This God


I cried on that flight.

I was coming to a new country. Literally did not know where I was going to live. I was to spend the first few nights with an acquaintance of my baby sister and then try to get an apartment in one week. I had four hundred dollars to my name, three hundred of which I had borrowed from my brother’s friend. The plan was to get an apartment AND get a job in time to pay my next rent in 30 days. I knew nobody. Had no connections. No friends. No hope, but my gut and my God.

Of course I cried on that flight.

“Rachel” had left me right before I came. I hate to call him Rachel because in the real story Rachel was loved. I don’t love this dude. Not one bit. Maybe even a little hate. Even till now. By the way, ever wondered why I call him “Rachel” and call her “Jacob”? Well, Because Jacob sticks with you in the story. Loves you more, Longer. Jacob also has a lot more significance on a spiritual and metaphorical level. Rachel was just a transit character. In the grand design of the story? Her (His) relevance was just in bringing Joseph into existence. I feel the same about him. He is only relevant because I came from his sperm. Nothing more. He lived in the same city I was on my way to. Had the financial means to take care of me and my sister and family. But he wanted nothing to do with us.

Yeah, I cried on that flight.

So there I was, at the Airport, eyes dried up. Fake smile put in place, waiting for my sister to show up at the airport. One thing that I could hold on to? I wasn’t alone. It was me and her against the world. Kinda how it’s always been, even back since Canaan, since Bethel. It was a new country, Egypt. I was doomed. Then I saw her, said hello, hugged her… and smiled.

It’s taken me a month to write this post. I’ve had a hard time deciding what it would look like. A praise session? A summary of the journey? Some abstract outpouring of the “Happy” I feel? All of the above? I didn’t know. Still don’t. Everything I settled on felt like an understatement.

I just got back from Canaan, from Bethel. I saw Jacob after a long time. I love that woman. She does this thing where she’s so happy when she’s with me. It’s crazy. The last two weeks? Probably the happiest I’ve been in years. Not surprising. Bethel is home. It’s all I knew for the first 19 years of my life. I ate premium suya, had asun, drank orijin for the first time, went flying, went playing, had heart to hearts with old friends from back then. Met new ones. I sang, I laughed, I danced, I loved. It was every good feeling I needed to feel. It was every feeling “leaving prison” should feel like.

I. Was. Happy.

I still am. It’ll take a while to get me out of this happiness.

I’m in the palace right now. This is where I live out the rest of my days according to the story. I may be moved around a bit, but I’ll generally stay in Egyptian Government. This blog was about my journey here. Those who know me know what I mean. But the palace isn’t just a Career place, or a financial place, or an emotional place. At different times in the last 4 years I’ve been in great places in different areas of my life. This is different, because here in the palace, I’m great in EVERY area of my life, simultaneously. That is what makes it the Palace. I’m in a position of influence. I’ve settled my family. I’ve settled Jacob. I will continue to settle Jacob. I love her so much. Last week, when she said “Nugwa, The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, will bless you for me”, my heart tore. I let out a couple of tears. She’s everything to me. She’s been through so much. Especially at the hands of that idiot Rachel. I’m happy that I was able to settle her. I’m happy that I’m able to settle her. God will help me keep settling her.

The last few years? Particularly the first two? Hell. I have been at so many lows that I’ve stopped counting. Read back on this blog and you’ll see them. Even though I was never explicit in documenting my struggles I kept giving hints and slices. Being sold into slavery was hell. Being picked out and sent to Potiphar’s was hell. I got mistreated there. I was physically beaten by my Boss. Yes. It happened lol. Sent packing. I was hungry, I was tired, I was broken. Stories of Jacob suffering killed me, more because at the time, I could do nothing to alleviate it. I was down, and out.

But in everything, This God never let me out of his sight. He held my hand, and put me in Potiphar’s house. He saw the mistreatment, but two years later I realized he let that happen so I could get the thick skin I needed to survive prison. Prison was rough, initially at least. Food was still a problem. But God had begun to settle me. He took me through, gave me a plan. The escape route. I held on to it. Gave me dreams. Remember my post on “Bowing sheaves”. Dreams like those kept me going. If not for This God, I don’t know how I would have survived.

He formed my escape route, and put me on it. Orchestrated the people I needed to meet to get there. Dropped a couple of unexplainable events along the way lest the world convince me it was all hardwork and natural effort. Little miracles. Stuff to keep you cognizant of the fact that this was a series of unexplainable miraculously coincidental events. Don’t get me wrong guys, Hardwork is still hardwork. But he needs to see you do your best, take yourself as far as your best can take you, then pick you up from there when you give up because you just can’t go on anymore. Faith without works is dead. He doesn’t start the supernatural, until you’ve exhausted the natural. So yeah, work, and work as hard as you can. He’ll handle the rest.

I’ve been in the palace for a couple of days, and for my melodramatic readers who were expecting some depressing “Palace was overhyped” bullshit, sorry to disappoint you; The palace is everything I hoped it’d be and more. Not even necessarily in the fanciness of the place, it’s the peace. Like see, I’m at peace. I’m settled. I’m settled financially, emotionally. Jacob and Judah are settled. My existence is settled. Perfect peace. That’s what the palace is. And it’s not just internal. It’s not the “Peace in the middle of a storm” peace. It’s peace because I’ve looked around me and everything is peaceful. Everything is happy. I’m happy. The one emptiness I was feeling? I filled it when I went back to Canaan and saw Jacob. I’m now TOTALLY at Peace. I’m happy. This is the palace, this is home.

If you’re a David currently in your Adullam cave, or a Moses on Sinai, or a Joshua in the Wilderness with Moses, or a Paul right after Ananias had helped restore his sight, or a Jesus, yes him too, in his 40 days pre ministry prep, just remember one thing; This God has a plan. The road may be rough, sorry, WILL be rough. But it’s simply because, He knows a shortcut. I could have still gotten to where I am, but it would have taken much longer. Getting sold into slavery was meant for my harm, but he turned it out for my good. What he promised in Jeremiah 29 vs 11, was that He would get you to the END AND THE EXPECTATION (Message translation) he never promised it’d be through the path you thought. So if you feel waaaaay off track, hold on. He knows a short cut.

This post was an anti-climax. I’ve written some epic posts over the last 4 years to have the story end like this. But you see the thing with feeling at peace? There’s no drama. And without drama, there’s no “gish-gish” to give you. I’m just happy. I don’t know what else to say. Hold on. If you’re on your journey? Hold on.

I’m still on my journey, but I know this chapter is over. It’s supposed to be 7 years of plenty next, before 7 years of famine. As far as I know, the preparation during my seven years of plenty will determine my flexing during the famine. I’m ready. I won’t be giving you stories from the palace though. This is my last post here. If I feel the need to write more, I’ll open a new blog. Need to reach me? Twitter: @nugwatweets. Email me at nugwaoyih at gmail dot com. I’d like to hear your stories and encourage you as best as I can. As well as pray for you. I know the importance of having people pray for and with you.

For me and This God, hold on, hold on through your journey, because he knows a short-cut.

Signing out from the palace,

Your boy, now a man, Joseph.




“From the center of all that I am, 
I am thirsty, I am thirsty…
Come to drink from your waters, I am…

Thirsty, thirsty…”

I’ve never been one to cry a lot. Ever since I was a kid I never used to cry much. I remember the day it stopped for me, crying that is. I was about seven. Mumsy had spanked (lol @ “spanked”) me for something I don’t remember. She didn’t spank much so it must have been something serious. Anyways, the usual routine was to keep crying till she came to hold and console me. She would spank me then come later to console me when she felt I had cried enough. It was set in stone. So I sat there, crying, but really waiting for her to say sorry for spanking me.

I waited, and waited, and waited some more, then she broke her silence…

“If you’re waiting for me to say sorry it won’t happen. You did something wrong. Understand that it was wrong and stop waiting for me”

There are moments that shock a young child out of innocence, that was one.
This world is a cruel place.

I started with that story because it gives a premise to why I never cry. Or feel sad in general. I’m a very solution oriented person. Crying is never a solution. Nugwa mummy isn’t coming to tell you sorry. Get up and do something about it and stop feeling sad. That has been my life philosophy for a while, and it’s worked. When there is a sorry situation, I carve out a mental action plan and focus on that. I usually never feel sad, as long as I focus on the solution and not the problem. However everyone needs to process emotion. Somehow, someway. And the fact that I very rarely feel sad no matter how bad things are means I needed an outlet. I found that outlet to be the place of worship…

“I’m desperate for you right now
I’m so desperate for you right now…
So I give you glory, give you glory, then your river flows and fills my heart, with your worship,

Give you glory, only you can satisfy…”

Now many a time I usually don’t even know that my tears in the place of worship are just me unloading emotion at the feet of my master. I learned that recently. I also justified it by saying, “yes, crying solves nothing. Prayer, that’s different. And when like Hannah, your prayers come out in the form of groaning that cannot be coherently uttered, it’s even more powerful. So crying in his presence is allowed”.

“So I worship, when my heart is dry, when I’m thirsty. 
I worship you lord.
I’m desperate for you right now
I’m so desperate for you right now…
So I give you glory, give you glory, then your river flows and fills my heart, with your worship,

Give you glory, only you can satisfy…”

It’s allowed because sometimes you don’t even know what the prayer should be. You just cry and go in tongues. You don’t know the solution. But you know you need him to fix it. And right there it’s ok to cry. Whether you’re crying because you’re in awe of him, or it’s because you need help and your soul is groaning, right there, it’s ok to cry. He knows, he hears. He’ll do something. It might not be what you want, but it will be something. And that “something” will dry your tears.

“I will pour the oil of all my precious gifts 
ooh when my heart is dry, when I’m thirsty yeah, 
lay down my glory and use it wipe your feet…

So I give you glory, give you glory, then your river flows and fills my heart, with your worship,
Give you glory, only you can satisfy…”

I have been “worshipping” for the past 20 hours. TY Bello’s “Thirsty” has been on replay. I’m in a conference room at work right now… “worshipping”…

I haven’t been in this much pain since Jemimah.

“From the center of all that I am, 
I will worship, I will worship..
Come to drink from your waters, I am…

Worship, worship you now.”

I need Him to fix this.


Semi-Last Card

On Thursday I realized that my last challenge with regards to the final stage of getting out of this prison was already taken care of. I can’t explain but it’s already a done deal. This almost feels too easy. I did not do anything that’s worthy of these blessings. I’m just a kid who wants his family to be happy. All this favor, all these blessings, all this help. What did I do? It can’t be my PM days. I know I served God but I don’t think it was enough to warrant this. I know I sacrificed a lot for the work that was going on but it wasn’t worthy of this kind of a testimony. At this point if He’s blessing me because of my service I know I definitely now owe him change.


I’m basically a prisoner who doesn’t stay in the cells anymore. God has blessed me in this prison. I spend my days in the Warden’s quarters. Much much nicer. Better food. Better bathrooms, you can’t over-estimate a good clean bathroom. He still tells me the palace is much much greater. Much fancier. I have prison wardens who tell me they would be happy to stay wardens the rest of their lives. I can’t blame them. This is not a bad place to be at all. But Yahweh says this is prison compared to my destination. This is scary. So I asked Him… “at what cost?” Because all these blessings can’t be for the sake of being blessed. He replied that He wants to use me to save Egypt. I’m like… “you say?”. My dreams are pretty big. But I don’t know the scope of what He considers “Egypt”. And I’m honestly scared to find out. I just want Jacob to be happy. That’s all I want. He tells me I have a higher purpose.


It becomes obvious that He’s right. My circumstances have given away the fact that the purpose is a higher one. He wants me to get used to seeing that He can turn impossibilities into possibilities, so that when I start to save Egypt and I tell others that He can turn Impossibilities around, I’ll say it not just out of duty but with a conviction. It’ll come not just from my head and mouth but from my belly. From deep down. It’ll come with authority. I’ll be able to say I’ve seen him work, and I know He’s able. Because He is.


I dobale for you…

You knew everything from day one…

You’ve been orchestrating it… you’re still orchestrating it…

You’re wise. You know say the road wey I wan enter no be the way so you block am. You lead Joseph, mumu like me, you lead am like sheep. Now na palace dey my front so. Kai.. why you love me so? Wetin I do? I no get levels. This grace matter tire me. How I wan explain am. E each where things reach you say make I no even hustle again to commot prison. The only thing wey remain na for you to come carry me commot…

Chain don loose…

Gate don open…

Cellmates dey tell me bye bye…

Na waka I dey waka go out so…

This prison big sha so the waka still tey small,

But the waka don start…

The waka don start…

This waka wey I don start so people dey take six/seven/eight even ten years to reach the point of this waka…

Me na 3 years e take me… Because of all the shortcut.

Baba you wise die… That time I dey cry… I dey cry when I enter Prison… I dey cry when I enter Pit, when Potiphar wife do me strong thing… Na cry I dey cry. I no know say na short-cut. AH! This God. I tire for you. Which way? Wetin? Ahn ahn… Kai… ahn ahn…

I no get word again…

Doro Baba, I no know wetin that word mean but na wetin commot my mouth to tell you right now. Doro Baba… from my heart Doro…

Because you wise… and I foolish… and you love me. You love me die…

Baba Doro.




Hello Leah,


It’s hard to watch you these days. I’ve seen you go from being the bubbly robust personality full of jokes, life and love to this docile adaptation of your existence. You used to be my go to girl. For laughs, the occasional emotional high, the random deep conversation. These days, I stare into your eyes and all I see is emptiness. It’s like you were a ziploc bag full of water and then I ran a knife through it. Apt analogy because I did run a knife through you. Through your heart and soul. I emptied the contents of everything that was warm and good and fuzzy and happy. Now it’s just a hollow cocoon.


There’s someone else Leah,


It didn’t help much that I wanted Rachel from the start. She was indeed the first person I met when I first arrived on Uncle Laban’s estate. She greeted me and gave me water to wash my feet and from then on a chord was struck. I spent every free time I had trying to be with her. To be around her. Rachel was everything I found Ideal. Her dark side was one I convinced myself I could handle so I overlooked it. Especially as I wanted the Idea of her being perfect to stay forever. Hours with her grew into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, and them I knew I was going to marry her.


I like you Leah,


You were never entirely out of the picture. You always were in the mix, My heart being set on Rachel notwithstanding. I’d heard Uncle Laban make remarks of how you and I would make a great couple. How you’re loyal, and kind, and strong. How you’re unreserved. That was my favorite quality about you, even when I did not know what fate had in store for us, you were unreserved. You’d dance around the fire whenever you felt like it. You’d come say hi when you wanted. Accompany me to the well and listen to me tell tales of my conflicts with Esau and my dreams at bethel, my wrestle with Yahweh. None of that “Don’t look desperate” bullcrap. I had fun being with you, being around you, getting used to you and being comfortable in you. But my decision was unflinchingly on Rachel and Rachel alone.


I was blindsided Leah,


That was the source of my frustration when everything got turned on it’s head in December. That long wedding week which constituted a cacophony of feelings when I realized I had you and not Rachel. I was confused, undecided, angry. First, at myself because I should have seen this coming, then at Laban because he let this happen. This was not the plan. I was suddenly much more invested in you than I thought I’d ever be. I hated the feeling of confusion, of indecision. So I snapped.


I’m Sorry Leah,


That’s when I had my public outrage. Snapped and screamed at everyone who was willing to listen without consideration for how you must have felt. I let it ring from the rooftops. I echoed “This changes nothing! Rachel is STILL the one! I will get her eventually!”. An angry and irrational me gave no thought to the fact that I had a bride who was just wed to me and just wanted to be with the man she loved. I said what I said and did what I did and hurt you. I hurt you real bad. Those words of public rejection and disrespect seared your soul to unimaginable lengths. I was speaking of my wife as though she was a mere roadside harlot. As though she were some concubine to be done away with and made jest of in the merriment of alcohol. As though she were worthless. As though you, Leah, my wife, were worthless.



