Here Comes The Bride!
Marriage Ameera was shaking. The lavish wedding ceremony was over. She was finally married to Alhaji Aminu Dahiru, a longtime friend and business partner of her father. She was brought to her husband’s house by her mother and her friends. They met a number of the groom’s relatives who told everyone but her mum to leave. These relatives were there to collect the sheets after the first sexual communion. They wanted to be sure Alhaji married a ‘good girl’. Though Ameera’s parents had furnished the house to her specifications, the purple and gold royal interior decor didn’t calm her raging nerves. Her mother took her to the bedroom, watched as her small figure changed from the wedding attire, showered and donned her very sexy night slip. She pretended the air conditioner was what was giving her the chills, but her mum was not fooled. Her anxiety was clear to anyone looking. Her mum rubbed her back, reassuring her in her own little way. The door creaked open as her husband entered. Her mother eased out of the room, quietly keeping her eyes on the floor so she didn’t have to see the look of absolute smug satisfaction on Alhaji Aminu’s face. As the door closed, and Alhaji Aminu drew close to Ameera, the bulge in his trousers was very obvious. He slowly took off his clothes, a feral smile on his face as he watched his wife. When he was finally naked, Ameera’s gaze widened at the sheer size of her husband. He was huge! Her fear seemed to be turning him on more and his smile got even more feral. She didn’t know if it was her fear that seemed to make him bigger or if he really was getting bigger. All she knew was that, she felt like she could faint just by looking at it. He walked to her and pushed her on the bed. Alhaji Aminu was no seasoned lover, and he sure wasn’t going to learn how to be with his fourth wife. With no further ado, he pushed her legs open and thrust in…or at least, tried to. Her vaginal opening was so tiny that he almost couldn’t penetrate. Like all men who felt that their pleasure was paramount, Alhaji Aminu forced his way in. Ameera screamed. She had not felt this much pain in her entire life. Her vagina seemed to have been torn all the way through and it felt like a thousand razors were tearing her still. Her vagina was on fire and she just couldn’t handle it anymore. She screamed again. Alhaji Aminu slapped her, shocked that she responded to his fervent lovemaking by screaming. ‘Had her mother not prepared her?‘ he wondered. Well, if she was not prepped, he was not going to be her teacher. He slapped her again and this time she got quiet…really quiet. Alhaji Aminu was not bothered that she was unusually still. His pleasure heightened as he increased the pace of his thrusts. He was soon in cloud nine and ejaculating his masculine essence into his new bride. After his grunts had subsided and his breathing normalized, he eased out of her and readied himself for sleep. He only took one minute to pull out the sheets from under Ameera and toss it out the door to his waiting audience before he came back and fell into a very satisfied sleep. It didn’t bother him that Ameera’s head was lying at an awkward angle and her little face was already bruising. He got a new wife and that was all that mattered. He went to sleep with the satisfaction that his new wife would ensure his business investments with Alhaji Musa Kaltungo – her father – was solidified and expanded further. Ameera woke up when her mother shook her vigorously. The sun was streaming into the bedroom. It was morning already. ‘Wake up foolish girl! Do you want your husband to think we did not train you well? Get up now, get cleaned up and prepare his bath water. When you are done, get his breakfast ready’. Ameera couldn’t think past the shrill tone of her mother. She was still disoriented. She didn’t recall what had happened. She tried to get up and saw that her legs were spread. ‘Why was her legs open for all to see?‘ she thought. Mortified that her mum had seen her ‘private part’, she quickly tried to close them. As she tried, she regained all consciousness when a very sharp pain traveled up the walls of her vagina, prompting fresh drip of blood to flow. Then she remembered! She couldn’t close her legs. She just couldn’t! Her mother finally realized that her daughter was in pain when she saw the blood dripping and the tears on her face. ‘Don’t worry my daughter, it will get better’ was all she kept saying. Alhaji Aminu entered the room and bellowed at his wife. ‘Are you still in bed? Are you crazy? Who will prepare my bath water and breakfast? Who will take care of the house? Get up you lazy girl! Nonsense!’ He turned to her mother. ‘Hajiya, what kind of a bride did you give me? Still asleep at 7 am?! Is this the type of nonsense I should expect in my house? Better do something about it because I can assure you that even though Alhaji is my friend, I will not hesitate to take my koboko to her naked skin! So, get her in order!’ He said as he marched out of the room. Ameera’s mother helped Ameera up, struggling to get her to stand up straight. Ameera wobbled into the bathroom, wincing at each step taken and taking care to keep her legs apart as she walked. Her mother left her to herself when she got into the bathroom. She knew peeing would increase her pain, but she had to obey her bodily functions. As the pee slowly descended, she wanted to cry out again, but she stilled herself by biting her lips. The taste
They Don’t Care About Us
