Note 4 & 5

Dear BF,

Let me begin with an obvious confession: no one understands you as I do.

Because of this, I’ve been writing a book to aid people to understand you. I’m yet to come up with a title, but yes, it won’t be for sale. I suggest you occasionally read them out in a national broadcast during your leisure time.

Below, I copied and pasted an excerpt, just for you.

“…when the new sheriff came to town, and unlike the old sheriff, I discovered we shared a lot in common. Not to mention but a few, He had at least failed two presidential campaigns. Same with me. He’s 78. I was also 78 at the time. Or 87.

I’m not also forgetting to mention my vice, Banjo. Aside from his job description of sharing condolences, going to the market or errands, and other petty stuff, I must say I’ve been lucky to have him – he speaks better English and does this PR of a thing, most especially with anything Moni, better than I do.

They were a time or better put, an allegation, that we were to pay Allah ₦100 billion to stop killing and kidnapping us. These killers and kidnappers were alleged to be emotionally attached to me. But then, come to think of it, 100bn for security or 65bn to ASUU, if one payment has to be delayed, which could you’ve gone for? Asides from that, everyone loves Suya. I buy it on my way back home after a stressful day, I know you do too. We also buy for loved ones while going for visits. It’s proven old and young tastes for it. Hence, it’s safe to say suya is not only a common national word but one of the unifying factors in our diversity. Therefore, because of its national importance, it’s either you’re for suya or against suya. As for me, I’m for suya.”


…to be continued

PS: I know you can’t wait to see a video of my turning self into a black silhouette against a seductive red background in the red light when you come online later tonight. I can’t wait too. Until I write you again, don’t forget to stay hydrated and wear lip gloss.

Yours BF ( Twitter )

Note 3

Dear BF,

Today, I’m proud of you for many reasons.

First, I’m proud of you for not identifying with the Stingy Men Association of Nigeria ( SMAN ) convoy. If you were a member, there won’t be plans to ’empower’ the soro soke generation in times like this. You could’ve simply informed Uncle Fest ” Fest, let me see what I can do.”

Secondly, I’m proud you read your Bible daily. When that Bishop in Sokoto allowed his mouth to run uncontrollably like a lady, I admired the way you simply informed him that even though he has offended you, you’re not in any way outraged. And even if some forums were anguished more than the bereaved, you’ve read it somewhere that vengeance belongs to God and not for radicals. Besides, was it not written in the scriptures, touch not my anointed?

Thirdly, I’m proud you’re a caring and perfect gentleman. Gentlemen aren’t violent. Gentlemen don’t command unnecessarily. When one proves adamant, they quickly offer to relinquish, just for peace to reign. You showed these with the pigeons, such wonderful loving creatures. You didn’t strike them to fly just to prove you’re a peaceful and considerate man. I also knew you must’ve imagined: who knows, what if a stray bullet happens to hit any of them while up in the sky? In that case, it’s not as if you can’t blame it on 16 years of the past administration, but that’s a thing of the cabal. You care, you’re a gentleman.

Fourthly, I’m proud you’re simple. If it was you, you won’t have to shut down the social media in your country for anything. That’s not your way, you prefer simplicity: charge a stubborn head for terrorism and the miracle is done. You’re my simple man.

Lastly, my love, I’m not sure you caught the news of the new WhatsApp privacy policy soon to be rolled out. Not to worry, I’m making sure we have a smooth migration to Crowwe. That way, we support Nigeria to grow the Naira. Should we also get naughty and exchange nudes, as we used to, we are sure it won’t get into the wrong hands.

Indeed, I’m very much proud of you, bf. Until I write to you again, please stay safe.

Yours BF ( Twitter ).

Note 2

Dear BF,

You won’t believe what I’m reading in the trending news: the man at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, the very one who was whispered to call you lifeless, has been canceled from this platform. I’m not sure if this is good news to you but I felt he should’ve studied your ways and learn from you.

Take, for example, you were quick to separate bad belle people from good belle people. The formula was plain, 5% and 97% respectively so that a runner can carry the correct message to others. And that’s why we considered it abnormal for one Nigerian singer, Chike, tweeting about losing close ones to an accident due to numerous risky poor road. Even though this was just a case among many, for you, no one is bigger than the formula. It’s just that plain and simple.

But my love, I keep wondering if you’ve got an affair with the bushy head professor. Just recently, I was seeing an online broadcasted clip where he said he doesn’t want to talk about you because he thinks it’s best for his mind. The other time also, he made mention to me that you weren’t in charge.

BF, I know a long distanced relationship has a way of toiling with our heads, and I don’t want to sound as if I’m nagging. But you know you can always tell me the truth. Is there anything I need to know? Was that the reason you no longer video call me as we used to? Or am I just being too concerned? Maybe that’s why I was compelled to ask Charlie Charlie the other night if you’re the bf I fell in love with or another from the Niger republic.

I’m also tempted to suggest we go for the second wave of lockdown. I don’t know why, but I think we need it. Since others are observing such, why can’t we? I wish you understand with me.

Until I write to you next time, stay safe.

Yours BF ( Twitter ).

Note 1

Dear BF,

I do admire the way you started the New year’s speech with devotion. That’s how reasonable Nigerians do commence important matters, you’re a reasonable Nigerian.

However, I’m uneasy how this year has started nurturing an ugly head with cheap internet thrills.

Who could ever get intrigued about a bum, especially on a day like the New Year?

The thought is incredulous but it still got me thinking – today it’s the richest black man. Tomorrow, it could be you. And you know how these things do escalate quickly.

From trends like #ThePresidency’sUndies or #UndiesofHim to something that could be added to Twitter bio: undies of the ruler of the biggest black nation shot by me.

