Friday, September 27, 2013

Le Fart & A Rant

The sun's rays filter in through the slightly parted window shades, casting warm glows on the tousled bed sheets. Outside the birds chirp merrily, an occasional high octave tune carried by the waves of the sun-warmed springtime morning breeze. Inside the room, beneath the sheets, she lay snug in the warmth of the niche carved by their intertwined limbs. A soft smile on her lips, her beauty captivating, even while asleep. The tranquility of the moment was ripped apart by the sound of a loud fart braaaaapp brraaaappp!

"What the hell was that?" She yelled as she scrambled out of the bed in panic.

"Nothing hun, I just messed", He replied bemused.

"You just messed? That was a fart?" The look of shock in her eyes and the tinge of disbelief in her voice was as clear as the call to morning prayer on the streets of Maidugiri.

"Yes o, a belch from the gluteus maximus," he responded happily For some odd reason an image of Gandalf from Lord of the Rings had just popped up in his head and gluteus maximus sounded rather apt as opposed to 'ass'. After all, she started it, who refers to 'mess' as 'fart' anyway?

"Come back to bed jor, you are acting like you've never heard someone mess before,"
But she didn't budge, now the shock in her eyes had given way to a look of suspicion.

"How come I can't smell anything?" She quipped, her voice quavering a little.

Puzzled, he sniffed the air, his nostrils twitching and flaring furiously as he sought the tell-tale scent of toxic human gas.

"Na wah o, see as we are analyzing mess like Sherlock Holmes. Come back to bed boo, it is not that serious. You should be thanking God that the smell is not proportional to the amplitude.", he muttered.

Slowly she backed away from the bed, her eyes darting around the room like a caged prey. Inwards, her brain was screaming in full panic mode, flee while you have the chance o, this is how Oscar Pistorius killed his fiancee and blamed it on non-existent house burglars!

Her eyes grew with alarm as she saw the bulge beneath the sheet where he lay. Was that the weapon ? To think that she had fallen for this serial killer's charm last night and followed him to his apartment without any suspicion. Chineke, he could have easily killed me while I was overdosed with good sex and sleep. The bastard's eyes were not moving from her right now and he had a glazed maniac expression on his face, the quiet drool of a predator about to pounce, she thought to herself, her panic increasing.

On the bed, he was licking his lips in his best LL Cool J style impression, his mind aflame with thots. Dayuuum! See how she is backing away to run and dive into my bed, he thought. Beneath the sheets, the tell-tale sign of his charged manhood pushed and strained against the sheet. His eyes glazed over in anticipation as he waited for her, his mind chanting "wa gba control".

Suddenly the pungent smell of putrified human gas wafted to her nose as her back touched the wall...automatically she switched from being the prey to the predator. "Jizos, how can you be so gross!". Realizing that he had just committed romantic hara-kiri, he sought to maintain his cool and reignite the atmosphere that was rapidly fading, but the pungent smell had hit him too, the bulge beneath the sheet shrivelling faster than the ice peaks of kilimanjaro. Quickly he tried to seize the moment, "I'm not feeling well...

To be continued...

3 Expressions/Phrases that I DISLIKE

1. Turn Up
Arguably the most used phrase this year. Blame my dislike for the word on its frequent use by Nigerians on social media. The origin of this expression is unknown, but it rubs my mental vocabulary the wrong way. Turn up at a party, club, wedding, even in church...are you kidding me? How about "Shup UP" and just have fun! Grrrrr...

2. Bruv
First of all, I don't like being referred to as "Brother X", even in church. I have one biological brother and he doesn't call me "Brother". Now some folks like to take famzing to a higher level, uncertified Brit accent et al, "Whad up bruv"...Seriously? You are Nigerian, you live in Lagos, stop it!

3. Innit
I don't even want to get started on this. If you consciously program your mind to use a word because it sounds cool, then it isn't natural, is it? or innit? Some words are best left as they are, and some slangs should never cross the atlantic ocean. "Innit" should not be granted a verbal visa to the shores of Naija.

