO

Eje Jesu nikan
Fun itusile lati gbogbo idande.
Lati ra gbogbo aye pada lati ese.
Fun agbara lati se ise ti Edumare ran wa.

Eje Jesu
Eje iyeyebiye ti o san ni Calvary.
Omi ti n wo ni san pata pata.

Eje Jesu
Awon ajagun mu nibe won si ja segun
Awon woli mimo mu nibe won si di mimo.
Awon ti o ti re lati ere mu nibe agbara si gbe won.

Eje Jesu
Eje ti o le gba iwo la pata pata.
Beeni o, EJE TI O LE GBA O LA PATA PATA.
#Bashorun

HELP SERIES

Heyooo
Do you remember me?

Little girl with the curled back hair and sea coloured eyes.

Do you remember my tales about Iya Soji and what my daddy told me?
Do you remember the little one who Bashorun desires to hold in his palm?

Well, I am the one.
And I welcome you to another time with Atinuke omo Bashorun.

Help me tell my daddy that he hustles too much.
Help me drag his ears wide and shout it loud that I am missing him very much.
Go to your kitchen now, grab the stool which your mummy spends time sitting on while cooking, then return to where my daddy is to shout it loud to him that He hustles too much.

Make sure you are standing on the stool o,
Because my daddy is so tall that Osfeam, my daddy's friend, calls him 'opo ina'

Because my daddy is very tall like that big building that we climbed while in Paris.
That tower they call Eiffel with so many steps that made me to almost collapse from exhaustion.

That tower that did not seem so tall for mummy and daddy because they were both whispering yucky things in their ears and locking lips at intervals.
Two adults behaving like little kids while thinking that my mind is too small to comprehend.

Help me tell my daddy that he is missing the best part of my life.

Help me remind him that I will not easily forget the fact that he was absent during my first singing competition.
Help me tell him that I felt a deep hurt within me when I ran like the wind and took first place in inter-house sports without seeing him to hug.

Help me tell him that he shattered my little belief in the fantasy world when he told me that Santa wasn't go to ever come from the north pole and that the tooth fairy was unreal.

Help me tell him that those fantasies were gifts from God;
A gift to help me draw castles in the air and then create them in real life.
A gift to help me create brilliant stories in my head and then transcribe them on paper.
A gift to help me dream without any inhibition.

Help me tell daddy that mum misses him much.
Remind him that she continues to long for his warm embrace every night,
Not the loveless hands of a robot trying to quench his thirst quick.

Tell my daddy that he hustles too much, yet, has lost touch with the people he hustles for.
#AtinukeBashorunwrites

Okontas.com


Hello Friend. Jesus loves you very much oo

Ore mi sun mo ibi.

Let me tell you of a woman I know.
Let my fingers point out the sigidi (statue) of the person who refused to listen to instruction.
Let me tell you of a woman who valued her ofi more than her ori.
Of a 'mama di mama' who clung on to her gold like a drunk holds on to his drink.
Of a socialite who valued the company of her friends more than her own life.
Of a woman who dared to look back when Edumare was passing through in majestic form.

Iyawo Lot ni o.
Lot's wife was the one who dared to gbe na woju ekun.
Lot's wife was the one that loved the taste of the pomegranates of Sodom.
Lot's wife was the hypocritical one that loved the sights within the bathhouses of that damned nation.
Lot's wife was the one whose heart was firmly rooted within the fertile ground of that sin city.
Lot's wife was the one that went with the jailer when the time for reckoning came.

Baba mi e sun mo ibi ki e mu ijoko.
(My father's, come closer and take a seat on the stool)

Let me tell you of a man I know.
Let my fingers point to the corpses of two children that were his
Let me tell you of a man who valued his position more than his children
Of a man who valued the hustle more than the people he was hustling for.
Of a man who pulls a disappearing act at the time when his child needs the rod.
Of a man whose nickname was 'Alhaji kowope' (My money must be complete)
Of a man who proved too much of a weakling in his own home.

Eli ni o.
Eli was the one who took up his sons to be sacrificed on the altar of indiscipline.
Eli was the hypocritical one who pretended to be blind to his sons actions.
Eli was the one whose cassava plants were being eaten by the goats he led in.
For he had refused to close the gates of his residence.
Eli was the one whose sons paid a steep price for daring to be stumbling blocks to Olorun Israeli ti kii sun (God of Isreal that does not sleep)
#Bashorunspeedialmessages1

Okontas.com

Brodaaaa anyi!!
The LeBron of the sport of gaping.
Always inching your head forward to get a 'proper' look.
Always stopping a conversation halfway just to 'sample am well'
Always turning backwards while trekking forward just to ascertain its circumference.
Always stopping the moving motion of your car so as to 'check' it out.

Oga anyi
Gi ki ne kili nwa nnem?
What do you keep looking at all the time when a lady passes by?
What have you lost that your eyes keep searching to find?

"O Ukwu", you reply.
Licking your lips as an image of every one you have looked at flashes through your mind.
Getting excited as your mind conjures the image of the perfect definition of one.
And turning your head backwards just to catch a look at the lady who passes by.

Big ukwu are your speciality.
Flat Ukwu are the excellent turn off for you.
Calabash Ukwu are what fires up the circuits of your brain.
And you fit die ontop the matter of a 180 degree ukwu.

Hehehehehe.
Take life easy o oga anyi
As that ukwu will be the undoing of you.
The little Apple that kill that unique spirit of yours
The little stone that may fall your giant future.
The Indian mistress that will fall your 'Abacha- looking' self
The harmless Agag that will cause the kingdom to the rent away from you.
The tiny bone that will choke you to death.
And the single grain of rice which will pass through the wrong route and kill you.

Take classes from that teacher called control oga anyi.
Bend your back and painfully learn the art of discipline from the Bible.
Keep your eyes looking forward and step fully on the throttle of hustle.

Till you get to your destination.
Till you get that unique lady who would look deep within your eyes and say "I do".
Till you are man enough to boldly go to your fiancé's father to ask for his permission in plucking the sweet smelling flower in his compound.

Until then, leave that ukwu alone and focus.

To all you married men still looking for other ukwu apart from your wives,
The devil is soaking your cane with pepper in hell fire.
Just keep looking and perhaps the lady will help to speed up your journey to the afterlife.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

Today is double delight Tuesday to cover up for the absence of posting yesterday. Stay tuned for the second post this evening

RORA SE O

She hustled like an Alaaru (one who carries load)
Wrong: she worked like one who carried the whole problems in the world.

She worked like a beast.
Wrong: She worked like a beast was eating the fruits of her labors.
True, she had voracious beasts within her home.

A lazy man who wished to be referred to as her head but could only herd the family towards ruin.
A living corpse of a husband whose favorite spot was the couch and whose favorite sport was attempting to rev up her engines in the night while she laid underneath his weight; dead like a log of wood.

A cancer stricken mother whose chemo sessions cost an arm yet whose white blood cells were still violently accosted by the rampaging cancerous cells.

A drunk father who had gone off the bend one evening and slammed his car into a young family, and was now awaiting a murder trial.

A randy son who had 'slid into a model's social media Dm' and forcibly jammed his flash drive into her unwilling USB ports and was now facing the penalties,
For he had forgotten to properly copy and paste his files and had contracted a virus in addition to an unwillingly installation of a baby software.

Those were the beasts she had within her home.
Ones that were slowly driving her 'loco'.
For she was already on a combination of pain and sleeping pills.
A deadly combination which tended to transmogrify true perception of reality.


Rora se o Aunty (calm down)
Slow down the pace and live for a second.

Hell!
Take a full week and relax fully.
Remember that you are not the Messiah of the world.
Neither do you have that inhuman strength which those boys that carry chair in church, have.
Boys like MMD Kolaitan who would have downed eight wraps of fufu first, and then lift twenty chairs like it is nothing.

Remember that you have one lifetime to live,
And you do not have all the care to give.
For your care is like a bucket of water,
One which you think would quench the raging wildfire of needs.