The nature of these things can make you sound serious at press conferences.

It won’t be your portion in 2021.

Boyfriend, there’s also a circulation on Twitter that read “To make it in life, fear women. To maintain your life, fear women. To live life, fear women. Whatever you want to do in life, fear women. “

At sight, I knew this can only be your manner of intellect – a few months ago, several unwise men tried to sound woke, questioning the number of women in your cabinet.

Now I know better, I’m glad you gave them the best answer, silence.

Or have you not made it in life more than they did? Or are you not maintaining life more than they did? Or are you not living this life more than they did? I’m even more certain now that you will surely survive and prevail more than they did for you’ve got remarkable intelligence.

Until I write you again, stay safe.

Yours BF ( Twitter )

2011 (When Election Thrusts Again)

The only thing changed last four years was the year, 2011. The stories did not neither do the headlines: Many killed, lot more wounded and many lot more arrested as election ends in violence.

The news carried no seriousness. For nobody showed no care, not even the most tiniest of it. You know, for you perceived it.

It was on one of those Sunday’s when Pastor Okonkwo truncated the sermon and said, “let’s pray for the brethren in the North.” But instead of praying, the people looked him with this reminiscent face that said,”this is Nigeria…” It was then it stream down your spine; nobody cares, nobody cares!

You could remember throwing stones the night the loosing party rolled into your settlement. The people made you throw stones. For like Esau, they coveted for a fragment of the gifts and money the losing party came with. It was stones of caution you threw: “sell your stomach, sell your dignity.” But the people did not mind the sermon nor the messenger neither did they complain if it was a fragment they drooled for.

Besides, rumours were spreading – “Oil is falling, oil is falling; Prices would sky, prices would sky”. And man’s worst enemy the elders say, is fear. This time, the fear of the unknown.

It was also on that same night the loosing party’s aspirant sang a song. This song:

Cast me your vote, and there shall be no more blackout;
Neither bribery, nor corruption.
Neither shall they be any trace of insurgency;
For I shall wipe away the old things.

The winning party were quiet, but just as you always say: “to be quiet is to be tactical,” the winning party proved that. For weeks after, your street were flooded with posters, posters written: For eligibility and competence, vote for the winning party. And for many days or so, the radio stations played one jingle – the winning party’s jingle, nothing else.

On the Election Day, the people trooped out trading votes for gifts with the loosing party. Though the process were free and fair, the results was the usual – the winning party were declared the winner. (Nobody in any way expects the winning party to lose. That is why they are the winning party. They always win).

The loosing party were not going to accept defeat, not in this manner. They were going to make some noise. After all, to be deprived of anything is to be violent, they said – “gather the youths, give them more gifts!” To whom much is given, is much not expected?

Then you saw the youths puddle, taking up sticks and fuel and stones and sang, “we no go gree.o!” And headed towards the state secretariat. The forces intercepted, you heard. And It was in the morning you saw it: Many killed, lot more wounded and many lot more arrested as election ends in violence.

http://www.naijastories.com/2015/05/2011when-election-thrusts-challengeme-contest/

By: Iheme Nzubechukwu

That Love Story

III
You have been standing in front of Rm.209, Okeke hostel. Making the sign of the cross. Trying to own those phrases again – those words you ached to let Ezinne know. You love her. That is the summary. But you have not told her. That makes the summary voluminous. It is not as if you don’t know how to neither is it because you have not tried to let her know. You know how to. You have also tried to. But whenever you get close, instead of to speak, you shiver. That makes you wonder whether you also know the when to. You hate this. That is, you hate to believe the fact that you can’t express your feelings. It is manhood-shrinking.

II
“That babe na cheap gal” you once lied to your friends.

They did not believe you. In fact, they were not going to believe you. But that did not bother you. For this you know: you are smart. In simple native Nigeria: a sharp guy.

“Wetin be dis?” You brandished it – a floral designed handkerchief. Ezinne’s handkerchief. The one she places at the center of her bosom. Using it every now and then to wipe her face. And to sit. Especially on those dirty university seats.

“She leave am for my room after we do finish…” You raised your ego. And coated it with lies. And they saw it. And believed it. For, it was true.( One only believe what he/she considers true. And that is what sharp guys do – they make you see,and believe.)

I
Today, you were resolved to tell Ezinne how much you feel. You have already carried out an absorbed research on how to do that. And the discovery was mind blowing. All thanks to google who has wondrously done well with you – you were glad you met a helper.

You walked into the zoological garden; reciting your discovery, boiling with optimism. It was there you caught a glimpse of her, resplendent in a black suit. Instantly, you lost composure, not courage. And your boiling optimism, slow yet steady, began to evaporate, making you nervous, like a wave. Your discovery was still untouched. You noticed; feeling relived; even as you walked pass girls on skimpy-transparent dresses.

“Hello”

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“Yes. I mean, No” you are shivering.

“Then?”

“I came to see the monkeys.” You switched tactics. Or better put, you lied. You were happy you did. It just saved you from an imminent mess.

And then you left her. And went to the cage, giving a fake smile to the ugly monkeys. Trying to understand why you were here. You came to no conclusion. That made you hissed. Angry. And in turn, infuriated. You turned to go. On your way, you passed those skimpy dressed girls. You gave no concern. You were at the zoological garden gate when you heard your name in clamours. You turned. It was the skimpy dressed girls – it was their voice you heard. But it was Ezinne who needed you.

“Take. She say make we give you”. They handed it over to you. It was a piece. A piece of paper. It read: Okeke Hostel. Rm. 209. 9p.m.

By: Iheme Nzubechukwu