Okay my rant is over, you can add yours  :)

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

F-1 Chronicles

He sat in the shadows, the glass of wine hanging loosely in his hands, the soft sound of Coldplay floating in the room like suspended musical chords. His eyes stared blankly into the distance, seeing nothing yet transfixed by the imagery in his mind. A partially-cooked smile lingered on his face, his eyes glazed and moist as the memories trickled in...

"6 years ago, a young naive student stepped off the plane from Naija. He was dressed in his favorite jeans, a thick light-brown sweater his dad had given him and a pair of timbaland boots. He had $5000 cash in his back pocket, money that was to tide him over for the next couple of months. Like every newbie, he believed that he would find a job shortly afterwards and begin the pursuit of the american dream. He spent his first night in his hotel room on the 10th floor, overlooking the Newark skyline, giddy with excitement, watching the stars as they twinkled and whispered their welcome to him..."

"A few weeks had gone by, no one told him it would be this hard to get a job on campus. He had filled out countless applications, polished his nigerian accent as best as he could and smiled as hard as he could while dropping off his resume at different offices. The smile felt permanently etched on his face, like a mask that couldn't be washed off. Beneath the smile, he was nervous and worried about the future. The academic work wasn't an issue for him, but his naivety about America being the promised land was gradually wearing off..."

"Finally! At last! He heaved a huge sigh of relief as he started his first job, a desk attendant. His Warri friend back in Nigeria had laughed when he told him with pride that he finally got a job. "Na security work u dey do for there?", was the question. He sought for the words to explain that being a desk attendant was different but at that point he didn't care, he would have gladly taken a security gig if they would hire him. The job paid $8.15 an hour for the graveyard shift, all he could hear in his head was the sound of gold coins...ka ching..."

"Bros, I'll give you a simple word of advice: Find someone and arrange your papers. You can't make it in this country on an F-1 visa, that was the 'advice' he heard from his fellow africans in diaspora. "Nna men, you gotta do what you gotta do, just arrange the thing sharply, else you go roast for here". He laughed it off, that was not even an option for him. He still remembered when he first went off to Port Harcourt for his undergrad, his father's advice had been : "Biko, don't get any girl pregnant, those Port harcourt and Calabar girls there are very fine o". His mother had retorted angrily "How will he get someone pregnant? He is just a young boy, abi all the bible we have been reading in this house is in vain? Emma ekwu zi na o di ihe a (Emma, stop saying things like that)". So he couldn't imagine himself 'marrying for papers', that was simply impossible. By conventional standards he was pretty intelligent, so getting a job after graduation didn't look like a daunting prospect for him. Moreover, Abraham had a son at age 100, how hard could this possibly be...

"He pulled the tie off his neck in anger. He had spent hours at another frustrating career fair, smiling like a circus monkey, speaking polished English, and handing out his resume to prospective employers. It was all a ritual, they would accept his resume, gush about his excellent grades and qualifications, commend his almost American accent, and then hit him with the common chorus "we'll get back to you...". But they never got back to him, he looked at the mirror in despair. Maybe it was his skin, but he was fairer than Obama for pete's sake! Or his accent? C'mon, even the Indians thought he was American. So what could it possibly be? After a few minutes, his eyes finally opened. He realized that being referred to as an "International Student or F-1 student" was not a compliment, it was just another fancy term masking the harsh reality of life. He jumped on google and tried to trace the path to making it in the promised land the hard way, the chart read: "F1-H1-Green Card-Citizenship-American Dream". He found it quite funny. "So which dream i dey since?", he wondered to himself.

NB: This is dedicated to a special group of people, my Day 1 homiez : G.Sachs a.k.a. Confam Bubbler, Fuji Rockstarz a.k.a. Mushin,Yung Ronaldo, Femo, Babse, Chris Phelps, Fola_Munchen and Remix... We go make am one day!