I just couldn’t wait for the long-due lecture to be over. The sun was burning ferociously in the sky on this faithful Friday and the old, boring barrister deemed it fit to extend his usual credit hour from two to four, all in the name of wanting to cover the syllabus so we could have enough time to revise and do personal studies for the exams. For crying out loud, the semester was just beginning (in fact, we were in its third week) and the silly old man said he had to cover the syllabus of a thirteen-week long term, today. Was he nuts? That had to be the final straw that would break his back. Surely, we would petition for his removal. After all, they taught us to be outspoken. If only the topics he chose to treat would agree to sink into our thick skulls (no, they wouldn’t. Not the quic quid plantator solo solo cedi rule); if only the class wasn’t as jam-packed as sardine…; if only the PHCN didn’t hold power at that moment; if only some block-head didn’t spoil the already stuffy atmosphere with his clumsy, foul mess (or could it be a hers…no, it’s got to be a his. Too powerful. Now, nobody would breathe comfortably); if only the Grand Lords who sat at the back would stop murmuring…; if only Fadekemi was here… My unsettled spirit caused my eyes to rove. All I could see were sad faces, hungry faces, haggard faces, depressed faces, angry faces…especially that of Abayomi Olakunle a.k.a Fa-in boy.

It was almost five and he had plans for the weekend which he would have loved to start setting in motion long ago, but no, the pathetic old man wouldn’t let him leave the class. And then, there was Titilayo Chris-Ogundare a.k.a happening babe. Her usual chubby cheeks (due to the act of chewing gum) looked flattened and depressed. Her pack of Chinese bubble gum had been exhausted, and the monster before her kept pointing every question to her section of the class. She knew it wouldn’t be long before he picked her. And how right she was! The wrinkled, scrawny fingers of the lecturer stretched over the crowd, like Moses’ staff over the red sea, pointing at her.

“Titi, how do we reconcile the equitable doctrine of laches and acquiescence with that of the quic quid plantator solo solo cedi rule?”

We all knew doom was beckoning… for barrister Anazodo Okereke. Titi was bound to flare up. And she did…okay, almost did. I instantly became oblivious of the happenings in class when I noticed that the daughter of Jezebel, Clara Uwaifo had been starring unflinchingly at me. What a beautiful name for a bitchy hippie! Whoever said the devil couldn’t fall in love had a cryptogram here to fix.

Clara, Clara…daughter of the great senator, Fidel Uwaifo; born in Rivers State, had primary education at Ibadan, high school in the U.K and back to Nigeria with a pop star wannabe hair-do to study Law because her dad said so; and says she’s in love with ME! For the love of Billy the goat, a hippie in love with me! I got to know about her obsession with me from rumours spreading round. I had laughed over it with Fadekemi as a silly joke, but when I got a flower from her on February 14, I knew my nightmares were becoming a reality.

And then a card (with some love song from King Solomon); and later a Gucci branded wristwatch, followed by diamond encrusted bracelets. At first, I had thought they were mere friendly gestures, but lo and behold, when I got the keys to a Rolls Royce from her as a ‘token’ from her dad for the love we shared, I knew the water had gone over the bridge. We? How? Love? When? Gently, like a good boy, I returned every pin she ever gave me (to the disapproval of my guys) and told her to stop taking that crap or whatever it was she smoked because it had obviously distorted her reasoning and sense of human understanding. When was there ever a ‘we’ not to talk more of there existing the L-word? Gosh, I thought she was trying to play a fast one, until I saw her break down and literally cry her eyes out, swearing to kill herself (as if I cared) if I didn’t love her in return. I then knew she was actually nuts. Now, she’s giving me that witchy glance from across her seat…

My mind darted to Fadekemi. She was my best, best friend. We grew up together in the same compound, but encountered different life experiences. My best friend has actually seen the devil himself, I mean hell. Her father was a habitual drunk who abandoned her now late mother when she was only two. Her mother, who suffered from severe emotional and physical trauma was diagnosed of cancer three years later. After battling with the dreaded monster disease for eight years (her breasts were cut off, her scalp gradually lost its hair, her pockets drained of money from exorbitant treatment) she finally died in her sleep. At thirteen, Kemi left our yard to stay with her divorced uncle, who was a wolf in sheep clothing. Not only did he subject her to dehumanizing treatments, he also had his way with her. He raped her! Afterwards, her pastor took her in since she had no one to turn to. Not another uncle, or aunt or relative, none. The court case with her uncle fell through for want of substantive corroboration!

