Ocean skies,

an ipassioned sun.

Arms stretched to the sky,

Hate locked deep within,

Eyes searching for love.

I’m unsatisfied by untruths that dwell

And deceits that spread.

I have nothing but bones and ligaments,

wrapped up in skin to offer a world cruel and distasteful

that seeks my demise round every corner I turn.

So I speak to the abysss.

I say hate your hate,

Love your love.

Wherever you see the light know that darkness follows behind.

If you fall, do not drown in the earth.

Cos man was made to fly and to fly you need wings.

And even though this flesh was made of dust,

I assure you your wings were made in the heavens.

So get up and reach out.

Inhale the clouds in each breath

and feel the sands of time give way at your feet.

When you speak, speak as if God lived in your vocal cords.

I assure you he does.

If you proclaimed that there be light,

this world will part its curtains

and rays of golden burning helium will descend and light your path.

Or it might be gaze of frozen crystal

That traps your soul.

But you have to proclaim it first,

Cos words are keys to unlock this universe.

When you find a lover,

Cradle them in your arms and line their skin with your kisses.

Love your lover as if nothing else mattered.

Cos when you sink so deep into someone that they become your everything,

you’ll find shades of them in way the rain falls and the gazelle runs.

You’ll find them in the cracks in your wall

and the monotonous drone of the photocopier at work.

But be careful to not hold your lover too tight

Lest you choke them to death with love and find your whole world crumbling.

I assure you it is best to let love go and come as it pleases.

To not lock it up in a jar like a firefly

Or put in a zoo where all its wild and rageful instinct is tamed.

I assure you, love is truth and truth is not to be caged.

Learn from this world in which untruth dwells and deceit spreads.

Let your eyes search for love

and lock your hate deep within.

Stretch your arms to the sky and hold on to the impassioned sun

as it travels along the ocean sky.


It’s not every day one has a miracle dropped in his lap. But some days it does fall on your lap and what you do with it is what matters most. Especially here in Nigeria. Take me for example. I am your average Nigerian youth,with just enough money to feed myself, look reasonably fly and afford an Arsenal match most days but not enough to maintain a girlfriend. Women are an expensive commodity these days. It costs more to pay for them to go to the saloon than it does for a round trip to Dubai. At least that’s how it seems when you try to ask a girl out and she gives you a list of the responsibilities, both old and new, you are to carry from your predecessor. A date becomes a job interview as she asks you “What can I do for you? What do you have to offer? Where do you see yourself in ten years? As part of the requirements for filling this position, are you prepared to forfeit football privileges? Sex will be granted at your employer’s discretion and might be withdrawn if duties are not completed, are you satisfied with this?”


Wait wait wait…so you mean to tell me I can have sex? For free? Wow!

Stupid thing is that boys will just sit there belatedly happy at the mention of sex and will happily oblige. Then come and complain of brokage and tax the rest of us, their single friends, who have just enough money to buy a beer so they can watch a football match but not enough to maintain a girlfriend. Tough world, I know. And this is not to bash women o. Everybody has his own wahala. When boys are constantly prospecting your replacements and the replacements to even the side chicks, if it were me too, I would rob the bastards for all they have. Life is not fair to both sides. Especially in Nigeria.

Like I said it’s not every day miracles happen and when one does, what you do next is what matters. Take this country for example. We have our very own John the Baptist, the guy who came to pave the way for change, the forerunner himself, President Muhammad Buhari. I don’t know about you guys, but so far the only thing that has changed is how much change is left in my wallet at the end of each day. If someone dashes you 5 naira in this present day, you have permission to slap him or her.


Pictured here: Change.

What kind of expensive joke is that? When even sweets have contrived to be going for three, 20 naira and you want to dash me 5 naira? Mtcheew, take your money back! It’s not a funny thing though and even though I’d like to preach patience with the president so far (after all Rome was not built in a day and considering the dire state of our economy, I would say its more like creating the world and everything in it in six days and resting on the seventh), truth is that, judging by the way things are, by the time change really does come, the average Nigerian on the street would have sold his children to buy food, eaten his own faeces and still died of starvation. And even then, it’s Nigeria we are talking about. Our fathers in government would have all taken their cut of the change and by the time it reaches us, all that would be left of the change would be well…change. Small small 5 naira change that we would not be able to use to buy a thing because 5 naira would not buy anything anymore. But well, whoever said life was fair? No one. Especially in Nigeria.

It’s not every day a miracle happens. I’ve been saying that without really explaining myself, I’m sorry but I really don’t know what it means either. Every Sunday I go to church and my pastor drums it into my ear. He says it’s the word of GOD and yes all in capitals because that’s how my bulletin spells it. He says that waking up every morning is a miracle and that what we do next with that miracle is what matters. He asks me to put my faith in GOD and match that faith with my offering and everything will be alright. I look at him as he binds and casts demons out in his expensive suit. He has a beautiful car parked outside and all the congregation can see that GOD has been good to him and his well furnished church but I begin to wonder. Why am I paying offering to this man and his institution?pastor-sunday-adelaja-1-620x330

Don’t you want to look as fresh as fly as fuck as me?