I call you Leah for a reason. You see, Thankfully I’m not Jacob, and this isn’t the bible story. This is my life. Rachel symbolizes what we want, what we think is a great idea, what we’re hellbent on getting. Then Leah comes along. Now while I cannot say this about everyone else, Psalm 80 vs 1 runs my life. So the appearance of Leah is no coincidence. “Laban” dropped her in my laps and I was faced with a situation. Stay working for seven years? Or face life with your new bride. Thankfully I know how the story ends. Leah is the wife of Promise. It was never Rachel. Leah gave birth to Judah, the forerunner of the messiah. She gave birth the Levi, the high priests. She produced Reuben, Simeon and Gad, The defenders of Israel. She Produced Issachar Zebulun, Naphtali, Asher and Dan, the wealth, prosperity and sustenance of Jacob. With Leah alone, Israel was set. Heaven accommodated Rachel and even used her seed Joseph to save Israel and show that no stubbornness of man cannot be turned around by Yahweh. But that didn’t change the fact that Leah, not Rachel, was the promise.



Hello Leah,


I rest. I’ve stopped working just so I can get Rachel. I’ve stopped working. I’ve taken my hands off the mill and I’m coming home, to you. To our new marriage, to my promise. I’m not oblivious to the fact that the tears in your eyes are still fresh. I know that hurt and scorn will take forever to heal.

But I’m here.

There is no Rachel anymore.

There is no table of merriment and alcohol to laugh with friends at.

There is no one, and nothing else. It is me, you, and Yahweh’s promise.


I’m here Leah

I’m home,

and I’m going nowhere.




Approaching Crescendo.

Haven’t been here in a while. I know. At this point I almost don’t want to give you details because the story is developing so rapidly. Yahweh really has been gracious. His ways are far from our ways. The way he plans things out, you’re there thinking there is a casting down but he’s allowing it as a tool to lift you up. Those close to me understand the fact that I was lifted up recently without necessarily knowing it only came about via a casting down. Yahweh knows.
At this point I feel close to the palace. I can almost taste it. I’ve gone over the plan 100 times in my head. It’s solid enough to work as long as yahweh takes care of the one part of the plan that isn’t in MY hands. It’s ALL in His hands but you know what I mean. I’m scared and excited  simultaneously. There really is so much to write and that’s why i’m not going into details. All I can tell you is Yahweh has blown my mind. There has also been some development in regards to Asenath. But then again I don’t want to write about it because it’s too much of a developing story to write about now. This story is gaining critical mass and I feel like it’ll be best enjoyed written all at once. That will be a whole lot of writing. But it will serve it’s purpose which is to encourage those who know they’re on a journey.
In the mean time I’ll urge you to understand that the nuggets you see in the Script are real. Yesterday I understood “give us this day our daily bread” with a physical example. I also walked in the sentence “your new stock shall meet the old and you will never run out”.
I’ve also had an on going lesson on “which of you by worrying can add to your head?”. He keeps teaching me. I Love that He keeps teaching me. There’s too much to say but the story is at critical mass.
Plus players in this story asides me now visit this psychiatrist office called my blog. So it’s best to keep things under wraps and let the story influence itself and come out with its own ending. You’ll hear about it.

The strength to go on.


I’m tired.

I have no idea why I thought this won’t be tiring.

Okay that’s not entirely accurate, I knew it’d be tiring. I just didn’t think I’d get tired of getting tired. I know that’s confusing but stay with me. My strength really isn’t failing , and at this point I’m more scared of potential setbacks to my prison break than any actual circumstances befalling me at the moment, of which there are none noteworthy. I’m in a stable phase, a “calm”(those usually precede storms but lets stay positive shall we?) if you will. And that’s a good thing, the calm, not said storm.

So why am I tired?

Spoke to my best friend at length today. He’s in his final year of med school. His biggest problem right now? A woman. Let me spare a paragraph and digress on this matter.

I’ve said this time and time again. I haven’t seen reason to change my stance. If your only problem in life is a love/relationship problem, i.e finding a partner? YOU HAVE ZERO PROBLEMS IN LIFE AND YOU HONESTLY NEED TO FUCKING GROW UP! What the hell is your problem? Crying that a girl or guy left you or didn’t want you or is with someone else? I feel like slapping such people or giving them real problems like a disease, or drug dependency or hunger and starvation or poverty so they have something to cry about. See I’m no cynic and when it’s time for me to honestly fall in love again I will really put in all the effort I can to make it happen, but in my opinion, except your life is exactly where you want it to be you have no business having “Love” as your number one priority.
It’s pulpit rhetoric for anyone that grew up in church to say “Adam tended to the garden and when it was time for eve God brought her himself and put him to sleep”. See, as much as I HATE Christian rhetoric, that bit is true. Spend your life making your life better. Not looking for another human being. That just seems desperate abeg. And irritating. Stop it. STOP IT!

*Woosah* *Woosah*.

Back to the matter,

I’m tired of being the mature one.
Being the ear to everyone’s problems. Being the mouth of counsel. Being the pocket for bread. Being a father. Being a husband. Being a mentor. Praying for everyone. Caring for everyone, spending on everyone. Thinking for everyone. Planning for everyone. And honestly, it’s the length of this that tires me. I have a timeline for the rest of my prison stay. But even after that, I know it doesn’t end. Joseph got to the palace and instead of reprieve he started taking care of a whole country, and indirectly, the whole world. I see it coming. But as much as I know it’ll be heavy, I know it won’t feel heavy. It’s just like right now, when people who know everything on my neck tell me how heavy the load I’m carrying is, I smile but if I’m being totally honest, It doesn’t feel heavy. Not because my strength is greater than the burden, or my resources more than the needs, but I just don’t feel like I’m carrying a load I cannot bare. I can’t explain it. It’s a load, but I don’t feel weak. I don’t feel like I’m carrying a load. Yes, I am tired, but not physically, I only get tired when I think of the future loads to carry, tired when I think of how big my responsibilities are, tired when I juxtapose said responsibilities with my age and experience. It looks like I should have failed. No way I should be handling these things. But alas, I’m here, still standing, not physically tired. Like when I stop looking at all that, and only look at the here and now, I’m doing quite well, and the journey out of prison is laid out. That timeline is progressing smoothly, so why do I feel I should be tired? Yes, that’s it, I’m not tired, I really am not, everything I said in this post, about how tired I am, it should read “how tired I feel I should be”. Because I’m not tired, I don’t know where this zeal is coming from. I don’t know where this strength is coming from. It’s obviously not mine. I’m not this strong.

Maybe this is what they call Grace…


There is a shorter route out of this prison and you know it. Why do you insist on taking me through this path?

Because you’ll come back here if I just jailbreak you.

I’ll come back here? Does that even make sense? Who would come back here in their right mind?

Exactly. You won’t be in your right mind.

So is this a journey about reconditioning my mind?

Amongst other things, but yes, that’s a major part of it.

But this route is long, and far, and treacherous.

That’s what you see. That’s not what I see.
I see the end. I see you as you should be. That’s why you need to go through this path. In the end you’ll see things more like the way I see them.

But is this the only way? A route this long?

It’s the best way… For you… For who I want you to become.

I don’t like this way. When you said it was time to begin the process of leaving the prison you didn’t tell me the process was this drawn out and tedious.

“You don’t like it”? *Smiles and shakes His head*. Every statement you make just proves my point that this is the best path for you.

*Sigh* it’s long. And drawn out, and tedious, but… It’s you who’s leading. Let’s get to getting out of this place then…
*Gets up from floor, chains still on ankles*
“Alright, lead me…”

Psalm 80 vs 1.

Bowing Sheaves


If you follow my blog then you pretty much know my life is a Joseph story, and while certain aspects may not have exact resemblances to the biblical tale, the parallels are still very much astounding.

Most of my posts have been quite melodramatic. That tends to happen when you’re in the prison stage. These walls tend to dampen your expectations and positivity. But none of that today. Today, I blog about hope. A hope that I got from a dream. This wasn’t any ordinary dream. This was one of those dreams which you wake up from knowing you just received a message. The reason I started calling myself Joseph was that I noticed 99% of my dreams come to pass, good and bad. This dream though, was not just a message, or a prediction. I believe this was me being shown my future. Me being given something to remember, for times like this when I’m in prison.

I slept one rainy Saturday night… This was what I saw…

I heard the doorbell. Loud and clear. Sounded like one of those old eighteenth century church bells. Grand and majestic in its timbre. I ran downstairs. Down the roll of winding stairs till I got down to the lobby. Walked towards the huge door, and pulled it open. Outside waiting with smiles on their faces were family members, friends, and even people I do not currently recognize.

The door opened to congratulatory shouts and felicitations. Everyone bearing gifts. House warming gifts it would seem. I had seemingly just bought this house. This huge majestic house. Right as I ushered everyone in the general request was for me to take them on a tour of the abode. I didn’t hesitate because it seemed I was in love with the place myself. I began to show them hallways. Large long hallways with rooms on either side. We walked past a set of hallways then we got to something that looked like a ballroom. At that point I turned to my guests and told them that was my living room. (Pause and laugh).

The kitchen was one huge space. With appliances I still do not recognize. Silver. Every single one. We walked into one of the hallways and finally got to the end, a sliding glass door was opened and I walked out into a balcony. This was where the house impressed even me. Apparently this house was built into a rock and covered by a waterfall. The water fell just off the roof and just away from the balcony. If you stretched out your hand you could touch the water. Something noteworthy was that even though the water was moving, it was clear as crystal. Such that you could see through it and see the most beautiful greenery landscape ever just where the stream below ended.
Lol. Let’s get this straight. My gigantic house, was built into a rock, and covered by a crystal clear waterfall. Loooool. I must have drank alcohol before sleeping that night.

We went back inside the house. It smelt of food. All manner of aromas of delicious goodness sifted from the kitchen. The chandeliers in the hallways glistened. The fireplaces were lit and inviting, there was music in the living room (ballroom). It was basically a celebration. Hugs, kisses, smiles, every good thing.

And then I woke up.

I don’t believe this dream is literal. Now while I will buy a huge house I don’t think I need 200+ rooms. Or a living room that huge, or a waterfall outside my balcony, or my house being built into a rock!  Haha. But I believe that this dream was a promise. A promise of a future. A promise of “the palace”. A promise that in times like this, times when I’m in prison, I’ll remember and say, this is not the end… I’ve seen the end. I don’t know HOW I get there, but I know THAT I get there. A promise to just keep working. And getting ready. And sharpening my skills. Skills that will get me out of prison. And this promise, keeps me going.

Joseph must have remembered his dream while he was in prison, and smiled. Because it reassured him, that as long as Yahweh existed, there would be bowing sheaves…

I smile.

Elite commoners.

I grew up poor.

My mother did such a great job that I didn’t know we were poor at the time, but yeah with age, I realized it. We were poor.

Dad would occasionally get a head snap and act as he should, next thing we’d be going to London in the summer. But when you travel abroad and come back home to a life where food to eat was actually a daily question then it hits you. Elite commoners. It hit me much much later in life. Not initially.

That’s why people say I’m arrogant. Knowing who I was, I have an innate hatred for anyone who I consider to be snide towards people of lesser… Anything than them. You could be my Siamese twin, I really don’t care, the second I feel you look down on me, or think you’re better than me, it’s all over. My ability to interact with you dies a natural death.

The memories of primary school come back. Having to eat beans and Garri every afternoon for about 2 years straight. Having to be excluded from class excursions because those were a luxury and the necessity at that time was completing the money for our school fees.

I don’t do sob stories. This isn’t one. I’m currently in a better place than all that. Recent events especially with people I considered family showed me to remember that I’m the only person looking out for myself. It’s just me. Sometimes I need to remember that.

I’m a humble kid from Canaan. I’m here temporarily in prison, here I meet people of different kinds. People of means, people who don’t know it’s possible to go through what I’ve gone through. I’ve also met people with worse struggles. In all I’ve learned something. My struggle isn’t greater than thiers. Neither is theirs greater than mine. Two different psyches to handle different struggles with different intensities. I’m on my way to the palace. I’ll get there. They’ll get to their palace too. We don’t have to interact to get there. They’ll be great. I’ll be great. And we’ll all be fine.

It’d be great to have company along for this ride, but when you’re not sure if “company” has your back or not… Yeah.

Riding solo.

Growing up

It’s been a weird year for me. Blessings definitely have been all around, but I’ve not been at my personal best as regards utilizing them. I’ve had an insane amount of responsibility. Figures, but still, that’s not to happen till I get to the palace. I don’t know. I’m kinda confused.
Asenath, she’ll come when she’ll come. I’m done with trial and error. Besides, Joseph meets her when he’s out of prison. So yeah, let’s keep first things first.
I need to do a better job this second half of the year. Stop procrastinating. Start taking being prison patrol leader seriously. Get back to my get out plan. Stop wasting resources on unnecessaries.
I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve realized people are my greatest resource. It’s been a challenge knowing which people though. We thank God for the Woblo’s and Bins. They’ve been there. And they’ve made my burden easier. All in all, I’ve realized I need to grow up. If I’ve learned anything from this half of the year, it’s that I need to grow up. I really do.
So here’s to growing up.


I feel like I’ve recently been talking too much about Asenath. She’s been in every post, chat and general introspective communication I have with myself. The events of my Joseph story have not been 100% chronologically in line with scripture but I find that Joseph never got to meet Asenath till he was well on his way to saving Egypt. He actually met her in the first of the seven years of plenty. When he was well underway to gather the crop and save Egypt. That might not be the case. Asenath might be someone I know now. I might just not know she’ll be Asenath. She could also be someone I haven’t met. I’m not paying attention to detail. All I know is there is an Asenath and I will meet/know her one day. I doubt it’s now tho. I’m still in prison.
It’s funny how we try to force ourselves into seeing people as what they’re not. Lol. One particular one recently, I lied so much to her face (not literally, it was over IMs), not because I wanted to lie, but because I hoped I’d eventually feel that way about her soon. “Only you can do this to me”… Story, Lol. I started by figuring out who I thought Asenath should be and finding someone that fit that bill, at least 60% of the bill. It doesn’t work that way. I’m thankful it didn’t work out.
Asenath won’t feel forced. It’s going to be natural. At the right time. She will be royalty. As I will be too. The focus should be getting out of this prison. Royalty doesn’t live in prison.
Enough about asenath. Let’s get to getting out of here. Then we can talk.


Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky were shooting stars?
No. No we cannot. If we could, I already know what my wish would be. I’d wish I got the chance to meet a strong beautiful lady.
A friend died of cancer recently. I was shaken. Shaken because this was someone I had gotten fond of. Shaken because the last time we skyped she was perfectly fine. The cancer was in remission. Shaken because if I were to talk about someone who personified the word faith, I’d talk about her. She was a lion at heart. Her smile, you could not but be infected by the contagiousness of it. Deep and heart warming. Her mannerisms, playful, jovial, ever up for a chat. She believed in love, the old school romantic Hollywood, boy meets girl, girl gets swept off her feet kind of love. She was strong. By God she was strong. She lived as though there was no deadly disease in her. I would once in a while think of my unhappiness and problems in this prison but when I remember her, and her situation, I realize my prison was a freedom compared to hers. Yet she confessed God till her dying breath.

“I need a miracle from God”

That was the last thing she tweeted. I will not join the band wagon in saying death was her miracle. No. She wanted to live life here on earth for a little longer. That was the miracle she wanted. She didn’t get it. And it hurts. It hurts because irrespective of the numerous Skype calls I never got to meet her in person. I never got to take her to lunch as promised. I still owe you that lunch D, I still owe you that lunch.