“So you have the temerity to tell me you have no idea?!” the angry words of barrister Anazodo broke into my thoughts. He was obviously referring to the carefree Titi who took a decade to stand up only to say she didn’t understand a bit of what the lecturer had been pouring.

Earlier in the week Fadekemi told me she had finally succumbed to the pressure of her man, Chike. Chike is one cool, charming , lovable chap from the department of medicine who had trailed my best friend for over two sessions. Kemi had been sceptical about men (not after her bizarre childhood experiences) but Chike was one fellow who had refused to be put off by her determined resolution. Last semester, she gave him the nod and both started dating. Against my advise, Kemi told me they had tried the bed exercise on Monday night after a couple of drinks and overpowering persuasion by Chike. Two days ago, she complained of having nauseating feelings, and vomited a couple of times, afterwards. Naturally, eyebrows would raise and the P-word would become too heavy to suggest.

Today, she couldn’t be in school because her condition was getting serious. I had suggested she see a doctor, and we agreed to go together when I was back from school. I fear for my friend. She’s had enough of punches from life already and getting heavy now, after just one silly mistake would be too much a punishment. We are in the ultimate class and will be due for Law School soon. How would she cope? How would her adopted clergy parents receive the news? How about her late mother? How would she react in the grave? No, my friend can’t be heavy. Maybe, she’s only got malaria.

“And that will be all for the semester,” the barrister announced. “Good luck in your exams!”

“Shurrup jo!” the Grand Lords whispered from behind.

The announcement was a huge relief to everyone. We just couldn’t wait to hit the road. Just as I got out of my seat to escape encountering the daughter of Jezebel, my phone rang. Kemi. She must be pretty worried.

“Hi,” I placed the phone in my ear and said. “Am on my way. We’re just done with class.”

From the sound of her weak, fragile voice I could surmise all was but well. “We can make it to the clinic before dark,” I said.

“I…I already did – that that,” she whispered back.

My heart skipped a bit. “So? What’s the news? Are you pregnant? Please say no.”

She hesitated, then whimpered, sniffed and said, “Yes, I’m pregnant.”

Jesus! I felt my skin flare before my eyes. That’s terrible. But I tried holding back my emotions so I wouldn’t cry more than the idiomatic bereaved. As I searched for words of encouragement, she dropped the bombshell.

“ And …and…HI V positive too.”

This conclusion shattered my confidence and my bones felt weak at the joint. Two lines of tears trickled down my cheeks and I stood lost for words. And that was the last time I heard from my friend who didn’t return home afterwards. At the moment, I don’t know what to do or what to say if by dumb luck, we stumbled on each other. And that was the last thing I remember of that particular day. I woke up in the hospital after the call. Reason? After the call, I turned around only to be accosted by the daughter of Jezebel who insisted on spending the whole day with me. Of course, I fainted.



PS: This story of mine was published in the 1st edition of Degree 360 Magazine, as far back as 2010. Ignore every grammatical or typographical blunders you noticed. I have come a long way since then. Please.

I have joined the Internet Big Boys

namecheapI am glad to announce that I have now joined the league of Internet Big Boys.

You may be wondering what I am on about now. Well, I have finally been able to map my domain ( on WordPress. Prior to now, my blog url was . Too long and boring, right? I know. I know. On January 15, 2014, I wrote a blogpost on the importance of getting a custom domain. You can read that post here: It is titled “5 Things Every Serious Writer Should Do in 2014”. After writing that, I proceeded to register the domain on Namecheap in 2014, but I was unable to map same to WordPress so it could become functional. For my readers who are like me and aren’t that techie techie, let me break down some words I have used so far. Words like “url” “domain” and “map”. I’ll try to do that like the amateur that I am, so please, all ye internet nerdy guys who know “wazup”, don’t laugh at me.

A URL stands for Uniform Resource Locator. It is your internet address.

A domain on the other hand, is also an internet address, only that this time, it is a unique internet address.

