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need balance

there's some beauty in darkness:
something interesting about
the way the air would heavily light
an irony of perfect juxtaposition. there's some beauty in ugly:
something intriguing about the
huge grotesque scars that
seem to never want to go away. there's some beauty in evil:
un peu de la purité in
the heart of a condemned man,
an innocence buried beneath a blanket of
bottled up emotions. these little beauties we
choose to neglect
aren't they the very things that
make living bearable? who would be good without the existence
of evil?
who would be beautiful without ugliness?
or what story could ever be told without scars? need beauty and ugliness,
need scars and healing oils,
need good and evil,
need all the balance to remain
steady and sane in this
crazy crazy world. need balance:
then imbalance to
balance the human equation
now and again.
Recent posts

TRANCE

my eyes are
intelligent,
brilliant: a firework of events.
my thoughts are
limited,
weakened; how come it took
this long to realize?
my screams are
silent,
crippled: hence the irony,
suiting this madness.
my heart is
bound,
consumed: inclined to a seul,
the imperfect affair.
my life was
easy,
still is: when will it fully blossom?
some lies are
unharmful,
a sign: love's very true own
protection.
my eyes are
not for seeing,
but feeling,
all these other lives
i dare not intrude
or touch,
for the better part of
this dreadful
trance.
g.o.

The City That You Were

i was Jos
and
he was Lagos. i was the quiet streets of Rock Haven:
the houses separated by the heavy silence
of unanswered 'hellos' from neighbours.
the absolute conservation of shades the trees
cast here- was totally me. he. he was the busy streets of Obalende:
the unrepentant conductors yelling,
'Yaba! CMS! Yaba! Yaba!
the circular circulation of human sweat waving
through the air like Oxygen.
neglecting the weaknesses of island Ajebutters and JJC pedestrians. at night i was the city of J-Town after 8pm.
quiet. eerily so.
soldiers securing fences of the selected few.
smoking stuff and drinking liquor,
with AK-forty-somethings to bring down any rebel who dared to equal. he was the busy streets of Lasgidi at night:
the traffic, in French translated to, "la circulation"
right up from Admitalty Way through the Toll gates.
Cars honking, drivers cursing, almost excitedly at each other.
LASTMA officials obeying the call to rip-off 'rich' drivers. …

How to not find a Husband in Nigeria

''A woman who is not successful in her own marriage has no advice to give her younger generations.''

-Nigerian Proverb



See ehn I could probably write an entire book on growing up in Nigeria and I bet it’d win an Oscar.
The only problem is that I fear my Nigerian story wouldn’t cut it to global recognition and only movies win Oscars.
I’ll share with you all this very sef-discovered and first-hand recount of growing up in Nigeria- a female. Besides the one year I lived in Lome Togo, I have not been to any other country outside Nigeria. So I beg to be excused if my references to the Western world is off point.

I have all of the Hollywood and Bollywood movies to blame for that.

Being a Nigerian Female
Age 0-13
When a Nigerian female is born, before the elapse of the Millennial era, there was probably a 10% chance your parents wanted a son. And while there might have been a bit of err ‘disappointment’ for a while, they eventually got over it. This age range for most is the t…

This is not a Drill

i want to be stuck in an 80's song with you:
in a different space,  a different time. 
i want the days we've known to rewind
back to the very first day i saw you.

it was 1986,
a brilliant November afternoon.
our city was crawling fresh with the pest of peoples.  and from a Navy Blue Peugeot 504,  you stepped out.  all manly:  6-feet something something inch of you.  you had your shirt buttoned down,  buttoning up the delicious huskiness of your voice until you spoke half a minute later. 


i want to be stuck in an 80's song with you: somewhere far away from cellphones,
the internet and side-chicks.

the exclusive breath-taking love of the 80's,
i want that with you.

letter-writing and ditto-salutations,
loving and meeting up under trees,  Afrobeats and Fela,  the sweet melting of Jazz music in our ears. guaranteed,  you will not regret it. 
only if you come away with me and let me let you love me letting you love me till i let you get hooked. 
until i let you go,  going beyond your wildes…

The Nigerian Millennial Mother's Conference of 1989

If you are an African millennial born in Africa or the Diaspora, there’s a 70% chance you must have gone through a dramatic childhood.
And that is not because, as some parenting books would say, you were exhibiting toddler behavior, but because of your parents, most especially, your mum.


Besides personal experiences with one’s African mum, there seemed to be one ultimate truth: every mum had a similar line for executing discipline (in any situation) and upbringing generally. In recent times, millennials have employed these in making jokes, skits, and every other popular social media statement available.

Without doubt, our mothers used the same pattern in raising us up. Just last night, a colleague and friend of mine said(in not exactly these words), ‘what if millennial mothers actually had a conference on child upbringing?’ And bing, this article was born.



I’ll not even lie, prior to the discussion with this said friend of mine(whom I’m going to be referring to as X), I’d never reall…

September 23, Age 23

I have been called a lot of things; ‘weird’, ‘real’, ‘cynical’, ‘kind’, ‘beautiful’, ’impatient’, ‘good’, ‘mean’, ‘free’ and ‘quiet’. 
There’s a lot more, but that’d take up a lot of space (bet you get the idea).
And over the years, while some of these things momentarily defined me, might still try to even, I know that is not the case. This is because I have gradually come to the understanding that people will just drop words or phrases of who they think you are. Or better still who they might want you to be, to them_ I don’t know why humans do this, but we do.

No denying some of those words make up the person that I am but in my gradual process of self-awareness and understanding I have learnt so far that I cannot dwell on those adjectives to determine who I am.

Of course, this might come as a string of blah blahs and yapping, but I have had myself, my body and soul for 23 years and I can say boldly that no one has the right to define me or anyone else for that matter.

This is not t…