Justice for the 'common' man

So it's either your father owns a company or he knows someone that knows someone and that someone probably knows another person, before you can actually find a job ba?

I'd spend a month overseas and come back with more money than a university lecturer earns in 6 months...even working in McDonald's pays more than some white collar jobs in nigeria atm. So what's the essence of going to school? There's no prospect of finding a befitting job when you graduate, no one to sponsor that great business idea you have, let's say I was a girl I can still manage to bat my eyelashes to that general manager, (which btw is wrong) but since I'm a guy what do I do? Flex my non exiting muscles due to lack of good food. Balanced diet in my dictionary is a meal dat consists of garri and tap water, if you are lucky you find 10 naira to buy sugar and den imagine the smell of fried fish just to create safe passage for your only meal for the day.

Graduates now would rather carry guns and sticks and knives around the street rather than their CV, atleast that would provide them a decent meal. The common man's problem has been neglected whilst the rich oloye, the same senator that we elected into power, the same selfish government official's problem of where to pack his 3rd private jet takes prominence in our governmental daily lives. 

Democracy has been spat on, viciously raped and abandoned... our ogas at the top are the culprit, a fact they know too well, but who can challenge their supreme power? No one na. Lol....because your father is no one. Your father doesn't know anyone. But it's okay. There will come a day when our wrath shall be known, the day the hausas, yorubas, and igbos would realize that after leaving out the existence of ethnic groups and societies, there is a common bond we all share. And that is being human. You were igbo before you became a Nigerian yes, same for the yorubas and hausas. But we were all human before ethnicity labeled us. Does your heart pump differently from mine, or is your head placed beneath your feet? Do you pee from your mouth and eat from your ass? You are not different from me. Then why is ethnic diversity a problem amongst us? Please open your eyes and see what it is we need to fight. Our enemies are the ones ruling us. They are the ones stealing our money without a feeling of remorse, they are slowly dragging the life force out of us. Nigerians please unite. 

Don't say because your father is rich and you know nothing of the problems that befalls the common man you wouldn't do anything about it. If not for anything fight for the coming generations. Give them a country they can live in. A country they can be proud of. A single bee attack is almost harmless but a whole swarm of bees would do significant damage. Nigerians stand up!!!

Pls share.

- Annonymous.

Bimpe

The birth of a new child signifies the start of a new life, a new beginning and a new path. That was the case of the newly wedded couple. The Agbajes. Just three months after being joined together in holy matrimony, a new member of the family was added to their duo act.

Bimpe had always wanted a baby boy, her parents given birth to seven girls with she being the last of them. She watched as all her sisters grew up and got married one after the other, leaving their mother's comfort to do the bidding of their newlywed husbands, leaving behind the only identity that could be linked back to their father whilst taking up another. Their surname.   

                              

Immediately the sex of Bimpe was confirmed right after her birth, her father had advertently filed for a divorce between himself and Bimpe’s mother. He had cursed and swore as he angrily marched out of the hospital’s delivery ward. A male son was what he wanted and if Bimpe’s mother, wasn’t going to provide him with that after her seventh child birth, another woman would. His relatives and family members stood by him with his decision. They considered it a bad omen for a man to live his life and then die without leaving a male offspring to carry on his legacy. So was the tradition that has been since practised for a long time in his village.

Bimpe and her siblings were the closest thing to a companion her mother ever knew. Well apart from Nnena the house girl. All these happenings made Bimpe worry about their mother, whom after the celebration of each sister’s marriage, the number of children that returned home with her reduced by one, and this made her weak and frail. Although her mother always kept on a brave face as she said her parting prayers for whichever daughter that was being married.  There was even an occasion when two of her sisters got married a week apart from each other. Bimpe could see the idea of being alone tearing their mother apart.

"Why do you have to leave sister mi" Bimpe asked her elder sister, Kemi, who was supposed to get married the coming Saturday as they were both going through the guest list again.

"What?" Kemi asked. Acting as if she knew not what Bimpe was talking about. But she did. This act of asking the same question had been a type of ritual for Bimpe as she had asked the sisters that got married earlier.

"Why do you have to leave mama and go with uncle Femi to start living with him?" Bimpe asked more directly this time. "Don't you like it here anymore?" She added

"Bimpe...I honestly don't have a right answer to that question. You are 12 years old now. When you grow older and you meet someone you want to spend the rest of your life with you will answer that yourself. Now please add Mr and Mrs Okunoren to the new list"

The concept of meeting someone and wanting to spend the rest of one’s life with that someone baffled bimpe at her young age.