Let’s use car plate numbers to illustrate. Every car owner has a general plate number recognized and issued by the State, say “DV 279 KJA” in Nigeria. Every plate number must have the first set of two alphabets, followed by numbers, and then, three alphabets. Everyone with a car has a “URL” in this sense. But the Big boys who want to stand out from the crowd, go ahead to customize their plate numbers. For example, you change from “DV 279 KJA” to “KING WIZZY” when you hit your first billion. In this sense, you’ve got a customized “domain”.

To “Map” a domain basically means to re-direct, say, your old plate number to your new plate number whilst maintaining the same car. Whilst you register your custom domain on one platform (Namecheap for me), you may want another platform to host that domain (WordPress). Don’t get me wrong; you can buy and host a domain on one platform. If you do this, there would be no need to “map”, but if you use different platforms (to register and then, to host), you would need to “map” your domain so that, your customized domain will become functional. I chose to use different platforms. Want to know why? Bring your ear closer. *Whispers* I heard it is cheaper that way. Now, whether this is true or not as at today, I don’t really know. But back then, it used to be true. I checked.

Okay, I just checked again. It is still true. Registering a .com domain on Namecheap is about $11 (for the least package). Hosting that domain on Namecheap’s cheapest package is about $10 for the first year, and about $39 for yearly renewal. So for a first timer, you would pay about $21 (to register and host only), but to renew, you would pay about $50 (if my calculation is correct). But if you choose different platforms to register the domain and host(say Namecheap to register and WordPress to host), this is what you will have to pay. Getting the .com domain on Namecheap cost about $11. Mapping it to your WordPress account/blog cost $13 on WordPress. Put together, that’s about $24.

Whew! Now that we have got that out of the way…

I was saying I tried mapping my Namecheap registered domain ( to WordPress in 2014 to no avail. The reason I could not map same to WordPress was because my Nigerian debit card was declined by WordPress on several occasions. They weren’t accepting cards from Nigeria (I think) and I did not have a Paypal account. I talked about it in this post. Two years after that, on January 01, 2016, I wrote another blogpost titled: “2016: The Year We Break Things?” In that post, I blogged about having a registered domain which could not be mapped. So I had a situation where I had a registered and paid-for domain (, but I could not utilize same because my preferred host, WordPress, rejected my Nigerian debit card. The domain ( expired last year ( 2015) and I renewed it for another year on Namecheap – of course, paying another sum for that. So, for two years, I paid for a domain I was not utilizing.

You might be wondering why I kept paying for and reserving a domain ( I was not utilizing. Well, there is something unique about that domain. At least to me. For one, since I started this niche blogging in 2012, I started with ( I felt the “writes” added to my name “Harold” perfectly portrayed what and who I am all about. I love making up stuff with words, even if most of the times, the things I “write” end up staying in my head. Or my heart. I could be on a romantic date and I’ll be making up a story in my head – a story inspired by my date’s terrible make up. Or the Pastor could be preaching on a Sunday morning and I may not be able to stop thinking about how his shinny red tie would be the perfect metaphor for a story. So yeah, I love making up stuff with words (be they written or just thought-up). When the time came for me to settle for a URL name that best described me (I had operated several other aimless blogs in the past), it was not hard to pick “”. When the time also came for me to pick a custom domain, you could imagine the only one on my mind. WordPress offered me personal options like “” but I kissed my index and middle fingers and told them “Peace”.

“We go see. Make e be.”

So today, for some weird reason, I saw myself going through my WordPress dashboard and I saw the “Domain” bar (as I always do). For some weirder reason, I decided to once again, try my luck at mapping my already registered Namecheap Domain. To my utter surprise, it worked. So Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, my new blog URL: . The old URL ( still works, though. Any search to that URL will redirect to . Let me go and edit the “About Me” page on all my social media platforms to reflect my new blog address. I have now joined the league of Internet Big Boys. I’m just waiting for the money to start raking in to solidify my Big Boy Status.


PS: I feel like a Million Dollar Star. I once read that having your own custom domain made people revere you more; like you were some sort of correct guy or something. *smokes invisible Cuban cigar*

Follow me on Twitter: @haroldwrites


Instagram: Instagram/HaroldWrites

The Random Girl

young man on call“Salaam-Alaikum!”

“Wrong number.”


“Wrong number.”


“Wrong number.”

That must have been the one millionth time he would be saluting me over the phone. And each time he did, I would respectfully tell him he had got the wrong number. But no, his call would wake me up by 3:00am the next day and all he had to say was Salaam-Alaikum.