Mo ni ki o duro o arewa
(I said you should calm down o, beautiful one.

Was that not the name which you were once called in the past?
Was that not the reason why your oko (husband) swore to wed you even if his 'ana' (in laws) request for two elephants as gifts.

Now you look like the ncient of days.

Daily using duo fiber brush to appy the foundation of bitterness on your face.

Daily applying the concealer of anger below your eyes which causes everyone to run away when they see you.

Daily applying a light gold, shimmery shadow of frustration to your lids which makes people pity you.
And finally swiping a black lipstick of gloom which puts off everyone.

Rora se o Aunty.
Live a little because no one will care after you are gone.
Because a grieving man, no matter how much he loves his wife, would not sleep close to her cold corpse.

Ranti pe ise ni ago se titi o fi ku (remember that it was work that drove the clock to death)

Live, love and commit all into Edumare's hands
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

Happy Sunday folks

Hey friends, my 5th episode of Ariyike my lover is coming up tomorrow at penvoices.com.

This pieces is a combination of episodes 1 and 2. Please check out out episodes 3 and 4 at penvoices.com

Enjoy.
________________________

Hello my friend.

Let me wax lyrical concerning a tale that intrigues me.

Let me recall, for your sake, a memory that would blow your mind and cool your zest for love.

Sure tete ki o lo pe awon omo yen

Run to that school field to go and call those Ronaldo and Neymar wannabes.
Quickly go and disrupt the meeting currently being held by my son and that headmaster’s daughter that he calls his girlfriend.

For my son is about to make the silliest mistake of his life
Poor lad that does not know that the  highest pleasure of life is not achieved during the crazy jangilova-ing that he does during sex.

Remilekun,
My little princess that I conceived during my times of distress.
The healing balm that Edumare sent to rejuvenate my dying logging business.

Beeni
I am calling you mode yi

Cease sweeping that courtyard and quickly run to fetch Dike for me.

Tell him that his head should reason with his feet and quickly run down here
Otherwise my strong willed koboko will come and reason with the tender parts of his bosom.

Ore mi o

Are you mesmerized at my description of the koboko?

Are you ‘obayagbon-isly’ flabbergasted and stupendously marveled that I would attempt to assign a human attribute to a dried animal skin that has been known for resetting the brains of most kids from time immemorial.

Well, don’t be.

For that koboko has passed through the tough times, unscathed.
During those moments when there was no meat in the pot and Iyawo contemplated boiling it for it to become pomo, the koboko scaled through.
Through the moments when Dike, with a blade in hand, went on a crazed mission to decapitate the koboko, the poor thing passed through.

So forgive me if I call it a strong willed koboko.

Eh eh
Remilekun o

Quickly tell Dike to leave that laptop alone.

Abi he does not rest from his constant attempts to hoodwink those faceless oyinbos?

Or has he pounded all bits of his conscience into dust and blown it over the Osun river like the Hindus blow the cremated remains of their loved ones over the Ganges?

Has he lost all touch with the reality of human suffering that is global and does he think that the ‘mugu’ grows money on trees?

Kaii!
That boy will surely recieve a good whipping from me and a good talking to.

But today, let us discuss on the sweet nature of that feeling called love and how the subjects can bite you viciously.
For just like the bee produces honey and still stings, love can heal and also sting.

The year was 1987;
A time I would never forget till I close my eyes and embrace the throne reserved for ancestors in the third heaven.

Rara o
I am a man of much wealth and would not settle for the second heaven or first heaven.
For the second heaven is filled with ancestors sitting on cane chairs and demanding champagne and full goats as sacrifice.
And the first heaven is filled with poor ancestors sitting on mats and always demanding for local burukutu and five eggs plus one chicken for sacrifice even though they never owned a chick during the course of their lives.

Let me return to the itan jare.

My father was the richest man in the village back then.
A proud cocoa farmer who had one ijapa (tortoise car) and the only cemented building among a sea of red mud houses that had cracked due to a combination of too much rain and much sunlight.

Those were the days my friend.

When the mother of a child could be rest assured that the head of her little babe would not bend due to the presence of elders who would always rescue the child.

Such a pity that the same cannot be said of this age.
As the elders seem to be becoming people who revel in the sound of their voice and are too focused on trying not to hurt the emotions of these little ones.
 
Those were the days my friend.

When one could trust the local herbalist to send a thunderbolt that would strike any corrupt individual in places of authority.

Too bad that the same is not obtainable nowadays.

As the politician can gather an an array of praying clerics who would spend full weeks on beautifully crafted mats bought from the Orient.
An array of clerics who would keep praying for protection and blessings from the God on high even though they know his crooked source of wealth.

An array of woli’s whose aduras (prayers) are filled with insincere outward cries.
For they know that Edumare is an oba mimo whose garb is pure from every untruth.

Let me return back to the tale again ore.
For this palmwine is beginning to loose my tongue the more and I am feeling more giddy like a little ‘oyinbo’ girl about to go on her first date.

A thing that would have been unheard of here in Africa because the poor girl would have been laden with much chores from her mother.

Being the child of the richest man in the village back then, I changed women like a wealthy iya loja changes her Iro and buba on a weekly basis.

Like an Are-ona-kakanfo who is a war monger, I sought out to conquer new maidens and add them to an already flowing list of past victorious conquests.

Like a randy Kabiesi who women fear to visit in the palace, my eyes shone ‘ko ko ko’ like the unrelenting and unmerciful afternoon sun, everytime I saw a woman.

Like the bloodthirsty witch who began to drink her own blood because she had run out of family members to murder, I even began to cast my net to fish in forbidden waters
As I began to call my distant cousin’s into dark corners in the village square and inside my father’s cocoa farm

Little did I know that I was being targeted too.

For the cat who terrorizes the peace of the mice in the whole village should know that it is being discussed in hushed tones during the meetings held at the midnight hour,
And the hunter who decides to shoot at the idanri monkeys for sport should know that Olorun oba also gave them the knowledge to organize meetings where they can jointly iron out their issues

Ore mi.

‘Stolen waters are sweet but poisonous in nature.”
So said mama Agba to me as she was about to leave the shores of this earth to join her Ajani who had gone three years earlier.

“Rora se Aye jeje ki o ma lo te o”
So said baba Tanimola after being struck by a scorpion in the soft part of his thigh.
A bite that meant that he would die immediately because Baba Jide, the village herbalist who knew the names and oriki of every egbo (herb) in the forest, was away for an important meeting at a far village.

Words which I personally thought, were uttered out of deliquium due to the venom working to stop the flow of blood to his head.

Words which I thought, were uttered by a man who wanted to protect Sinmbiat, a flower in his compound which he strove to keep away from my hands.

I did not listen ore.

A decision that meant that I ended in the same pakute (trap) which I had set up to trap the agbonrin who constantly enticed me with her elegant steps and infrequent disappearing acts.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

NYSC CAMP EXPERIENCES (EPISODE 6)

NYSC CAMP EXPERIENCES (Episode 6)

Flashback (Naija style).
Kosi received his call up letter from Unistress; travels down to Akwa-ibom; escapes being punished by a angry soldier and is now standing in the queue to register)

"Bros, how far? Na my place you dey stay o"
A stout young man, who was obviously a fighter in his previous life, said to me.

Why had I inferred that?

The answers were very obvious.
He had given me that menancing look I knew too well, being a citizen of Ekosodin village for two years.

That look that gathers the clouds and unleashes its rain in form of slaps.

That look that is paraded in the dark corners of Edo street, and visible enough to force any wise student to break into a race when he hears those two words 'guy show'.

That look that is always permanently plastered on the faces of them, who prayerfully await the falling of a prey into their trap.

A fall that would make them really joyous.
For that prey would empty all his pockets in the process of buying all the Heineken available in Ekosodin.

I knew that look very well.
For the former wearer of that kind of makeup had signed his signature on my face with his palms.
An ordeal I never wished to encounter again so I shifted backwards to accomodate the new intruder.