Of course Bimpe's sisters visited their mother once in a while bringing gifts of all kinds. Some came with their new family, husband and child or children. While others came alone claiming their husband was at work and the children were in school. Bimpe still tried her best to make sense out this. She didn't want her mother to be alone. She dreaded this happening to herself and thus prayed she had a male child.

As time went by, Bimpe grew into a beautiful young lady and started getting clues to the answer of the questions she had once so plagued her sisters with.

Her wedding had been a memorious event. Even though she was six months pregnant by the time of the wedding, Bimpe still looked stunning in her wedding gown. It was as if the gown was specifically made to fit the baby bump and her. She was married to Gbenga Agbaje. The only son of billionaire, Kunle Agbaje.

 As the ceremony came to its imminent end, Bimpe could see the tears take form in her mother’s eyes as she bid her final farewells to the cheering crowd and got into the jeep that was decorated from bumper to boot with wedding decorations acting like a second skin for the car. The words 'NEWLY WED' was boldly engraved on the car's number plate. As if the decorations on the car wasn't passing the message clearly enough.

A week into her new marriage, Bimpe had literally visited her mother five different times and even asked that her mother moved in with them or get a closer apartment. She flaunted her husband's wealth by stating she could get her mother a new house, bigger and better than the one she was in, with a lot more comfort and companion. But Bimpe's mother blatantly refused the offer, stating the house she was in was the only thing left of her husband’s and she was not ready to leave just yet.

"Mr. Gbenga. Hello. This is Doctor Tunde from intensive Care general practise. I just want you to know that we have in our custody your pregnant wife. She is due to deliver in few moments. If you could please come over with her baby needs that would be really helpful" the doctor said as he hung the call up after leaving his voice mail message.

"Madam, please relax yourself, I just notified your husband and he said he will be here soon"

Right from the moment she discovered she was pregnant. Bimpe had been more tense and nervous than ever. She refused to get an ultrasound of the baby because she feared it would be a girl. She preferred to rather live with the unknown than knowing what sex the baby is and doing herself and the baby damage. She didn't want a life like her mother's.

"Okay madam, we are ready. Can you kindly push with all your strength whilst doing it gently also"

Bimpe was confused at this sort of request. However as she looked up at her husband who had arrived some minutes earlier before she entered into the labour room, and as he gave her a reassuring nod stating everything would be okay, she decided to do the doctors bidding.

Breathing in and out at a fast pace followed by a very loud grunt, Bimpe continued to push the baby out of her. The doctor kept telling her what a great job she was doing and how close she was till the final push.

Two hours and thirty minutes later, Bimpe woke up to the smiling face of her husband and her attending nurses. They all looked happy.

"What happened" she asked

"You passed out after the final push honey, we were lucky the baby came out before you did" her husband explained.

"And the baby? Where is the baby" she asked eagerly and looking worried.

"The baby is fine honey, it's in the dressing room. One of the nurses have gone to get the baby" he said calmly.

A sigh of somewhat relief passed through Bimpe, then as if she was electrocuted she bolted up and looked at her husband.

"Darling, promise me one thing" she said

Startled by this act he asked "Sure honey, what is it?"

"Promise me you'll never leave. No matter what" Bimpe stated amidst tears.

"Oh dear, of course I won't. I will never leave you no matter what" he said as he drew her closer and hugged her. He knew why she was saying this.

A little while after, the nurse came into the room with the baby wrapped in a soft cotton sheet.

"Congratulations Mr and Mrs Agbaje. You have a bouncing baby girl".

The couple looked each other in the face and smiled. 

What Happened Last Tuesday

Last Tuesday was a day slightly different than any other day, well maybe in many ways a bit too different.

I’m not sure this was what Charles Bukowski meant by saying “find what you love and let it kill you”. I mean, I really did love him so much; without any doubt, but in all honesty, I just wasn’t ready to die yet.

Thump… thump…. thump… those were the familiar sounds I heard in my head as it felt as though my heart had been surgically moved from the left side of my chest to the frontal lobe of my brain. My head was hurting, as it should; from the way it hammered down on the floor bouncing on its concrete surface once or twice, after receiving the dirtiest slap of my life. We had gotten into another fight over a silly argument, and as it has always done, escalated into a one sided boxing competition, with him always emerging as the victor. I could never really overpower him, as he stood an extra foot above me when I am standing; also, his body was like a temple of toned muscles, from his shoulders all the way down.

In a studio apartment, the walk from the bed to the washroom wasn’t much of a distance but it felt like a thousand miles as I took each and every step with utmost carefulness and limped alongside the plastered wall that led to my destination. I carefully examined the bruises surrounding my face on the mirror that hung gracefully above the basin, gently padding them down with a handful of cotton wool dipped in a pool of medicated spirit. The cuts stung with each touch, which made me wince in pain.