It was a hectic day at work; Femi and my humble self had just attended an exhausting meeting with a demanding client and we were on our way back to the office when Femi decided to conduct a quick transaction at the Bank. Femi was our Senior Account Officer and he needed to pay the contractors who had come to do some structural adjustments to our office space the other day. Whilst he proceeded to the banking hall at the third floor to make the transfer to the contractor’s account, I waited patiently for him in the banking hall downstairs. This particular hall was designed for low scale transactions. And as was usually the case, this hall was crowded. Tellers sat at their respective counters, attending to all and sundry.

As I sat in my seat, I could not help but notice the faces of everyone who came into the bank. Each face told a tale. Some were tales of expectations, others were tales of frustration. Then I saw this particular young, beautiful female face which bore both tales. I could see the young face wanted something and the face was sad that it did not get what it wanted. It was such a disheartening sight. I could have sworn it was the most beautiful, sad female face I had ever seen, but that would be a lie because I have a girlfriend who is the most beautiful woman in the world and I have seen her sad a few times. So yes, this particular face was beautiful and sad on this day – just like my girl’s on a few occasions. And my God, she was shapely too!

So, what does a busyless young man who was sitting in a crowded banking hall do with a sad beautiful face that reminded him of his girl? Brighten her up.

The lie I told myself for deciding to hit on another woman: help brighten her up.


She is sad and the only reason God put you on this earth is to come be her saviour and help relieve her of her sadness. When you were formed in your mother’s womb, God already knew that, a day would come when you would meet a young sad woman in a banking hall and it would be your God-ordained duty to make her happy.


So, I stood up from my seat and started approaching my God-ordained target. She had just been attended to by the Teller at the counter and apparently, he gave her some bad news. Maybe she wanted to make some withdrawals from her account but she did not have sufficient balance. God forbid that this was the reason for her sadness. I did not have a kobo to spare on a random stranger, irrespective of her beauty and shape.

Before I could make my way through the crowd to where she was standing, she had already made her way out of the banking hall and into the street.

Do I go after her? What if Femi finishes with his transaction upstairs and cannot find me?

Prior to today, it had been eons since I last chased after a random girl in public. What do I say to her?

Hi. I saw you a while ago and I like you. I think you look like Esther in the Bible …Can I have your number?

Please “Epp” me.

Just like that?

Well, today was the day I found out if I still had it in me. The thing about staying faithful in a committed relationship is that you begin to lose your “market” ratings.

So, I decided to go after this young beautiful woman. The closer I got to her, the farther she walked. She turned into the next street, and then the one after that and the one after that. I walked some distance behind her, buying time and calculating what I would say when I met her. I did not want to come out as some stalker – which obviously I was fast becoming.

She walked into a “business centre” complex. I waited at the gate of the complex, my head bowed, thinking my game was up. There was no way I would walk into the business centre with her, to start my silly misguided chat. Not with the crowd of people that were likely to be at the centre.

As I pondered over what could have been, I saw her walk right out of the business centre and headed for the gate where I stood. This was my chance.

As she got to the gate, I decided to be the man my father thought I was and stopped her in her tracks.

“Hi,” I said in my most upper-class accent.

She looked at me with puzzled eyes.

“Sorry for doing this,” I said, licking my upper lip. There was something about licking one’s upper lip when talking, especially if one is a guy. I had heard girls find it attractive. “I saw you in the banking hall a while ago and I thought that …umm…”

“You were at the bank?”

“Umm, yeah.” I said, smiling sheepishly.

“And you followed me here?”

The smile drained from my face.

“Before I could walk up to you in the banking hall, you had already left,” I said, a little flustered. “Umm, hi, I am Michael. I noticed you in the banking hall and there was this part of me which longed to talk to you.”

I waited for her aggressive and cold response. Even I was not convinced by my own pick-up line. It sounded jaded and off-point.

There was this part of me which longed to talk to you? That should be the worst pick up line she had ever heard.

To my surprise, she smiled at my attempt at being cool. She smiled beautifully. She smiled beautifully at me.

I smiled back.

“A part of you longed to talk to me?” she re-echoed with dimpled cheeks. Her dimples were flawless.


“What part of you is that?”

“My heart. My heart longed to talk to you.”