I take solace in one thing. She didn’t get her miracle. But she got freedom. Cancer wanted to keep tormenting her. Well guess what cancer? You can’t do it anymore. You did your worst. And she’s still standing. Standing somewhere you can not reach.
And for that, I’m happy.

Rest in peace


Rest in peace.

Pain Switches.

One lovely thing about prison is how it teaches you to spot your kind. Fellow prisoners. People enroute destiny. Another thing it teaches you is how to love them. How can you love someone you don’t know? Easy. Feel their pain. When you feel their pain you mentally substitute yourself for them. Once you’re in their shoes loving them isn’t hard. It’s easy. Because it’s loving yourself really. Met a fellow prisoner recently. She’s a queen, enroute her palace in Sheba. Easy to say I love her. I really do. Because I’m in her shoes. I feel her pain, and wish she wouldn’t have to go through it. The comments, snide remarks, weight of a single event bearing down. The fear of not staying off the drugs. I don’t know her but I know her, I really honestly do not know her. I’m not saying i do. But the thing is, I know her and I love her, because she is me. In many ways she is me.

But you see, when you reach out to such people, life’s taught them that ego and pride should never again be sacrificed. The mini connection over late night iHop dinners, extinguished by the boundaries or requisites that good intentioned loved ones place or want.

At this point, even as i myself want a way out of the prison, I forget the fuck about myself for two minutes and say a prayer for you. I say a prayer because as long as I’m in prison, and I feel pain, you feel pain too. Who am I to say my pain is greater.

So I decide to not call you, not text you, not ask how you’re doing. But just pray.

I want my pain gone, and when I feel it bad. all I can do is pray, so queen, I’m praying for you.

Boiling Stones…


Phillip Phillips- Gone Gone Gone.

When I heard Phillip Phillips had a church background I was not surprised. Quite happy actually. The lyrics to his hit track “home” spoke volumes alluding to that. But that’s not the track that’s inspiring this post.

I wish I could post the lyrics to this song so you see why it moves me so much. It moves me because like him, I’m a church boy. Like him, I am quite old school in my beliefs. Not saying I don’t do things I consider wrong, but I don’t deny or cover up the fact that I consider them wrong. Knowing your problem is the first step and what not…

I’m quite old school when it comes to relationships. Like real relationships. Not… “arrangements”. That’s why sometimes I remember chatting with London, and her telling me I’m damaged, and me laughing till my ribs hurt. I laughed because it was funny seeing as the pot was calling the kettle black, but she was right. She also said I was stuck on my ex. I had to think properly about it to decide she was wrong on that count. Because London knows me so well I was scared she was right. But I later realized she was wrong. What I missed (still do) about Nefertiti was how I felt about her, not necessarily her herself. I miss being insane about someone. Worst part? I Think that part of me is done with. Dead. There have been countless females after her. That feeling still eludes me. I came close once… close, but everything died before I could be sure. I really don’t think I’m capable of feeling like that again.

That’s why I’ve been listening to this song for the past 5 hours. Every word in this song is what I’d want to tell Asenath. The song is a promise. It’s a declaration. A plea. A woo. A dance. This song is how I’m supposed to feel for Asenath. I know she’s still a while away but I’m getting ready… by doing cheesy shit like this. Prepping this stone heart by boiling it in the hot water of the lyrics of a church boys’ love song.

They say you can’t soften a stone by boiling it…

We’ll see…
Oh by the way, here’s a link to the song…enjoy.

Prison Hotel…

(Written on the 6th of April 2013)


I write from two places usually. Extreme happiness or extreme sadness. It’s been a hell of a six weeks. I know I haven’t posted in forever and I’m sorry. Just haven’t felt either of those muse emotions in a long time. My prison has changed. So much brighter yet, somehow, dark. Dark in the sense that Asenath delays. Shades and forms abide but she delays. He said I’d know. Well… not sure I do, but that’s a story for another day.

Currently listening to Edison road’s change in the making. A part of me knows I’m using this an excuse. I’m well grown past this stage. But being a baby is fun. Still, I can’t stay a baby if I plan to save Egypt. I’ll have to drop all these and move on. But for right now I’m here. Happy… Ish… Can’t be full till i become PM again. These days something tells me that Is what saving Egypt means. Becoming PM. He knows that Is the last thing i want…
Abeg I’m changing this song…

Frank Edwards – Omeworom.

So Jacob and the entire clan came to see me from Canaan. Best prison visit in a while. I’m typing this with native Ogbono and goat meat from Canaan in my front. Someone say “flexing”. Jacob carried my Sister’s baby for the first time. Priceless. She loves him so much. I’ve missed Jacob. My Father. My home. For me home is a person right now. Not a place. You can see she’s truly happy. I haven’t been this happy in a while. Sometimes prison can get so comfortable, you forget you’re supposed to save Egypt. I think I want to stay here. The palace might be better but I doubt I want the responsibility. What if I can’t save Egypt? What if I fall? What if I fail. I’m happy here. Jacob is happy and she’s the one I care about. Entire clan is happy. Prison is home right now. Do I need to get out? Do I? I’m happy here, now. Do I have to save Egypt?

Let me focus on now.

The time to worry about Egypt is far. For now, I’m happy, I’m home.

Letters From Bethel


Frank Edwards ft Sinach – Ome Mma (Remix)

Ome Mma as it was used in the context of this song refers to a personality of goodness. It literally means “Doing good”. The essence and existence of which is not dependent on The existence of bad. This is a different type of good. There is no bad to balance it out. It’s goodness through and true. The definition of which becomes a person and not a state or an act.

This song is a praise song. A worshippers heart-cry. Calling Him Ome Mma. It’s probably already Christian mantra to say “God is good… All the time”. But very few know the depth and meaning of those statements.
I wrote in my last post (the pingback to my friend’s blog) about how every occurrence that could be termed a “bad incident” was turned around and used for greater good last year. It’s from that place that I write this post.

Here in prison we receive letters from home. I got one from Bethel recently. Rushed to open it and see how my family was doing. Then I heard bad news. Really bad news that I wasn’t ready for. February has been a rough month till now. The ship has steadied a bit but the effects of the storm are still evident. And it wasn’t so much a storm for me as it was one back home in Canaan. This prison kept me from going back to Bethel and helping steady the storm. So I did what I could do. Made a few calls and took some temporary salvage actions. But it’s not yet over, not totally at least, because I’ve only seen the “bad” and he is “Ome Mma”.

For me, the popular church declaration “God is good… all the time” is as much a prayer, as it is a testimony. He might have been good to you. So you say it in appreciation, but when storms come, I say it in faith, because I have not seen the “good”. Personally I am lying and ungrateful if I say I have not seen good. I have. In this prison that feels more “palacey” as the days go by, I have seen His “good”. But these stories from Isreal have no good in them… yet. So as I called him Ome mma this morning. It was a reminder of whom He is. Just on the slight off chance that He had forgotten. I had to remind him, and myself, that He is good. And the situation is not yet over, till I see the “good”.

I need to see the good. I know He’ll show me soon. I’m waiting.





Hi,  you’re Shy. Shyer than I. I don’t know why. Why I followed. Followed to say hi. Hi. Hi, I’m not shy. Shyness is a façade I put up. Up in the view of Everyone. Everyone knows. Knows I’m loud. Loud as your laugh. Laugh like a baby. Baby you do, true. True words as pristine as your white smile.



Smile you do. Do your smile. Smile oh smile. Smile, never stop. Stop the world from being bright with your 1000 watt smile. Smile so true. True smile so infectious. Infectious with joy all around. Around and about lit up by your smile. Smile Bums smile.



Happy. Happy is you. You is happy. Happy in a way that’s rare. Rare in a way that’s true. True in a way that’s fun. Fun in a way that’s happy. Happy, you are. Happy, You is. Isn’t ever gonna fade. Fading Is only possible for counterfeits. Counterfiets fade. Fade you don’t. Don’t because you’re real.




Really really really real. Real deal. Deal you are. Are a bargain, you’re a bargain. Bargain, probably the wrong word. Word doesn’t exist. Exists in Gods mind alone. Alone. Alone. Alone the only place you could be created. Creation like you is no work of evolution. Evolution is incapable. Incapability is alien to God. God made you. You. You. You were made and everything he made was good. Good. Good to me. Me and my inhibitions. Inhibitions you’ve taken down. Down in four weeks.




Weeks Bums, weeks.

Weeks and I feel so comfortable with you. You, in four weeks. Weeks in which you’ve made me weak. Weak that I’m not scared to be. Be gangster outside then come back to being alone and ‘weak’ with you. You. You.






You Bums,



Declaration Of Love


So I got up to a little mischeif and decided to make one of my friends laugh. She asked for a declaration of love so I decided to oblige her with one. Well, not me neccessarily, more like, the-me-if-i-was-a-blunt-raving-but-ultimately-passionate-pseudo-literate. That’s a funnier version of me. Her name was changed to ensure her privacy. All typo’s and grammatical blunders are intended.


Dear Janet,

How are you and how is your family. I hope they are all fine. How is school and how are you enjoying your stay in canada? I am sure you are fine and everything is going on well. If so, glory be to God.

The purpose for my writing this letter is to inform you of my love for you. Janet the first time i ever set my eyes on you, i thought you had a big nose to be honest. I didn’t really start liking you till i saw that all the boys on twitter were liking you. Then i decided to find out what is making everybody like you like that. I have seen that your big nose and big lips is not a problem and that i can cope. But let me not lie, i like the way you smile. That time all your cheekbones will just jump out. be making somebody feel like touching it and squeezing it. i remember the day everybody was yabbing you on twitter that you did not have breast. Janet, i was very sad that day. i don’t know why people will just be wicked like that. They yab your bride price into extinction that day. but it is well. Jehovah sees all, and Jehovah is just.

Janet ehn, anytime i see your picture on instagram i will just be smiling, thinking to myself, “she has good child brearing hips”. your pictures always make me happy. As you are uploading i always get more convince that you are my wife. I remember that time you were in the hospital. my heart jumped when i saw the picture. It was a very sad time in my life. then i remember when i was in the hospital after i just had accident, i went to your instagram to look for inspiration but when i opened it, i saw you hugging a man. ah, Janet, i almost died. I love you truly my darling.

You are the reason i still log onto twitter. Anytime i see your tweets i don’t know how to behave like a proper somebody anymore. Joy just fills my heart. it pains me that you say you love like half of twitter boys because i am a jealous man. i cannot share you with anybody. i promise to make you so happy you will stop talking to all those boys.

Hopefully one day, Janet Anuofia Nmaramma, I will have the mind to ask you to marry me. don’t worry, it will not be a cheap ring. I will be those cartier jewelry people. It will be very expensive but you are very expensive too. I hope that you will say yes, because ehn, Janet, i will just die from happiness. If you say no i will die too, but from sadness.

Let me stop here as i know you are a very busy woman.

I love you sha, just know.

Yours sincerely,

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I’m at the office right now, Bored out of my mind. So i thought to pen a new post. Plus, it’s really been a minute.


My finger hits the ant’s abdomen. I quickly lift it up and examine it making sure it’s ok. It look’s fine to me. I set it back down and keep toying with the ant, setting up blockages and forcing it to take the routes outlined by my fingers placements. The light from the window shines on the dusty prison floor as i make the ant run a mini “400” meter race in the make believe tracks my fingers outline. After a while i let it go and watch it thankfully scamper away into the darkness of the prison.

I stand up and walk to the window, look through the bars and i see the river. The meadow right after it looks more luscious today. And then in the distance, just over the hills, i see the palace. A cocktail feeling of hope and frustration comes over me. Hope because His promise is sure. Frustration because it tarries. And i heave a sigh as i keep looking out through the window.

I’m startled by a piece of meat that drops to the sindow slab on the outside just within my reach. It’s been cooked too. Well, seasoned and garnished. i reach for it and just before i can touch it a bird lands almost right on my hand. I pull back. The bird looks at me as i look back, it’s a raven.

Knowing the narrative on these birds i subtly try to reach for the piece of meat. I havn’t had good food here in a while and i really am famished. Just as i can reach it the bird jumps and flaps it’s wings and picks up the meat with its beak. I think to myself… “it’s gonna be a long day”. But to my surprise, the bird moves closer to me and drops the piece of meat well within my reach. i apprehensively reach out and pick it up, half expecting the bird to peck my arm or something, but the bird just keeps staring at me. I bring the meat in past the window bars and eat it with the holiest anger ever. I look up to see the bird gone but i am satisfied for today, tomorrow will take care of itself. And tomorrow did take care of itself, in the form of the very same raven. This bird brought food to me everyday. And as i sit by the window at noon everyday waiting, I smile.


Rarely explain the analogies in my stories because my stories are always analogies of my real life experiences and i like telling my business without really telling my business if you know what i mean. But i feel the need to elucidate this time.
So i was in a car crash last month, it happened at the worst time ever, and the best time ever as well. I just bought a car for my sister like i said in my last post, but the car hadn’t been delivered due to my wanting to register it in her name and her complications with her license. So basically, even though i had two cars, i had none. I had to find ways to get to work, hitching rides, begging people, etc. Funny enough, people whom i would have thought would have my back kept giving me stories. The help i got came from people i would not have ever dreamed would want to help me. Remember my post on my dad? He heard about the accident from a family friend and asked me to go to his house in houston here and take one of his cars for a while. After he asked me to return it, a friend who did not want to see my face a long time ago when i needed him has suddenly come around to become my personal chauffeur. I used the analogy of ravens because urban legend has it that they are the stingiest of birds. It is said that they can let their young starve just to satisfy themselves. Yet these birds are the ones giving me food.

I smile.

He just likes showing off.

My tell

**DISCLAIMER**This is a very short cheesy post. So if you’re not into cheesy please stop reading.

So I heard some people have “love-tells”. A tell is a sign or an indication of/ pointer to something. Some people have love-tells as I found out. Everything from calling him/her just to hear their voice more than once a day to picturing yourselves with kids and a family together. For a lot of my friends their tell is sex. And that’s just… *shudders*

I used to think I didn’t have a love tell. But I realized I do. And it’s a weird one. Not a regular one like most. For me it’s dancing.

Like if I picture and fantasize about dancing with a chic then yep, I’m falling in ****. (Sorry, I just won’t use that word). And it’s not the ballerina type dancing too.It’s the groovy, happy go lucky dancing to new school naija pop songs. The grimy get down and let your hair loose kinda dancing…

In my head the dancing is always in slow motion. Can’t explain it so don’t ask. You know how you can dance intimately with someone even though you’re in public, and you know it’s like you’re connecting. But it’s to a fast song. We’re laughing, sweating, getting down on the dance floor… *sigh*

I hope I get to dance with HER one day. I really hope so.

So oblige me please. Am I just weird or do you also have a “love-tell”? If yes please share in the comment box. I’d like to know. Thanks…

By the way, the song we’re always dancing to in my head is wizkids “wiz party”here… enjoy.

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The thing with forgiveness is how blurry all the lines seem to be. What exactly is forgiveness? When can we be said to have trully forgiven? Is it true forgiveness if caution is thereafter taken in such dealings? Isn’t forgiveness a synonym for stupidity?

My friends (two of them) and I were talking recently. We had a vacation early this year. They were planning an encore for november. I declined stating the financial implication as my reason. The convo went like this from there:
“Friend1: Dude, don’t piss me off. You’ve forgotten you’ve told us how much you earn?
Friend2: Yep, you can definitely swing 3 more vacays with your salary. You’ve got no kids, no wife, what are you doing with your money?”

I went on to brush it all aside because I frankly don’t like getting into it. But when I got home, that question, or should I say, the answer to that question, opened up a wound I thought I had closed a long time ago.

