M.A.D

I'm not mad.
No, my home isn't situated on d left side of yaba.
I'm not mad.
I do not walk from street to street naked.
I'm not mad.
I do not spot unkempt dreadlocks
I'm not mad.
I do not jabber away incoherently.

I'm not mad.
Or am I?
Now I think of it maybe I am.

Mad at the number of underprivileged children turned beggars.
Mad at a system that condones a five year old hawking on the roadside
Mad at a system that makes it impossible for a child to gain quality education.
Mad at a system which forces kids to turn to delinquency.

But I guess it is their fault, right?
After all they asked to be born into poverty!
The millions all over the world who die physically and mentally every day.
Like quicksilver, here one minute, and gone the next.
They desire to live life anticipating the very worst right?
They deserve to be robbed of their innocence?

They are but mere victims of the harsh realities of life.

Children who have a right to basic education..just like you and I.
Children who have the right to make something of their lives.
Children who deserve the same opportunities as their counterparts.

It tugs the heart, seeing treasures wasting away.
These are would be presidents, doctors, lawyers.
Would be musicians, mechanics, pilots.
Diamonds in the rough.
Who need just some polish to make them shine

They need a hand..to help them get by
They need a smile..every once in a while.
They need me. They need you.
They need us..
To make a difference in their lives.


As recited at the M.A.D(Making A Difference) charity fashion show held on 22/12/2010.

The Diary Of An IT Student

It all began one fine morning when I reported for work at (let's call it) Agency X.

As I said it was a fine morning. The fact that I hardly had 5 hours of sleep the previous night due to excitement at the prospect of working in this particular company did nothing to deter my mood.
I was in high spirits you see. The night before I had spent a couple of hours, (and when I say couple I don't mean two) searching for the appropriate outfit for my first day at work. Seeking help from friends on twitter and my blackberry contacts (you know yourselves, God bless your obliging souls). Seeing me, one would have thought this was my first working experience even though I had done a holiday job in a bank 2 years before. But there was just something about Agency X. Maybe it had to do with the fact that it was a well respected agency in the advertising industry (oops..I've given you a clue). Anyway, where was I? Ahh..yes! It was a fine morning indeed.

However, if I thought I was going to be filled with the same joie de verve every day for the 2 months I would be there for, I was soon to be faced with the harsh truth.

For the first week I diligently resumed position in front of the mirror every night deciding on the outfit to wear to work the next day. Sadly this didn't last past the first week. When you leave the house at 7am and get home by 8pm the last thing on your mind is clothes (after all I was there to learn and not to do fashion parade). Don't get me wrong I loved working in Agency X but after a while I soon appreciated the real essence of TGIF (Thank God Its Friday). Dearest Friday. If not for anything..for the fact that I got to wake up as late as 9am sometimes (I know right..thank God for small mercies). Then there was the long and tiring journey home (sigh). And that is that on the down side of being an IT student in Agency X. (And I'm not patronising, I mean it..that's all there is to it).

Now on the flip side. Where do I begin? (The correct response at this point will be, "at the beginning" right? Thank you Captain Obvious). But how does one begin to cram at least 7hrs of working goodness out of d 9hrs(officially, unofficially 10/11hrs depending on what I have on my desk) I spent at work daily for 2months into a blog post? But try I shall. While at Agency X I learnt A LOT, a whole lot. I learnt responsibility, deadline compliance, trust, team work, crisis management, people management, and lots more; that is, beside all the PR and AD on the job training I got. And yes, I met some of the most wonderful people ever. People that will be etched in my memory for the rest of my life.
There was my HOD." Oyinbo" as he is called by a few of his colleagues. This man right here was my teacher and friend. Minutes in his office could see us discussing the next proposal he wanted me to draw up, and the next thing you know, we are gisting about his youthful days. He believed in me. And for that I appreciate him. He had a nice name too.

There was "Constie"..what a beautiful and down to earth person. Oh yea..and she took no nonsense from anyone. Funny too.

There was "Flakky".."Iyawo"..lol..my first friend in the office. Sweet and sensitive.

There was "Gadafi"..diplomatic..my Gee.

There was "Dolly"..this girl can eat! Good thing it doesn't tell on her figure. My small but mighty friend.

There was "Toks"..my bestfriend in d office. My Amazingly talented sweetheart.

There was "Deji"..always teasing me..to whom I'm grateful for introducing me 2 d company.

There was "Bayo"..who walked me to the bustop everyday. My caretaker..beautiful soul.

There was "MM"..my hoodrat..lol..very cheerful..I love this girl.

There was "MD"..this man had swagger.

There was "Yemisi"...thanks to him I got a placement in the agency.