“Wow,” she said, almost inaudibly. I could see she was impressed. “And you came all this way…”

“To talk to you,” I completed her statement, squinting my eyes. Sexy as mad. “But I can see you are somewhat in a hurry… If you don’t mind, I would like to have your number so I can tell you later in the day, what my heart has got to say.”

The guts.

I could not believe I had just asked for her number. I, who was in a committed relationship, had just hit on a random woman and asked for her number.

“Oh, umm,” she stuttered. “Umm, okay. Can I have your phone?”

I gave her my phone and she keyed in her digits.

“And…. you will be?” I asked.

“Christabel. Christabel Ugo.”

“Christabel Ugo, right. You looked a little disturbed at the banking hall…”

“Yes, I wanted to pay my tuition fees but I was told my school did not have an account with the Bank. I just got an admission into the National Open University and I have to pay my fees today as today is the deadline.”

“Oh, so what are you going to do now?”

“I came to the business centre to get some information from the school website about another Bank…”

“Ah, I see. Any luck?”

“Yes, fortunately for me, the school has an account with another bank just down this road. I must really be on my way now.”

“Oh yes, you must. Thank you for your time and I’ll give you a call…”

“My phone is switched off at the moment..”

“I’ll call later.”

And with that, the second most beautiful female face I had seen walked away.

As I rushed back to the bank, I tried to dial Christabel’s number so it could be stored on my phone call log. I would save the number later.

Just as I dialled the call icon, I lost network connection on my phone for a split second. That split second proved to be costly as, my phone did not store the call attempt in the call log. The hairs on my neck stood, my face became red and I started sweating. All my efforts had just gone with the wind.

But I would not give up so easily. I decided to go around the street, searching for any bank. I saw a few and quickly scanned their banking halls but Christabel was not in any. After about twenty minutes without success, I gave up and headed back to the bank where Femi was already waiting for me in the car at the car park just in front of the bank.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“I came out to use the bank’s ATM but it was not dispensing cash, so I decided to use another bank’s just down the road,” I answered as I searched for “Christabel Ugo” on Facebook with my phone.

The ease with which we lie.

“Oh. I was about lodging a “missing person” report,” Femi teased.

I smiled.

My face smiled. My heart did not.

Just as Femi made to put the gear in reverse mode, I spotted Christabel in the side mirror, walking past our car. In that split moment, I told Femi I had just spotted an old friend of mine from college and would like to speak with her. Before he could respond, I alighted from the car and rushed towards Christabel.

“Christabel!” I called from behind. She turned around.

“Hey,” she said.

“Sorry I did not save your number when you gave it to me…If you don’t mind…”

Before I completed that, she reached out for my phone and gave me her number again. I dialled it this time around to make sure it was stored in my phone’s call log.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll ring you.”

With that, we went our separate ways again.


Back at the office, I could not wait to share my interesting story with some of the guys. But just before then, I decided to actually save Christabel’s name against her number. I knew I would not call her until after three days. This was the unwritten code of life for men:

Keep her wondering why you have not called. Did you not find her fascinating anymore? Was it her breath? Did it stink when she spoke? Her make up? Did she not use enough make up? Or was it rather too much? How about her…Oh my God.

Whilst saving the number, I discovered that, a digit was missing! The number was not complete. I had just toiled in vain. This realisation made me sick instantly.

Then an idea came to my head – try different number combinations by randomly adding a digit from 0 – 9 at the end of the Christabel’s number. One of it was sure to be hers.

And so my next journey began. I started trying different number combinations by adding random digits from 0 – 9.

Every number combination I tried was invalid. I kept trying the number combination thing. And then, one of such combinations went through. Well, almost went through, but for the fact that the phone was switched off. At this point, I remembered Christabel saying to me earlier in the day,” My phone is switched off at the moment.”

 Yes! That must be her number!

I saved that particular number for later.


Later that evening, I decided to check if Christabel’s number was still switched off. The time was 8:31pm. To my surprise, it rang on the first try.

Yes! Yes! Yes!!!

And a voice came on the other end. But it was a masculine voice saying “Salaam-Alaikum, Salaam-Alaikum, Salaam-Alaikum.”

And there began my punishment for hitting on a random girl and getting her number. The masculine voice called every day and night to say “Salaam-Alaikum”. And each time the man did, I would respectfully tell him he had got the wrong number. But no, his call would wake me up by 3:00am the next day and all he had to say was Salaam-Alaikum.