The seconds ran very fast like little boys going to collect their tickets after being offered a ride at the car section in the amusement park

The minutes slacked a bit in pace like a man who has just been given the boot (sacked) at the office, and is moving towards his car while contemplating suicide or getting drunk first before going home to tell his madame.

The hour dragged its feet slowly like a group of grannies who meet grocery store and are walking through the recipe section.
Lord knows any child following them at that point would definitely leave the store with a fit and a heart that would have murdered the elderly ones ten times over.

The bright afternoon sun slowly retreated into its abode and gently whistled to the sunflies to come and continue their mission.
And the slowly approaching night brought with it a major fracas in the camp.

It all started when a so-called senator's child was given special preciledges by the camp officials.

The lad had arrived the camp in a yellow sports car.

A sight that caused other corpers to wonder since no other person was allowed to drive into the camp apart from the camp officials.

With his luggage being dragged by the sweating driver whose shirt and tie was still impeccable, the lad followed behind with sunshades to protect the eyes against a non existent sun ray; and a gait of an inspector surveying a site that would definitely earn him huge millions after paying other fees.

As custom with the Nigerian elite whose riches have blurred their sense of ethics, the little runt walked directly to the front and sweetly demanded to be shown special rights since "I am just flying in from the Abuja senate chambers"

From behind, disgruntled voices rang out quick.

"Ehhh. Make una nor give that boy shance o. Una dey hear? All of una wey dey front so."
So shouted a guy, already rocking the white rubber tennis shoes and a red cap on a white shirt and blue jean.

He was a graduate of Obafemi Awolowo University.
A fresh graduate that had been forged in the corridors of Moremi hall which dubbed as the forge where real and resilient men were made.

A resilience that sometimes meant that they could not endure any sight of oppression.

"Who be dat one wey wan come form bruce Lee for here? Abi him feel say we come sell corn for this place. Ogbeni enter line joor."
This came from a girl who was putting on a red colored skirt and a black hijab resting on a grey sweater.

'Alhaja' as she was popularly called by people around, was a graduate from the Federal Polytechnic Offa,

A school famed for producing students who have seen cultists engage in fights every blessed Friday and were sometimes accostumed to seeing severed human heads on the untarred 'Abuja road'.

Sights that had built fearlessness in their minds, and helped to prepare them in resisting any form of oppression.

"Bia, nwoke a nor niru (come, you young man in front). Don't give that man any chance hia. O dika gi na cho ka m ma chi gi nti (it seems you wish me to slap you)"
This came from a young man, dressed in a handmade sewn black coat that overlapped on a blue trouser and an enormous shoe which had defied the touch of an expert shoemaker, for some gaping holes were still visible.

'Ifesinachi' as he had been called by his friends, was an 'Umudike clique':
A graduate of Michael Okpara University of Agriculture which was situated in nearby Abia.

The same went for more than 30% of otondos in the camp.

Products of a nearby school which forced other corpers into thinking that maybe, just maybe, the vice-chancellor of the school had a not too public 'handshake' with the Director General of the NYSC program.

Ifesinachi had suffered a little bit that day.
Being made to shoulder the brunt of jokes from most cliques that were already forming within the camp.

The Tobliq crew had 'entered' him.

That clique of boys whose trousers had made a secret pact never to kiss the ground around their palm slippers or shoes.

That clique of boys whose beards had made a secret pact never to kiss any shaving stick and were as long as those of middle eastern clerics who invoke fire and brimstone upon Americans and any Western activity.

That clique whose discussions focused on football, the best armies in the world and latest gadgets in the world, without ever seeming to touch on the subject of girls or sex.

Two subjects which were considered as 'haram' and not worthy to be bantered on.

This was the clique that both oga Tolu Mcrhymes and Rasak loved to hang out with.

The 'Rich-gang' clique had already 'entered' the poor Ifesinachi too.

That crew whose members seemed to love everything about Birdman and were all using 'Tap out' as their ring tones.

That group of guys who all seemed to have the unspoken consensus that only iPhone users were to be granted admission into the clique.

For they had subtly ignored a guy, a Tecno P5 user, who had tried to butt into their gisting; and they had politely told another guy, a Samsung prime user, to mind his business as they never invited him to comment on their discussions.

These were the 'rich gang' crew.

That clique whose discussions focused on the models and prices of the latest cars, the instagram handles of the baddest girls in the country, and the calibre of nite clubs which were in Uyo, the state capital.
For they had already began to devise schemes of painting the city red immediately after leaving camp.

Their discussing never seemed to touch on the state of the country nor the prices of things.

Two subjects which were considered as 'haram' and not worthy to be bantered on.

The football clique had entered the poor Ifesinachi too.

That clique of boys who had packed football jerseys and boots in their luggages.

That clique of boys who intended to play all the football matches that would be organized in the camp,
As their senior colleagues had told them of the platoon games and had urged them to sign up for only the football matches and the Mr Macho while forgoing the rest.
For in the words of their senior colleagues, "games like that marching na for woman and sissies"

The discussions of this clique centered on football matches played on two pitches;
The football matches played on wide pitches like the Old Trafford, Camp Nou in the public,
And the football matches played by adults on square-like beds found in hotel rooms or residential homes within closed doors.

Aye

Such was the nature of the talk of this clique.

One minute you could be passing through their midst and you will hear them shouting, "o boy Guardiola Bleep up for that match as him remove Messi come put Pedro o"

The next minute you would hear the same person saying, "o boy na so that girl come my side that night and I play correct reggae and blues for am"
A comment that would always elicit laughs and handshakes from his comrades who would also be quick to share their experiences too.

GoldenVic was a member of this clique.
My good friend who was a defender and could stop any striker on the first pitch, while also acting as a seasoned striker who could score unique goals on the other pitch.

The 'omo ina' clique were the last set of people to 'enter' Ifesinachi.

That clique whose lingua franca was Igbo, and whose name was given to them by the yoruba boys.

They were that clique of boys who were very profit minded;
Having packed needles and thread in their suitcases incase any of their prospective roommate would need to fix their clothes;
Having packed some tablets of tramadol to sell, just in case any of their prospective roommates would need to be 'gingered' for very hard jobs;
And having packed some bottles of cough syrup to sell, just in case any of their prospective roommates would need to use codeine to get high and relax themselves.

The discussions of this clique were centered on the market prices of materials in Aba, the latest ban of the federal government on certain imported goods, and the location of the best 'nkwobi' centers in Owerri and Aba.

The tri-subjects of latest cars, women and international issues were 'haram' to this group.

As the major word and sentences that kept on repeating itself through the course of their discussions was 'ego' 'o ji m ugwo' (he owed me money) and 'nwanyi a e ji m e gwu egwu (this woman is playing with me)

This clique were wonderful lads.
For their hands never seemed to refrain from giving during the course of the camp.

To be continued in later episodes.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

Hey friend, Jesus loves you ooo

THE LIGHT THAT STAYED

I was walking back from an errand that night.
On a tiled road, I moved.
Swaggering joyously for the zenith bank beep which I had received.

Gazing into the night sky and admiring the stars like I always did.
For I believe that I would be an astrologer in the next life if the Hinduist beliefs are true.

While admiring the great poem which the Omnipotent stylus wrote, I saw a moving light.
Up above was a star which threw up different lights.
A star I recognized to be a plane.

Intoxicated by the drink of the bank alert.
Spurred by the desire to engage in quick game, I began to fasten my pace to catch up.
Every stride brought an increased rush of dopamine.
Every stride brought the daring thought that I could catch up with that moving body.
Every stride was like a block building up zerubabbel-like tower of hope which became increasingly fragile.
Every stride painted a much clearer vision of the victory party which I would throw if I finally met up with the light.

Alas!
The light kept moving without showing signs of stopping.
The plane kept gliding in space without no thought of the perspiring individual who hoped that it would stop.
The gents donning white uniforms in the flight cockpit kept the course steady without no thought of the dreams they were shattering deep down within me.