The impact of the long trek Huzaifa had just had was beginning to show in her carriage. Her refusal to buckle was entirely due to sheer will…and the fact that her babies would suffer in her fall. She had been carrying Aisha on her back and Musa on her neck. It was hard work but at least she got these two out. The whereabouts of Jamilu, Hassan and Hussaina was something she didn’t want to dwell on. All she could focus on was ensuring she got as far away from Mubi as possible. Her bare feet were chaffed and had blisters running from her toe nails to her heels but she couldn’t let the pain sink into her thoughts. The weight of Musa on her neck had given her a hard knot around her shoulder and if she so much as moved her current position, she was sure that the muscle would snap. When she finally got to the Hayin Gada Bridge, all she could think of was crossing the bridge. ‘She would be safe in Yola’, she thought to herself. She just needed to hold on until she got to Yola. Huzaifa was not the only one fleeing Mubi. She was one of the thousands who had fled when the insurgent group, popularly called Boko Haram, invaded (and captured) Mubi, the second largest city and most viable economic epicenter in Adamawa state in October, 2014. John was another. He had run from home as soon as he had heard the tata tata ta of guns firing. He left his wife and four kids, taking with him only his phone, his wallet and the clothes he was wearing. John had thought through his predicament and realized that being a man, and a young one at that, his fate was either to join the insurgents or a certain death. He didn’t want to be a part of a group of men whose ideals meant that they could kill, pillage and destroy communities at whim and he sure didn’t want to die. As he ran, he hoped his children would be safe though, the fate of his wife was a sure thing if she was captured; young and beautiful as she was. He dulled the thought of his wife and kids as he zigzagged his way in the bushes. After two days in the bush and his endurance of a major heat stroke, he finally found a taxi, albeit an expensive one, heading to Yola. He needed to get to Yola. Once he got there, he would think of the family he had left behind. These examples (and many more) are the stories coming out of Mubi. Whether it is students running into Cameroun or people piled on each other on tricycles, motorcycles, cars, or trailers, the main issue is that the story coming out of Mubi is horrible. And worse, there were no Christians, no Muslims and no atheists. All there was were Nigerians running away from a common enemy. Heck, even the soldiers were running away in the face of the heavy artillery wielded by the insurgents. The insurgents behind the escapees were not their only problems. As they ran through bushes, in the stifling heat that is characteristic of Adamawa, many of these people were without food or water, resulting in massive hunger. Now, the adrenaline pumping through their veins may have pushed the thought of food out of their minds but running without water in a hot (hot) place is akin to embarking on a suicide mission. Many people were reported to have drunk water from sources as filthy as gutters or roadside puddles. These were not the worst of their problems though. As people strove to get away from Mubi, imagine their relief when they saw cars lined up, also fleeing from the insurgents. Many ran to such vehicles, pleading to be taken along. The drivers, while running for their lives, didn’t let the opportunity to make a quick buck pass them by. Transport fares from Yola to Mubi was usually around N1,500 but, as soon as the drivers saw the fleeing citizens, fares went as high as N7, 000. And boy! Did people pay! If you didn’t have any money, then ‘GOD save you’ was the meted response. People had to trek from Mubi to as far as Hong. In the end, the governor, Barrister Bala James Ngilari, had to send, (as released by the press secretary) a total of seventy-seven buses to fetch those on the road. One would think that getting to Yola would mean some form of respite for the displaced people but it wasn’t. The NAPEP riders in Yola also hiked their transport fares, collecting one hundred naira (N100) instead of the stipulated fifty naira (N50). People would have paid two hundred naira if possible but the vehicles just weren’t there. The buses had been just enough for the residents of the Yola metropolis but with the massive influx of people into town, buses were scarce. People literally had to jump on moving vehicles and be packed like sardines. Buses that normally carried about 10 passengers with the driver and conductor making it 12, were carrying as many as 15 and in some cases, up to 18 or 20 people. It was not a pleasant sight at all. At a point, people just gave up on waiting for the buses or NAPEP and took to walking long distances within the town to get to where they were going to. And trust the security men to become active after there has been an incident. The checkpoints that were a common site in Jimeta and Yola soon doubled. The traffic gridlocks soon became unbearable. It wasn’t as if any checks were being done, but the security personnel had to look busy. The only people credit had to be given to, were the men from the Federal Road Safety Commission, who worked tirelessly to ensure that the gridlock was broken and traffic was relatively smooth. Apart from that, the Police as usual set up checkpoints close to where the Army had
Family Planning For Sustainable Development
I woke up one morning and realized that my neighbors had used up all the water in the house and had not called the Mai Ruwa to refill the containers. I usually don’t go out myself to call him but since I was the only one preparing to go out at that time, I put on my slip and went out in search of him. The Mai Ruwa lived just opposite my house, so I didn’t have to walk far to find him. Because it was quite early, there were few people on the street, so I didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing my messy hair (which is almost always messy) or my oversized slip. As I crossed the street, I saw that the gate to the Mai Ruwa‘s house was open. When I reached the gate, I raised my hand to knock when this little Fulani boy – who bore a striking resemblance to the Mai Ruwa – came to the gate. ‘Ina Mai Ruwa?‘ I asked in Hausa. The boy just looked at me and pointed to the security guard’s corner of the house. I didn’t know that the Mai Ruwa doubled up as the security guard of the house; though, I should have known a Mai Ruwa couldn’t own such a prime piece of property. I walked towards the small apartment and saw the Mai Ruwa emerge from the room. As he approached me, I couldn’t help but notice that there were kids lying on the floor, almost like the arrangement of fish in sardine packages, with the youngest closest to the mother. From my count, there were four children in that tiny room. Add that to the little boy I just saw outside, and it meant that the Mai Ruwa had five children. Maybe the Mai Ruwa saw my prying eyes, because he quickly pulled his curtains down. I straighten and asked that he brings water to our house. He told me he would be there as soon as he could. As I returned to my house, I wondered how a man who doubled up as a Mai Ruwa and a security