HOW TO BE A RUNS GIRL

To be a successful runs girl in Unilag you have to work for it. You will do practical and theory Oloshology for four years so you can come out and say, “Yes! I have arrived.” Not just lie down and open leg, my dear. There are some things you have to do to get correct clients. Not small small mosquito club boys in school. When you show me that you’re serious, I will take you to Akeem’s house so that he will do gbere for you, two on your breasts and one on top of your powerhouse. Any chairman that enters there has entered for life. I just thank God for this Akeem person, oh! I was walking back to my hostel one day when Akeem just tapped me on the shoulder and downloaded my life story to me. By the time he started telling me about my uncles who were covering my star in their coven, hmmn, I followed him to wash my head in the river before he did my gbere for me. Everything I have now that you see here was bought for me by alhajis and senators. Even the duplex in Ikoyi, it is Senator Lawal that is paying for it.

Uhn, let me not talk too much. What was I saying again?

Ehn hen! You have to gain respect from the wannabes. You know the ones that raise their noses as if your body stinks when you are around but cannot remove their eyes from your Michael Kors when your back is turned? Yes, those ones.  Some will bow down easily but others will not. You have to teach them a lesson when they step on your toes. Like the time one Prisca girl wanted to form Van Damme for me with her face like yesterday's egusi soup. Pimples and spots decorate her face like izz nothing yet she had the audacity to accuse me of stealing her makeup box. To make matters worse, she called me ‘Shakirat’ instead of ‘Shakira’. Imagine! By the time I sat on her and beat her well, she couldn't find foundation in the market for her skin colour. When she sees me now ehn she takes alternative route. So, my dear, if you want to have mouth in this business, you have to work on your fighting skills. Don't let one girl that is still collecting pocket money come and rubbish you in Moremi Hall.

Then you have to work on your skin seriously. When me and Aisha enter the club on Fridays, it is me the alhajis notice because my skin and destiny is bright. Nobody taught me in year one when I found my way to Mama Tega's shop in Yaba (beside the train tracks gangan) to mix cream for me. All these fair girls you're seeing they didn't come like that oh. That's why I don’t follow dark girls to do Throwback Thursday on Instagram. When you become fair, old things are passed away, all things have become ‘tear rubber’. Make sure you use the cream Mama Tega gave you twice a day and in 6 months, your skin will be brighter than Aisha's future. What did you say your name is again? Chiamaka Uchebo? Alright from now, your name is Amy. In this business nobody cares about your surname so let’s forget about that one. You can’t use your real name so that you don’t soil your family name and get into trouble with your family.

Now the main thing in this business is the sex. My dear there is no such thing as love making. If you allow any man fuck you for free, that’s your luck. Money for hand, back for ground/bed/kitchen/cabinet/ironing table/car seat/wherever. Don’t adjust the rules for anybody. If they can’t afford it, tell them to keep it moving. Any style they call for you, do it. If you are not enjoying it, pretend you are so they will keep coming back. Whether you feel it or not, feed their ego and they will feed your bank account, you hear?

Yah, that’s right.

Let me not talk too much. Whenever you’re ready to go to Akeem’s place just let me know. You have my room number, abi? Okay no wahala.

BY.........IBUKUN AKINNAWO 

publisher......yekipedia

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THE OGONI OIL....... MORE OF DOOM THAN BOOM.

 With the discovery of crude oil in any community one would expect that developmental changes follow suit like we have seen in developed countries like Russia and U.S.A where oil boom enhanced their economy. In Nigeria's case, beginning with the discovery of crude oil in Ogoniland, oil is yet to bring any good to the land and people of the host communities. Rather than prosperity, it brought gloom and doom to the people of Ogoni, especially.

The Ogoniland comprises of three local governments in Rivers state-- the Tai, Khana and Gokhana area. Due to its proximity to the Atlantic, situated in the riverine, farming and fishing are the major occupations of the Ogonis. Ogoniland has been the site
of oil industry operations since the late 1950s and with the discovery of crude oil there were lots of expectations from natives and neighbouring communities. Unfortunately, this has now become a Nightmare.

Ogoniland has a tragic history of pollution from oil spills and oil well fires, the people could no longer indulge in their farming and fishing, which is the basic means of livelihood, because of polluted water and land. More so, the Ogonis are exposed to production hydrocarbons in outdoor air. Sometimes, drinking water at elevated concentrations. They are also exposed to health risk through dermal contacts from contaminated soil, sediments and surface water.

With the addition of the crude oil spill in Biara recently, the Ogoni people have suffered over three major spillages in five years. Consequently, this implies reduction of life expectancy, poor soil and contaminated water which endanger their lives and means of livelihood.