Alas!
Within minutes, the moving light disappeared.
Never to be seen even though I strained my eyes in search for it.

With its disappearance came dispair.
For I had forgotten it was just a game.
For I had truly yearned to be victorious.
For my hopes had been shattered and dreams disrupted.

While still moping, I saw a true star and began to walk towards it.
For it stood in its place and did not move an inch.
A star which did not immediately stimulate me, yet provided true joy.
As I knew that it would not leave me high and dry like the moving light.

Then, it came to me.
That 'Eureka' word that emanated from Mungo Park's lips when he saw the Niger river.
That 'thank God' sentence that emanated from Christopher Columbus's lips when he reached the new world.
That 'wow' expression that shined brightly on Stephen Hawkins face when he comfirmed the existence of Black holes through advanced calculus.

That moment I understood;

No matter how much I chased after pleasure, it would leave me high and dry;
No matter how much I drank from the pool of the world, I would not be satisfied;
No matter how much I satisfied people, they would not always give me peace;
No matter how much I strive to reach the top of the mountain, I would discover that there is nothing there.

Then I realized;
That with Jesus, my life would be perfected.
That my satisfaction resides within that light that stayed.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

Hello Friend, Covenant Chimnonso, a brother of mine would be needing your help in winning the Etisalat prize for photography. I hope you will vote for him biko.

http:///CCBenji9ja

ZAMO ZAMO

Heavenly father we come to you today.
Hearts bleeding from incisions made by the blade of love wielded by erstwhile lovers.

Backs breaking from the yoke of selflessness which we bear.
For we have unwilling turned ourselves into superhuman saviors of the universe.
All because of the fires of want which are like wildfire around us.

Mama in the village requires monies to pay for rent for the provision store.
Papa requires a quick loan to offset the debts he owes to his friends.
Madame dearest requires money to clear her goods lying at the port.
Little sister requires money to pay for completion of school project.
Best friend requests for a little loan to pay for the surgery of his little baby.
Little brother requires money to offset legal fees in order to be fully represented in court.
Boss at the workplace has brought aso ebi to be used at her wedding.


Renew the strength of our minds father.
As they are overstretched and drained out
Too much worry, I guess is the cause
Worries bothering on if the next salary will arrive as fast as the payslip did.
Worries bothering on whether Junior's learning process would speed up just like the price of his school fees rises.

Worries bothering on the time when the price of a cup of rice would graciously drop from the three figure back to two.
Or whether it had taken along its bed and already made itself comfortable in that zone.
For the price of numerous commodities went up and never went down despite the rise of the naira.

Worries bothering on the state of the educational system wracks our brains
Like, at what point does the conditional resolution ends and at which year would one escape the prison walls of the ivory towers.
Like, at which period will jobs await the freshly launched graduates who underwent baptisms of water, mud and spoilt soups.

Biko Za ekpere anyi Chineke
We come with long lists in our hands and shaky words coming out of our quivering lips.
As we indeed know that our requests are numerous.

Paraphrasing the famous Detol cool ad,
"If God cannot answer our prayers, Who can?"

Zamo zamo; zamo zamo; zamo Chineke nnam; zam zam zam.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

NIGERIA O' NAIJA
(Inspired by 'Africa kills her Sun' by Ken Saro Wiwa)

Puke rises to my tongue when I think of the state of my nation.
Gross bile upturns my stomach with the realization that Nigera is still killing her suns.

The amusing shows grip our fancy.
Dragging the watchers into a world of fantasy.
Fantasies which are hard to shake off like a thirsty leech

The invigorating dance trends lulls the guard of the youths;
Turning them into zombies whose thinking capacity is reduced.

The extravagantly set up pews with empty messages, keeps us focused.
Focused on the acquisition of ignorant feelings of happiness.
Urging laxity while the robber loots the treasury blind.

I weep for my country.

Bullets nestling in the bodies of innocents going on about their business.
Black oil resting the intestines of those whose lands have turned into a curse.
Muddy stains latched on to the gazing shoes of the frustrated graduates.
Pungent brew of anger boiling in the hearts of the forgotten ones whose labours built the polity.

The little flickers of hope are being doused by the waters of failed promises
The weak cord of unity is being snipped by the blades of governmental impunity
The horses carrying the fragile polity are being whipped mercilessly by the whips of hate speech

 The youths have turned inwards.

Fixing their gaze soley on the cross of self.
Content with discarding every selflessness.
For such acts are paid in heaven according to the preaching.

Nigeria o Naija.

Awake from your deep slumber.
Wipe off that trail of lazy saliva that lurks at the side of your mouth.
Rinse your faces in the waters of knowledge.
Put on the garb of boldness.
Polish your shoes of truth to wipe the dust of bribery away.

Let us march on the paths which the selfless ones tred earlier.
Let us cast away the fear of drinking the gall of persecutions.

For they will talk.
Aye, people will always talk.

What else can you expect from a spectator destined to die in that role.
What more can you expect from a dead fish that flows with the current.

Arise my dear compatriots.
The pratice of killing our suns has got to stop.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

E JE KA FI INU DIDUN

Ee-je-ka fi ope fun oluwa ni Ashale yiii. (Let us with merry hearts praise the Lord this night)
The guest preacher said.

A florescent bulb dangling over his head while he absent-mindedly flipped through his bible with his right hand.

He picked up his handkerchief and wiped off sweat that had formed on his forehead, while he gulped mildly to swallow the saliva that was accumulating in his mouth.

Iya Ijo, his wife at home had always told him to gulp at ten minute intervals,
For that would minimize the frequency of the spits that ejected from his mouth when he preached or prayed.

He could not help it.
For he was a fire brand who had seen life in its naked form and would never take anything for granted.

Who could blame him?

Apparently he had understood the meaning of 'ile aye akamara' when he had seen two old women pounding a live chicken at a crossroad in the middle of the night.
A sight which made him take a different route as he had been coming from an 'iso oru' session with his girlfriend at that time.

Apparently, he had been attacked by a machete wielding masquerade while in the dream and had woken up to see cuts on his body and a bloodied aso ofi which he had used to cover himself.
An episode which forced him to immediately rush to the ori oke (mountain) in Ekiti state in order to visit the famed Aladura (prayer warrior) society.

Apparently, he had been physically confronted by three elderly men who had informed him that he would die within ten days if he did not join them at the riverside to complete the rites of initiation into the cult which his father belonged to before answering the call of the heavenly towncriers.

Aye akamara.

The preacher had seen the world in its true naked form.
An experience that had fully changed his way of life and turned him into a fire brand.

He intended to do the same to the audience that night.
For his eyes had seen some very potent 'eleyes' (witches) who had come to disrupt the flow of the meeting.

Afterall, the land was known as the haven of Esu himself.
The resting place where his wife, Arun (disease) and his concubine, Iku (death) resided fully.

After the land had been handed over to the devil in a covenant more than fifty years back.
For the Kabiesi and Balogun (warrior chief) had been desperate to defeat their enemies and had exchanged the future of the land just to enjoy temporary dominance in the land.

The guest preacher looked around once again and shivered a bit.
For the audience were not seeing what he was seeing.

Beeni

Their 'oju inu' (inner eyes) were as blind as the Arsenal fan who knows his team will never win the Champions league, yet still rejects every call to dump the team.

Remember that popular saying 'o ti le chingum soju' (he has plastered chewing gum on his eyes)?
Their inner eyes had been sealed with a 'spiritual superglue'

That was if there was anything like that.

For some hardcore Christians held firmly to the belief that the spiritual world produces most of the physical things we use on earth.

Just like the marine world produces female hair attachments which are really snakes intertwined together.

Just like the marine world cooks up great beats in the studio underneath the water and gives them to music producers to listen to, so as to make hit records.

Just like the marine kingdom organizes numerous dance classes where they teach dance steps such as etighi, azonto and others so that the world can be hooked.