guard could have five children and have all of them living in one tiny room. This was a shock to me because I had done an in depth radio show on family planning in Adamawa, with resource persons from the Society for Family Health who explained the necessity for planning. I thought the issue was more rural but here I was, right at my door steps, in a very urban area, faced with an unplanned family. I consoled myself with the thought that the Mai Ruwa already had his children before my program so, maybe he wouldn’t have a sixth child. I went there a couple more times and realized that the spacing of the Mai Ruwa‘s children couldn’t have been more than one year between each child. They were literally just following themselves. In Northern Nigeria, many families are like the Mai Ruwa‘s; poor, not gainfully employed and surprisingly large. The issue of family planning – or the absence of it – is a big problem in this region. The problem is eating deep into the fabric of society. In the Northern part of the country, there are particular reasons why people have an aversion to planned families. 1. Religion: Nothing is a bigger determining factor than religion on the issue of family. Many people are of the belief that God is the one who gives children and as such, are totally against ‘planning’ a family. This phenomenon cuts across the two major religions in Nigeria. The Bible’s stance on family planning is almost non-existent; I used the term ‘almost’ because many people use the story of Onan and Tamar as a point to ‘prove’ God is against family planning. In Genesis 38:6-10 (better understanding will come if one starts from verse one), Onan kept pulling out of Tamar (that is, the withdrawal method) just so he wouldn’t perform his legal duties to his late brother Er as stipulated in Deuteronomy 25:5-6. While this Bible passage may seem to be against family planning, I don’t think it is. If you take a holistic view of the story, you will see that God was angry at Onan not necessarily for withdrawing during sex, but because he did that with the evil intention of not wanting to share his inheritance with any child Tamar bore; a child who would have been the true heir of their father Judah’s estates. In essence, the Bible’s view on family planning is relatively mute. So why are many Christians against planning their families? I believe it is because many of them are uneducated or not properly educated on the tenets of the Bible, which makes them accept any and every thing their leaders tell them. So when a preacher is against family planning, all he has to do is rally against it from his pulpit and his followers will accept it. And for those who take out the time to study, many do not understand the nuances that are in each scripture and that each scripture is inherently connected to others and thus, the whole Bible. They just latch onto one verse and solidify their opinions rather than take each verse as a small part of a whole. So anyone reading about Onan and Tamar would say, God is against planned families. Similarly, many Muslims say that it is against Allah’s will to plan their families, seeing it as a western idea postulated to pull people away from the ethics of Islam. That been said, I tried to research what the Qur’an says about the concept, but there seemed to be no direct verses about family planning. There are however verses on killing children (Qur’an 6:151, 17:51). I read an article by Jamal Zarabozo titled ‘Is Family Planning Allowed In Islam?’ on Islam Women and he said research has been done by Islamic scholars and they have come to the conclusion that spacing children is allowed if the parents have mutually found a reason that is Islamically acceptable to space them. He went further to explain that
Copy Copy
Copy Button.Image: Free Images Live Okay…Nigerians are technically, the most effective ‘copiers’ in the world. The Chinese used to be the ones adept at replicating whatever they saw, but Nigerians have really taken over from them. Now, this needs to be clarified. This is not replicating advancing technology, or improving strides in medicine or stuff like that. It definitely isn’t that. What this type of imitation does is copy the things that are unimportant and in some cases, just plain wrong and stupid! It seems like copying became mainstream when Blackberry phones came into Nigeria. People were buying the phones like their lives depended on them. Some women were trading sex for a Blackberry. The movie ‘Blackberry Babes‘ seemed to show a clear picture of just how far women went in order to own the latest Blackberries. Men who couldn’t trade sex for a Blackberry were doing all manner of criminal deeds to earn money for them. As the phone gained more acceptance, the Blackberry Internet Services (BIS) subscription also followed suit; after all, what was a Blackberry without subscription? Telecommunication companies made it easier and easier by reducing the subscription fee until it became very affordable. Even at that, many people had to starve themselves to subscribe. Many women who were serious snobs all month, would suddenly become cute and cuddly when they run out of subscription or were about to run out of it. I remember in school when male friends used to lie to their parents to get money for handouts and upkeep, only to subscribe for BIS as soon as the money came in. Let us also not forget the parties that were done with certain Blackberries as the pass or ticket; today a Bold 2, tomorrow a Bold 4. It got to an all-time high when, on meeting someone, one of the first questions asked was, ‘What is your pin?’ Oh! Woe betides you that you say you didn’t have one; the look you would get could melt a lesser person. Where did the craze come from? And why did we feel the need to copy? The first time I heard about the Blackberry phones was in a fiction novel, one whose name I cannot remember now. In that book, the lead character had an everyday phone for personal contacts and a Blackberry for his business deals. My first view of the phone was a device that could help business people connect and transact business. When Nigerians copied the United States and some of Europe, it wasn’t to foster business deals but to oppress one another. This oppression was so much that Blackberry officially announced its Nigerian market as one of the most thriving markets in Africa. It must have enacted a lot of laughs among the top brass of the company when their Nigerian users were notably unhappy about the sale of the BBM app to android phones. In spite of the entire online petition by Nigerians to maintain the exclusivity, BBM was still introduced to android phones. This should have been a clear warning to us that copying doesn’t help us in anyway and it sure doesn’t give us the right to change corporate decisions. When the Apple products came into the country, the same frenzy was seen; only much worse. People could do all types of crazy stuff to own an iPhone, iPad or a MacBook. The craze is still on! Reflect back to when the iPhone 6 came out? Ha! Crazy stuff! Another glaring way our people copy things is shown in our art; from music videos to movies to our fashion and more. We have seen cases where music artists have copied already existing videos when making theirs. This is a case clearly shown in the ‘Skelewu’ video of music artist, Davido; the one directed by Moe Musa is the one I’m talking about. It was an obvious rip-off of the ‘Party Rock‘ video by LMFAO and the movie ‘28 Days Later‘. The question that comes to mind is, ‘Do foreign music artists copy stuff?‘ The answer is yes! But do they do this as blatantly as Nigerian artists do? I wouldn’t be so sure. The same trend is seen with Nigerian movies that are just poor replicas of Hollywood and Bollywood movies. This is especially sad because our talents are now being exported to the world. What message are we sending?! Other ways where copying stuff has been glaring are with social media, and most predominantly, Twitter. A while ago, #FollowFridays was the rave. Timelines were flooded with people who were all too eager to jump on the follow wagon. Then came the #FollowBack wagon and then #TwitFights. Like candy given to children, the twit fights became so popular. The fights ranged from amateur to downright mean and dirty and it even had some people permanently deleting their twitter accounts. Protesters demand a return of the Chibok Girls who were abducted from their school on April 14, 2014.Image: Ayiba Magazine All of this was good and dandy until the abduction of the girls from Chibok took place and became an international issue. Many Nigerians were as unconcerned about those girls, as the President was. When human rights agencies brought it up and began talking about it, social media imploded. That was when Nigerians showed an iota of care. As soon as people saw Americans, Asians, Europeans and even Arabs holding up placards with the hashtag #BringBackOurGirls, Nigerians began to care. Or should we say, Nigerians love a good trending topic to jump on and they got one. It wasn’t long before trendsetters (or more appropriately, trend followers) put up pictures of themselves wearing somber expressions while carrying placards with #BringBackOurGirls boldly written on it. It also was no surprise that as soon as the international media got bored with 240 missing African (and worse, Nigerian) girls, we also copied their apathy. We followed through by forgetting the girls because it just wasn’t trending anymore. This attitude told other countries two things: as a nation, we were not bothered with what happened
Getting It Right With Arthritis
Photo by Ricardo Fontes Mendes on Unsplash by ABE ONCHE It creeps into your joints and plays havoc with your nerves, and at the worst times it keeps you up late at night. It leaves you spontaneously swelling, sapping your strength and before you know it, the simple joys of going down the stairs or pressing a remote control become a waking nightmare. You can hold off the call to your pastor, though. It’s no malevolent spirit, it’s more likely ARTHRITIS. What is Arthritis? This is a bit like asking a mechanic what is wrong with your suspension. Arthritis is a common term used to describe a joint disorder that features varying amounts of pain, reduced flexibility and dexterity, as well as fatigue. The tissues, muscles and bones of the joint all show varying signs of damage that worsen as the condition grows. There are several forms of arthritis that are classified for the specific characteristics that people exhibit. Is it genetic? How is it contracted? The major causes of arthritis are trauma to the affected joint, infection and aging. “Trauma” refers to differing degrees of injury that collectively lead to wear and tear within the joint. Infection, mostly by bacteria, is also capable of producing similar trauma to the joints. This damage features eroding the bone and tissue until they grind together like old gears. In infectious cases, called septic arthritis, damage to the joints is controlled by rapid detection and administering antibiotics. What are the predisposing/contributory factors? Obesity, sedentary living and a previous history of injury to the joints are the things that predispose people to arthritis. An unbalanced diet low in calcium has also been suggested among the culprits. Arthritis is mostly associated with older people, especially women, primarily due to the most common form called osteoarthritis which is coupled with decreased calcium retention in the onset of menopause. Women by the age of 60 tend to have some osteoarthritis, so when Mama starts to complain, you should listen. Osteoarthritis is less common in men, and almost rare in children. However, other forms of arthritis affect a much broader population, with notable examples like septic arthritis, rheumatoid arthritis, lupus and gout. Major symptoms of arthritis · Pain – all victims of arthritis suffer from pain in the joints · Swelling – more common in rheumatoid and gouty arthritis · Difficulty moving the joint/loss of full range of motion · Poor sleep and general discomfort What are the available treatment options/procedures? Diagnosis of arthritis is by clinical examination following a study of the history of the joint, and x-rays are likely to be performed. Recent research has been able to pinpoint biomarkers for rheumatoid arthritis. Think of them as Nature’s little red indicators that can help very early diagnosis. There is no cure for arthritis, so forget about popping pills and laying back. Arthritis is best handled by physical therapy and lifestyle changes. In more extreme cases, orthopedic braces are required and even surgery (a procedure called arthroscopy) can be performed but it is universally accepted that physical therapy is the most effective.