There was "Mrs. Alli"..my namesake's mum..if not for anything, for that I liked her, among her other great attributes even though she never let me print in her department.

And the whole family..my "sweeties" the receptionists who "chopped knuckles" every morning, Mr. Issa, Tobi, Bimpe, Sister Mary, Aunty Philo (my customers), and the list continues...

As I write this I have tears in my eyes (forgive me, I'm quite the waterfall). So many people I'm going to miss. So many things I'd miss out on; the little office friction and chemistry, the office gist, the shows, working to meet a deadline. I would miss it all.

But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

To this tall building that had come to be my second home..the middle finger goes up, and the index finger follows..DEUCES!

thisABILITY

I am labelled
Because I speak with spasmodic repetition of syllables
Words in my heart, out my mouth they tumble
To put in coherence becomes a struggle
So I fumble.
I try again till I pronounce "bu-bu-bu-bble"
Till I make sense of the words I juggle.

I'm not upset
Though I long to see the sunset
The colour of my skin I do not know
For lack of options I go with the flow
I do not sway
Everyday my stick hits the walkway
Searching for obstacles in my vicinity
I brave the odds, I exercise my virility.

In a crowd I am jostled
From right to left I hobble
A condition without remedy
A fixture in stand up comedy
The sound of the laughter
A contrast to my life's chapter
I swallow my misgivings
On bent legs I earn a living.

I long to be wanted
Appreciated
Celebrated
But with your eyes I'm castigated
Relegated
Rejected
Most times isolated
A price paid for a condition not I created.

Some days I snap. I cry. I curse.
I mourn the day my world went off course.
And when I'm done I mop it up.
I gather my wits.
Nose in the air, I stick it up.
I stretch, I search, I reach from within.
I look for a talent that is uniquely me.
I do my best knowing it may never be enough.
I do it still to prove my worth.
My push.
My driving force.
What you call disability
Heralds thisABILITY.

Who Are You?

Beauty has nothing to do with the amount of cleavage you show.
It couldn't care less that you drive a lexus.
Or that you drive a "leg-us" for that matter.
It has nothing to do with the inches of your brazilian weave.
It couldn't be bothered about your louis vuitton bag.
Or that your clothes are washed and worn.
No it doesn't care if your account is fat and shapeless.
Or if your nose is straight or crooked.
Your father's name is inconsequential.
Your mother sells fish in the market. Big deal!
Its oblivious to the lies you feed.
The perfection you seek.
So many times, in pursuit of beauty we go further and further away from it.
The irony!
We travel far and wide in search of what is at our finger tips.
We go under the knife.
We go from black to white.
Oh if Beauty could speak!
If her voice could ring loud and clear.
Her cry would be heard far and near.
Look in the mirror, she would say.
Look beyond that pouch in your belly.
Beyond that scar on your face.
Beyond those unequal eyebrows.
Beyond who you think you are.
Look at you.
Look at you.
Beauty is etched in your every feature.
In the contours of your body.
In the curves and the dents.
In the rise and the fall.
In the beat of your heart.
In the way you act.
In the words that you speak.
In the joy that you bring.
Ever-so-loving; Ever-so-pure.
Ever-so-subtle; Ever-so-sure.
Beauty is truth.
Beauty is you.

A girl's story

There bukky sat staring at her phone. As if willing it to ring with the intensity of her gaze. She gazed back at her watch, and was startled to find that 5mins had barely passed since the last time she checked. Standing up she went to the living room to check the wall clock, perhaps her watch was running slow. But that wasn't so..her watch was right on time. This was becoming a trend. Having to wait for bayo's call. Many times falling asleep in the process. I hope he's alright she thought. And said a silent prayer for him. Or could he have forgotten to take his phone to work like he did on monday?, she tought to herself. But even if, she argued, its 10.45pm, surely he would be back home by now. Why was his phone still switched off? Or could he be.......... No. She quickly shook the thought off before it took root. Never. Not her bayo. He loved her. He could never cheat. She was sure of that.

How many ladies have gone through this, later to find out the signs had been there all along...
In his eyes, as they scanned the room.
In his answers, as he looked everywhere but you.
In the coughs and the yawns, and the many pauses in-between.
When what was said that day doesn't square with what's said today.
How could you forget the silence, and the phone that's always turned off?
And when it isn't? "I'm sorry baby, the ring tone was low". Or more appropriately the macho answer, "its nothing, you're just overreacting"
The little things you so easily made excuses for.."He's been busy"..."he forgot"..."I understand, he's going through alot", you say. More to convince yourself than others.
And so the calls come every now and then.
The "darlings" and "sweethearts" gradually fade.
As the suspicions you try so hard to ignore gains momentum, you find you can't take advice you so often give.
What is happening? You ask in between tears. It was supposed to be happily ever after.
But he's not Alaadin and you're not Jasmine.
Slowly the pieces fall in place.
Yes...the signs were there all along, but you were too much in love to see them.
And so he slipped...
Further and further he slipped...
Till your heart couldn't find his where it once lived.