And just like the way high heels are really inventions from the darkest pits of hell that are meant to derail the women from making heaven.

Beeni
The inner eyes of these church members had been blinded.

The young university graduate sitting at the corner did not know that his eyes were lusting after Esu's daughter.
No wonder she could whine her waist so effortlessly anytime the choir leader raised a fast tempo praise song.

The resident pastor did not know that his wife was the wife to the terrible demon that wielded seventeen clubs.
No wonder He always woke up every morning with pains all over his body.

The resident pastors son never knew that the boy he bullied in school, was the next in line to become head of the wizards.
No wonder the son continued to repeat the class he was despite having a sharp brain .

They did not know, but he intended to force open their eyelids which had been slammed shut.

"E je ki a dide ni wo yi. A fe gba adura Isegun bayi" (we will stand up now. We want to pray victory prayers)
The preacher continued.
Obviously tired at seeing the lukewarm attitudes which the parishioners were putting on.

The usher, who was supposed to be on guard, had gone to sit in a discreet corner and dozed off.
"I cannot kuku come and kill myself" had been the last word he muttered before giving in to the overpowering grip of sleep.

For he was a banker who had rushed down from work to the night vigil.
And sleep was no respecter of anybody who has blood running through the veins.

The university graduate too was guilty of the lukewarm attitude.

He shifted uncomfortably on his seat while looking at the clock at intervals.
As his mind was devising the best way to extricate Morenike from the church building for about twenty minutes.
At least that would give them ample time to quickly perform a quick praise and worship session in the church toilet before returning to the service.

"Ara o sha ki n se igi (the body is not wood)" he quietly muttered.
And that early morning friend whose second name was 'konji' was a rude visitor who could pay anyone a visit at any time.

Beeni o.
It had paid the village pastor a visit while the man was preaching on the altar one day.

Poor man who had been jejely talking on Holiness and then experienced the visit of that overgripping visitor when a sister, wearing short skirts, walked to the front seat.
A seat, she did not stay a long time in because the usher had come swiftly to direct her to the back seat.

The church was getting too lukewarm,
And the pastor felt it was time to open their eyes of understanding.

"O pariwo ni wo yi. Mo ni pe o ma kigbe ki orun gbo. O ni pe, Oluwa oo, gbogbo ibi ti won ri ogo mi, bami wu jade " (You will shout at this point. You will scream so that heaven will hear you. You will say, Lord God, wherever they buried my breakthrough, help me uproot it).

It took two minutes for the worshippers to be charged up in prayers.
As everyone first took their prayer positions before they began to enter into the theatre of war.

The usher chose to kneel and place his head on chair.
A pose that allowed him to easily kick off round two of his sleep while feigning to be deeply praying.

The resident pastor held on to the iron support in the middle of the church.
As it could offer him more opportunity to push himself backwards and propel forward while praying.
Much like Ashakah Michael, a fellow who he had seen in Egba camp before.

The pastor's son faced the wall and fired prayers.
For he loved to hit the wall as a physical representation of what he was doing to the devil in the spiritual realm.

An exercise the devil laughed at seriously.
For the boys phone gallery was filled with pornographic missiles which he always feasted his gaze upon in the dead of the night.

To be continued in later posts
#BASHORUN

Okontas.com

JABEZ'S TALE (AFRICAN EDITION)

"Bia nebaa Obiageli (come here). I heard that you were complaining that the smoke from the fireplace disturbs your eye. If I hear you say that rubbish again eh, e ga ta ofufu (you will suffer well). Now run into the bush and pick wood that you will use to cook for us. And do not forget to beg mama Onyeka to give us a little ose (pepper).
These were the instructions, papa Ifeanyi uttered while he was sitting on his mat with a small mortar and pestle placed in front of him.
He was grinding the snuff which he planned to sell the next day, and He was angry.

How could he escape being angry?

Apparently he had given the name 'Obiageli' to his little child with the hope that her birth would bring good fortunes to his family.
Instead, things had turned out worse than before and the little girl had only come to eat the meal of suffering in the world.

Apparently his fortunes were always on the downturn as his traps only seemed to catch smaller and smaller animals until he finally gave up when an 'ntu' bird was trapped in it.

Also, his dane gun never seemed to hit the targets he aimed at.
As it always chose to hit other targets that brought more misfortunes to him.

One time, he had mistakenly shot the Papa Chimezie's thigh while the old man was happily tapping palmwine on his tree.
A misfortune that caused him to cough out three hundred cowries for treatment of the palmwine tapper.

At another time, his dane gun mistakenly buried its bullet in the shoulder blades of the daughter of the village Eze.
A misfortune that forced him to sleep in the village prison for ten moons.
A period in time when his first wife left him and ran away with his friend.

At his last hunting experience, he had mistakenly shot Nwofor the village lunatic to death.
A misfortune that caused him to sell all his father's farmlands in order to cough up money to pay the required burial fees plus sacrifices to appease the ancestors of the slain man who had demanded three goats even though they never tried to bestow sanity to the man while he was alive.

Indeed, there were numerous reasons why he was angry and he made sure that everyone around him tasted that wrath once in a fortnight.

Obiageli quickly ran away from the hut and He bent down to continue his task.

He had received an order to supply Maxi Okonkwo's household with snuff,
And He prayed that he would be able to deliver unlike previous times.

His business as a seller of snuff had experienced mixed fortunes.

At times when the order was small, he would deliver the package without any hitch encountered.
And at times when the order was large, he would experience a heavy stumbling block that would make him to fail.

Just like the heavy rains which soaked the large snuff he had prepared to supply to Eze during the new yam festival of the previous year.

Just like the little children who had mistaken the snuff, reserved for the elders meeting, for chalk and had mixed it with sand and water while playing 'nne na nna' (mummy and daddy' type of play.

Just like the goats which had walked through and passed waste on the large snuff which he spread while he momentarily ran to relieve himself near the bushes.

"Olisa, help me so that this one will work" he prayed.
For Maxi Okonkwo, his customer, was a red cap chief who visitors always flocked his compound.

While he scrapped the mortar with a small wooden spoon, he saw, Ifeanyi, his son walking towards the hut with a plastic keg of water placed on his head.

The keg was leaking again and Papa Ifeanyi's anger soared higher

"Come here Ifeanyi. Quickly empty that keg of water and take the plastic to Papa Oyinye.
Perhaps he will help us patch the leaking part this time."

For he knew that the leaking place could not be sealed again by amateur hands with fire and cut out plastic from a condemned rubber.

Like a wild male fox that chases the female fox in heat, Ifeanyi quickened his footsteps towards the empty basin in the room.
For he knew that he could not afford to withness his father's fiery anger.

That anger that was as constant as the early morning chirping of the birds.
That fiery temper that was always stoked whenever his mother came home without making any sales.

That fire of sorrow that lit his eyes ever since papa Ifeanyi's mother had given birth to him.

The poor man had been born under dark skies.
For the moon refused to come out that night, and the air was filled with the stench of death.

The village warriors had encountered defeat at the hands their neighboring village in a war which had lasted three days.
A war which was fought over the ownership of a fertile land that had been disputed over for many years.

A war which they had lost due to the treacherous act of their own clan member who had gone to the shrine and doused the sacred fire which always granted them victory while it burned.
A war that had torn the fabric of their village apart due to the merchants who had run away to settle in other villages.
A war which had claimed the lives of six vibrant youths in the village.
A war which had claimed the precious life of Dike, the strong farmer who happened to be the father of the yet-to-be- born papa Ifeanyi.

When Dike's pregnant wife heard the news, she collapsed due to shock and had to be resuscitated with Okpete leaf.

When her eyes finally saw the stiff body of her husband with empty eyes, whose blazing fire had been extinguished, she immediately collapsed once more, and went into an induced labour.

While she was still screaming with grief, she was cut short by a stinging slap from the midwife on ground.
As she could not afford to give birth to her child while her strength was channeled towards loud wails.