Side Chick II
People at an airport. To get acquainted with the story, read SIDE CHICK I here . This sequel was written by Abe Onche. Would the police be waiting for her? She wondered if she was wanted or not as she idly flipped the pages of her passport. With nothing but her hand luggage, she was intent on not staying too long in the airport. The busy streets of Lagos would welcome any stranger and it wouldn’t really be that hard to disappear. It was good to be home again. The humidity of Lagos was never to be missed, but still, it was more Nigerian than any other place in the country, and it was a perfect contrast to bring her memories of Paris bubbling back up to the surface, not unlike her last glass of champagne down by the Seine. More nerve-wracking than she’d admit, she approached the immigration workers who searched her with dull, tired cow eyes and waved her off. Well, not completely. There was one gentleman who seemed to focus on her for just a little too long, but she didn’t press the issue when he turned awkwardly away as she shot him “the look”. Toasters…Ugh. She had fifty-seven messages by the time she remembered to put her SIM back in her phone, though it wasn’t strange considering she had just up and left for two weeks. She spent most of the ride to the local terminal laughing over the myriad texts from her besties. They all thought she was dead, and she knew she would be once they found out she’d up and gone like a shot to the City of Lights. “Good thing I brought treats”, she chuckled. There were a few more serious text messages from her boss. The old lech must have been worried sick over where his golden goose had gone off to. No doubt he would have tried to reach…”him”…but Masha reckoned “he” wouldn’t have been entertaining too many calls considering the state she left him in. No…he wouldn’t be entertaining anything for a while. *** Port Harcourt was home, and Masha felt exactly that. She had managed to forget virtually everything that had happened in the past month, what with all the busybodies that surrounded her constantly. Her sisters were ecstatic going through her phone, cooing at all the selfies Masha had taken with the crème of Paris. It was a good thing her childhood homie had up and become a designer straight after secondary school; otherwise she might not have swung it. It was hell and a half to salvage any of the clothes she bought from them, but she laughed at the wardrobe nostalgia. Port Harcourt was turning out to be as much fun as she could have at home. Mildred and Zeke – Who-Must-Not-Be-Izzy, her BFFs, came in from Warri and spent a whole weekend catching up. They all skirted around Kaduna until she was ready to talk about it, but she never mentioned Nonso, or what he did to her… or what she did to him. She had buried it deep behind her smile, and it wasn’t that hard since she could get lost in the lives of everyone around her. They went to the cinema after one particularly slow morning though, and they relished the chance to see something new besides Masha. For some crazy reason, they had the hall all to themselves so they were more than happy to recline on the cushions, put their feet on the headrests and throw stale popcorn at each other. It was just like old time, with a little twist though. Mili and Zeke had apparently started dating when they met up in Warri, and they’d been dying for a chance to tell her in person. She’d seen it coming a mile away; they were so in love it was almost annoying. Whenever they looked at each other, they were so warm and fuzzy, they made her feel warm and fuzzy. She was happy for them, truly, but she couldn’t help thinking of herself, how she had been happy and now she wasn’t. “Mash! Snap out of it already! You’re zoning out again!” Mili poked a carefully lacquered fingernail gently into Masha’s cheek. “This is Houston calling Masha. Please respond.” “Careful.” Masha said, chuckling “I’ve seen people lose fingers like that.” “Oh puh-lease dear. If one finger is going to get you back from the twilight zone, then girl, there is a reason Zeke here has ten.” ‘Hey!’ Zeke quipped. ‘I need these too y’know. Who’s going to play the piano on Sunday?” “Sunday” made something lurch in Masha’s stomach. Like some kind of password, it rushed blood to her face and suddenly she felt oven hot and clustered as though she were in a boiler room. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. Zeke and Mili were chatting on, oblivious of what was happening to her. She did her best to zone them out, trying to focus on breathing. Then like a surge, memories began to flash in her head, conversations with Annie, being at Our Family Church, the choir over and over again, singing the same songs, the voice of the pastor talking about priorities, Annie bringing more membership forms, loading up the bus on Kaduna road, the prayer sessions….the speaking in tongues, the kabashing, droning on endlessly in her head…Nonso kneeling in front of the bed, praying…naked Nonso kneeling…Nonso getting on the bed, touching her…Nonso tied on the bed…his eyes focused, his mouth moving with no words coming out…the knife in her hand…Nonso in her hand… “MASHA, CUT IT OUT!” “Jesus!!” she yelled out loud, nearly jumping out of her seat. She turned to Mili and Zeke, who stared at her as pale faced as two Africans could be. “Mash, what the hell is wrong with you?” Zeke’s tone told her he was in problem solving mode and she knew the jig was up. An interrogation was bound to happen. “We have to go,” she said. *** “WHAT WERE
Terror In The Dark
Scared black man.Image: Naijaloaded This is based on real events… Bashir jutted out of bed! 2:46am. He stilled himself and listened. There it was again! There was no mistaking the sharp grating noise of someone trying to open his gate. His instinct was to jump out of bed and confront the person, but common sense (mixed with a healthy dose of fear) prevented him from doing so. He tip-toed to his window instead. Heart in mouth, he raised the curtain slightly. Four men. All holding sticks and machetes. Not too burly, but with those weapons, they looked like giants. Bashir turned back. In the darkness of his room, he couldn’t really see much but he was acutely aware of the sleeping form of Aisha – his fiancée – who had come over for a sleep-over. His heart leaped into his mouth. What would they do to her? He couldn’t bear to picture it…them…over her…holding her down…NO! Now he knew real fear! ‘Who is there?!’ His father shouted. Like most Muslim Northerners, Bashir lived in the same compound as his family; living in a separate apartment to give his family space, but close enough to protect them if the need arose. The need had risen! ‘Who is there I said?’ His father hollered at the intruders. ‘Your Father!‘ One of the men hollered. ‘You in for it!’ At that, Aisha jumped out of bed. ‘Go down baby.’ Bashir whispered before drawing up air into his lungs for a good ole scream. His sisters beat him to the punch. ‘Thieves! Thieves! Thieves!’ Bashir quickly joined in the shouts as Aisha dove straight for the tiles. Though all the men were heading to the main house, one turned towards Bashir’s apartment, with his upraised machete. Bashir ran to the spot beneath his clothes hanger and coiled up in a ball, not knowing if the assailant had any fire power. He didn’t make the slightest sound, though the thumping of his heart was deafening. He hoped it wouldn’t give his location away to his assailant. The robber opened the window of his sitting room and flashed his torchlight. ‘No one is here.’ he shouted to his colleagues. He tried the bedroom window but it was firmly bolted from within. All the while, Bashir’s sisters, mother and father kept shouting that there were thieves in the house. The shouts reached a crescendo when neighbors in other compounds joined in the screams. Bashir got up and started towards the curtain again, only to be plumped down by Aisha. ‘Don’t go there baby!’ She whispered hoarsely, her fear palpable. He pried her off him, trying very hard not to be rough. ‘I just need to find out if they are still here.’ Aisha wouldn’t listen to anything. She kept pulling him down when he tried to get up, refusing to let him put himself in harm’s way. Bashir’s phone rang. There was that moment of frozen silence just before Aisha grabbed the device in a fear-frenzy, trying all her best to end the call. Bashir grabbed the phone from her hand and answered it. The look Aisha gave him (as reflected by the soft glow of the phone) could have quelled a lesser man. He turned away from her and… ‘Hello?’ he all but croaked. Aisha was beyond livid. How could he receive a call in the middle of a robbery? She wanted to slap the sense into him, but she was powerless to do anything. ‘Did they enter your house too?’ he asked the caller, whom Aisha was really beginning to loathe. Bashir listened a bit. ‘Okay…I think they have gone but please, keep calling the police men.’ He listened again. ‘Okay. Thanks man. I owe you one.‘ he said as he ended the call. This time, he got up and went to the curtain. He looked through and couldn’t find anyone. He stood at different angles, using the moon’s guide to search the length and breadth of the compound. Still no one. He knew that it would be fallacy to think they had gone. He remained in his room and listened for any foot falls. There were none. Bashir went back to Aisha. He touched her and felt her jump a bit. ‘It is okay baby. I think they are gone.’ ‘How can you know that?’ ‘I don’t. But I’ve checked all around and I can’t seem to find them. They cannot afford to still be around, especially with the community shouts for help. The police have got to be on their way soon. So…let’s hope for the best.’ Aisha was still skeptical, but she allowed herself to be pulled into his arms as he pulled her into bed. As they laid together, they could both hear their hearts thumping in their respective cages and that seemed to pull them closer. They held each other, urging the other to sleep but not dispelling the adrenaline fast enough to allow that. They were scared, but they at least had each other. *** The ruckus outside jolted Bashir from his sleep. 3:52am. He heard a slight scuffle. Aisha was up like a lightning bolt. She had not slept, listening for the slightest sound and worrying to no end. It seemed like the robbers had returned with reinforcements. The gate was kicked in and five men in the Nigerian army uniform bust into the house. One quickly went into the recesses of the compound, while the others placed themselves strategically around. Though Aisha couldn’t see all that, she quickly went to the floor. ‘Come out.’ One of the men bellowed. Aisha started praying. She felt like this was going to be her last day on earth. It wasn’t surprising when no one responded. One of the men went up the stairs and banged the door. ‘Come out!’ Bashir had already made up his mind that he wasn’t going to respond when he heard his father open the door. He quickly went to his own door and opened it. He had to protect his
Bleaching To Fit In
Bleaching Skin.Image: The Inquisitr. Brazilian hair? Check. Painted lips? Check. Heavy make-up? Check Chunky jewelry? Check Super high heels? Check And above all, bleached skin? Check. Welcome to the new trend of the ‘perfect woman’. Add an hour glass figure to that and you complete the look. No wonder there are more ‘fair’, painted-lipped, overly made up, Brazilian-hair-carrying, big-bag toting and high-heeled wearing women in society today than in any other time in our history. The Brazilian hair might not be too much of a problem if some of the carriers do not dry out their accounts acquiring the look. Even though weaves are no longer as expensive as they were when they first came out, and the brothers from the southern part of the country have devised versions that are far more affordable for the everyday woman, they are still quite expensive. However, the Brazilian tresses are really not a problem. The painted lips are also not a problem, unless your lips are really thick and you are choosing red or bright pink. You know those colors make your already full lips fuller. There are also as many designers and ‘designers’ as there are shades of red and pink, so picking one that is affordable wouldn’t be too much of a problem. At the end of the day, all you need to get rid of it is wipe it off before going to bed. The chunky jewelries and high heels can be removed also, though your neck, waist and thighs might be the worse for it. The same goes for heavy make-up, as there are many make-up removal wipes, jellies and creams for all skin types. What cannot be reversed, undone, removed, taken off, etc is the bleached skin. Unlike make-up, borrowed tresses and red lipstick, a bleached skin cannot be unbleached. It is a permanent change that may or may not be detrimental to your life. Uneven bleached Skin.Image: CNN In spite of this knowledge, many black and brown women can’t wait to bleach their skin. They even go beyond whitening their skin to encouraging *read bullying* other women to do same. Take Dencia for example. Dencia is the new definition of the ‘perfect woman’: long tresses, unnaturally fair skin, mostly red or pink lips, hour-glass figure, toting big bags and strutting in impossible high heel. Add her ‘fame’ from her music career (though, none of her songs readily comes to mind), her modeling gigs and her now infamous spot removing cream, and she becomes the poster child for skin bleaching. And the more she is brought up in the media, the more young women feel she is the role model for the physical perfection that they seek. Her entire outlook may not a problem in itself if it was a simple case of make-up and fake hair. But it goes beyond that. The issue of skin bleaching has been on the front burner for many years now. Africans have felt a growing need to lighten their skin color because of thousands of years of physical, emotional