Note: Salaam-Alaikum – Peace be unto you.

Photo credit: Shutterstock

Kindly connect with me on the following channels:
Twitter: @haroldwrites

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100 reasons why we can’t work out

It’s me. I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time. I’m sorry for having to communicate this via a letter. I was hoping we could talk about it, but we wouldn’t have the time. I can’t remember the last time we had the time to have a good talk about serious issues. Talking about serious things has become a sort of luxury for us. We have the time to talk about every other thing except serious issues affecting us. Well, I have improvised a medium to communicate this to you. I hope you have the time to read it to the end.
I surmise you would have garnered a clue for the essence of this letter from the subject. No, I am not breaking up with you. I still love you. I think. But sometimes, I think love is just not enough. I feel what we share may be heading for the rocks. You know, like Titanic heading for the iceberg. Who would have thought it, that something so strong and beautiful could ever disintegrate?
So without much ado, let me go straight to the purport of this letter.
1. We are perfect, but not perfect for each other.

I know our friends adore us; they literally worship our relationship. They tell us how they envy our love. They send us pings, confessing their admiration for our recently uploaded BBM profile pictures. They enter our DMs, telling us how they appreciate our tweeted quotes on love. They like our pictures on Instagram and Facebook. They see us at social gatherings on weekends, holding hands, and they tell us how much that inspired them.

Our families  – oh our families. They can’t wait to hear when we’ll be tying the knot. They know we are meant for each other.

Our colleagues at work keep talking about how much we call each other during working hours. Our love must be so deep, they say.

Maybe they are right. Maybe they are wrong, but you and I know we are in a strange place.

I like cuddling while I sleep. It makes me sleep better, but cuddles are not your thing. You would rather spread on the bed. It makes you comfortable. I don’t like how you spread.

I like preserving left over foods in the fridge. You don’t like frozen foods.

I like the Rose air fresher for the room. It makes me happy. The smell makes you vomit. You prefer a scent of lavender. I hate lavenders.

I love visiting friends on weekends. You would rather sleep at home.

I was brought up in an Orthodox church and would want to continue there. You were brought up in a Pentecostal and nothing would make you leave.

I don’t like your short hair. I prefer a woman who keeps long hair. You don’t like my little pot belly. You wish I worked out more.

I don’t like onions in my soup. But onions in soup, is the soup to you.

I prefer texting. You prefer calling.

So you see, we could be perfect in the eyes of others, but we are not perfect for each other.

2. Our career paths.

Remember when I got this job at the big auditing firm? You were happy for me, but sad that it took most of my time. I had to be out of the house before the cock crowed and wouldn’t be back until midnight. Sometimes I slept over at the office. I convinced you everything would be fine. The job was paying well and we needed the money. I promised to look for a more convenient job after five years.

Well, just as the five year ultimatum was closing in really fast, you informed me you got an irresistible job offer at that Multinational. Your dream job.


You know what your job description entails, right? You will literally live on the road. I know I was happy for you when you told me about the job, but you and I know it won’t augur so well for our relationship in the long run.

3. Our chastity resolve.

When we started dating, we resolved to remain chaste until our wedding night. We knew it was the best thing to do. Or so we thought.  We did not want our skin fusion to muddle up our real feelings for each other. We also did not want to offend God.

We held on for so long, kept our sides of the bargain.

Until that night.

I know we did not actually skin-fuse, but what we did, was close enough. Ever since then, we have continued in the act. We may not have skin-fused, but how long can we hold on until we finally do?

I stumbled on your diary the other day. I read your entry for the 5th of November. You said you were unhappy. You were unhappy about what we have been doing.

It made you want more.

It made you not want more.

You were not sure what we were doing. But you continued.

We should not have to live that way.
4. Our backgrounds.

You are from the North. I am from the West.

I know we already talked about this, even before we started dating. I know we agreed this wouldn’t be a problem. In fact, it hasn’t been a problem. We have circumvented everything that could have been a barrier. For example, our language of communication. We have settled for English. Well, we had no choice. It was always going to be English.

One other thing that could have been a barrier was the blessings of our families. But our families know we are dating and they are cool with it. Their paramount concern is our happiness. Wow. That should settle everything, right? But it hasn’t.

Being from different worlds has far reaching consequences than we could imagine. Have you considered the future? Our children? Our children’s children? I have.