Because if we are being honest the church is an institution. They ask us to pay offerings and fund raise for relocation to permanent site. GOD is generous and we move to the permanent site but then they ask us to pay offerings and fund raise for yet another church building. Meanwhile the pastor wears new clothes and rides a better car (multiple cars sometimes, why the hell does a pastor need multiple cars?) while the majority of his congregation remain just above the poverty line so they fall hook and sinker for his deception, thinking that the pastor is proof of GOD’s goodness. After all, how could he get all those clothes and cars if not for GOD? Hell, the road to the church is not even tarred and I still have to buy anointing hanky to wipe the dust off my trousers so that nobody in church mistakes me for a poor man. How many times and how long ago have churches really contributed meaningfully to community development? I mean Jesus fed five thousand people, how hard is it to get just one borehole to give the people who put money in your pocket good drinkable water?

If it’s not very often that miracles happen and when they do happen, it’s what I do with it that matters, then waking up every morning, a Nigerian in Nigeria without drinking water pia pia is a bloody good miracle and thank GOD that it happens every day. The problem now though, is what do I do with it?

  • All pictures culled from the internet.

First Impressions: Bathrooms

OK. Cough cough. I realized a long time ago, that the bathroom is my favorite place in a house. They hold a warming familiarity for me that goes back to my childhood. I was basically a nerd way back then, I still am a nerd but er… that’s besides the point. See most nerds are introverted, more drawn to books than they are to outdoor sports, suckers for things that generally fare well with… well, with less people.In a family house brimming with cuddly mother bears, annoying siblings, heat seeking errands and constant noise, the only truly private places tended to be the bathroom. Especially for me, the middle army boy with two brothers and a tomboy for a sister. It didn’t help that we lived in a barracks filled with tiny little people like us and parents whose day jobs required them to always speak with their voice volumes set at loud.

And no! Even when I got my own room, my bathroom was mi casa cos I happen to have a hawk for a mother who prefers that no door outside the front door is left closed and no drawer, locked. She also happens to be an ex army officer whose infamous Buddha palm back slap was as devastating as it was legendary. So no! Wide open doors and bathroom solitude was the life chosen for me. Bathrooms were the only place where you could actually argue privacy on solid ground with your average Nigerian parent. And even then my mother regularly broke this unspoken agreement and a I could do squat about it but make up imaginary angry vents that never quite did grow up to be actual spoken words. I’ve loved it still and it shines as a beacon of light in this cruel dull world.

But recently I fell into a new realization, the bathroom for all its virtues and values is the second worst place for me in the house. It would be the first if it wasn’t waging an ever losing battle against the kitchen. The kitchen is a black hole for me. I beg you, hold your opinion if you disagree cos I bet even God has a folder titled “things Dzenom would never change his mind about” and there’s only one thing in it. Dzenom does not like kitchens. Kitchens have dirty dishes and cooking, two absolute soul crushers when it comes to chores. Though its ability to churn food out regularly remains a most highly engaging and investing enterprise. And that’s assuming that it is an age old truth we all learn at birth, that your parent’s room do not exist and is a myth that only comes true when you’re on the high of a really impressive achievement or when you be like Prometheus and attempt to steal candy from the gods.

Thing is bathrooms I have found out, have one harrowing experience from childhood that sticks out. Washing! I think I can safely assume that by now you can already guess I’m not really the most hardworking person you’ve ever come across. There is this childhood running gag of me getting banished to the bathroom with a large stack of clothes and lots of empty white paint buckets. I’d have to first go fill all the buckets with enough water cos my mum was quite insistent on having enough water to float a boat when washing, then I’d have to mop and sweep the floor all the way to the bathroom while my father scolded me for inevitably spilling water on the rug while taking in the water. And the bathroom with its cold white tiled walls especially with no light is no fun place to be stuck in with frustrations running and doing the most repetitive chore in the world.

So for all of its relaxing environment and soothing silence when you’re butt is comfortably perched atop that stool with a good book, a phone or just plain dropping a deuce(note: icky when floor is wet), the bathroom does have its bad moments. And therein lies the point of my very first post. This blog is kind of my bathroom, a place I hope you’ll come for the thoughtful introspection and pointed rhetoric. Occasionally though, its going to be a harrowing trip cos I’m going to have to wash. I don’t know why you would read it but I will secretly wish its because I’m so goddamn dope that my thoughts are considered gospel. And although reality has always shown a defective response in the wish granting compartment*, still I hope you enjoyed this. So till you decide to come around again for the next post, Sayonara!**

*      I’ve written the manufacturer countless times, but they’ve been usually unresponsive.
**   Hausa word for fine girl.