Laff MATAZ

Seriously things I see sometimes make me laugh and laugh.

I was on my way home yesterday o when I noticed a small crowd gathering around two men. I was like, "ah wetin dey happen,  Abi make we dey run?" We Lagosian are used to that running part a lot.

I hate going close to a gathered crowd in public, so I boarded a bus that was loading passengers to my destination  and decided to get every detail to why the crowd gathered around the men.

Meanwhile, one of the men, who was lanky and tall, was all over the atmosphere in his voice. But I paid more attention to the other man who held his peace despite the lanky man's rough handling.

"O le se nkankan! Iwo? Emi é o le gbe...(meaning, you can't do anything! Your ability can't carry it.)"
The lanky man was at it.

When the heat was getting to the peak, one very old man, who had his hands folded behind him, tapped the lanky man's shoulder.
"Bobo Yi MA anue PA. She o ri pe Omo-igbo ni? (meaning, this guy will beat you to death. Can't you see that he is an Igbo boy?)"

The lanky man became irritated immediately and applied Moses' "an eye for an eye law." "Baba, she é fe ku l'owo mi ni?  É ko oshi Yi lo Jor! (meaning, Baba, do you want to die in my hands? Go away with your stupidity please!)."

The old man stepped aside and stood on a pavement to have a proper view of the event. Before we, the onlookers, knew what was happening, the lanky man was off the ground, his legs flew helplessly in the air. Lower jaws dropped and brows were raised to the instantaneous display. The Igbo guy, who was behind the lanky man's sudden bodily upward and downward movement, grabbed the lanky man around his waist and hit him on the ground. Mixed reactions swept through the crowd after the hit.

When they finally separated them, the lanky man sprang up to his feet with blood dripping down his swollen left eye and ran behind a man shouting, "o too! (meaning,  you are not enough. In pigin, it is, you no reach.)"

Some people laughed him to scorn. While he was busy hiding behind people, that same old man sluggishly walked up to him and said, "Bawo lo she fo s'oke na? Mo ro pe Michael Power ni é. Sumo wan lo tu soro na. Openu! (meaning, how did you fly up self? I thought you are Michael Power? Go close to him and talk na, Idiot!)

People laughed the more...

"Go on!" the conductor shouted as he hit the roof of the danfo bus.

Our bus zoomed off afterwards, we talked about the incident and laughed even more.

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You Only Live Once (YOLO)

It is what it is... 

The heartbeat of love and hate, 

the thrill of success and failure, 

the irony of human emotions... for what it's worth you haven't really lived until that breathe itching noiselessly up and down your lungs leaves...it is what it is...YOLO

Every curl of her lip ached with mischief, 

the twirl of her eyes subtle like karius on Gareth bale's shot...she lingered, 

evaluating, 

scheming , 

although her complexion is unknown she is not fair...some call her a bitch but no one really has the guts to bed her...

She knows the game, she sets the rules... 

she always wins... because we all die... YOLO

Written by Ephraim

GUYS ARE THE SAME, GIRLS ARE THE SAME

While growing up as a young adolescence in the streets, one orientation I got is “girls are the same.” I wondered why such a phrase would ever be imagined in the first place. Well, it already existed, so I got no choice to either beat past it or join them in preach it.

I used to think that I would not have a girlfriend until I want to get married. Did someone just smile? Well, I used to.

 I had my first girlfriend eleven years ago after so many pressures from my friends. So many stories had been told, so I didn’t just want to be a listener but also a narrator. Never will I forget that I avoided having a girlfriend while in secondary school because I knew she would demand sex which I wasn’t ready to indulge in, I avoided going to parties, club, or anywhere that was exposed to having even the thought of it.

I joined my friends in the quest to explore our adolescence exuberance, although I had my stand of not indulging in sex until my wedding night. The first girlfriend I had then wanted us to make out as lovers which I strongly negated, she wasn’t happy about it, and that was how I had my first break up. I met and lost a few girls which were birds of a feather with the first. That was when I was forced to start believing that all girls could really be the same. Since I was forced to believe that all girls are the same, I had to start dancing to their tune.

But are all girls really the same?

“Yes, they are! They only want you for your money, swag, fame, and handsomeness (this one is really leaving the market of preference now).” A guy strongly opined when we were all discussing as teens. So many other guys I have met have this as a fact, so they really don’t care much about love. Some don’t even believe love exists in the first place.

What about guys, are they all the same?