While the midwife ordered her to push as her cervix was fully dilated, Dike's wife clenched her fists and cursed the sun that rose up that morning.

Immediately the baby's head crowned, she uttered curses on the life he would live.

While she pushed out the placenta, she slowly muttered a curse on every seed that would be planted in the disputed land that had ushered in the destructive war.

With three curses uttered, his mother gave up the ghost and swiftly joined her beloved husband on the trip to the afterlife.

With the three curses uttered, she condemned the baby to live a life of struggle and pain.

That was the muted story of papa Ifeanyi whose birth name was Obianuju

To be continued in later posts
#BASHORUN

Okontas.com

SOMETHING GOOD AWAITS


Come o.

Aunty Aderonke turned Hardeyrhonkheh on Facebook;
Uncle Seyi turned Sheyman Stunner on instagram;
Mummy Cynthia turned Cee-cakes Artistry on LinkedIn;
Brother Covenant turned 'former occupant at Uselu Psychiatric' on Facebook,

Come o.
All intriguing broadcasters of pictures of human parts on Watsapp groups.

All 'shout ten Hallelujah today and watch money fall on you' broadcasters on Facebook

All you 'share this message to ten persons or something evil will happen to you' kind of psychics.

All you 'Jesus vs devil argument about sharing and ignoring message' kind of lawyers.

Come today and learn at the masters feet.
Come and be refreshed from the fountain of life.

A chalice of wine to revive your failing bones, He offers you to drink

A crystal to reveal the right path, He offers you to take a look at.

A signaling song to cry out when attacked, He offers to teach

A ferocious battle cry to utter when charging in on the gates of Hell, He offers to teach.

A salsa, waltz, tango, Rumba, samba, moonwalk, dance rehearsal to help you prepare for that great wedding dance, He offers to teach.

A taste of the 'Egusi' prepared in the heavenly kitchen, where Mama Felicitas is the head of supervising, He offers to give.

A taste of the 'ube' plucked from the heavenly tree by a youthful Patricia and Augustine Ogbor, He offers to give.

A peak at the embroidery and diamond pearls being fixed on the wedding gown by the heavenly loom, He offers to show you.

A short rehearsal to the heavenly spoken word rendition, He offers you a chance to listen.
A headphone to listen to the heavenly choir for a short time, He extends towards you.

A tip of the iceberg, He offers to you.
A peak at that heavenly city, He offers to show you today.

All to strengthen you for the last lap of the journey, my mamas and papas.
All to invigorate your bones for the third lap of the journey, my fellow youths.
All to strengthen your focus for the the second lap of the journey, my dear teenagers.
And to comfort the hearts of them who grieve for the ones who have departed.

Come one.
Come all.
To the fountain of life; COME
#BASHORUN

Okontas.com

Ojú tó rí ibi tí ò fọ́, ire ló ńdúró de / The best has yet to come.

TORI TORI O
(last post for the day, I promise)


My pipu my pipu

E don tey wey I don ginger una with better tori.
E don tey wey my laptop don play una better gbedu.

Na so una dey look.
Like tired church members wey dey wait for 'ore ofe' (closing prayer)
Like tired camera man for wedding wey dey wait make the beautiful ushers come im way with jollof rice plate.
Like tired bell prefect for secondary school wey just dey wait make 2pm reach so im go fit run out to go knack the bell.

Na so una dey move.
Like party goers wey dey pray make Dj play them better gbedu
Like newly-wed groom for dance floor wey dey wait for wedding guest to come spray am.
Unto say him brain don turn calculator wey dey reason the amount wey him borrow to do wedding.

Make una nor dull again.
As I don bring the tori eey go ginger una swagger.
As I don bring the Ghana-must-go traveling wey new cloth dey inside for una to pick
As I don bring the pop corn wey go make una movie night sweet
As I don bring the koboko wey go awaken the imagination of una minds
As I don bring the dynamite wey go blow una mind.

Abeg,
Make una forget say I talk that last one.
Unto say I no be affliate to those 'gbo-ko' boys.
And my body nor dey ginger to run go meet any 72 virgins for any heaven.

I wan yarn una about one package like that.
One experience with one goody bag type of lady wey I meet for TheExperience

The show happen for December last year.
Time wey everybody don begin clean up their act for the year.

Time wey mama Risi don begin put two meat for baba Risi rice.
Unto say she wan get enough amunition for hand.
Enough bullets wey she go use take fire the poor man if him talk say moni nor dey to buy bag of rice during Christmas period.

Time wey mama Onyeka stop to dey throway papa Onyeka hand for bed.
Unto say she dey prepare to act like king Hezekiah for papa Onyeka few days before Christmas.
As she plan to fully remind am of every high key and low key wey him play while them dey chop the pounded yam wey God prepare down for ONLY husband and wife.

Time wey Aunty Carol don begin to backup all her chat history and phone numbers of her sugar daddies and mugus to Google Cloud and Drop box.
Unto say she wan delete them from the phone for the temporal Xmas session.
Unto say better uncle fit show from 'America' wey dey look for good girl to marry.
Good girl wey go suddenly come im way even after him don break many girls heart for that side.

Hmmmm.
People funny sha o.

Some boys go dey play reggae ontop another man pikin but go dey pray make another boy nor play blues ontop their own pikin.
Some girls go dey help other women to take care of their husband, and go still pray make their future husband eye close with super glue.

Some mamas go dey visit Dibia to kill another woman pikin, and go still dey pray make Olisabinigwe bless their pikin.
And some Papas go dey play baba ijebu with their income, and go still dey pray make Baba God make them wealthy entrepreneurs

Taaa!
Na lie.

That little boy go play blues plus high life ontop that boy pikin
That husband eye go shine well well like igbo boy eye wey just enter Lasgidi.
That mama pikin sef go enter better accident.
And that papa go sell all im property last last to take stake onto number wey im dream about.

Abeg make I go back to my tori biko.

That December eh,
Your guy say him wan turn im life around o.
Say him wan carry him dirty body go church unto say pastor tell am say Jesus get laundry machine.
Say him wan carry him thirsty throat go church unto say pastor talk say Jesus get Hennessy to quench him thirst.

Sorry again.
Na living water na im pastor talk.
But na Hennessy na im your guy hear.

Unto say the spirit of 'Shayo' hol am strong like small pikin wey them give new toy.

Unto say sin na one kain evil thing wey dey twist how person dey see and hear something.

So tay young boy wey don too dey addicted to pornography go dey hear another thing if one person shout 'ride on pastor' for inside church.
So tay young lady wey don too dey addicted to clubbing fit begin whine waist if choir begin sing 'Kaa-bioo-sii o'.
So tay choir leader wey too dey hear Iyanya songs go begin sing 'Lift up your hands and worship. All my ladies' when time for worship come.
So tay your boy go begin hear 'Hennessy' when pastor dey talk 'living water.

That December, I promise God say I go change my life.

As I hear say Don Moen dey show for Lasgidi, I say I must go so that him slow song go touch this wicked heart wey I get.

As I hear say Mama anyi Chioma Jesus dey show, I say I must go make 'Jesus! Onyeorluebube' surprise me sef with many many blessings

As I hear say Travis Greene don begin take flight come, I say my legs must go so that my ear go listen to that voice wey dey melt heart.

Kaii
Some people voice be like mammy water sha o.

As in eh, if to sing na exam,
People like Ceecakes and Travis go get A1 plus,
While people like myself and Odimayo Gbemi go get strong F9.
Unto say our calling and music be like two horizontal lines wey no go fit ever meet.

On that fateful day wey Christians for the full Lasgidi dey prepare to go meet God, me sef begin knack better suit ontop my blue jean.

On that fateful day wey some sharp boys dey plan to go help God to safeguard other people property, me sef begin knack the last perfume ontop my suit.

On that fateful day wey some girls dey put on wickedly low skirt to go drag men heart with God, me sef begin enter inside Uber wey dey go stadium.