My friend was right, and wrong at the same time. I’ve basically become the bread-winner in my family. I’m responsible for my sister’s school fees. Just bought her a car. Cash. Fully paid. About to do the same for my mum. It breaks my heart when I hear she has to take public transportation because that “bucket” she drives won’t start. The mechanic keeps saying “madam, e go better make you just buy another car throway this one”. My brother is there, needing money every once in a while for school.

My friends and I think alike. We all have well documented business plans with start-up dates fast approaching. The difference is they’ll go to their fathers for capital while I’ll go to… well back to my capital generation bullet point in my business plan. Frankly speaking it will all come down to God, and luck and fate.
This brings me back to the title of my post, Forgiveness.

My father is not rich, so it’s not like he can solve all my problems. But he’s well able to more than shoulder his responsibilities with my sister and mother and brother. Yet he chooses not to. He doesn’t even know if I’m alive right now. That’s not what I need to forgive him for. I frankly don’t care. I love my space too much. My problem is, these responsibilities have fallen on my shoulder and made me lag on my timeline for my goals and personal projects. I’m here being a father and husband when I should be a lot further along my entrepreneurial path.

I have to play roles that weren’t mine to begin with as if having no overly wealthy benefactor was not enough of a business challenge. I at a point borderline hated my dad for this. The hate grew less as I became more financially stable. But statements like that of my friends open these wounds. Have I forgiven him? Honestly, no. I hate that I have to be a man at 23. I hate that he’s living “la vida loca” and I’m here trying to make sure my mom doesn’t get arthritis from public transportation. I hate that my colleagues think I’m miserly to myself for driving what I drive. I hate having to think. I shouldn’t have to think.

When it all boils down to it, I really haven’t forgiven this man.

God help me.

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The Return of the battered child.


“My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness
I dare not trust the sweetest frame
But wholly lean on Jesus’ name”

This prison has been weird for me. In a good sense… and a bad one as well. Good in the sense that I’ve gotten my feet on the ground. Now a fellow prison chaperon. Bad in the sense that the walls of this prison have somehow shut out the light of Elyon. I began to feel him less and less and when you feel him less you tend to behave as though he isn’t there… and more often than not, you forget who you are, and whose you are.

“When darkness seems to hide “His” face
I rest on His unchanging grace
In every high and stormy gale
My anchor rest withing the veil”

What happens when you forget? You begin to “do you”. That’s what I’ve been doing for a while in this prison. Not because I just wanted to rebel, but because the light was not visible. It get’s dark in this prison. I’m not refering to the scary kind of dark, rather it’s the comfortable kind of dark. Because the scary kind of dark will make you scamper for the light. But this one makes you recline. It even gives you an artificial light, such that the need for the real light wanes on you.

“His oath, His covenant, and blood
Support me in the whelming flood;
When every earthly prop gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.”

It feels like a flood. The waves of illuminating darkness, that give you a semblance of vision without the substance. Then you feel empty, drained, washed. You begin to search for the light but every attempt to find a crack in this wall is futile, you turn left, you turn right. Confussion sets in. You run to the seeming crack in the wall, only to realise it’s just the “dark light”.
Every iorta of light turns out to be a hoax. Pulling you deeper into the guilt that is the comfort of your present predicament. And after being battered, with the comfort of this darkness, you accept it… and embrace it…

“When He shall come with trumpet sound
Oh may I then in Him be found
Dressed in His righteousness alone
Faultless to stand before the throne”

He loves being dramatic. He loves it…

Suddenly a light shows up in the corner of my eye, I get up and begin to run to it, not because I’m in a terrible place, but because I know this darkness is not my home. And for once as I run to the light, it’s actually getting closer… and brighter. Every step gives me reassurance, because I feel at home more and more, closer and closer. I remember mummy’s tongue talking prayer sessions, the numerous family devotion sessions, pastor sunny, my own messages back in school, and I hear His voice… it’s saying, “Just keep coming”. I try to apologise, He shuts me up. All the while I’m still running, closer to the bright light. I try to apologise again, He shuts me up again. He’ll have none of it, He just wants me to keep running. Soon enough I get to the light source. It’s a window. I’m still in this prison. He’ll have me stay here for a while. But He’ll give me a window. With light that illuminates the whole prison. The prison shines like never before, and the “comfortable darkness” is ever so distant. I hold on to the window bars, in tears, and sweat, gasping for air and worshiping his majesty. His blinding majesty. This is the window of worship. The window that brings the battered child home. I’ll stay at this window. This is Home.

“Christ the Lord,
Weak made strong,
In’d saviour’s love
Through the storm
He is lord,
Lord of All.”

*** The song here is a remix of the popular hymn. This version is by Hillsong worship team australia. This was the vehicle that brought me to the window. Here is a youtube link. Enjoy.***

Of Entitlements And Grace

I spoke with Clarita today. Clarita is one of the cafeteria staff that work and serve the foremen and engineers at the plant i manage. She has probably the cutest spanish accent i’ve ever heard. Partly due to the fact that she’s slightly speech impaired. Clarita behaves like a baby. I mean that literally. She pouts when she doesn’t get her way, she smiles with all 32 teeth (probably less) when she’s happy, and she skips around the facility singing old time spanish folk songs. She literally makes me smile everytime i see her.
“Good morning Martin!”, Her high pitched voice would shreik out as she beams a smile that lights up the room. Always cheerful, always singing.
Guess what i learned today? She’s 31 years old.
I stayed in the cafe with her and the other service staff for about 1 hour today. I helped them carry the supplies when the truck got here. You need to see the look on their faces. Utter shock. That’s the rest of them though. Clarita kept handing me stuff like it was my job. lol.
I sat through the weekly management meeting today. I’m the only black guy in management. To make matters worse? I’m 23 and a couple of people know it. The foremen, derrick-hand, and other staff take orders from me. I have also had to give out a verbal warning to a field engineer who left a valve at 3/4 instead of 1/2 pass.
Sometimes while at my desk or on the feild, my spirit leaves my body and i take a panoramic view of where i am. As usual, one question comes to mind. How in the world did i get here. I sit at design meetings and Ham Zat meetings with graduates of Duke, Texas and other IVY league schools in the world. At these meetings i sit back and remember the name on my own university degree.
E reach to laugh.
I havn’t done my masters yet. So i still ask myself everyday, if i’m really worth these small blessings. Went out to my Boss’ ranch last weekend. On his private plane. Chill guys, Nugwa was on a private jet? I didn’t take a picture so i wouldn’t spur anymore “African caveman” jokes. But it’s still not hit me yet. God has been so good that a part of me feels guilty for receiving these blessings. I did not work for this. I have not been lazy but a part of me knows that the work i have put in is not commensurate to the blessings i have gotten out of life. Why does He keep blessing me?
It’s this conundrum that makes me feel like i still have to “work” a little bit. Look, don’t get me wrong. I am a minister of Grace. I probably can teach far greater a sermon on grace than you can. But this grace don pass be careful. I’m too young, too African, too inexperienced, too unqualified and too unworthy to recieve this grace.
I guess thats why i love hanging out with Clarita and the crew. The hard work these people do reminds me of this grace, because i’m not that much better than them. I’m just blessed. My classmates from back in school are mostly just starting up careers. I’m in management. I did not burst my ass in school. Did things at my pace. I’d love to say i “worked smart not hard” but i know people who “worked smarter” than i did yet they have different results.
“I will have mercy on whom i will have mercy”
The original greek word was “Charis” – Grace.
Creepy that He chose me. Humblingly creepy.
And as i got off my boss’ private jet on sunday, God said something to me.
“And all this is still your prison stage”
I’m officially fucking scared of what the palace will be.


A really good friend had a birthday two weeks ago and that showed me that I wasn’t as young as i’d like to think. Age isn’t neccesarily on my side anymore. I say this because I’m not anywhere near where I thought i’d be in my life by this time. The fact that my goals in this plan of mine were quite lofty is not the issue. I’m only hard on myself because I know I can do better. So I’ve set out a month by month plan to get to where I wanna be. I’ve been good. Generally speaking. Things have actually taken a huge turn for the better but I’m still in prison. I’ll celebrate when I get out. For me, getting out means my mind will be blown by something. Don’t know what it is but I’m waiting for it. Weird huh?
Anyways, these days I don’t recognise myself. Hard to explain. I won’t go into it. Crests and troughs eh? In a trough right now. It all started with doubt. Stay away from that shit. It’ll wreck you. I’ve seen the results but I’m looking for the theory. Typical human nature. I’m quite some way off the road but I’ll be back. I always come back. I know no other way. This isn’t going to have my usual attempt at deepness. I’m honestly not feeling deep. Probably not feeling anything at all. I’m not sad. Just… Bored. I’ll need a kick to get out of this. Had to reduce the cobwebs on the blog so… here.

One Good Heartbreak

It’s hard to tell your mind to stop loving
someone that your heart’s still loving
When forever is through,
I’ll be over you

I got a message from a friend today. He’s a younger brother of sorts. That message sent me down memory lane. He talked about how he was in love with someone. Knowing him, he really is in love with this chick. Takes a lot for him to get open about his feelings. I could sense it. The instagram picture which he posted in which he was holding her proved my point. My guy is whipped. So as I was having my music fix this evening before bed, Efa’s “over you” came on. The lyrics made me ask myself if I had ever felt that deeply for someone. As deeply as my friend is feeling. As deeply as the song potrayed. The answer is yes. Let me tell you the story.

It was back in school. 3rd year. I met her. Long story short, we dated for a while. She wasn’t my first girlfriend. But she was the first girl I truly fell for. I was insane for this chick. Literally insane. I call it insanity because of the guy i’ve become with age and experience. Only insanity can explain some things I did in the name of love.

Coming to the US and working all summer, saving all my money so I could take her somewhere nice for a weekend. That was nothing, I had insane plans for us. Lofty, ludicrous plans. So when it ended, it’s safe to say I almost died. In hindsight, I guess it hurt more because she cheated on me with someone else, and someone whom I, at the time, considered to be less of a man than me. Not saying I now consider him more of a man than me. I’ve just realized there’s no scale for these measurements.

My world crashed. Each time I saw her with him, my chest would feel literal pain. So after about 3 months attempting to win her back, I gave up. I gave up my belief in love, in trust, in truth. No girl was worth my heart anymore and even if one was, she’d have to make do with a broken one.

I went on a player spree. I dated about 6 girls in the space of 3 months. Mostly simultaneously. They were all just play things to me. I became an ass-hole. A standard Bastard. Here was I, pastor, now a playboy, it was pitiful. I lost God in that period. Thankfully, He never lost me. I regret those actions till this day. That guy was not me. I’m not that guy. So after I calmed down and regained my sanity, I psycho analyzed myself. That’s a process I’m still under. The conclusions so far are as follows;

I can’t ever feel that way for anyone again.

The reason I can’t feel that way is because I’ve matured.

Feeling that way is unhealthy. No one human should have that much power over another human. I Have a better perspective of the things that matter. God, family, getting ahead. That’s been all I care about for a while now. And seeing as I’m not doing too badly in all three aspects, I’m happy.

Every guy needs one good heart break. You can’t keep your head in the clouds forever. It’s unhealthy for a man in my opinion. A man should exude stability. So when she has emotions running amok, you can be her anchor. I see these kids talk about love these days and try my best to be optimistic with my advice, but it always turns out to be a brutal pain-fest at the end. This is not me saying I don’t believe in love. Trust me I do. But I don’t sunscribe to butterflies in a tummy. Feelings, which are known to change like the wind, should not be the basis of love. So I know this and now my view of love is more matured, more stable. Love has become something I can decide to give. That’s control. That’s the way it’s meant to be.

I really do wish him (my friend) the best, but I know that budding romance isn’t going anywhere. I feel for him. Because it will hurt like mad when it ends. But its going to be for his own good. He has a future to build. Chicks will come later. Tend to the garden first. You’ll see her when HE puts you to sleep. In the interim, Tend to the garden. Eve will come when she will come…

But to be honest? I miss feeling stupidly and irrationally in love with a girl.


A psalm of Nugwa. In prison.
… Who is He?
He is he who knows and is perceived as known, but remains unknown. The great unknown. All knowing. Knowledge personified. Perfect embodiment of all that is knowledge. Knowledge of whom saves, and the knowledge that formed existence.
Who is He?
Wisdom Himself. He is wise in his ways, and His wisdom underlines our folly. The wise understand His wisdom is beyond understanding. And they hold it sacred. The depths of such a wisdom as is too complex to comprehend, talk more of fully apprehend. His ways, so far from our ways. We ask for directions to go north, He says go south. We ask for life, he asks us to die. Wisdom, which we define as folly. For it is, in our eyes. Because we see not the full loop, the full circle which we are ignorant of. But He is that circle.
Who is He?
He is peace. He is my peace. He is the face I see when standing on the water. The face I dare not take my eyes off. For beside him it’s every reason why I would be obliterated. So I look not beside him, not left, not right, but straight, at my peace. My gaze, fixed on my peace. Fixed on my sleep on the boat. Fixed on His lazy demeanor at lazarus’ passing. Fixed on his calm. On his smile. Why? Because He controls the outcome, as much as we allow.
Who is He?
The guy we can’t question. Nah, we can’t. Lool, we can’t….
So we smile to the slaughter. Because its actually the direct route to glory. And we worship this twisted wisdom. This stupid knowledge. This delusional peace. We worship Him. Because we ultimately are too benign a specie to even attempt a Comprehension of his ways.
Who are we?
But you make beautiful things out of dust….
I really wished to get deep on this writing. But the inspiration came in words I cannot pen.
Here was my attempt at translating.

All Or Nothing. 100%.

Okay. I’m actually very suprised people read this blog. I never post links on twitter or facebook, but in the last 2 days 7 people have asked me when next I would be writing something. That’s mildly flattering. That I have an audience is… flattering. The idea behind this blog was to have a personal diary. To chronicle my personal experiences as they played themselves out. Nonetheless, I thank you guys for your followership. And I hope you’ve been able to take something from these writings so far. I actually had a post that was to go up three days ago, but I mistakenly erased it because of NBA semifinals, (don’t ask).
Lol. Anyways. To the post.

You know how you get used to prison, so much so that you forget there is an “out there” and you start thinking about how to make your confined niche comfortable? Yes. That’s where I am.
At first every breath was a “Get me out of here” plea/Prayer. But I’ve been waiting for so long, I’ve sort of stopped. Sort of…
Not like I’ve given up, but I’ve realised that I’m here for a season, and no amount of “activity” will change that. I’ve also realised that there is a lesson here. Actually, there are LESSONS here. These are lessons that would be needed in the palace. Without these lessons being learned, my destiny of saving egypt will not come to fruition. He’s sent word to me in prison. How I should learn to give my best when I expect nothing in return. You see, Giving my best without reward is hard. Being made the head of prisoners doesn’t make you anything more than a prisoner, or get you out on parole early. If anything, all you get in return is prisonyard scuffles born out of envy and spite at your caretaker status. Give my all, really?
I’ve always been lazy. Always. That’s why I was home chilling when my brothers were tilling the fields back in egypt. Dad had to get me out of the barn to go give them food. I never do stuff unless I absolutely have to. I always look for ways around tasks such that the objective can be reached without having to do the work. Only problem is, that results in half ass results more often than not. This, He sees as a problem.
My release from this prison has been predicated on one thing. Give Him my all. I have to give my all knowing I won’t get rewarded for it before I get out of this prison. And that “all” is so broad. So wide. I was praying in my heart as I drove to work the other day and asking him to do something, and adam lamberts – “what do you want from me” came on the radio. It’s weird but I know that I know that He spoke to me using that song. His ways are mysterious ey? Using a secular song by a gay artiste to speak His message
That’s a story for another day. But the songs chorus itself says “just don’t give up, I’m working it out, please don’t give in, I won’t let you down…”. That was one of the strongest inner witnesses I ever had to Him speaking to me. I was sure that was Him talking to me. I decided to cheer up, and He kept speaking. He told me about how being faithful in little was the pre-requisite for being handed “much” to be faithful about. He reminded me of the story of the servant who buried his talent because he felt he was better than being given 1 talent. That servant was right. He was better than 1. But you see, what was being tried was not his business acumen and worth, but His dependability abd dedication. He lacked those. He’s teaching me dedication. He’s teaching me to keep hitting at my target as though I was offered utopia for attaining it even though I wasn’t even offered a drink of water. He’s teaching me how to work more than I get paid for so that I’ll later get paid for much more work than I do. However, the work comes first. I must sweat, cry, toil and exert myself, and receive no reward for it, and still keep a fucking smile on my face while doing it. Such that people will wonder if I’ve gone mad. Because they do not know where such a work ethic comes from.
I must endure hardship in this prison, and forge the tools that will deliver egypt in the future. Dedication, discipline and a great work ethic. You might ask why He told me to “keep Him first”? Its the understanding that anything I do, I do for Him. I do for His glory, I do to show what He can do, because as He is, So I am in this world. So when I half ass my work, I’m basically saying He’s a half ass person because I’ve put my conveinience over His reputation. Putting him first means doing a perfect job, the hard and effective way and getting no credit for it. And yes, I’ve decided to put Him first. I will work this prison till they know That there has to be something else driving me, another driving force. And when they ask? I’ll tell them “If I don’t give my ALL, I’ve just as well given NOTHING.”
It’s all or nothing. 100%.