Hence, the boom has placed them at a gloomy corner as their positive expectation suffers setback. What then is the point of envy? What is the developmental growth rate of Ogoniland compared to Gusau, Muri or Lafia in the North? Shell Petroleum Development Company (SPDC) was made to pay $1billion as compensation for environmental hazard and clean up, maintenance and infrastructural development. Despite that huge allocation fund, the situation only got worse.

This reality prompts us to ask a very crucial question; Who squandered that money?It is needless to ask anyway .Since corruption, misappropriation and embezzlement are the trademark of our society so why dissipate energy searching for what is resting under somebody's seat?

Ironically, the land that generates the billions of dollars that vanishes every now and then from our economy enjoys abandon and neglect from the government. Starving the hen that lay the golden egg.

I recall vividly my experience as a youth corper in Rivers State when I
walked over 200 metres into an oil spilled area in Gokhana on my way to Bonny Island where I was posted (NYSC place of primary assignment).As an eye witness myself, it dawned on me that the government is more interested in the crude and resources that they get from this area than the people. Their cry for development just sounds like the buzzing of a mosquitoes-- so irritating.

The Ogonis deserve better than the neglect that they enjoy from the government. Unless we are categorically saying that the struggle of Ken Saro Wiwa was in vain.

by

**Kome Agbauduta is the Co-Founder and Associate Publisher of Delta Forte Magazine; Founding Partner, KREED. His interests are Business & Politics.

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Ibukun Akinnawo – An Ocean At The Bottom Of The River

It began five days ago. It began the minute I chose to crawl up the dusty stairs to eavesdrop on this particular conversation. My stepmother’s pastor was telling my father that I was possessed by a marine spirit and that I had killed my mother so that my marine friends could eat lunch. Not exactly his words but that was the message he passed across. My father seemed to age in that minute. I almost tumbled down the stairs when the Pastor turned to look in my direction. I was sure that my father wouldn’t believe this “Pastor”—surely he knew better. Surely! I expected him to swat the story away like a pesky mosquito but two days after that, Dad drove me to MFM for a deliverance session mumbling a weak “we all need prayer” when I asked why. It was there in the way he gripped the steering wheel, in the way the skin on his chin sagged with sorrow. He believed the Pastor. He believed his ten year old daughter killed her own mother.

I bled tears all the way to MFM.

 “Daddy, don’t cry. It’ll be alright.” I dabbed at his face with the hem of my dress while my own tears pooled in my lap. It was mommy’s wake keep and he held me tightly to himself like I was all that kept him from falling apart. He had prayed all year for mommy to get better but the more he prayed the more mommy’s condition deteriorated. The last time I was allowed to see her, her hair was gone, she couldn’t walk and she was in a ward that had a heavy scent of death.

“How are you, Kemi?” she motioned for me to sit on the bed beside her.

“Mommy, come home” I laid beside her instead, breathing her inside me, hoping she would get better but knowing she wouldn’t.

I’m rocking myself back and forth now in my room, hugging my knees, tears blurring my view of the Dettol and the personal deliverance book Pastor Uti pressed into my palm at MFM.

“When you feel any strange presence in your body, use this book and pray the demons out”, he said.

But I wasn’t sure I had anything in me or wanted anything out. I felt hollow and timidly said “But I don’t feel any marine spirit in me”

“You have to pray it out.”

“I am not possessed.”  I wanted to cry but it didn’t matter. Dad believed.

I reach for the bottle of Dettol, squeezing my eyes shut as I put it to my mouth…

No. It is too bitter. There has to be a sweet way to die.

“God,” I start on bended knee, “let me sleep and not wake up so that I can come and meet my mommy in heaven. Give my daddy a replacement daughter just like me—but without the marine spirit. But before I die, in Jesus name every marine spirit in me die by fire!” I shake my head violently like Pastor Uti did with my eyes tightly shut so the spirit can die. I don’t know how long I repeat “die” for but I suddenly feel light. I open my eyes slowly and find a floating mermaid before me. She has lustrous black hair, the bluest of eyes, the fairest of skin.

“What are you doing, Akobi Oya?” she demanded.

I want to say: “My name is Kemi” but Akobi Oya sounds right, like the warm embrace of a long lost friend. In this instant, I know that that has been my name before it was Kemi. In this instant I know that she is my sister and I know she will take me.

“Only a man on fire can try to put out the fire before it consumes him but fire cannot put out itself. You are fire and your work here is done.” She says as she takes my hand and guides me through my room wall, towards the Ogun River.  Transformation creeps upon me as we both dive soundlessly into the water. I close my eyes, running my hands through raven black hair, twirling, revelling in this new body that fits my soul snugly. I swim alongside rainbow-colored fish for what seems like eternity before choosing another path down the river. I know this path like the back of my hand.