Note to ladies..
Not every guy cheats. If you have a guy that loves you, and proves it too, don't analyze him, don't smother him, don't be a nag and please remain faithful. And most importantly love and appreciate him.
If he still leaves after that, he isn't yours.
If he is yours, he'll surely come back to you.
If he doesn't remember good things fall apart for better things to fall together.
So keep your head up.

Love tomiwa

50 years and 1 week

Today last week Nigeria marked its 50th independence anniversary.
Today last week the (social)media was filled with the independence day cheer.
Today last week our phones were flooded with positive messages about Nigeria.
Today last week the rumoured "N72million cake" was baked.
Today last week the 15 children kidnapped in Abia state were released.
Today last week I heard about the scramble for the 1st lady's brazil imported rice.
Today last week 8 people were killed in the independence day bomb blast.

A week went by...
And today I ask; where did the cheer and merriment go?
Today there is no one "reppin" or "loving" Nigeria on my twitter page.
Today I ask; who did eat outta the rumoured cake?
Today I ask whatever happened to our very own Nigerian rice?
Today I hear that just yesterday Borno ANPP chairman was murdered.
Today I hear there has been another kidnap.
Today I ask who really was behind the independence day bomblasts?

Today last week I was going to update an independence day blogpost...but it sounded too cliche even to me.
And today? Forgive me if this still sounds cliche..
Its only because the country appears to be a walking talking candle lit cliche.
You wanna know what isn't a cliche even though it might have been over-stressed?
Its the fact that things must change for the better.
But will sitting around making pronouncements change a thing?
Definitely not!
Now change is an effect of action.
Its our call to uphold the vision that reformers fought for 50 years and 1 week ago.
A vision of a truely independent state.
What we need is a leader who shares this vision.
Hopefully come 2011 elections he/she will have been identified and is goin to get my vote. What about yours?

Music and Me

For some music is an art...
To be studied...to be appreciated.
A skill to be acquired.

For others its an expression...
In times of joy and sadness.
A song for every tear...for every laughter.

For some its a stimulant...
The beat, the tempo.
The rise and the fall.

And yet for some others its a solace...
A hiding place.
Far from the maddening world.

And for me?
Music is all these and more.
Lemme put it this way...
M is for the Memories each song brings.
U is for words Unspoken.
S is for when I need to fill the Silence.
I its my Inspiration.
C my Confidant...my friend.

To me music is a gift.
I thank God for music.

Are you bugged?

...Ever noticed how easy it is to take credit for accomplishments, great or small. And when its the reverse? There's a long line of "guilt takers"(who ofcourse are never on ground to defend themselves),both animate and inanimate at our disposal for chucking the blame.
Its a bug! Ubiquitous. Plaguing the young and old, literate and illiterate. Its no respecter of person.
...You think you are not infected?
Not so fast!
...Remember that day you were late for class and missed a test? What was your excuse again? "There was traffic on the road" or wait, was it that "your alarm didn't go off"? How easy it was to omit that you stayed up all night on "midnight call" with your "bobo", and as such woke up at 9:45, for a 10am class! (I've been guilty of this one, don't blame me, blame MTN:|).
...And when you make a bad business decision? Ofcourse "your workers are incompetent". And yes, Mr. Shogologobangoshe, your competitor; "how dare he think of the innovation before you did"?
...You're still a spinster at 35 because you're waiting for Mr."TDHR"(tall, dark, handsome and rich..yes the 'R' factor has been added), forgetting dat Mr."SAP"(short,albino and poor)sef is in short supply. You go for deliverance, casting and binding the witch in your village who has tied up your "Mr. Perfect"; or perharps more appropriately, your friend who has a TDHR fiancee that you are secretly coveting.(Ladies hold on to your men..girls are not smiling).
...As a self acclaimed caterer, you know you have zero culinary skills, yet you go on and open a "buka"...when customers rush 'Iya Basira's food' now..why? "She wash put"!
...How quick we are to blame "soponna" //shokpona// (god of small pox) for one misfortune or the other. Chai!, the deities have suffered.
...The saddest remains when we blame God. And what is His crime? Offering His Son as a sacrificial lamb for our sins?
When we blame others for our actions, we let them dictate the outcome of our lives, and you know how the saying goes..."Whoever plays the piper dictates the tune"...and dance to it you must!
So I'm thinking...why not make my own music? That way I get to dance when and how I want...doing "the jerk" one minute and "alanta" the next.
Fighting this bug means taking the reigns of my actions...
Yes I said it!...that's me taking the first step.