Well, I am a guy, so I shouldn’t be the speaker here. But from experience and my dealings with ladies, I should have a say without sentiment. I met a lady about six years ago, who was in tears that she just had a break up. She caught her boyfriend cheating with her friend. She had a couple more and out of frustration of failure to secure a true love, she confessed to me that all guys are the same. I begged her to give it a last shot before opting in to become a lesbian she had made up her mind to become. And yet again, she gave me another reason why guys are the same. “They just want the sex!”

So many ladies are also in the same page with this lady I met that all guys are the same.

THE FACT

One thing we should all know is the fact that guys discuss among themselves, and ladies also discuss among themselves. Each party sum up the experiences of its member to lay hold on what they believe is a fact- fallacy of generalization. The same way we accord dirtiness and sabotage to Yorubas, lovers of money to Igbos, people behaving like cows to Hausas. But we always forget to accord them with respect. The Yorubas have the most graduates in the country, The Igbos are an industrious and born to survive people, and the Hausa supply fruits and ingredients and meats to the country.

What am I saying in essence?

The fact you’ve met about ten wrong guys doesn’t mean there are no good guys out there. Work more on yourself and be expectant and vigilant to notice him when he finally arrives. Do not dwell on the closed doors behind you not to notice the opened doors before you- so says a wise man.

Let me end with this.

Anyone who left me definitely is either not good for me or is too good for me. I don’t force anyone to stay with me because everyone has got a choice to make. But when they leave, will they still have a niggling regret that they should have stayed? Now, it depends on who you have developed yourself to be.

Take time to build up yourself mentally, psychologically, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and socially. Make anyone who leaves you feel foolish rather than smart because a man making ridges doesn’t really notice if he doesn’t want to notice who is watching him, walking away from him, abusing him, or even having a cold war with him. That’s what we should all be busy doing. I’m sure the cliché of “all guys are the same” and “all girls are the same” will go into extinction.

THE BROKEN ME

THE BROKEN ME

Saying I know where to start from is a big lie,

I can’t even arrange them up in a big file,

They are numerous that they take more than a life time to narrate.

And eternity to write.

Is it when I was weak nearly to death,

When all I could do was to wake up and stare,

Laying there with tears rolling down my face, alone in my little bed.

With my skinny self, boney flesh and bulging eye,

When everyone around had a count of when I would die.

When I was beaten to the ground by rejection,

Inferiority complex became my tagged companion,

Loneliness taken over by frustration,

When death felt like my best and last option.

I cried at the very sound of the knock of responsibility,

Knowing fully well how broken I was in poverty,

I desired peace and happiness from my abode but, it was afar of and a distance away to reach.

Left alone to wrath and waste in the ditch with no one to run to for help with no person to meet for aid, to sleep, wake and starve and the spot I was laid.

When a place amongst dogs and pigs was my portion,

Every little action of mine caused grave disgust and painful reactions,

Keeping every scar, pain, bite, pierce, wound, objection, reaction,

To my pity self.

Because the state of my soul is more pathetic.

For what is worse than being alive and not existing amongst life.

Every day and night I go down on my knees, with tears rolling down my cheeks

Crying for that pain I feel inside, screaming and calling his name,

“I’m here again with my bag of shame, a load to heavy I wonder if I alone is to blame,

          You alone lord know my heart desire,

          You know the burning love I have for you,

I know doing it all by myself will be so wrong, but why keep silent for so long L

To your word I’ll dance, sing and applaud, in fervent anticipation I always wait for your touch and call, but as obvious as it seems the future of my body and soul is blur   : /

For even in my dying bed, I promise to pray no matter the cost

I’ll pray and believe faithfully in what your word said, and that great loss

For I know your promise can never fail.

On that boat of eternal peace, I’ll one-day sail.

Written by WAYNEE

BROKEN

A real day starts with your morning kiss

It’s oozing warmth like the sun’s bliss,

That surely will give a permanent smile, throughout the day’s while.

Off to work with a heart beating,

On a romantic funky scale,

Thoughts that filled my heart art the early starting,

Was how close are we to the end of the working day.

I longed for every little chance of a glimpse of your face,

To linger under the warmth of your charming beauty.

With all my heart I loved you, and with no doubt show care,

But that one set back, was me getting home and not seeing you there.

She survives on her sick bed,

Plugged in machines, every beep gave that burn in my heart,

But still for her sake put up a fake grin,

With tears in my heart.

Every beep brings that bad chill, of me losing her slowly,

Prayer was all I could do, but I can’t still hold up that tear that still finds its way down my cheek on a gaze at her state.

She has a smile for everyone, with her every touch I was always at peace,

By her side I strive to stay and her hands to hold,

But I fear for that warm palm ever getting cold.