and psychological slavery and abuse from the colonialists. The media subtly (and sometimes directly) says that ‘lighter is better’. As a result, many Africans want to ‘dilute’ or completely erase the melanin in their skins to fit into a more acceptable tone. So Africans with skin tone like Mariah Carey are treated much better than those who look like Alek Wek or even Khoudia Diop. Many don’t care that in spite of their skin tone, all these women are black and descendants of Africans. A mix of the races has resulted in a broad spectrum of glorious melanin goodness. Rather than bask in our varying shades of awesomeness, we put on hats of self-hate and depreciation and sometimes, transfer that hate unto others. It isn’t surprising that statements such like, ‘he has a dirty black skin’ or ‘she will be more beautiful if she was fairer’ are tossed around with no holds barred. This has led many dark skinned Africans to feel unattractive, unappealing, and unwanted. Shades of Us.Image: Yahoo Entertainment. On the other hand, people with bleached skin are super sensitive when they are questioned about their light skin, as was seen by the blatant display put on by Dencia on the Channel 4 interview. She went there angry and to a major part, ignorant of so many issues. Rather than calmly respond to the questions she was asked, she kept jumping down the throat of the interviewer and the second interviewee. The height of her ignorance was shown to the world when she said it wasn’t her business if a person thought their whole skin was one dark spot. In that statement, she showed how insecure her former skin color had made her feel and at the same time, told how her new skin color hadn’t given her the self-confidence she thought it would. While she has said that what she does with her body is no one’s business but hers (one cannot help but totally agree with her), it became everybody’s business when she packaged her low self-esteem and told the world to buy into it. Though it is easier to follow the crowd, maybe it is high time women realize that they do not need to do so to look (and be) beautiful. We have to tell ourselves that we are beautiful just the way we are. This is reminiscent of something a pastor said when addressing the single ladies in church. She asked if women looked at themselves in the mirror. Most of the ladies snickered but replied in the affirmative. She then went on to ask how many of the ladies looked at themselves while in the nude. Most ladies felt uncomfortable and looked everywhere but at the speaker. They thought that was not church discussion and were totally not cool with her asking that question. She then went on to tell them that she dealt with lots of issues surrounding her physical attributes and whenever those insecurities came up,
On Flawed Leadership And Stunted Growth
Employees playing a game of Chess.Image: Pexels.com Have you ever worked for someone whom you knew is less intelligent than you are and whose vision is so myopic that it cannot really be called that? Have you had to deal with leaders who stifle your capabilities and reach just because they cannot see beyond the rim of their glasses? Is it frustrating when you cannot move as fast as the world is moving because your boss is stuck in the past? If your answer is yes to all this, then the club of frustrated employees welcomes you with open arms. More companies are springing up with little or no respect for basic work ethics. Anyone who has some extra money thinks that they need to expand their sphere of influence by owning businesses. This is good because, in an economy where most young people are without jobs, it reduces the spate of unemployment and even facilitates growth and development. While this may be good when these companies have clearly defined visions and structures, it is a hell of problem when they don’t. Employees of such organizations see their offices as a means to end; the end being the take-home pay. As a result of this, many of these employees are without focus and sometimes, direction. They go through the motions every day and go home either unfulfilled or indifferent. These employees are not to blame; the leaders of their organizations are. A leader is supposed to be innovative; a person who thinks outside the box. In fact, a leader should believe that there is no box and (s)he should be able to translate that same belief to the people who follow him and who work for/with him. Steve Jobs might have been the one known on the Apple Incorporated platform, but all the great ideas didn’t come from just him. His leadership style made the Apple Company far bigger than most of its other competitors. When employees can see that their leader is very innovative and open to creative thinking, they will either follow suit or be booted out! This has ensured that the Apple brand is a brand that is built to last and to remain on top of its game. That company isn’t so much about the intelligence of the employees, but more to do with the strength of its leadership. Business man working.Image: Pexels.com The story was told of a man who had traveled from his home county and was away for about twenty years. When he returned home, he decided to take a drive round town to see what had changed. While driving, he came across a derelict building that housed his county’s only restaurant. Out of nostalgia, he drove into the parking lot and decided to go in. As soon as he stepped in, it seemed like he has gone into a time capsule. The restaurant was exactly the same; from the black and white checkered table tops and floors, to the faded yellow and green curtains, the heavy jowls of the proprietor behind the counter and the slightly off smell of baked goods and food. It was said that he sat down to eat and was served by the same maid, only difference being that she was older and heavier around her mid region. He could have sworn that the meal tasted exactly the same and it was while he was eating that the idea came to him. When he left the restaurant, he called up business associates and outlined how his home county was a good place for investment. After one year, he had built the most state-of-the-art restaurant anyone had ever seen. He employed big shot chefs, made massive campaigns and generally set the town abuzz with news of the new restaurant. The restaurant was divided into three: a section for pastries, chocolates, ice creams, shakes and cakes; another for local dishes from within the country; a third section with delicacies from countries abroad. His management team decided to create job opportunities for the people of the county. Soon, the restaurant began to employ mechanics, welders, masons, and other charlatans to come cook meals. The chefs eventually got tired of trying to teach them what needed to be done and so, they left: one after the other. Soon, the restaurant was run by people who had no idea how to cook, bake or do anything related to food. The facility gradual began