For the love of the BB

I recently discovered the joys of owning a smartphone (blackberry, Iphone and the likes) and frankly speaking if you haven't then you are missing.
Like Nigeria in the light of the PHCN strike, you are in the dark.
But jokes apart, this is a serious issue.
Over 50% of the country is in a blackout, save for the generator users.
In the words of one of my twitfam (that's how we refer to each other on twitter)
"PHCN don kidnap the light sha. How much do we have to pay in ransome?".
Now that is food for thought.
From the students writing exams who have to literally burn the midnight oil to study;
To workers who have to iron their clothes for work every morning;
To business owners who depend on electricity for the daily running of their facilities.
I'm talking about scenerios we can relate to;
The barber on the street,
The fashion designer on the corner,
The factory owners...all subjected to running their outfits with a generator.
But what of those who can't afford that luxury especially in this period where economic recession is at its peak.
All because the powers that be care more about furthering their ends, we have to pay one way or the other.
How does this affect me, you may ask?
As earlier said, I recently discovered the joys of using a smart phone (a BB in this case), some of which include: Social networking via twitter. With it comes news on the go courtesy updates from my ever compliant twitfam (trust me news travels at the speed of light with this bunch);
Internet service- for general and specific knowledge;
And basically enjoying a pleasant conversation with family, friends and associates.
Now lack of electricity equals inability to charge my phone which equals loss of contact with my informants around the world which I must confess leaves me slightly disgruntled.
I'm sure a lot of you out there can relate to this.
So please...to whom it may concern...
For the love of the BB...#LIGHTUPNIGERIA!!!

Twenties Guy

As a girl in her twenties, I am susceptible to the regular toasting
Boys who think they are men.
Men who act like boys.
And the ones who have struck a near balance.
But He, I'm yet to meet.
I call him my Twenties Guy.
He is big and strong...very cuddly to hug.
He is not the richest..but has drive and prospects.
He is not the finest...but has style and commands respect.
He is cultured and well mannered...just as fluent in English as his native tongue.
He calls me frequently each day...but not to the point of being a pest.
He creates time out of his busy schedule to see me...and let's his presence be felt when he can't.
He looks at me and knows my unvoiced fears...my biggest fan, he encourages me.
He teases me mercilessly when I commit a blunder...but never uses my insecurities against me.
He tends to me when I'm sick and listens intently to my ramblings.
He gives me a tongue lashing when I'm wrong...and a moment later draws me close.
He hurts me...but is man enough to accept his fault and right his wrongs.
He is committed to his faith...together we fast and pray.
He holds my hands and instantly I feel safe...arms linked he shows me off to his friends.
He asks for my advice...and respects my opinions.
He stands his ground...but not to the point of being domineering.
He doesn't play games with my heart...and stays committed even when our love is tried.
He buys me little gifts...and surprises me when I least expect it.
He delights in making me happy...and sings to me when I'm sad.
He is appreciative of my efforts...compliments me and makes me feel desired.
He looks at me...and without having to say a word I know he loves me.
I look at him and I know I'm home...where I belong.
He isn't perfect, but he is my Twenties Guy.

P.S:(This is subject to review when I'm in my thirties.)

The Genesis

I can't pinpoint the exact time I fell in love with writing.
...It must have started with my fascination with words at the tender age of five...or in primary school where I aced all my spelling bees, most of them anyway.Perharps it was in high school, where Literature was my best subject. And English Language too. I bet the real romance started when I began writing notes to my mother, apologizing for some wrongdoing or the other.
Not to forget the many "thank you" notes, and also the ones conveying birthday wishes. And when valentines day came, who else would my friends run to? "Tomiwa please help me compose a message", they would say. And I,pen in hand, will gladly acquiesce. Of course there were the poems..messages on love, friendship and happiness. The little I knew on such subjects, I learnt at home and from the pages of mills and boons.
...Still I wrote...using phrases and quotes. Each poem having its own theme and complimenting rhyme scheme. Reading books was sure helpful. It fast became my solace-the plot, the words,the construction! Boy did I get on my sisters' nerves...oblivious to all and sundry once I was hooked on one.
As I grow older, I have come to realize that life is not all about fairytales and makebelief. You have to take the good with the bad. The sun won't always shine, sometimes it will rain. But both are needed for a rainbow.
...And so I resolved.
Rain or shine, I'll write.
...Afterall, it's my write!