Light is just ahead and there are mermaids everywhere cheering, welcoming me, circling me in triumphant joy, as I edge closer to the source of the light. I feel like I’ve been asleep all my life and now is the time I wake from an endless dream. In my heart is a tiny ball of expectant excitement! I’m eager to find the source, the one thing I half-know I will find…

She sits in a circle of light. Her hair is raven black, an ocean at the bottom of the river, glistening with every move her head made.  Her beautifully sculpted features are new yet known to me. The tiny ball has become a planet inside me, bursting and propelling me into her waiting embrace. This is where I belong.

“K’aabo omo mi”, mommy says and I know that I never lost her.

by IBUKUN AKINNAWO
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OUR CRY FOR KEN SARO WIWA

   


It is today that my father, Ken Saro-Wiwa, will be executed.

My mother and I take quick steps away from our home, gravitating towards the execution grounds with our hearts sunken to our heavy feet. It all seems surreal and I still hold out hope that my family will wake up from the nightmare and Dad will be home drinking tea in his favourite chair again. But mother’s tears are real. I felt them burn my skin the early hours of this morning as we kept watch for sunrise. They were as real as the coolness of the iron gate we just opened. We are here. The gallows are ready and the air is stagnant.

“Sadiq Abacha, it’s time for Salat. Tasowa.” It deeply bothers me that my mother bothers me with religion. A young boy doesn’t ask for much when he wishes to sleep till much later than 5am, I believe. Now here I am, tossing and turning unable to find the extra sleep I long for. I roll sleepy legs off the bed and trudge to the bathroom. I bend over the sink and welcome the refreshing cool water brings—I feel unusually warm and uneasy this morning. Sigh. I might as well count sheep to sleep.

I can see Dad and the other men file out of the building. Mother starts to wail all over again as she sinks into the dust. I gather her and my broken heart into trembling arms– it is happening. Dad is in the middle and he is careful to look in our direction with brave eyes. His eyes are full of faith, his death clothes are injustice and his lips are a firm line of finality. I cannot hear what the pastor is saying to Dad and the other men above mother’s heart-wrenching cries, above the unsympathetic barks of the soldiers for mother to be silent. It really is happening. Dear God, make it stop.

Whoever said this counting sheep business helps anyone sleep anyway. I’m so upset with mother for waking me this particular morning I hope she cannot find sleep either. Not that it would wreck her as much as it is giving me a nasty headache but still…it will be something. I might as well take a bath now and prepare for our trip to Liberia. I want to go with father this time, taking long strides beside him as his dear son. I have been craving a change of scenery since our trip to the United States. I’ll have to be satisfied with these short trips till I go to University.

Dad is blindfolded and has his hands and legs securely tied. They are putting the noose around his neck now and the world has stopped revolving. Mother’s face is burrowed deep into my jalamia, her broken sobs muffled by my body. She can’t bear to look; she wants to wake up from the nightmare—this collective nightmare.

One!

A soldier has his hand ready on the trapdoor lever.

Two!

The soap bar dropped just as I lathered my face. I hiss between clenched teeth as I bend to retrieve it.

Three!

The trapdoor falls open as the world starts to end. Mother’s scream pierces the morning sky as Dad struggles hopelessly against the noose.

Just as I take one blind step towards the showerhead to rinse my face, the bathroom shifts and my head collides with the wall. “ARGH!”

I stay in the dust with my mother till hope dies.

Gumsu is such an idiot. She is laughing because the doctor put me in a brace for the next one month.


by............ Ibukun Akinnawo (finalist at First  bank the writer compitetion)
pls vote here for ibukun http://thenakedconvos.com/thewriter/?p=1127

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CONVERSATION WITH PAPA.............1

We sat around the evening fire warming our cold scaling skin, dried like a smoked tilapia fish from the harmatan breeze. My joy knew no bound as i sat beside him, he was constantly cracking his knuckles and spitting into the burning fire, his eyebrows were greyed, he was aged in wisdom and in physique. I listened with rapt attention as he recalled the beautiful memories of his boyhood, when Lagos/Ibadan expressway was not bloodthirsty, when children played on the streets without the fear of rapist or kidnappers, the days when you do not have to rob a bank to eat good food, suddenly he sighed and murmured the good old days.