When we have children – if we have our children, how do we want to raise them? Your Northern values are different from our values in the West. Should we super-impose our respective values on our children? Or let them choose which one to follow?

If we let them decide for themselves, there could be a conflict or friction in the home, especially when some of our children decide to follow one parent’s values and the others decide to follow the second parent’s values.

How about the language thing? Will our children also speak just English? How long before they forget their roots? What becomes of their own children?

A friend told me about his cousins who were raised in America. They have lived all their lives there that they aren’t sure if their parents’ country is Nigeria or Africa.

I know this is a long call as it relates to us, but I’m sure you get my point.


5. Wait. There’s a knock on the door.

No, “There’s a knock on the door” is not one of the 100 reasons why we can’t work out, Silly. I’m saying there’s a knock on my door. I think my neighbour is out of cooking gas.

Hang in there whilst I go lend him my gas bottle.

Oh. It’s not my neighbour. It’s the courier service delivering a letter to the wrong apartment.

I think I should give this letter to him to deliver to you before I change my mind about sending it.

I shall forward the concluding part of this letter to you on a future date.

Until then….



*Addendum: I have just quickly scanned through this letter and I realise I did not refer to you in any pet name, save for Silly. I am sorry. It just feels weird that, for a long time now, we haven’t called ourselves those “mushy mushy” names we used to when we started dating. And me addressing you by any of those names in this letter would be plain hypocritical. You know I still love you, right? But maybe, ………………………………………………

2016: The Year We Break things?

Get-Inspired-at-Work-Featured1If you follow tech blogs and read start up stories, you’ll be used to the phrase “disruptive innovation”. The phrase – which in itself, is a theory – was coined by Professor Clayton M. Christensen of the Harvard Business School, and what the theory simply posits is that, a disruptive innovation is an innovation which creates a new market and value network and eventually disrupts (forgive the tautology) an existing market and value network, thus displacing established market leaders and alliances.

Let’s illustrate ….

If you grew up in Nigeria and attended a Nigerian school in the 90’s, you should be conversant with the chalk blackboard. Now, around the early 2000s, you will recall that, the chalk blackboard was gradually being replaced with the “marker whiteboard”. These “marker whiteboards” can be considered as a disruptive innovation in the sense that, it created a new kind of market in the education/teaching ecospace, thus challenging and – I dare say – displacing already established chalk and blackboard makers. It has been ages since I saw chalks and blackboards being sold in the market and the only conclusion I can draw from this is that, they are no longer used in Nigerian schools – maybe, save for schools in very rural localities. And this was only made possible by the marker whiteboards.

Applying the above theory/principle to our literati world,  I believe 2016 should be the year we strive to be better, to do things better –  a year we can strive for what I’ll term,  “personal disruptive innovations”. Of course, by using the phrase “personal disruptive innovations”, I am talking in a metaphorical sense, as much as I am talking in a practical sense. What have you been doing in the last year that you would love to “disrupt” and do differently for better results? Here is a list of areas I think writers should strive to “disrupt” in 2016. This list is in no way exhaustive and it also does not wish to be understood as pretentious in the sense of applicability to all writers (or even wannabe writers like my humble self). There is a thread of common experiences amongst us and this list is a mere attempt at drawing our attention to some of them in a bid to encourage us to better ourselves in 2016.


1.Write more.

Of course, this had to be the most obvious area to disrupt if you are like me. I know writing could be exhausting – really exhausting, but if you are like me and you write about five posts a year not so often, 2016 should be the year you write more. I have personally decided to write at least once everyday every week. The major challenge to this, is of course, the time factor. But guess what? I learnt a trick from Vincent Mars sometime ago. He knew he would not be able to churn out lengthy posts every day, so what did he do? He resorted to writing a fifty (50) word flash story/post every day. This way, he ensured he kept writing no matter what. You could take a cue from this and do a thirty (30) word post everyday. This will keep you constantly engaged in your art and your blog stats will thank you for this.


2.Read More Books.

There is a saying that “readers are billionaires leaders”. If you are looking forward to reading more this year – which you should – here are three places I’ll recommend you look for free ebooks: Wattpad, Project Gutenberg and Free-Ebooks.


3.Get a Custom Domain.