Level with me.

So they say prisoners get only one phone call.
I’ve saved this one since I got here because I knew I was gonna need it…
*Dials number*
Beep, beep… beep beep… beep beep… beep beep.. beep beep… *voicemail*.
*Hangs up and redials*
Beep beep… beep beep… beep beep… beep beep… beep beep… *voicemail*…
*sigh*… I might as well…
Hey, it’s me. You already know where I am. Its hell here. This is not as easy as you said it would be. I thought I had enough in my tank to push me through but right now, I’m running on reserve. These walls seem to get a little smaller with each passing morning. My bed smells of depression right now. I know you said to trust you and not look at the waves, I’m not looking at them, but the knowledge that they are real, and there, is starting to make me sink. Word got to me in here that you’re planning something, trying to get me out of here. But as I last heard, the letter was on your desk and you havn’t signed it. Why? Because you believe I havn’t learned what you want me to?
At this point I don’t know what to believe anymore.
Here’s things I’m sure of… you’re real. You know me. And you love me. Here’s things I’m not sure of… what you’re willing to let me go through to teach me a lesson. “Whom the father loves he chastiseth” right? Spare me all that please. Chastising is not fun. I’m in a fucking prison for crying out loud. And nothing sears my heart more than knowing I’ll be out of here at the snap of your finger. Yet those fingers stay idle, unsnaped.
I don’t even know what you want me to learn here anymore. I almost keep seeing new lessons everyday. You want me to understand that This family comes first, not just in my words and heart, but in my actions and mind. That’s tricky. I’m in my “stupid years”. Its not really in my power to stop these things. I know I can, but do I really want to fight with self at this point? Self doesn’t think so. How did you say it again, “the things I want to do, I do not, the things I would not do, I find myself doing”? Yes, that’s me right now.
Look, putting you first is not a problem. But I don’t want to do it just because its the only thing that gets me out of here. Because once I’m out, I’ll relegate you again. Bring me out, and THEN I will put you first.
That’s funny, because nobody negotiates with you right? Well, I will… because of who I am… Blood has eternally sealed that…
And there is NOTHING that can change that.
So, That is my counter offer.
I’ll be here, in prison, waiting…
And you will come through…
It’s who you are.
Love, Your Son, in prison.

Prison blues

Prison isn’t so bad. Okay it’s bad. But when your sight is set on your exit, it’s a lot easier to let time pass. And prison almost becomes homely when you realise that there’s a lot of us here. One prison or the other, different routes to different palaces. All still in temporal transition to a desired permanent abode. I’d really really love to give sob stories about how this sucks and I need God right now and I’m at the edge of giving up and blah, blah blah…
But I’m not. It’s creepy, I’m at peace in prison. I talked about how the pit taught me peace. Peace in the midst of the storm. Guess what? I think I learned it. Let’s go back to the manuscript.
Remember when dude was with his 12 personal assistants on the boat and the boat got a’rocking. That was a stage one test. Of course they failed, because they panicked. The lesson there was the understanding that the storm isn’t strong enough to destroy you and you can tell it to stop whenever you want.
Fast forward a few months and they get in another storm scenario. This time, He’s not on the boat. Reason being that they don’t need Him on the boat because they should know the storm can’t sink them. This time, He walks on the water and asks one of them to come join him… The lesson has changed, its not just that they can tell the storm to stop, but this time, its that they can be so at peace that they walk on the storm to get where they’re going… meaning the storm doesn’t affect the fact that they will get where they have to be. It can storm all it wants… they’re still moving towards the desired destination… storm or not, they’ll keep walking…
I think that’s what the pit taught me. Storm or not I’m still walking. I’m still moving towards my destination… almost as if the storm doesn’t exist. I’m not pretending I’m not in prison… I am. But it’s the understanding that prison is the path to the palace that keeps me smiling. Even in the storm, I’m still walking, walking on the storm… swag…
Did I just type “swag”? Prison should beat that shit out of me.
So yeah… prison isn’t so bad. I sort of sense that prison also has many stages. Its not just prison- palace, there’s prison- entry level, prison- guards pally, prison- head of all prisoners, so I’m somewhere between entry level and guards pally. Long story.
That’s all for now.
And yeah, I think I need a girlfriend…
I think…

Not a feeling…

When I get to see you, I will get that feeling…
I’ll be shy at first, probably come off as rude and arrogant. It’s a defence mechanism. I’ll get around from talking to you to talking with you. It’s going to be slow, not chaotic and harried, but steady yet spontaneous. The chemistry will grow, and I will get that feeling…
I’ll look at you in my t shirt with nothing else on but your French knickers, and I’ll get that feeling. While you smile at me as you fix yourself some coffee, how your hair falls perfectly covering one side of your face, how you can’t be bothered… I’ll look at how you come home and just ask me to hold you without wanting to tell me what’s making you feel down. I’ll hold you, and I’ll get that feeling. I’ll walk past a pink lemonade stand while on my lunch break at work, and knowing that’s your favorite drink base, I’ll get that feeling. Your random bursts of “you know I love you right?” Your taunts when Arsenal is losing, annoying, but yes, it’ll give me that feeling… I feel it when I sleep, I feel it when I wake, I feel it when i’m at peace thinking of my future, nay, our future. I’ll feel it when we hug, I’ll feel it when we kiss… Yes, I’ll feel that feeling… I’ll feel it when I toss and turn that night, the night before I ask you to marry me… you see, to you this was just a scheduled vacation. Fancy, but we are used to this. So you wouldn’t suspect a thing. I’ll pace about the hotel lobby and lie by the pool thinking about how you’re about to change my life forever, how you’ve already changed my life forever, and I’ll get that feeling… you’ll say yes, we’ll kiss, and our honeymoon night?
What a beautiful feeling…


I won’t always feel that feeling…
I won’t feel it three years in, when you begin to think your career superceeds your duty as a wife, as a mother…
I won’t feel that feeling when you cancel on yet another date night because the proposal has to be ready the next day, funny how there are always proposals to be turned in the following day preceeding our date nights everyday for the past year.
No B, I won’t get that feeling.
I won’t feel it when you leave the duvet to warm me because you “want to be well rested for your presentation tomorrow”. Why you have to work is beyond me. I hustled as a bachelor and set up various enterprises to avoid this very scenario. We’re still set up for life even if you never work again. Not feeling this right now, not at all.
I won’t feel it when you come to tell me you’re going on another work retreat. And that you won’t be home for two weeks. I won’t even answer you. I’ll keep at my wine and my book, till you walk out of my study irritated that I payed you no mind. Kinda used to this by now…
I won’t feel it when our three year old kid has me his dad at his kindergarten mother and child workshop. Because you had to be in New York for a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet your CEO. I won’t feel it when the nanny tells me our son called her “mommy”. Babe, I will not feel it.
So when I take your car for a quick run to the mens club, and I find a saved message on your car mobile dock saying “You know we’re meant for each other, that kiss in the elevator was not a one-off as you claim, meet me at the grecco suites tonight” I’ll look at the date and see that it was sent today. I’ll come back home, obviously not feeling it, waiting for your next move. I’ll feign being oblivious to your conflicted demeanor. I know you’re torn inside. You’re actually contemplating this? Wow, Not feeling this… I won’t feel this when you slowly come to tell me you have to run back to the office because you forgot a file.
I’ll smile…
The “me” before I met you would be too egotistic. He’d let you go… serve you divorce papers and leave with his son. Pay you more than enough for you to disappear into the nothingness that you are… He’d obviously not feel this…
You see babe, there’s only one problem… I’m not in this for a feeling. I did not ask you to marry me because I felt butterflies in my tummy. This is not a feeling, its a decision. And this means, that i’m going to fight. I’ll do anything. Best believe I won’t play fair. I swear that I’ll make you look at me the way you once did. And this is because I have DECIDED that for better or for worse, its you. And because of that decision, I will fight for you, I will fight with you… and I will win. You know this. I WILL WIN because this was a DECISION, NOT A FEELING…

Bad guy…

This armor I put around me…
I think it should come off.
Over the past few days I’ve been shown something I’ve turned a blind eye to. I’ve seen how nice it would feel to have my space intruded. But at what cost?
It starts with taking off your armor.
Your helmet, your breastplate, your shin guards, then your sword…
And son, when your sword goes, you’re screwed…
Then you’re forced to become subservient. And all you get is at the mercy of the discretion of another. You convince yourself that this is how the story goes. Its the grand plot. And that belief drives you to lay it all down…
And to end it all, yes you guessed right, this skilled warrior gets a shiny metal sword driven into his heart… Yes, his own sword.
So after surviving that, miraculously I might add, once bitten twice shy.This is a tale I know too well. Ego will not permit me.
Not twice. No.
This armor has to stay on. I can’t. Can’t reveal who this warrior is…
Because underneath it all… The scars of the last battle are still very vivid. A battle in which I was taken to within an inch of my life.
So yes…
The armor stays on…
Hail the brave strong warrior…
And know not what he really looks like…
Its safer that way…
Much much safer…
I think.

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Not Alone

So here’s a scenario.

Joseph walks into the selection pit. Now the thing is, he’s been away from his brothers for quite a while. Like a long while. After he was sold to the ishmeelites scripture doesn’t record how long it took to get to the house of mister P. I’d like to think it took a long time.
See, egypts economy was peaking at that period. Historically industries like manufacturing, mining and construction and the likes were the ones that attracted slaves. Because these needed a lot of “expendable” man power. Jo would fit the bill perfectly. But there’s just one itsy problem. He’s a skinny ass brother. Well, I wouldn’t say skinny, more like young. So whenever slave “scouts” came around, jo was always overlooked. He was never picked because he was too small to be of any profitable use to anybody. Little jo’s a small kid. He hadn’t even fully completed puberty. So he needed time to grow in the ishmeelite slave quaters. Become more manly, more useful. That’s the only way he would end up in potiphars house. He didn’t get that time to grow. So all he was useful for was being a house servant.

One day as he’s running an errand in the local egyptian market, he meets this girl. (Ghen ghen). Meeting a girl always changes the direction of any story. He sees her pricing some egyptian spices. He thinks to walk up to her. She looks like she’s been a servant for a while. He decides not to. Well, because he looks wretched. And “servant” get levels. She crosses his mind fleetingly once again on his way home. He brushes off the thought. He felt a connection just by seeing her, not romantic, but… a connection, a strong one which he knew he shoulda acted on. He relaxed and just thought “oh well, no use crying over spoilt beef” and went on home.

Another marketday, a while later, joseph goes for the servant celebrations. It’s the festive period. All the servants, prestigeous and common alike gather in the egyptian field for a night of relaxation. After the days marketing is done, they gather and begin celebrations for a good year. One more year closer to gaining freedon for a lot of them, and that was something to be thankful for. Jo picks up his gourd of grape juice. He looks up, and sees her again. The same girl from the market a while back. He sits there drinking and thinking about his year, about potiphar, about his family back home, and about her, yes, her. He’s only seen her twice but he keeps thinking about her. Not cuz he’s in love, but because he knows she should be more than a fleeting presence in his life. He can’t place why exactly, but he just knows. He keeps thinking that way till the festivities are over. Dumb boy. Jo was shy, and a loner. So he was not the type to go meet someone and start a convo. He smiled to himself as he walked home that night. His thoughts? “I’ll never get to talk to her or anyone else”.

Jo was lonely. Not lonely in the sense that there was no one around him, but in the sense that no one understood him. Jo wanted to talk about his dreams. And his family. And his future. And the God of grampy Ab… everyone called him grampy even though he was technically a great grand father. He knew this God was with him but where was he gonna find someone who knew this God too? So in this sense, Jo was very lonely.
Fastforward a few marketdays later. Jo was picking up some syrian tomatoes and he hears someone say “hi”. He turns back to look and he sees her.
“I’ve been seeing you around the market but I never say hi so I just thought to do that today.”
Jo is stunned, “Hello, I’ve been seeing you around too. Just never worked up the courage to say hi”.”I’m joey, or Jo for short, what’s your name?”
“Ruby”. “Are you from the northwest?”
“Yes I am! Are you also from there? Ruby doesn’t sound like a north-western name”
“Yes I’m from the north-west too.”
And that began one of the most relieving conversations joey would ever have. He talked about The God of his Grampy, and his dreams, and where he was going, but more importantly? She talked back. She talked about how she also had northwestern heritage. And about how she too was on a journey. In pursiut of a dream, which her God had given her. She talked about her fears and about her experiences with this God. Joey could not believe this. So there was someone here all along who knew what I had been feeling? Who understood my desires and my dreams? Joey was overjoyed. And that stroll home with ruby, was the best two hours of his life in egypt.

Tonight I learnt there’s never “just you” in a race, on a journey. You may think you’re alone, but there’s someone. Like attracts like. And soon enough the dots will connect. And when they do, your dreams will become vivid again. Because now, you’ll be able to fire them up with somebody… and our dreams need to stay on fire.

This journey to the palace… hmmm. The God of Grampy Ab, surely is planning something.

Monsieur Potiphar

The thing about potiphars house is the fact that its very unstable… it’s the kinda place where you put your everything into something but you don’t get back what’s duely yours. Potiphars house has a way of drowning every belief you had in your dream. Every belief getting out of the pit gave you…
You see, being in the pit taught you to trust. Trusting is something you have to learn, else you’d cavitate. And cavitation is bad. Very bad. I’m learning that right now. If only you know all the puns in that cavitation phrase… I digress.
Let’s put it this way. You got the dream. Naive. You got thrown in the pit. Surrender. Now you’re in potiphars house. Everything you do here will be done with the knowledge that this is a part of your journey to the palace. You’ve learnt to trust. So you’re generally not moved anymore. And you sorta knew this was coming. But the suprising thing is you never guessed the events of the house of monseiur Potiphar would make you this tired. I mean, even though you know potiphars house is temporary, it sucks knowing you have to put your all into your work there to justify Him. You see, it’s part of the plan. He just is too big to share any of the glory with you. So you have to put in everything, and watch your “everything” be not good enough. That’s the most fucked up thing ever. Putting everything in knowing it won’t be good enough. Here’s where it’s fucked up. You put in everything but somehow (I even suspect He has something to do with it), it doesn’t work out. I think He does that to show you that it’s not about you. You may prepare the horse for battle all night long but only He can ensure it comes back alive. Look, it cannot be ordinary. I mean, you’re smart. Even potiphar says so. He says your problem isn’t with your work, or attitude. Haha. This is funny. Well, Not really. And soon, you might be out of potiphars house.
Like I said, I trust Him too much to be worried. So my issues are not about what is happening. My issues are more about the “punishment” that is supposed to be the lesson I learn here, in potiphars house… the lesson that after doing all I can by my power, it still cannot take me, where He wants to take me…
I’m supposed to keep on keeping on. All the while knowing it won’t work.
He has a nasty sense of humor…
A nasty one…


Deep inside, it stirs… a confusion.