On that fateful day wey some senior men dey plan to hijack some people cars just like some village winch wey dey plan to hijack some people breakthrough, me sef begin put call through to Okpeke just to end the relationship.

On that day wey God ready to meet man, me self talk say I no go dull myself at all.

Na so I enter the stadium o.

Begin see blue, green and white dot lights wey dey dance around the whole place.

Begin see some Facebook Lai Muhammed's wey don begin type "OMG Travis is hereee" even though the musician never baff talkless of to even wear cloth for the show.

Begin see all those instagram taggers wey don run go dey find celebrity upandan like say na salvation dem dey find.

Begin see old university classmates wey dey hug themselves upandan unto say e don tey wey dem don see each other.

Begin see all those Ajah boys wey be like bat because say na only night dem dey come outside.

Begin see all those Lekki pikin dem wey don begin thrown tantrum all around the place.
Nor ves.
For pidgin, I see those ajebuta pikin dem wey don begin shout like pikin wey never recieve better slap from im mama

Begin see some boyfriend and girlfriend as them dey hold each other hand as if say them dey fear make the spirit of God nor separate them that night.

Hehehehehe.
Their plan nor work sha o
Because me sef know say the spirit really torsh the girl heart well.
Unto say I use my koro koro eyes see the girl when she fall down under the anointing later on as the service dey go on.

Make I never rush too much.

Even though my eyes see all these things, I jejely trek go the front side.
Come pocket my small sef for one seat as my eye begin observe everything wey dey go on.

E never too tey wey the Pastor come outside.
One Pastor Adefarasin wey be House on the Rock head pastor.

To be continued in later posts
#BASHORUN

Okontas.com

FOR YOU ALONE. (Village edition)

Chukwu m.
Nwa gi abiala na otutu.
In the early morning, I will lift my eyes to the sun.

Thanking you for the warm morning rays while I twirl the chewing stick around my teeth.

Thanking you for my beautiful household while my little Oyinye brings my pap and Akara into my hut and sets it down.
Thanking you while my wife rushes to the bush with a machete to cut fodder for the goats, and also hewing out a head of palm fruit to be used in preparing banga in the afternoon.
Thanking you very much while my little boy, Tobe, stretches his catapult to check its strenght and tests his accuracy on a nearby lizard.
Thanking you while the back of my friend, Okonkwo, is bent while trying to grind the snuff he will sell to his customers later when he goes to perform his duties as a town crier.

Jesus I praise you.

For I know that you will save my bare feet from stepping the tail of any snake that waits for me by the paths to my farm.
For I know that you will help my family avoid the paths of Iruche, the village madman that bites everyone that dares to pass his path.

For I know that you will save my daughters from entering into the trap of Uchenna, the dreaded playboy that disvirgins girls under the ukpa tree in the village square.
For I know that you will save my son from tagging along with evil friends to steal cocoyams from the barn of the village chief priest.

For I know that you will teach my wife to refrain her tongue from hurling abuses at Nwanyi Abudu, the trinket seller who we all know, is a witch.
For I know that you will make my trap catch a game that would be big enough to feed the village.

For I know that you will cause my yams to be bigger than that of the Eze, and my goats to give birth to kids in their tens.
For I know that you will make my thatched roof, made of palm fronds, strong enough to withstand the dreaded September winds that uproots homes.

For I know that you will save my cousin Ifesinachi from falling off the tall palm tree as he goes to tap the tree.
For I know you will bless Ekene's nkwobi stall and cause her customers heart to merry while eating and sharing banter.

Chukwu o.
Only you can do all these.
And that is why I depend on you.
#BASHORUN

Okontas.com

Ká máa náwó kò ní kówó ó tán; ká ya'hun kò ní kówó ó pọ̀ si / Charity won’t make you poor, just as being stingy won’t make you rich.

MOST GRACIOUS ONE

Save me now my father.
Your child needs you more than ever.

From the demons he has extended full invitation cards to, redeem him
From the mire trap which his foot is stuck in, save him.
From the indefinite strike which has grounded his progress, save him.
From the liverpool -like club which has stopped my dream, transfer me.
From the Arsenal-like situation which does not offer any advancement, save me.
From the Costa - like pride which has eaten deep into my self, help me.
From the the Wenger - like leech which has refused to leave me despite my best efforts, save me.

Jesus I need thee.
Temptations abound around me.

Like wolves around a prey, they circle around,
Waiting for a chink in my amour .

Like Barca players around a box 18 of an opponent who is defeating them 1:0,
They await any small lapse in my defense.

Like a stubborn child whose mother has just prepared jollof rice,
They await me to sleep so they can plunder.

Like a patient but deadly Real Madrid counter-attack,
They wait for me by the church gates to attack after I am done with the church service.

Like a wall lizard which lays very still while hunting for the flies that flock around the bulb,
They act like they are gone and then return in full swing later on.

Like an army led by Odessyus himself,
They prepare a Trojan gift to mask their evil intentions.

Like a swarm of yoruba demons wearing agbadas,
They study the book of seduction in order to lure me.

Like a secondary school student who is desperate to sleep with any girl,
They sugar-coat their tongues with 'do as I say' charms and fill their fingers with 'follow me' rings.

Beeni o
My temptations do these and more.
And that is why I need you my God.
#BASHORUN

Okontas.com

Ẹni tó ńsáré tó ńwo ẹ̀hìn, ó di dandan, kó fi ẹsẹ̀ kọ / If you keep looking back when you run, you will inevitably trip and fall.

ONE BIG MISTAKE

It all began with a thought.
A thought that I ruminated on, like a hen brooding over her eggs.
Like a hand fan, the feeling of self-pride stoked the fire of hatred.
Like a child bringing kerosene to fuel fire on a dumping site, my thoughts of self-dependence came to help stir up the anger.

And I so I hated them.
Stockpiling munitions (weapons) of hardcore rap to help strengthen my weak mind against any feelings of forgiveness.
Poring my eyes over the Mario Puzo classic books in order to learn the ways of the Sicilians.

For vengeance is the macaroni they eat,
And unforgivenessss is the red wine that leaves a crimson stain on their lips.

I never knew that their history moulded them that way.
For the Lumpara (short gun) has been a personal family possession that helped them protect themselves against the government.
Kind of like the Ak- 47s being wielded by the American black Panthers against the government.

In my state of hatred,
A word burst out carelessly from my lips.
An action materialized through thoughtless planning.
A finger hit the 'send' button to ferry across a hate filled text.
The fingers clenched together to form a fist that landed squarely on the other person's face.
The mind cowered and forced the feet to run away while the other person uttered cries for help.

A big mistake I later realized it was.

For the engineer called 'time' came to untangle the brain neuron wires which were not fully functioning.
For a violent wind called 'hurricane Holy Spirit' began to uproot all foundations of hatred within me.
For the blazing and raging fire of hate was doused by the cold water of love.
For I desired to become a citizen of the new Jerusalem instead of Sicily.

A place where they feast on lamb roast of forgiveness.
A place where they raise chalices filled with the wine of humility, to their lips.

And so I apologize;
To my day three (secondary school) friend Henry Ogu, I am sorry for being the world's greatest jerk.
To my day four (university) friends, Shalom and Bridget , I apologize for being the world's best promise and fail friend.
To my day five friend Monalisa, I apologize for acting out my frustrations in the spur of the moment.
And to everyone else who I may have hurt bad, I say I am indeed sorry.

There goes my apology.
The key that opens the room filled with foul and defective air, in order to let it out and clear the air.
The hands that opens the cage and lets my joy fly out gleefully.

There goes my apology.
Words that heal the world at all times.

Hey friends.
We all wrong people at some times, yet we must not be so proud to acknowledge our wrongs and apologize. None is perfect: only Edumare is.
#BASHORUN

Okontas.com

Mọ̀jà mọ̀sá ni ti akínkanjú; akínkanjú tó bá mọ̀ọ́ jà tí ò mọ̀ọ́ sá, á b'ógun lọ / Know when to quit.