I talked about getting a custom domain early last year as a New Year Resolution. I know. My blog does not have a custom domain yet. I know. However, what you don’t know is that, in the last two years, I have reserved the custom domain “” at NameCheap. Yes, I paid to have it reserved. I have tried mapping it to my wordpress domain on numerous occasions to no avail, as wordpress does not seem to accept debit cards from Nigeria. Racist much? Lol, just kidding.Why don’t I hire a professional to do this for me? Well, that’s a question I have to answer this year. I’ll get a professional to do this domain thing for me once and for all, this year. You should too. There are numerous advantages of getting a personal custom domain. Even Linda Ikeji who once swore on her life decided never to get one, has finally succumbed to peer pressure done so.


4.Attend more literati events.

This needs no further emphasis. Just attend more literati events. Why? Because I said so there are a million and one advantages of doing so. For one, you get to connect with people of like mind. You know how people think writers (or wannabe writers like myself) are recluses (I laugh in French)? Attend more literati events in 2016 and put the devil to shame debunk this narrative. On a serious note, attending literati events sharpens your mind, redirects your focus and energises you to take your writing craft more seriously.

5.Author a book. Any book.

Have you always wanted to write a book? 2016 is the year you should do it. You must do it. Author a book. Any book. Just author a book. Why? Because “Author” is better than “Writer”.

These are a few areas I believe you should “disrupt” in your life for a more productive enjoyable 2016. DO you have any suggestions or contributions to the list? Feel free to do so in the comment section.


Happy New Year.






Amicus Curiae 1: Ambulance Chaser

Yayy! It’s finally Friday and here is the first episode of my new series, Amicus Curiae. If you did not read yesterday’s teaser, you can do that here before proceeding to read this episode one. The teaser sets the tone for Episode one. More like a prologue…. Episode two will be posted next week Friday. Let me know what you think of this episode in the comment column below. Happy Weekend, people!






Folayemi alighted from the rickshaw in haste when it got to Magodo Brooks gate. Today was the first day of the Chambers Attachment – a compulsory programme on the Nigeria Law School calendar – and she was already late. The words of her mother whizzed into her head:

“A good bride must be diligent in all she does.”

These words of her mother – now, more of a proverb – have been used in a plethora of situations – instructional, correctional, motivational and directional. Whenever Folayemi fell short of an expectation, her mother would use the words to caution her – as she would a bride – and whenever she exceeded an expectation, her mother would also use the same cliché as an affirmation of what would be expected of her in marriage. There was no limit to whatever situation the cliché could be applied Continue reading

Re: 5 Things Every Serious Writer Must Do In 2014

Are you ready for 2014?

Are you ready for 2014?

Just in case you missed it, here is a post I did for Bella Naija earlier this year. I decided to repost it on my blog for the benefit of my readers who did not get the Bella Naija link. And moreover, I discovered that the post had already been republished on a lot of blogs/sites without my approval. So why not put it on mine too?…… Ok. Enjoy!


“The unexamined life is not worth living” – Socrates

On December 29, 2013, I had dinner with Tunde Leye and a couple of other contemporary Nigerian writers. It was a good opportunity to socialise with some great literary minds and share some fresh ideas. Our discussions during dinner covered one broad subject area: the art of writing and our individual projections for 2014. That meet up could be summed up in the above quote by the great Philosopher, Socrates. We were able to reflect on our experiences in 2013, while also deliberating on what we hoped to achieve in 2014 in this chosen, hallowed field.

In the course of evening, Tunde Leye popped the question, “if you were to be relieved of your 8-6 job in 2014, how do you hope to make money from writing?” We all had different answers to the question, but of course, those answers came after some very deep thoughts. The time each person spent deliberating on the question before proffering an answer was a pointer to the fact that not everyone at the table had been taking their writings seriously.

While this post is not about how to make money from writing, it is a guide on how to take your writing serious in 2014. Hopefully by adopting some of the tips herein, your path will be led to the mysterious writing money vault.

Get a Blog
While it is cool to write for different platforms and call yourself a freelance writer, the benefits of owning a personal blog cannot be overemphasized. I have some writer friends who don’t own personal blogs for different, seemingly genuine reasons. Some claim to be too busy to maintain a blog with regular posts, while others believe social media is a great substitute for blogging. I have a poet friend who does all his postings on Facebook. He has quite an impressive following on his Facebook Page and sees no reason why he should trade that for a blog. Continue reading