A hunger.

I’m hungry. Hungry to become. Hungry to be. But I can’t be without a mould, and a mould is what I seek.

The definitive pointing of the compass. Momentum has been gathered. But where to be eludes me. And where to be also would be accompanied by the answering of the questions how to be and whom to be, I shall not answer when to be though. For when to be will be determined by myself, when I discover where to be. I also shall not answer why to be. For attempting that would be akin to initiating insanity.

Only He knows why to be, but I must know where, and whom. Because being is easier when you are who you are supposed to be. But when there is a distance between who you are supposed to be and who you are, the question, my dear friend, will not be who to be but where to be. For becoming who will take a process. And you must walk the path of that process, hence the need for direction… where.

I trudge on. I must find the next step. Where. And in His mercy I already somewhat know who to be… at least in part. But I know not where he is.

Hence… I draw my my breath…

And I listen,

For He knows Where, Who, How, When and Why…

So my friends…

I listen…

Sent from my 4G Android Phone on T-mobile

Another Virginity Blogpost

“What pisses me off is how quickly she changed…”

Fellas, you know how you’d have this picture of her in your head? That body, the curves, her mannerisms, yes… looking at (or even thinking about) her should make your heart skip two “beat”s by olisa (pun intended). Guys unlike girls don’t swoon while day-dreaming but we definitely always have that mental picture of what she looks like.


That wasn’t my case…

I saw her on a cold winter morning. Right by the bustop. Didn’t look like she was in a hurry to get anywhere. She wasn’t my idea of the one… no heartbeat skips, or pulse racing or nerve jangling. She was just there. She was OK. Some might even be brave enough to say more than very okay but the picture in my head was a lot more sexy. Yes I’m superficial, sue me… “Getting to know her wouldn’t hurt”. I thought this to myself as I pulled up to her in kaycees car. Our first encounter was a good one. I got to know more about her. Her likes, dislikes, her drive. Made me wanna know more. Apparently she was in a relationship which wasn’t working. She wanted out. I was the outlet.

Fastforward three months and there I am. The happiest I’ve ever been. You know how they say “Not all that glitters is gold”? Well lemme add that “The fact that something doesn’t glitter doesn’t mean its not valuable”. She taught me that. You see, my evelyn was beautiful. That was her name. Quite befitting too, because she was indeed a life-giver. She gave me life. She always knew how to make me feel better. With her I always felt at peace. I’m the guy here but with her I felt safe. Of course I always fought for her. Like when that mexican guy tapped her behind at the grocery store… boy did he get a talking to! I never joked with her honor. She was my pearl and would be treated as such. But around her I knew things would be ok. She was sort’a my goodluck charm. And Lord knows she was good to me.

Oh did I mention that she was my first? Yep… ergo the title “Another virginity blogpost”. The first I ever “had”. She wasn’t my first relationship but she was the first Legit one. I remember the first time. I took her with such passion. Drove her wild. The sounds she made only made me go harder and faster. The best 15 minutes of my life. It was unbelieveable. And over those three months she only got better and better at fulfilling my desires and making me feel that testosterone rush.

And then everything changed…

One Early summer morning I felt like…*ahem-ing* with her… did all the usual. Swaggered across to her where she was but I could already tell something was wrong. She was quite cold. I caressed enough to get her in the mood… but all to no avail. “She’s usually always up for it” I thought. This could not be good. Evelyn changed. She stopped talking to me. Began to spend more time with her “friend” a lowly autoshop repairman. I felt betrayed. A mechanic over an engineer? Like really? We fought over every little thing. She would refuse to come with me particularly to places where I felt it was important to go together with her. She was always never in the mood and even when we “did it” she would give me attitude. I had been nothing but good and loving to her. Why was she doing this?

The last straw was three weks ago. We had a huge fight that morning. A really huge fight. I was so bent on winning this fight that I totally lost track of time. After two hours of the most energy sapping argument ever, I realised I was one hour late for work. One whole fucking hour! Like I play with everything but the igbo genes in me make it imposible to play with my money. My job is my livelihood and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let her screw it up.

Evelyn, I loved you. I really did. And heaven knows I tried to make us work. But as they always say, “nothing lasts forever”… I’m sorry. I really trully am.

I sold my 2003 Honda accord today. The relationship just wasn’t working… Goodbye my love, the first car I ever owned.

Down Under.

Hey guys. I usually don’t tag peeps because my blog is more of a personal diary. But I decided to do so today because the post is more literary than personal. Inspiration came from reading @ekwem’s post on mosadiel. I wrote this in 20mins on my lunch break and I’m new to stories so comment kindly. I’ll reply your comments after work. Enjoy.
Relief. Distortion.

I could make out a sea of burgundy mist tainted with what would seem to be miniature black holes. The holes ran across the circumfrence of the tunnel. A void. I was suspended in it. Unending.

Sweet relief. Blinding pain.

The holes would suddenly split my essence into what would have to be at least a million dimensions simultaneously… and then slowly, painfully, regurgitate me and reconstruct my form…

I was a cocktail of random sensations… not so random, for they alternated between the territories of the pleasurable and the excruciating…
I tried to gather myself… this soul-essence state was one that would take some getting used to…
In this form I trully understood limitation.
I knew how everything worked, I was learning how everything felt.
My environment was observed, I can’t say how, but one thing was certain. My field of vision was trans-dimensional. I still had eyes or so I thought, but they saw beyond their axis… glimpses of the world I just left, it must have been seconds ago. Those nails, the vinegar, the scorn. They came in flashes, and an ethreal excruciation accompanied them. I would rather let my conciousness roam these realms. I knew what I had to do here, and I knew how much time I had.

I heard voices. Distant as they were, you could hear their pain, their regret. My soulish heart bled for them, and I was here to save them, but I could not tell them. No one could know. Everything had to go according to plan.

The voices grew louder…
Then from deep within the abyss, I saw him, Abbadon. He smiled at me,as if to be nice to me before the coming onslaught.

Fumes of sulphur and brimstone sifted through my soulish hair as I was dragged in chains to my torture chambers. Abbadon never welcomes anyone personnally but Beelzebub had made sure I was to be dragged into Tartarus by his most senior subordinate. I glimpsed across the great divide and I saw Abraham. He and thousands of other saints stood at the brink of their beautiful paradise, the Elysian fields. Their faces said it all. The Horror. The fear. If the Amasiah had been killed there was obviously no hope. Everyone except Abraham thought this. For he was Elyons friend. And Elyon never Hides anything from him. He probably knew why I was here. He, and only he, smiled faintly as I was dragged out of their view. And I thought to myself, “surely, Elyon has told him”.

There was to be no exception for me. I was to go through the routine like everyone else. That was Beelzebubs way of making me less than divinity. For changing the protocol for me would be akin to his admiting that I was not ordinary. And he would never do that. Pride. I guess falling like lightning hasn’t taught him anything after all these millenia.The torture was to last three human days, and then I would be taken into the throne room, to aknowledge Beelzebub as lord of these realms. Everyone bows to him there. But he would take significant interest in my case. Because I had refused to do so previously. All earths glory is but dung compared to the outskirts of my celestial kingdom, Zion. But here I would not have a choice. All who come here must bow to him. Or so he thought. And right there and then… I would make my move…

I AM the Eternal Rhema.

Who am i?

If there’s something i love this blog for it’s the fact that it serves as my shrink. So am gonna try to psycho-analize myself today. It’s based on a trend i’ve noticed which isn’t the direction i tow, but still my own direction is probably no good either…
I’m used to hearing people being called pretenders, hypocrites, etc. A hypocrite is someone who behaves contrary to his proffesion or true nature while in view of others. Going by this definition i’ve decided to boldly admit that i’m a hypocrite. But not for the reasons you think.
This blog shows the real me. The me who comes out on my bed, after a long hard day. The me when no one is around. The me who is made anonymous by virtue of this ball-mask called the web. Anonymity brings us out. It lowers our defences since stigma can’t come into play. So we become our real selves, shed our exoskeletons and unveil our inner beings. I love anonymity. Now here’s my hypocrisy. I tend to be everyone’s guy in public. I’m not quiet, i’m quite blunt. I use profanity. I’m much of a snot-nosed brute. Like i said… it’s all hypocrisy. Because the real me when no one else is around, would rather put on a chris tomlin album than a pop song, i’d rather get lost in worship listening to a hillsong cd, than watch the raciest primetime show. This is me. I constantly, constantly (wether alone or with people) catch myself talking to God. I almost cant do without Talking to Him. Asides when in the place of worship i havn’t cried in 6 years. Yet in His presence i cry almost everytime. I constantly seek my connection with Him in worship and in communion.
So which is the real me? The loud mouth whom no one believes was ever a pastor due to his “carnal” mannerisms? Or the Guy who is doing 70 mph on the houston interstate, just so he can get home and put hillsongs “hossanna” on the stereo, and loose himself in worship… who am i?…

16 days to the Gold medal…

So i picked up my phone and decided to blog again. As you must have noticed by now my blog posts are as scarce as an eighteen year-old unbreached hymen (a story for another day), this world sha…
So what have i been up to? Well, the other day i was featured on kelvin steve’s blog. You can read it with this link. In fact… go there and read it first. I don’t have time to expain everything.


Now assuming u read that post (If you didn’t, You’re On your own), you probably know a little about me. So now, lets answer my earlier question, what have i been up to…
For starters… NO, i didn’t quit my job… yet. I wasn’t kidding. I’m actually going to quit. I just need certain things to fall into place first. I have my proffesional engineering license exam coming up in less than two months and i havn’t even opened a single page to study… Uniben followed me sha. Fire brigade something. Guess it’s a Nigerian thing. God help me read. Chemi did come over and go back to naija, and it was fun… till the reality that we arn’t kids anymore hit me. Oh, one last thing, I’m actually on talking terms with my dad again #Lowkey (more on that later).
In other news, i actually am not in the best of places right now. Spiritually speaking that is. This perfection thing is a long thing. It’s like this last sixth month has been the hardest, not cuz i have pressures weighed in all around me but because i’ve sort of given up. I had one prayer-point when i left Naija after graduating and God spoke, directly this time. He told me “Six Months”. That was all i heard. What does six months even mean? I presumed it meant i would have to wait for six months before i got the answer. So i began the countdown from the day i came back to yankee. And by that count, today, as i type this, makes it 5 months and 14days… just 16days to go. Now by faith i know my answer is only a few days away… but i’m tired. This situation has sooo broken me, that the utter feeling of pain has forced me to stop looking on. Coping is sometimes easier when you don’t see the end. I’ve literally prayed for Him to let the cup pass me by and give me a less glorious answer before the said six months but nothing has changed and my biggest problem is that unlike most people, trouble pushes me AWAY from HIM not toward HIM. Its a pride thing (which i’m working on).
I love to worship God. I’m a worshiper. And as such i like to loose myself in His presence. However, i once preached a message back in school. It was about people who seek Gods hands only and never His face. That message did something bad to me. I didn’t know it at the time though. It made me NEVER get into the place of worship with a request on my lips. No matter how bad things got, i never wanted to be one of those “Hand-seekers” so i never worshiped God just to ask for anything. It’s like i was trying to prove to Him that i loved “Him” and not what He could do for me. How naive. He’s omniscient. He knows how far my love for Him goes, assuming it goes far at all…
So you see, the underlying motive for that action was pride. I know that now. When you can’t ask your father for something, it’s pride. That’s why He’s your father. You were built to be dependent on Him. Jesus said “For without me, Ye can do nothing”. However knowing is only half the solution, the other half is getting comfortable enough to ask Him with the knowledge that you are a Son. See, particularly in the last two months i’ve been at places where i literally screamed for Him to help me. But i know He only responds to such cries when one is ignorant. I’m not ignorant. I make such pitiful pleas out of exasperation. Not in faith. When peter cried out to Jesus while he was sinking, it wasn’t a cry of Faith. God has let the “pit” (see my last blogpost) come upon me to teach me how to be comfortable in depending on Him. Now He’s waiting for me to ask Him to bring me out. Not out of fear, not merely in hope, not because i only have enough money to take care of myself and nothing more. But because He said it would be Six months. Faith comes by hearing, and Hearing by the word of God. I heared Gods word back in Uniben, He said six months, I therefore have faith, because i heard the word, and so i ask… Here goes…

You might have noticed the post was incoherent. I was just talking to myself and ended up going elsewhere from where i initially intended. I apologise.



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There’s nothing quite like knowing…
It’s one thing to wake up in the morning and then begin to plan your day… hec i’ve done that on one too many weekends… but take into perspective your whole life being a “play as you go” script, then it suddenly gets a wee bit scarier (that word looks wierd) innit?

Personally, i find comfort in knowing. Hence my obsession with planing. I detest uncertainty. Like how can you not know whats next? *shudders* Right from secondary school i’ve been one to make plans, set targets and aspire to certain heights. And when i make these plans it’s usually a plan A, plan B, plan C type of thing… 26 letters in the english alphabet gives me quite some room. I think i do it so that i never have to get caught in the middle of the journey trying to figure out what turn to take. I envy care-free people. Being carefree is a luxury i was never blessed with. Once i determine the level of importance of something i loose my ability to be carefree about it, that is assuming i determine that thing to be important in the first place. A lot of us find ourselves in this position. Planning, planning, planning. Then God shows up…

I choose to say “God” because i’m born-again and it’s been a while since i prayed the 2 timothy 1 vs 12 prayer… it’s also the Psalm 80 vs 1 prayer, the Joseph story… You see, when God assumes control of your life, fate becomes nothing but a tool in His hands… things happen in life, some good, some bad, however, HE has assumed control. So the trick is HE doesn’t promise that no bad thing will happen, but HE promises that ALL THINGS (GOOD AND BAD), will work together for your good. There’s just one itsy bitsy problem… I’M A PLANNER.

You see, Joseph was only told the end… the end was his family bowing down to him. He wasn’t told the path… ergo my favorite remix of scripture… “the thoughts HE has towards us are gonna bring us to the expected end, but not through the expected path”…”for HIS ways (paths) are far from our ways (paths)…”. Now that means you’re inadvertedly gonna be dragged off your maped out course if you give HIM full control. Who would’a guessed that the pit, portiphars house and prison were nothing but steps to the palace. But joseph would never have planned it that way. Thats my fix. I find out that things arn’t working exactly how i planned but i still hear this gentle voice tell me “shébi you’ve given Me control? Just relax, I’m in control”… but i can’t relax… Joseph in the pit would never relax… He’d fight till he came out. Hindsight is 20/20. But while in the pit, you don’t know where the next meal is coming from, you don’t know if an animal will eat you up, you don’t know wether to reckon that voice telling you “Relax, I’m in control” as your early stages of insanity… in the pit, you begin to look at the waves, and the waves can only make you sink…

The pit… in the pit, you don’t know whats next. And that drives an avid planner like me mad… but i guess thats what He’s tryna teach me. He’s let the pit come upon me so that i’ll learn to still have peace even when i don’t know the outcome… I’m getting there… Peace… when i don’t know the outcome… 

Story story…


*** Unknown Location***

***88:88 gmt***

A dimly lit auditorium, a freakishly large Holographic Crest revolves in the center of the room. Little laser sensors peruse the Hall.