THE LONG WALK

The alarm clock rang unusually that morning.
Like a angry wife who has just seen the phone chat history of her husband and his mistress, it screamed into his ears.
Like an enraged Ijebu miser who is calling Mtn to complain about the sudden disappearance of his 0.70 naira flashing credit, the alarm seemed to rain down hell on the ears of the sleeping man.

"Wake up you lazy good for nothing" it seemed to shout.
For the velocity which the man's hand travelled to knock it down, was alarming quick.

Finally waking up, he placed his hands under his chin and let out a sigh.
Like Beyonce had sang in 'Fighting temptations', he had woke up feeling like the world was on top of him.

Unemployment was his problem.

The every day curse that plaqued him.
The Cain-like wandering tattoo which did not fade away from his skin.
The tiger-like stripes which seemed to announce his presence everywhere.
The skunk-like repulsive odor that seemed to be his everyday perfume.
The camel-like hump which did not intend to leave him alone.

"Edumare. Jesu mi. Help your boy make today own click"
He muttered in prayer as he bent down and fished out his shy shoes which had hidden itself within the junk underneath the bed.

No one could blame the poor thing (shoe) for being shy.

For uncle was merciless in the usage of it.
Four years and still counting, uncle still relied on it to provide the best goods.
Buying all types of polish just to makeup the brownish faded parts and make it appear presentable.
Much more like the instagram slay queens of nowadays.

No one could blame the poor thing for being shy.

For its mouth had been open for the past two weeks like a gluttonous child who mistakes 'Ata rodo' (red pepper) for strewberry fruit.
For its mouth had been begging to be stitched up like a open sore which begs for the instantaneous hot and later cooling touch of iodine.

Unfortunately, uncle could not extend a golden scepter to grant its request.
For uncle had spent his last 'cad' on stocking up his cupboard with two 'kobiewu' (rubber) of garri.
A sort of last meal which uncle will eat and pack his load to return to farming in the village if he did not get a job soonest.

Uncle's dad had a farm in the village.
A big piece of land which had been left to fallow for two years.

Three years back in Abule (village), uncle's father had bid farewell to uncle, thinking that he would return five months later.
For uncle had told him that he wanted to go and learn a trade in Akure.

Little did Baba know that;

Like a little Ajegunle child who goes to play Play Station 2 with the money given to him to buy onions and dry fish, uncle had intended to use his transport money for another purpose.

Like Jonah who ran to board another boat going to Tarshish, uncle went to board another bus going to Lagos.

Like the little Benin child who had stayed in the tyre compartment of the plane, uncle, due to insufficient money, had been forced to hitch a ride among the cows which were being ferried to the Mushin abbatoir.

Beeni
Uncle had ran away from the village for more than three years.
And like that prodigal son whose sense returned to his head while eating dry cassava chaff meant for pigs, uncle planned to return home immediately his stock of garri dried up.

-----------

While uncle polished his shoes which were crying under his bony grip, someone outside applied three raps on the door.

Three raps that produced a sound that caused uncles stomach to wrap in anguish and pain like a fufu wrap being squeezed by a very hungry mason who had pap for breakfast and was given a dirty slap by the owner of the building just because his cement bowl brushed her laps.

Forget that wordplay that was used above.

The knocking produced an all too familiar sound which landlord alone produced.

The knocking came again in two successive taps that made uncles heart leap like a donkey who is hit with the kind of stick which most herdsmen carry.

I do not refer to those spineless set of herdsmen bastards who slit one's throat while the person is sleeping.

Noo.

I am refering to those gentle breed of herdsmen.

The ones who are kind enough to start a conversation with you even though the whole time is spent with them trying to teach you the correct fulani pronunciation of their names.

The ones who are cool with sharing their meal of fura de nunu which is drunk straight from the calabash.

The ones who will carry their radios up on their shoulders while agreeing with you that the president was wrong for going out of the country for medical treatment even though there were numerous general hospitals around and numerous Sheikh's and pastors who could pray and heal him.

Beeni
Those are the type of herdsmen I am talking about.

For people seem to forget that one broken egg does not cause the remaining eggs to go bad.

For they tend to forget that the pungent smell of fart which emanates from a beautiful lady does not mean that her beauty and value has reduced by any inch.

Beeni
Olorun ko da ile iso si le (God did not create a house for farts) goes the popular quip.

For people tend to forget that a race should not be judged based on the actions of one man.

Beeni

As there are hundreds of igbo boys who swallow tablets of cocaine with a goal of excreting them to sell and make money,
So also are there also millions of Aba boys who are engaging in daily manufacturing and sales of textiles under the hot sun with the goal of taking care of mama in the village and building castles where their little children would feel safe.

As there are hundreds of yoruba boys hurdled together in a room with a twenty mattresses and hundreds of laptops and mobile routers with a goal of helping the hearts of white people to temporarily heal with the tablet of love, and helping their monies to develop wings,
So also are there millions of yoruba men who are currently engaged in farming and industrial activities where the sweat pouring out from their skin pores, is genuinely filled with the desire to provide better living conditions for their families.

As there are two yoruba demons, fully decked in agbada, who are licking their lips and observing the behinds of female attendees at a wedding reception.
So also are there two hundred decent yoruba men who are genuinely taking in insults from their bosses in order to keep the job and provide for their wives; enduring the bumpy rides of lagos molues in order to save up to buy cars for their girlfriends; and also dragging themselves out of bed on Sunday morning's just to fulfill the wishes of their girlfriend.

Indeed.
Nobody should ever judge a whole people just because some members are evil

To be continued in later posts
#BASHORUN

Okontas.com

Hello friend. Jesus loves you very much.

Ohun tí a ò fẹ́ kéèyàn ó mọ̀ là ńṣe lábẹ́lẹ̀ / The person who has nothing to hide should not do anything in secret.

BEAUTIFUL: HE CREATED THEM ALL

"Beautiful" He calls everything fashioned in his hands.

In the stagnant muddy pool left by the rains, the frogs croak.

In the the thick shrubs, the crickets are chirping.
Singing melodious songs of love to each other.

The little wasp settles on the green pawpaw.

The young ant struggles to climb the stalk of the ripened maize

The male antler locks his horn playfully into the female's.

The crab snips at the baby snake with its piecers
Reminding the poor creature that some animals are not meant for food.

The squirrel quickly runs up the alfalfa with a nut between her teeth.

The 'alangba' (lizard) chases an ant, stops because the ant has taken refuge near my feet, nods his head twice and scampers away.

The baby birds cry out loud for their mama, who hears from afar and speeds up her pace with an earthworm between her beak.

The white polar bear stands close to the hole she has bore into the ice with her claws,
Waiting for any fish to pass so she can quickly take home to feed her starving young.

The 'malu' cow sit down on the soft wet grass, swishing his tails while munching his regurgitated grass and mooing to acknowledge the greetings from his friend, the cattle eget

The old man bends over with his hoe to remove the stubborn weed, while the leader of the soldier ants nearby, breaks up their formation to regroup elsewhere.

The wife of the old man gingerly turns the yam roasting on the fire, while swatting away the fly that rests on the roasted maize she is eating.

The 'omo poly' poly student is bent over her books, reading the same page for the third time while thinking of the best hair product she would get with the money her 'boyfriend' has just sent.

The young mechanic apprentice is rushing to buy rice 50 naira, beans 50 naira and meat 400 naira which his oga has just sent him to buy with a stainless plate wrapped in black nylon.

The newest bride is waking up to a meal of Akara and hot custard with honey and peak milk which has been prepared for her by her loving husband who is thankful for a night well spent.

The pastors wife is placing a quick affectionate peck on her husband's cheeks as he is reading the Bible, while he stops, looks at her and jokingly prays God to lead him not into temptation.

God created EVERYTHING BEAUTIFUL IN ITS TIME
#Bashorun

Okontas.com