to go to waste. The meals got messier and messier and even the food art that was characteristic of the restaurant began to dwindle. The owner came again into town after some years and when he went to inspect his facility, he was in utter shock! The restaurant looked anything but impressive. The foreign dish section was an exact replica of the local dish section; serving the same local dishes. What was worse was that the menu was exactly the same with the first restaurant of the town and since the first restaurant was better at doing their thing, patronage of his restaurant had dwindled. In six years, his dream had been reduced to rubble. None of his business ventures had failed except this one. He was reported to have called a meeting of his management team and when he brought up the issues he had with them, the management had the effrontery to say, ‘The people do not understand the new dishes. And since they were already used to what the town was offering, we decided to just give them what they were used to’. The owner was reported to have smiled and in summary, dismissed his entire management team. He knew that when things didn’t work, the leader was more to blame than the employees. Leadership is more than position. It has to do with seeing the potential in opportunities, maximizing the possibilities of imagination, influencing people to follow you and your idea and consistently ensuring that you are at least one step ahead of your competition
Side Chick
Woman Screaming.Image: Politics and Fashion Masha Agada got into her car and finally screamed. She had just calmly walked out of her boyfriend’s…no, ex-boyfriend’s house, after telling him it was over. She was shaking vigorously as she gripped the steering wheel. The tears were seconds away from cascading down her eyes, but she had promised she wouldn’t let any man see her cry, especially not the jerk called Nonso. Well…she could cry now; in the comforts of her car. But she wasn’t going to! She gulped in air and tried to steady her nerves. When her heart rate wasn’t shooting off the roof anymore, she put the key in the ignition and slowly pulled out of the street. *** Masha was new to town. She had been transferred by her bank to the Kaduna office in Kakuri. Unlike most people, Masha relished the transfer to Kaduna. She had wanted to leave Port Harcourt and all the drama she had accrued; from the fiancé who had shattered her heart when she caught him cheating, to finding out her boss whom she held in high regards was stealing from the bank. And even though she was one of the hardest working marketers in the bank, her refusal to have sex with many clients meant she often couldn’t meet her monthly target of ₦50 million. It was the perfect excuse for her boss. When he initiated and approved her transfer, it was so he could keep his secret. So when Masha heard Kaduna, she jumped at the opportunity; even though she knew no one there. When Masha finally resumed in Kaduna, she was welcomed with very open arms. It seemed people were falling all over themselves to be friends with her. She quickly felt at home. After her first week at work, she asked one of her colleagues – Annie – about the churches in town. Annie attended Our Family Church and invited Masha to check it out. Masha agreed. On Sunday, she was dressed in her fashion-best and ready to enjoy a great service. When she pulled into the parking lot of the church, she was welcomed with bright smiles and effusive hugs. Masha felt overwhelmed! She hadn’t known church could be such a warm, welcoming place! What part of the world had she been living in?! When she finally entered the church, she gasped in pure delight because the interior decoration was perfect! As the service proceeded, Masha drank in the exuberance of the choir, the message, the way they welcomed new comers and the general atmosphere of service. At the end of service, Masha had decided she was going to be a member of the church. She asked for membership forms and filled them out. When Masha got home that day, she knew she had found a new home. *** After six months undergoing membership training, Masha finally became a full church member. She quickly joined the church choir and totally gave herself to the community. Masha had a triangle of movement: home, work, church, and back home again. Her social life was her church and most times, she only went home to sleep. It wasn’t long before the church started buzzing about the new girl and her dedication to the things of God. With her growing fame, so were her suitors. All types of men came her way. She always turned them down because, for the most part, they were lacking in something she truly desired: better knowledge about God than she had. Most of the men just didn’t quite hit the mark. Many were willing to compromise on issues and most especially on sex. It wasn’t like she was a virgin; she had just made a commitment to God to not have sex again until she was married! So when ‘brothers’ couldn’t get her resolve, she dropped them from her friend list faster than they could holler ‘Hallelujah!’ She deftly parried the advances of the single guys until the day she met Nonso. *** Nonso was not Masha’s dream man. He was short, not conventionally handsome, and had his facial features burned by acne. When he talked, saliva gathered at the edges of his lips. He also walked funny: something that would have been suave with a taller man, but seemed weird with him. What he lacked in physical looks, he more than made up with his voice. When he spoke, he could turn heads and melt hearts. He would have made a great public speaker, but he chose a career in real estate. He was the chief consultant at one of the leading real estate firms, with a knack for ‘sniffing’ what property would rake in millions. He was invaluable to his firm. In church, he maintained an aloof distance, saying he couldn’t be in any department because he was too busy. And because it was a fast-growing church, no one noticed him. When he walked up to Masha, she was ready to brush him off with a quick smile and a harried ‘Hello’ when his voice stopped her in her tracks. Masha was not impressed with his command of English because he tended to use big words where small ones could do. She stayed talking to him only because of the quality of his voice. When she eventually left him, she was glad he hadn’t asked for her number. She just didn’t have the time for men. *** When Masha got called to her boss’ office on Monday, she was not ready for what he was about to dish. ‘So…heard of Barkley’s Real Estate?’ he asked. Masha nodded her head to one side, thinking. ‘Only vaguely.‘ ‘Well, they are the biggest real estate company in the North, with headquarters here. We have been trying to get them to bank with us, to no avail.’ From the tone of his voice, it was easy to see how much he had tried. Masha, thoughtful, replied. ‘Okay…let me study their portfolio and see what strategy we can use to lure them in.’ Her