The lasers stop abruptly and egg shaped glass Hobs illuminate the hall. The top halves open up to reveal the occupants of the hobs…

“The Meeting is now in session”…

Baba: *coughs, lights a pipe with the number “70” engraved there-on… puffs* “It shouldn’t be lost on anyone as to the reason for this meeting. We’ve witnessed the emergence of an enemy… with unlimited power, and he’ll stop at nothing to destroy everything and everyone.

Super C: “Yes boss, what power is this?

Baba: *pauses*… The power of razz…

Mr. Incredible: “I’ve heard not to mess with it, but I question its potency since one of us wields it.”

Mighty D: Short Boy, talk well o…

The Whiz: See henn, hit hall dephends hon the way you decide to use the power. Hi’ve never used hit but hi know hit can be used for good, like Mighty D…”

The Undareyted:”Stop “axe-ing” the truth boy, that power lies dormant in you… right bro?”


The Undareyted: “Capable!”

Mr. Capable: “En!? Sorry… Was reading tula’s blog… Wet Fridays… Riley cracks me up! So what’s the question?”

Baba: *shakes his head, mutters under his breath *”Todays Heroes”

Duos: Yesso! No mind them… them can dey do anyhow… anyway nfana ibaga, what do we do about this villain?

Mr. Endowed: Firstly who is he?

Baba: He remains unknown for now but…

The Whiz: …he has hevil henchmen, twins Tee Gyntus hand Tee Mayah… Bahd guys!

Baba: “Did you just interrupt me?”

Duos: “Capable control your intern”

Mr. Capable: “Take it easy on the kid… puberty’s a bitch… those hormones mess with his head…”

Mr. Endowed: “You? Yabbing someone’s head?”

Mr. Capable: *stands up furiously and points at mr endowed* “ Fuck this mayne! We ain’t mates so stop talking like we at par dude!”

Mr Endowed: *Yimu*

Mr Capable: “Did you just…” *raises hand towards his hat*

Mighty D: “Make una relax!”

Super C: “Take a chill-pill! We know what you’re “capable” of… your “bald-beam” eternally puts the enemy in the planking position. Don’t take your hat off”

Mr Endowed: *whispers* “E gree commot am?”

Baba: “Quiet! Everyone! You’re supposed to be heroes?”… *whispers* “We’re finished”

Mr Incredible: “As we were, how about a surprise attack?… Undareyted, stop tweeting and scan his location.”

Undareyted: “Haba…” *smiles guiltily* “why would I be tweeting in a meeting like this? Anyway…” *looks into holographic monitor screen* …”satellite scans show a simple village hut… nothing fancy…”

Duos: “That should be easy”

Mighty D: “You think say na to born pikin abi?”

Duos: “Guy, was that necessary? I’ve told you it’s a medical condition.”

Mighty D: Six and counting?

Baba: “Mighty D’s right. It’s not that simple… *Turns to Duos* He’s also right that it can’t be medical”. “Anyway, My Telepathy reveals the spirits of his evil forest are his first line of defense. They’re his “kindred spirits”. Secondly, his herd of horn-toting he-goats… controlled by his music… And finally, the weedy-kinetic twins who wield the power of cloud9.”

Undareyted: “We can take him, but those he-goats? Not so sure…”

Baba: “Your mission’s simple… Teamwork and precision is of the essence…”

“First, Mighty D will concoct a “wene PH” mist, dis-orienting the spirits. Simultaneously Super C engages them using his 10/10 “waka” rays and The Undareyted follows up with piano fingers melee combat technique distracting them enough to get the five others in… Once in, you’ll realize that the seemingly little Hut is a complex labyrinth. You’ll proceed to the “gates of okporoko” the location of the he-goats… Here The Whiz is our hero and his “wHeeze” and “Axe” are the weapons of choice. While he battles the animals, four of you proceed to the color-riot temple where the twins meditate in the weed cloud9… Mr Endowed and Mr. Capable, its your cue here… Mr Endowed magnifies the range of Capables bald-beam and renders the twins planked. Don’t mis-fire like you did with charCOAL where you de-magnified him and he became terribly “small” o! With the twins being kept busy, Mr Incredible and Duos, our strongest heroes, enter the throne room. At this point all I can do is wish you luck because the weed cloud prevents further insight.”

Duos: Permission to roll out sir!?


Duos: Baba?

Baba: That won’t be necessary… He’s here…

***BOOM!!! Explosions all over the sanctum, puzzled faces everywhere as they acrobatically alight their hobs and take cover***

Unknown Voice: “Nice plan. Might have worked if I didn’t crash your “after party”…

*Heroes cluster together in a battle ready stance*

Baba: Knew it was you, who else could it be?

Super C: Why hide!? Kini big deal!? Show yourself!

*** The stench of palm-wine fills the room. Spirits pour in, followed by an unending herd of he-goats***

Baba: Brace yourselves…

***The goats and spirits stop few yards short of the heroes ,as the twins, on cloud9, levitate into the room***



Baba: You dare come here?

Unknown Voice: I’m here for my new recruit…

*The figure moves within the cloud… then stops… the cloud slowly clears*

Mr. Incredible: WTF!? Vic-O!?

*Vic-O smiles, then motions towards the heroes*


*Slowly, The Whiz walks over to Victors side…*

Baba: It was only a matter of time…

Vic-O: He knows the power of “razz”! And he looks promising… I’ll teach him well… he belongs with me… with the power…

“And when next we meet Mr. Kuti, your boys better be ready… Hahaha!

*The cloud emerges again and engulfs the spirits, he-goats, the twins, Vic-o and the whiz. They vanish*

Baba: Calm down boys… *smiles* The war has just begun…

*Insert jonzing-waiting-for-part2- action soundtrack here*

Letter To My Future Wife


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*P:S- I know its cliche already at this point but i just feel like getting in on the “letter to” series… forgive the typo’s, its 2:00am*

Dear Future Wife,

There’s this wierd feeling i have that somehow, someway, you are gonna get to read this before i get to see/know you. In leiu of that, i’ve thought it wise to send some deep subliminals in the form of this letter… I’m gonna write this as though i was talking to you directly, and as such it would most probably seem abstract to lotsa people, but i dont care, i know u perfectly understand everything i’m gonna say, so read on sweets, ur gonna like this…

If you are anything like i know ur gonna be, then its safe to say i know a lot about you. First you are tush. I mean you are posh. The kind of woman prince charles would’nt be ashamed to take home to mama charlie. You are as sophisticated as they come. However, there is a but… you are real… How do i mean? I mean you know there’s nothing razz about using your fingers to assault a mountain of pounded yam when in the comfort of your home or even at a close friends place, you love being yourself and u dont appologize for that, well you should’nt cuz ur beautiful like that.

Sumfin else bout u? You Love God, I dont even know where to begin on this one. You wake up in the morning and you’re just thinking of how transient life is and how everything in you screams the assurance of a here-after which cannot be terrestial but celestial. Like paul, you have come to the full assurance of your citizenship… its of heaven… you dont teach the law… touch not, taste not, do not… you teach grace… Jesus revealed. You understand the only two commandments we are asked by the Master to keep, Loving your God and Loving your neighbor as yourself, shikena. You understand worship as much more than a song and understand the efficacy of blasting in tongues. You cry when you worship… its sumfin i know… i know this strongly… you cry because when in HIS presence you understand the magnitude of HIS sacrifice and you like John scream, “Behold what manner of Love the Father hath bestowed upon us that we should be called the Sons of God”… You Understand that “Unto them whom the Word of God came it made them gods” You therefore decree things knowing they are established. You already prophesy into the lives of our 3 children (Yes i said three, i know you probably dont agree, i’ll get to that in a bit). I prophesy into their lives too. You Hear God, Kai! You are so led by the Spirit, i get the feeling He is gonna tell us personally one second before the trumpet sounds if it happens in our lifetime. Theres so much to write bout your spirituality but lets go on… we ll talk more bout that when we meet…

Bout your mannerisms, you do some wierd things. You have a favorite side of the bed. You have your preffered cutlery set and china. You never go out without your sunglasses, and you drive with one hand. But you ar’nt uptight, oh no you are not. I know you love football, but you arnt an arsenal fan. You arnt an arsenal fan cuz i once had a dream that arsenal beat your club and i taunted you bout it. Its probably man u, just a hunch… You love to let me have my fun with my FIFA games. You know its a “sin that is unto death” to interupt me wen i’m playing my games. You play with me sometimes though, you dont fancy it much but you r sweet like that… Yelz Ma’am!

You love comedies, thats your favorite genre of movies. You ll love to cuddle while we watch them, and then fall asleep on the couch till the next morning. Its our thing. You love to dance, i can picture you workin’ it in the living room while i just watch… then you signal me to come join you… i dont, because my minds somewhere far away… its wondering how on earth God decided to bless me with someone as awesome as you…True talk love, true talk.

Enough bout describing you, you already know yourself. Lets talk bout some things that might be “issues”. Obi’m (my heart) I absolutely detest the ministry of “wrapper and hairnet”! Sweets, na this kind thing dey cause divorce. In my house? God Forbid! Let your hair flow, afterall, i love to stroke it gently. Of course you know bumshorts are not a sin (IN THE HOUSE OH!) so i expect you to have a whole wardrobe filled with them. And they usually initiate the proccess described by louis as “the divine nature”. So plenty bumshorts please!

Now anyone reading this who is too self righteous for themselves can stop now. I’m about to talk about something God gave as a command to married people so if you are HOLY-ier than the HOLY ghost or more SPIRITual than the Holy SPIRIT then you can stop reading now…

*Clears throat*

Nwunye’m, D Bible explicitly says something. It says that there is something you should never decide to decline me whenever i ask for it… its “the divine nature”. I’m saying this because na we and God go settle the matter if you decide not to give me “MY ice-cream”. I’m going to ask for my “ice-cream” as often as i can! I’ve been a good boy most of all these years so dont think i wont enjoy it when its my time! I’ll ask for “ice-cream” in the kitchen, palor, bathroom, bedroom, and anywhere one can have “ice-cream”! Ehen, i don talk my own… “He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit is saying to the church…”

Babyboo, i can see you laughing already after that last paragraph… i’m laughing too. But that doesnt mean i’m not serious cuz i am.  Thats my kind of person. I like to describe myself as deep. “Deep things” was one of my nicknames back in skul. I love to think, just take out time to brood. Its my thing. I like the mystery behind silence. Sit on a couch and just stare into space… not idly, cuz my minds working like magic at that time. However, things like that will change when we get married cuz i’ll have you to talk to… i just know it.

Lets get a bit deep. You are gonna be my backbone. My fuel, my drive. Sometimes am gonna doubt if i can do somethings, you are gonna tell me i can. You r gonna push me into being all i can be for you and for the kids. You ll be my inspiration, my eternal inamorata. Just like a physical guardian angel. You ll go to God while i go to war… just like deborah and the israel army… the diffrence is when i win the war, i’ll know it was cause u pled my case before HIM. Thank you already.

I already love you… i dont know you, but i love you… i love you so so much. Nke’m you are my life. You take care of me, you stand there by me, through thick and thin, through trials. And i promise something… i’m gonna be there for you. I’m gonna protect you. I’m gonna provide for you. I’ll slave even if i have to, but you ll never lack any good thing… its scriptural. You ll never have cause to be silent when your friends talk about husbands made in heaven… cuz you will have one at home waiting to hold you close and never let you go. If i’m to love you like christ loved the church then your enemies r in trouble… cuz i know what Jesus did to the enemy… If only the devil knew… if only your enemies know…

I’m gonna get on one knee one day and ask you to marry me. (I wont describe it here so i dont spoil the suprise). But trust me cuppycakes, its gonna be beautiful. My mum cant wait to meet you already. She keeps asking me if i’ve started praying bout you… e don tey wey i start. She is a lovely person. I know all guys say that but even tho’ its a cliche, its true in this case. She ll be best friends with you. I can assure you of that. She doesnt care what tribe you are from, i dont care either, Igbo, yoruba, hausa, benin, ghanian or even akata, all join. Chemi will make you laugh, elile will follow you and do “gbogbo bigz ghes”, ada n ugo will welcome you with open arms, the two mummy megs’ will add you to thier list of daughters. It will be beautiful.

Nne, i sometimes just sit up late and talk to God bout you, not asking him who you are, just praying for you. Cant wait to put that ring on your finger, and love you forever and ever, and shower you with my love, You are my everything and i’ll love you for the rest of my life.

I’ve got to go now. Early office day tommorrow. (make i hammer so the honeymoon for barbados go sweet). I know my life will change forever once i know you. I’m gonna take care of your heart, cuz u are my heart… Obi’m, you are my heart. I’m blowing you kisses right now… i know you wil get them .you might be alseep, awake, eating, reading but you will feel something , ever so soft on your cheeks. Thats my kiss to you, delivered by God’s Spirit. I’m waiting for you love, i’m waiting…

Take care of yourself for me hun, you’re special to me.

love you very plenty…

Yours eternally
Nke’ gi



P:S- Before i forget, the children! Yes they will be 3! I just feel you will want another number… I doubt i can compromise this one oh… so get ready… two boys and my princess… #endofstory!

Predestination… From my minds eye.

I was tweeting while eating the “excuse-for-a-meal” i appropriately called “nugwa’s jamboree”. You honestly dont even wanna know what was in it… Mehn, the idea of marriage aint looking so scary anymore right now o! As long as its gonna save me (and the world) from concorting any more “jamborees” in the future. Dont get me wrong, i still plan to pull the once-a-year cook for the wife suprise, (Yeah, am romantic like that…hehehe), but for the good of mankind and the health and longevity of the woman who’ll be lucky enough to marry me, it think it would be best to stay away from cooking. As i was saying, while “twe-eating”, something i read struck a chord in me. A friend tweeted about how she had just finished a proposed blog post which (in her own words) “was sensational but filled with hate, sex and perversion, and therefore it gave no life”. I paused… for quite a while, and since i had ,prior to reading that tweet, been thinking about something a colleague said about God, I decided to do a post myself, something that would be life-giving… Thanks Ada.





I begin this post with a picture, for those of you whose devices dont have zoom buttons or worsestill, whose screen resolutions are ridiculously small (And thats almost all BB’s- Androids are the future…Word!), thats a picture of the late Sani Abacha, Mohammed Danjuma, Ibrahim Babangida and Olusegun Obasanjo while they were all still in the army. Stop right there! I just heard you say “photoshop things”… well thats why you should smash your BB’s and get the Motorolla Atrix or HTC G1 or betterstill the iphone 4!…smh. On a serious note though, i know its hard to believe but this aint photoshop. It was actually a picture taken in the early 70’s.