I could not longer stomach the storm raging in my belly, i was quick to ask what happened to those days? I screamed loud, we are constantly being raped by your generation, the nascent democracy is stunted, our beloved nation is on the edge of precipice, she has become a theater of absurdity, a den of corruption with the world wildest breed of profligate politicians, our hospitals are inhospitable, our universities has become an abattoir, our roads a death trap, he watched and listen as i tried to rewrite the Christian holy book of lamentation.

He spat into the fire again as he called out to the little boy and begged him to fetch us more firewood, he coughed and spat into the fire for the umpteen times.

He requested for the cold cup of water I had with me, that had become almost hot, he collected it and thanked me, he tried to lure me into another discussion on the benefits of warm water, I kept mum, he took a gaze at me , and he immediately sensed my glaring lack of interest in that health talk.

At this moment, his voice was becoming faint, i moved closer to this sage whom is the patriarch of my genealogy,  with tears welling up in my eyes, i asked him how do we come out of this "wahala"?

He gave me a stern look and asked me what i knew about Switzerland and the Swiss model of government...............................................................................................................................

I racked my brains immediately to avoid a break in this fertile intellectual intercourse between two generations, i was quick to recollect my previous conversation with grandma whom we fondly called "iya agba" before she sailed across river Styx... To be continued

Onyibe Oliver

---

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LIFE GROUPS: THE FREE BIZ Cycle

Hey dear its happening this March..............TheFreeBizCycle

Professionals are giving back to society........here is an opportunity for you to benefit and guess what its freeeeeeeeeeeee gosh you don’t want to miss this!!

There are Programmes and life skills such as Entrepreneurship, Structuring your Business for Growth, Winning in Business Design, Anger Management, Divorce Recovery and lots more! Classes start 8th of March. Call Amina on 0803 737 8292, or check out  http://www.highlifechurch.com/freebizdetail or  follow me @yekeme to know whats up!! wow what a life changing meetings ................................

Check out the different programmes schedule 

#TheFreeBizCycle Emotional Restoration Category has the following courses and facilitators;

ANGER MANAGEMENT         @spicery Hotel Room 1
* Mr. Tunde Songonuga       from 08.03.14 to 26.04.14

DIVORCE & SEPARATION RECOVERY    @TBC/church office
* Pastor Carlton Williams                     from 08.03.14 to 07.04.14

MINISTERING WITH STYLE TO ADULTS & CHILDREN     @TBC/Church Office
* Pastor Carlton Williams                                           08.03.14 to 12.04.14

MAKING BOOK-KEEPING FUN       @spicery Hotel Room 1
* Mrs. Becky Ikhioda               from 08.03.14 to 12.04.14

FILM MAKING                      @spicery Hotel Room 2
* Mr. Opeyemi Adefulu          from 08.03.14 to 12.04.14

#TheFreeBizCycle Business and Career Empowerment Category has the following courses and facilitators;

ENTREPRENEURING         @Lagos Resource Centre
* Mrs. Tokunbo Ishmael - Co-CEO, Alitheia Capital, Fund Manager & Investor in Entrepreneurial Businesses                     from 15.03.14 to 26.04.14

WINNING IN BUSINESS, BY DESIGN    @Lagos Resource Centre
* Mr. Solomon Ikhioda - Curator, Inimitable Lifestyle Limited, Customer Experience Design Specialist  from 03.05.14

STRUCTURING YOUR BUSINESS GROWTH     @ Lagos Resource Centre

* Mrs. Sanyade Okoli - CEO, Travant Capital, Financial Advisory & Investments Specialist from 15.03.14 to 26.04.14

WORKPLACE READINESS AND PRODUCTIVITY TRAINING
* Abisola Longe - CEO, HCHD Limited 
* Mrs. Elisa Chukuma - CEO, ESAfrica

GUARANTEED CAREER LADDER IN HOSPITALITY     @spicery Hotel Room 1
* The American Hotel & Lodging Association, Terenga Limited   08.03.14 to 12.04.14

#TheFreeBizCycle Cultural Expression Category has the following courses and facilitators;

BEGINNERS SAXOPHONE WORKSHOP   @Road 3, Suite E343 Ikota shoping complex
* Mr. Ayo Awe-Joseph call: 08033290103 to book time slot from 08.03.14 to 12.04.14

GUITAR PROJECT         @spicery Hotel Room 1
* Mr. Daniel Aimola call: 0803 311 0706       from 08.03.14 to 12.04.14

VISUAL ART APPRECIATION      @TBC
* Temitayo Ogunbiyi            from 08.03.14 to 12.04.14

NIGERIAN FOOD RE-IMAGINED      @Oniru kitchen
* Mrs. Labake Olumide               08.03.14 to 12.04.14

It is truly life transforming............see u @ the #TheFreeBizCycle

www.highlifechurch.com