Archive - May 2018

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May in review: The month of children
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G.L.i.B -bed: A Higher Loyalty
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Oniovo: Duets
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Oniovo: ofe dey run belle
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Oniovo: Sibling squabble
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Oniovo: We didn’t see this coming

May in review: The month of children

I must have mentioned it somewhere in this blog before, I regard May as the month of children because of the holidays – May 1st, May 27th & May 29th. Thrown into this party is my beau’s and Chairman’s birthdays. Hurray! The month also saw the children going on a weeklong midterm which coincided with the Nigerian children’s day celebrations and its democracy day. It was a seven -day long break, and I almost snapped in two. The rains began in earnest. I got caught in one which culminated into a cold and, finally malaria. All the plans to outperform my routine this month went out the window. I barely made the usual target of three times in a week. The royal wedding was this month and I saw every bit of it, uninterrupted by human intrusion or a no-light syndrome. Harry is taken, and Meghan looked gorgeous. Nothing spectacular occurred in my 9am – 5pm; same ole, same ole. And Oniovo came to an end this month to the utter dismay of some of my audience! Ah, it was a good ride while it lasted.  

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G.L.i.B -bed: A Higher Loyalty

When I told a friend of mine I had just finished reading James Comey’s book, she said: “That creep who cost Hillary the election.” Before the book, I shared her sentiment. Afterwards, I still do but not to the same degree. I understand, to an extent, why he did what he did when he did it. A Higher Loyalty continued on the e-book path I began this year with Fire and Fury. It reads slightly better than Wolfe’s but surprisingly, entertainment and education -wise, Fire and Fury did it for me.  Now that I think about it, maybe I read it in the hope that it would uncover more of the craziness that is the White House right now. Though my expectations weren’t met, I didn’t regret reading it eventually.

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Oniovo: Duets

There may be no relationship…that’s closer, finer, harder, sweeter, happier, sadder, more filled with joy or fraught with woe, than the relationship we have with our brothers and sisters. – Jeffrey Kluger   “Victor! Come with Jnr.” Uncle E.E.’s voice boomed from his door. “And Ejiro, come with Idolor.” He continued before entering the room. E.E. (his initials are better sounding than his name) is a paternal uncle of ours, whose house we spent many memorable holidays while growing up. With eight children of his and us in tow, those times were devoid of any dull moments. Whether during his period in DSC or afterwards in our hometown, we always looked forward to the holiday gatherings with anticipation. The bond between a sister and brother sometimes tightly woven, sometimes loosely held, but never broken. – sibling quote He was also an expert errand master, making ample use of the several children at his disposal, giving us a feel of the situation at his office. There was always something to do, somewhere to be, an errand to execute and sometimes accompanied with a well – written letter. And like our lord sending out his disciples in twos, none of Uncle Edward’s was carried out alone. Long before marketing executives, real estate agents began practicing it too, he operated on that biblical premise of two are better than one… Back off! I have a sister and I’m not afraid to use her! This pairing up was not novel or unfamiliar; in fact, it further strengthened the bonds we had formed with each other while growing up. Back at home, there was (still is) a teaming up amongst us siblings. Though the gender distribution is uneven, it didn’t stop bffs from springing up, usually between those nearest in age, as though created for that purpose. Or as our mum would say when one of us is yet to give birth to a second grandchild, two or three years after the first: “Have another one so that they can both grow up together.” (Now that explains quite well the minds of our parents as”more

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Oniovo: ofe dey run belle

It was December ‘93` Three of us – Cy, Jnr & Idolor – travelled to Lagos to attend a relative’s nuptials. The ceremonies – traditional, church, reception – were all successful, the way typical Nigerian weddings go. For the youth amidst family and friends gathered to celebrate with the bride, the substantial number of adults present made the occasion even more so. Their presence meant more money. It had become a growing norm of sorts for adults to share cash upon their departure at the end of joyful gatherings. This was no different; in fact, this stood out as one of the biggest pay – outs (if we could call it that) ever. The inflow of money seemed endless to our delight. It was as though every new day, after the end of the wedding, brought in more naira notes to increase the pile we already had until the last adult departed. Five days later, it was our turn to head back home. Though aware of the amount of money that had swirled around his house, our uncle (whose house was the centre of all the activities and where almost every out-of-town relative stayed) still added to that stack by way of transportation fare back to Benin. Grateful and truly loaded, we were heaving travelling bags downstairs when one of his ex-employees, BJ, arrived and announced he was going in our direction. Would we want to ride in his car with his wife and him? Does the Sun rise in the East?! Of course, we would! More money to spend on frivolities. But first he needed to check out the durability of his car for the three-hour long trip. We didn’t mind waiting for an hour or two, did we? Eh…no. That would be no problem at all. Two hours wasn’t a long wait; it was just 10a.m. anyway. We had all the time in the world. Except the two hours stretched out for longer and longer and longer. We finally drove out of the house at 4.55pm to the disapproving scowl marring our uncle’s brows. That frown would have”more