At this point, your minds probably going “what does this picture have to do with your friend who tweeted and what does that have to do with your kitchen practicals and still what does that have to do with your colleagues statement which you still haven’t told us?” Well it all unravels in…




not now… Go get a life…

Gotcha! Just kiddin…

Okay here goes…

During lunch break today at work a colleague was rambling about something she called “predestination” and about how its unfair to humanity. She claimed God knew everything that was gonna happen but still he let it happen simply because He is mean. Why bother being good when He already has a script all laid out which clearly states who will be good and who will be bad? Why try to change the world when God probably has said it will stay the same? You see, she’s not an atheist, but she just is one’a those people who tend to blame God for every problem the human race has had to contend with… there’s a name for such people… i dont know it, but there has to be a name for them. I never force people to believe in God, i just preach the gospel and let that be that. But she already believes there is a God, she just doesn’t believe He’s as good as we christians like to say He is. So the job was convincing her that He is. Lunch break came to an end too soon and since she works on the 26th floor, there’s a 1% chance i might see her anytime soon, or even remember her face whenever I do. So i’m doing my “convincing” on the internet. She’ll get this somehow, I have faith…

The webster dictionary defines predestination as “previous determination as if by destiny, fate or divine will”. In english it means things dey happen because “pesin” don already talk say e go happen… wait, i said english… never mind. So that means God already knows everything that will happen because He has “said” it will happen. This begs the question, why would he “say” bad things should happen, and why would he let them happen if He really is as Good a God as we Christians credit him to be? My opinion is this…

God Knows everything that will happen, right from eve eating the fruit to those who will make it to heaven. If He didnt He wouldnt be omniscient, He wouldnt be God. However i disagree that He “said” it would all happen that way. Thats where free will comes in. You see, (i’m tryna get into Gods Mind here…), it would be no fun if He created beings with no free will of their own. They would be robots. He wouldn’t actually be able to claim that His beings loved Him since He created them without the ability to “not love him”. If He desires to be truly loved, like we all do, He would have to give His creation the ability to choose not to love Him. Thats what would bring home the exhilarating feeling of being loved. However, free-will was a bad idea (in my opinion). The world is what it is today because of free-will. The ability to choose evil over good is something man should never have been given. The world’s problems don’t start with God. They start with man… because its man who chooses to do the bad things that cause everyone pain, cases in point, racism, alqaeda, wars, killings, Dame Jonathans english… I hear you ask what about Japan!? What about natural disasters? Does man cause those too? Well, not totally but deepwater activity (shell and chevron, una well done o!) actually causes shifts in underwater plates which in turn cause tsunamis. Not saying all natural disasters have mans actions somewhere in the mix but until the day we can fully explain how a big nuclear bang that was uncontrolled could systematically and intentionally form an existence that is in perfect equilibrium which we today call the universe, we would be foolhardy to doubt the existence of God. And since we cant explain why we have five fingers rather than ten on one hand, we shouldnt bother trying to explain why He chooses to let natural disasters and other bad things happen.

Was God just being morbidly humorous when he let that camera-man take that picture above? The picture looks like those men were playing draught (checkers) with Nigeria’s destiny. Why dint he kill abacha then? You did not ask to be born, you wont ask to die… (actually if Dame patience doesn’t stop public speaking, you just might).

So IMO, the best thing to do is to live the life you cannot explain, to the best you can. Stop blaming God for all your misfortune, get your ass up and stop being lazy. Even the Bible says “show me your faith without your works, and i’ll show you my faith by my works” You and I have a part to play in the “occurrence” of history. If mans actions are what write destiny, and God is omniscient, then I’d like to believe that God knows I’m not gonna just sit down on my ass and complain, but I’m gonna feed the hungry, clothe the naked, make my country and the world a better place than i met it in my very own little way. If i get to find out that God doesn’t exist and there is no afterlife, then i’ll be gone but the world will remember me for good. If however, I’m right and he does exist, He’s gonna say “welcome home ye good and faithful servant, enter into the rest of thy Master”… and what a rest it would be… a rest where Nigeria is totally peaceful, arsenal actually wins trophies, and Dame jonathan actually speaks queens english. I smiled as i wrote that last sentence…

Its almost 1a.m. now. Gotta go to bed, work in the A.M. All my naija peeps retweet this please, its almost 7am there right now… and forgive the gbagauns, I’m mega sleepy…

Leave a comment. And…I’m out!

Mrs Umblerra

While our first lady is out there bulldozing territories and taking no prisoners, people are busy laughing and forwarding BB, Facebook and YouTube messages of her grammatical carpet bombing to each other. Keep laughing all of you that think the Dame is grammatically lame and a better national comedian than an ambassador that can’t sing the national anthem. If you think she is too uncouth to be our next first lady, keep laughing while she undauntedly bludgeons her way to victory.

I am not a student of politics, but I doubt if extracting her special brand of rhetoric will move this iroko-woman from her current position as the First Lady of Nigeria come April. And for Nigerians who are sick and tired of PDP’s monstrosity, giggling at the Dame’s ‘broken bottle’ is not going to stop them from driving this molue called Nigeria into the Lagoon.

Moreover, having watched the recent NN24 presidential debate a.k.a. ‘The Wind That Blew Feathers off the Chicken’s Yansh’, I am sure many of you would have seen that it is not only her that has issues with the foreign language. We all saw some speak as if they were haggling goat meat at Ekpoma Market, and others chew the language as if it was a piece of hot cocoyam.

Believe me, if it were to be the Dame that was invited to a televised debate, she would not jet off to some unimportant neighbouring country to take cover and avoid a golden opportunity to push her manifesto. In fact, if it was politically expedient for her, she would have said “Jojo darling, let I go and showed them. I know the lady that are interviewing us and our opponents is once a children; I can mishandle them.” And by now, none of us would be thinking that Shekarau should go straight to Harvard and lecture Political Debates Articulation 101, if he doesn’t win the presidential election.

If I tell you I have not cringed at some of the Dame’s choice of words during public speeches, which sometimes are comparable to a man wearing a custom’s shirt on police trousers, I would be lying. But through her entire lexis and structure comedy, I have also seen a solid woman – no pun intended, please – building a formidable grass roots base and garnering supporters for her husband.

This brings me to the issue of the other women, the other presidential aspirants’ wives. Where are they in this whole political drama unfolding round their husbands? Shouldn’t they be marching and publicly campaigning like the Dame? I am very anxious to experience the Michelle Obama in the ‘refined’ breeds. I am interested in witnessing their finesse that will make the Ozigono market woman vote for their husbands, the Queen’s English that will sway the Abonima woman to cast her vote to unseat a pilfering behemoth party. Staying behind the scene and waiting for their husbands to kill the elephant before bringing out their stainless steel cutlery in state dinners is not going to move this caterpillar campaigner. Many voters are waiting to relate with the other wives, but they are hiding either behind hijabs or away in some country following their husband’s campaign via BlackBerry messenger. Or better still, laughing at the affable ‘Umblerra’ woman’s grammatical explosions.

If you don’t want to hear the Dame referring to orphans as widows in the next four years – roll up that designer skirt, drop that LV bag you are hauling around in Dubai, remove your high-heels and hit the ground running like the Grammar Queen. And while you are at it, save your ‘pepperless’ English and speak what majority of the Nigerian people will understand. And if you don’t understand me, check the statistics of Nigeria’s literacy figures and go figure. FYI, the Dame’s Sozaboy-meets-Zebrudaya kind of English is just perfect for a very large percentage of voters. Those that speak Oxford-type English are analyzing the risk of attending political rallies in their cosy offices and homes or thinking of jetting out of the country come April 19.

Why do I find the first lady’s antics intriguing? Because I myself was ‘once a children’ in the village and I can relate with her type – they don’t give up to a mere handicap. She belongs to a breed that is not easily intimidated by hecklers. In short, the fuel that galvanizes them comes from people’s jests.

I have seen women like her ‘bought’ their husband’s fights and rub men’s noses on the ground. I have seen women like her throw away their wrapper, left with only obeniku and fight assailants to a standstill, regardless of who is laughing. They are the type that stand solidly behind their husbands and help them build palaces and castles. And, in my place, such women are called Ojekwebhudu. If you ask me, I think Jonathan’s better luck is marrying Patience, because we now know that her outspokenness compensates heavily for our president’s quietness.

I laud our double-barrel-shot-gun-campaigner, our grammar queen, the superstar of our new curfew, the dame, the Okrika amazonian first lady – because according to her immortal words to Nigerians both home and abroad, especially those that have dual-nationality, “We should have love for our fellow Nigerians irrespective of their nationality.”

Interesting article on Madam Patience GEJ…..Enjoy

by Titilope Ayomikun Omidiran on Friday, March 25, 2011 at 3:09am

EXCUSE ME: The grammar queen


I couldnt for the life of me understand what she meant by that statement…

“I’m sorry, you’re a nice guy but i just need my space”

Needing her space was not the issue, oh no sir… I wasnt sure wether to tell her i knew about him. I’d seen her texts and MMS’s. All the various appointments in the name of “all-night study classes”. The “sexts” as they are more widely known, were at best, disturbing, and at worst, disgusting. I’d seen her throw him winks and glances even though she tried ever so sweetly to conceal those actions. I’d seen her lay on the bed ever so unintrested in what i was saying but jump to life once he walked through the door. I’d seen a lot… I had.

So why did it still hurt? Surely i was to know this day would come. I did. Or did I? I have the excuse of being ever so blinded by my emotions that i took note of what was happening but still refused to lay down d gauntlet against this impending break-up. I let happenstance have its way… and boy did it do just that… ever so cruelly.

Let me paint you a picture here…

I was introduced to her by my friend (who also had feelings for me)… *too much swag :-)* She was beautiful, and thats putting it mildly, thats putting it very mildly… I had been in two or three relationships but never anything serious. I guess it fuelled my rep as a player back in school. It seemed like something that would work, and my naivity at the time (even though i didnt know it) was part of why i actually beleived she was “the one”…

BTW- i dont beleive in such crap anymore… “the one”, please someone should point me to the address of whoever coined that term… If its a guy he deserves to be shot in his left testicle… if a girl…*insert any approprietely painful bodypart*

Fifteen months on from that “hey” and “nice to meet you” comfrontation, we had become schools number one item… actually number four, from one of schools prestigious magazine collumns. The Vice President of arguably the largest campus fellowship and the hottest girl in the faculty of law. Some jay z and beyonce ish*… but behind closed doors we had gone through the usual stages of apprehension, fondness, love, passion, obsession, irritation and finally boredom.

Yes thats where we were, we were bored. But we saw things differently. I thought we would still go full cycle and come back to the good old days… “its only natural” i consolled myself… mumu like me. she was so not thinking on my lines, for her, boredom meant moving on, And when she found a lustful thrill in the arms of her self-acclaimed best friend, her twisted mind started to crank up ,and like ancient clockwork, devise a disturbed and sinister but brilliant plan that was aimed at curing her “boredom”. She didnt want me as much as she used to. She also knew she didnt want him. But she wanted both. Cheating, that was the new game she needed to keep herself preoccupied. She wanted to keep me, not outta love, but out of the ever resident thrill in the heart of every man that comes from the sinful satisfaction of doing something you know you arnt supposed to. It was a guilty pleasure… guilty, but ever so pleasurable.

So when i finally comfronted her about it on that cold rainy night in benin city, she out of fear uttered those words, the ones this story began with.

Within seconds, heartbreak gave way to pain, which in turn gave way to distortion which gave way to rage which almost gave way to societies definition of insanity. (I say society because i beleive everyone of us is insane, just on different levels). Ever so composed as i was, i smiled, and after about 5 of the most intense seconds i have ever experienced, i walked away… smiling… (*now would be a good time to play M.I.’s song- na so craze dey start*)

two weeks later…

She hugged him, and they kissed passionately… ( shameless ho’ your mama no teach you say make you respect yourself for public) maybe it was because i was a pastor she never went that crazy with me, outdoors at least. He turned to go home, she walked towards her door. just as she was about to walk in she noticed something, her generator tank had been screwed open and the tanks cover was on the floor. She bent to pick it up and noticed that clothes she hung on the line were littered on the floor. “it must have been one hell of a wind gust for it to have knocked clothes that were pegged off the line”. She was halfway through picking them up and dusting them off when she noticed something strange. The wind gust had knocked the clothes off in a pattern that was too intentional to be coincidental (pun intended). It was as though the clothes lead her to the back of the hostel in a not too obvious but ultimately noticeable straight line. She decided not to think too much of it, wrong choice. As she got towards the silent eerieness that was her backyard something felt strange, she felt  eyes roll up and down her skin… slowly but surely. She laughed, as though to reassure herself she was still sane. It only seemed to make her more scared. As she picked up the last peice of clothing she heard a voice, ever so familiar…


As she looked up, a handkercheif covered her mouth and nostrils and she dropped to the ground as soon as she inhaled its volatile contents… and ever so creepily, i smiled at her…

to be continued…



“Is Edosa around?”

 That was the first thing she said when she came to my room… If only we knew d future.

 She turned to go back when i told her he wasnt. My roommate had a knack for wondering off under the radar. Me and her later got better aquainted when i went on a “jobless” trip to her room to play scrable. We ranted on about all sorts of things, incoherent and irrelevant but still extremely engaging and enjoyable. Her two crazy friends made it all the more memorable. (Amen n Jenny, pls dont kill me, u arn’t crazy)

 Spats of Hey and Hi there… the occasional “i-follow-edosa-waka-well” lunch or dinner in her room…it was begining. A friendship, a true friendship.

Final year was when the grits really started to simmer. The jemimah saga, (God only knows how long that lasted) was larger grounds for her to officially become my shrink, as if i didnt need one earlier. The break-up had a nasty effect on me. But she was there, through it all. I still remember all the numerous “borrow dvd player” periods and the subsequent addiction to songs like chris tomlin’s no not one, and mary mary’s seatle.

Remember discussing sex with her and adesuwa. Remember the numerous MP seasons and how i’d form hardcore wen she was there but beg adesuwa to go stay with her in her room once she left cuz she was frustrated dat i seemed to not give a sh*t. Remember the outings, her dads remembrance, kada fries, mat-ice, dinner, gala night. Most of all, i remember my last three weeks together…

One event sticks out in those last three weeks. She had gone home cuz her mum needed her in delta state. The room was filled with all the usual culprits(Kaycee, Louis, Alex, Emma). I sat on the bed as i drowsily watched an epic match between alex and louis. I was tired but i needed to see this out, Inter versus Barca… it was actually a thrilling game, louis lost… i wanted that… silently… and i resigned into the welcoming arms of sleep. Something, however felt wrong, out of place. Couldnt place my hand on it. I said a prayer and slept off. I awoke at about past three and found the answer. She wasnt by my side. I just felt like she was suposed to be there. I couldnt go back to sleep so i deceived myself into doing my project and using that as an excuse for my “lack-of-her” induced insomnia. When she came back later in the evening that day, as i gave her a hug, i felt warm…nothing sexual, but something real. I loved her and i knew it. Not the butterflies in my stomach kind of love or writing our names in window panes while its raining, or any other crap hollywood has fooled us into beleiving is the true meaning of love, just the warmth of a companionship i couldnt do without, or did not want to…

I remember the last night together, when i actually felt married to her, and how i told onome i wanted to eat from the same plate with her at the risk of pissing of sarah. I dont use corny words like “soul-mate” but if i did thats what ruth was at that time. And it hurt i was gonna leave… still miss her…

She turns 18 on monday, while i turn 2x. (Yes we have the same birthday). I dont know what to say to her. Am gonna buy her a gift which she ll get whenever i get back to nigeria or probably in august when Chemi comes over for the holidays, but the gift is just a formality. If ,as i write this, i was asked to marry someone, it’d be her… without a second thought. The real gift is something to which i’m actually on the receiving end… her friendship…

Enough with all the 3rd person crap. Ruthie, My ruthie, I know uv started lookin at other boys since i graduated, its allowed, lol. But know this… I LOVE YOU. I MISS YOU. I CANT WAIT TO SEE YOU AGAIN. TO HUG YOU AND TO TELL YOU EVERYTHING THATS BEEN GOING ON IN MY LIFE SO FAR. Take care of urself for me. Stay with God, I taught you how important that is. Hear God. Am so happy you are joining Jesus army. You are an angel, its no washee. No man on this planet deserves you. You arnt perfect, but you are the most perfect piece of imperfection i’ve had the awesome pleasure of coming across…

My sweet Wuthie…

Happy Birthday (in advance)…

*singing- Wuthie is a fine baby… yes she is…*

*Nugwa’s thots… Okay, i agree this is too corny for a first blog post, gimme a break, i’m new at this. Just thought to tell my best friend how much she meant and still means to me even 9000 miles away… lemme know your thoughts on this one. And… i’m out!*