Most times I lighten my feet,

To listen patiently and solemnly to her heart beat,

But slowly and softly it counts as the machine beeps.

Fear of leaving her for a second always kept me at a rope length,

With haste at work, just to get back on the call,

And in her lowest of tone,

The sweetest of sound hits in me, like a thousand singing angels on the other side of the phone.

She’ll gently say “don’t be scared Hun, I’ll be here till you return.

With that’s sweet smile that sneaks to my face, the happiest man in the hall.

The fear of losing her always flooded my mind but the fear was more like a reality that no man but God can change and that reality slowly turned to destiny.

Knocking on her door, once I get back, was a habit I can never change,

But having no response or feedback started a tumor in my brain.

With a tug at the door revealed a sight that left me broken.

With my mouth in agape and a terrain so silent sure that heart was broken for life.

No more beeps from the machine.

With my ears above her breast, No more beats from her heart

All I felt was a silent cold chest.

I cried loudly, but all was vain

Thoughts of my dearest kept driving me insane.

Our first sight, our first date,

Our first dinner, our first plate,

Our first quarrel, our first fight,

Our first sex, our wedding night,

Our last kiss, on this very day,

Our last words before this very night.

I cried nonstop and endlessly blamed God why he gave others a gentle rain and me a fatal flood.

My kneels crouched, eyes filled with tears,

Right there by her bed, a priceless jewel was lost

From that sore on my heart,

I knew it couldn’t get any worse.

Written by Wayne

LOVE DIES 2 (An intriguing story full of emotional twists)

Engr. Gbenga Adekola, Funke’s dad, is beginning to deal with the fact that I would become his son-inlaw. He wanted a Yoruba man each of his three daughters. The first two got Yoruba men, but Funke, who is the last, got me, who is Delta Igbo from Agbor in Delta State.

My people don’t really care about the choice of tribe one wants to marry from as long as she is well behaved.

The First son of her parents, who is also the first child, Tunji, got married to a Yoruba lady. And finally, Tunde, who is the last among the five, is in his final year in the university.

I was in good rapport with every member of her family except her father until three months ago when he had to soft pedal because he had no other option than to accept  me, since Funke was adamant to quit the relationship, and was being supported by the rest of the family including the in-laws.

I was carrying the bag she came home with, which had her belongings, as we walked towards a small market. The road that leads to my apartment was under a quick reconstruction, so we had to walk to where we directed the uber driver to.

We stood behind a police van while waiting for the driver. My left fingers were locked in her right fingers when the driver parked behind the police van, about three steps away from us. He honked to let us know he was ready.

“When are we seeing again?” She looked at me inquisitively.

“Come see me anytime. You have my keys, don’t you?”

She raised her brows to mean, really?

“Yea, I will always have your time henceforth. The guys are really doing great at the job now. So, I will always be free for you, baby.”

She smiled with satisfaction. “I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“I love you too.” I said as we hugged.

When we hugged was when we heard that gunshot. It was also that same time that darkness beclouded me.

When I managed to look through my eyelashes which refused to separate completely from each other, my elder twin brothers were seated on a bed opposite the bed I was lying on, while my younger sister, who was the last born, was sitting close to me on the same bed.

She had noticed my right leg, which was in contact with her body, shake.

“He’s awake!” She screamed, showing much care.

“Don’t shake him o!” Kenechi, the younger of the twin shouted as they all came closer to me.

“Ngozi, go and call the doctor.” The older of the twin ordered my younger sister almost immediately. “Kene, call papa and mama, biko?

Seated in the large sitting room of the Adekoyas, my feet are trembling in disbelief. My official visit with my family to Funke’s home should be to begin the necessary marriage rights, I thought. But look how events have twisted and have left me to my fate. 

We are all dressed in black. It is a condolence visit. The sounds of groaning fill the air. Funke died on the spot. The bullet we heard went through her heart and pierced through my right chest. “…that’s why he made it.” The doctor had explained.

For fear of being attacked, the armed robbers, who had robbed a micro finance bank for close to twenty minutes, opened fire on the police van on their way out. It was the first bullet the shot that hit Funke and me.

Seated where I am, so many thoughts and questions are beclouding my mind. I blame myself for her death, and am feeling sorry for everything that happened, starting from when we started dating. I blame the Local Government for construction that road, I would have driven her home myself. Although, the question that’s the most terrifying is, “will I ever get to love again?” Certainly, I know I would try to love any lady I will later get married to, but I know that as it stands, love died when Funke had her last breath.

THE END