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Oniovo: Sibling squabble

“Tell your sister she’s dead!” Marie bellowed down the line to Jnr, her immediate elder brother, almost searing his ear drums in the process.  Fleetingly, he mused over what could have happened between his two younger sisters, two bff. Only this morning, Marie was one excited, expectant girl as she waved her goodbyes and begun her very first holiday trip to the newly – created capital city, Abuja. No trace of the venom spitting out of her then.  Having sisters with roughly the same dress size came with its benefits. Our outfits were endless; the combinations we could create went on forever. Shopping in each other’s wardrobes (in consent with the owner) was part of our fashion lifestyle.  The down side to this sharing formula was the reason for one foaming mad sister in faraway Abuja, and another back in Benin wearing a satisfied smile. Initially, our exchange of baffs was a smooth, agreeable affair. All sisters consulting one another before any switch took place, and everyone lived in harmony. In time, educational pursuits and wanderlust collided to keep us apart from one another. That’s when the trouble began. Away from home or still living in it, we all wanted to enjoy the same clothing exchange privilege, regardless. It was an impossible expectation, and the solution each one of us settled upon created rifts.  We nicked each other’s clothing and then took off. By the time the sister affected by the thieving act discovered the crime, it was too late. Her sneaky sibling had already arrived at her desired destination for whatever length of time she was billed for, rocking her clothes (and sister’s) while at it.  For this Abuja trip, Marie had it all figured out. She was looking forward to a great holiday, exploring the north with some of her little sister’s outfits. On the other hand, she hadn’t anticipated any moves from little sister. Years of playing this cat- and-mouse game with her sisters had prepared Idolor for a day like this.  The night before Marie’s trip, Idolor awoke in the middle of night. Rifling through her”more

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Oniovo: We didn’t see this coming

A pair of fleshy legs, streaked with dirt, strolled leisurely but purposefully past the adolescent girls seated on the ramp leading to the garage of the house. Two of them were corn-rowing the third’s thick tresses.  Surprised, three pairs of innocent gazes trailed the legs as they sauntered on, giving the girls a back view of more dirt – streaked, fleshy body; wild, unkempt and filthy hair; and an unforgettable moment in their lives.  With simultaneous muffled screams and piercing shrieks, the three girls fled in different directors; one to the gaping front door of her grandmother’s house; the other two to their parents’ next door.  There was a mad woman in our compound!  Her first port of call was at Aunty Betty’s kitchen, the gas cooker drawing her attention. Silently, she lifted up pot covers one after the other and squinted at the contents therein.  From a safe corner and in an uncharacteristically calm voice delivered in her British accent, Aunty Betty assumed the role of a negotiator in a hostage situation. “Don’t touch that. It’s poison.” She informed the nude, noiseless lady invading her kitchen uninvited. “It can kill you.” Never in her wildest imaginations did the picture which now stood before her ever occur. How do you address a quiet, crazy human who just wandered into your compound, into your house undressed and unashamed? Fortunately, this particular crazy appeared like she had only recently acquired her coocoo status. Whether by choice or Aunty Betty’s prodding, the woman in no time got bored when nothing more was left to inspect; she exited the kitchen to its owner’s gentle tone edging her out.  Standing outside by one of the open windows and talking to his brothers therein was Jnr. And that was the position he was in when the sight of a stranger, au naturelle, rounded the bend leading to the BQ from the neighbours’. Without thinking and in an instant, he leaped (flying-dive style) through the opening, kicking it shut after him. It didn’t take long for the door and other openings to follow suit; his frantic actions”more

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