I downed a cup of mouthwash into my mouth; swished its content around, felt its burn and spat it out after its thirty seconds expiry limit. Settling myself down at the edge of the tub, I unlocked my phone with the fingerprint lock feature, dialled a number and it rang once; someone picked up. After the conversation with the person, I allowed the phone to slide out of my hand and it crashed down into the floor; I was oblivious to its dismantled fate. The window was slightly opened but the wind gushed in, I could feel it’s cold chilly hands as they caressed my unclad body, sprouting up goose pimples all around my skin, my nipples were stiff and sore, the wetness around my upper thighs was now dry and sticky, I couldn’t bring myself to stare down at it, I reeked and smelled of his sweat. He raped me, it started out as an argument, and then into a fight and finally subsided in a non consensual sexual act. I felt helpless and terrified as he held both of my hands with one of his and violently violated me sexually, he disregarded any sort or form of formality that entailed the traditional morals of properly courting a female and wooing her into his bed. I tried to scream but his other hand was around my throat, like a python finally circling around and squeezing every ounce of breath in its prey, took the voice out of my lungs, I felt his grip tighten against the walls of my lungs, killing slowly; my vocal chords. His tireless workout days at the gym were finally paying off. The tears flowed down my face like water from a faulty tap, and occasionally I would manage a word or two, pleading with him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. He was a ravaged dog, a possessed demon, hungered and angered at me, at the same time. The feel of his hands against my cheeks were as hard and rough as they could ever be. He slapped and cursed as he rocked up and down on me, and his weight wasn’t something my frail body could bear any longer, I knew he was going to kill me if something wasn’t done immediately.

I stepped into the tub and twisted the tap’s knob and relished the moment as spurts of warm water touched my goose bump affected skin. The water trickled out of the shower like drizzling rain before it really started to pour, so with a sigh of relief I started to slowly massage my skin with a medicated dettol soap and I reminisced back to how my mother would warn me about the consequences of divorce. She would sit me down between her laps as she weaved my hair. Her hands were as gentle as they could ever be. She would pick, part and weave various strands of hair into a beautiful pattern, whilst she lectures me about the do’s and don’ts of marital life. She would say once a woman is married to a man, she is meant to stay there till death do them apart, also she is obligated by moral rights to abide by and bid to all the man’s rule, she is never meant to question his authority as he is the head of the house and thus, he knows what is best. She would tell me her culture is against it, and so is her religion. The only conclusion I could come up with to make her stories and opinion acceptable to myself was that she unluckily manage to find herself living in a man’s world, and although I was given birth in it also, I had no plans to live in it.

I could hear the knock on the door as I sat on the edge of the bed all dressed. I had applied some make up on my face, to mask the bruises on it. The room was still a huge mess and I had not the strength nor the zeal to clean it up. I approached the door and opened it, an older man and a younger one stood in front of me. Looking at him I realised he must have been the one I spoke with on the phone some minutes ago, so I led them in.

The younger one entered first and with his eyes, he did a quick sweep of the room, I followed his eyes and noticed each stop they made, first at the toppled bookshelf with books scattered all around it, and then at pieces of broken glass cups and ceramic plates laying aimlessly all around the floor, a torn dress and underwear atop the reading table situated at the corner of the room, and then finally he stopped, as his eyes caught what they were here for. He looked back at me with awe and rushed over to the side of the bed.

“We’ve got a lifeless body laying here” he alerted his older colleague. 

A girl's first love

He said he never liked seeing me with other boys, He was always so protective towards me and harsh with his words and sometimes his fist, but his apologies later on, were always in a sweet and subtle way, he always made me feel special, he made me feel beautiful, he called me an angel; his angel. He had told me he felt joy greater than he had ever known the first time he laid his eyes on me; he said I was his greatest joy and his happiness. He complemented my smile and my perfect dimples that lay gracefully on each side of my cheek, as though they knew they were meant to be there.

He would visit me in school and take my friends and I out to the movies, we would all go on ecstatic rides and scream our lungs out, our trips to the mall was always my favorite, I would ride on his back and he would carry me all the way to our various destinations, he never for once complained of how I heavy I was or I made his back ache, he said he lived for my happiness. My friends always stared at him with admiration and whispered jealously between themselves how lucky I was to be with someone like him. After a fun filled day, he would take us all in his car and one after the other dropped us off at our respective houses.

He was my first love, the first man I ever knew, he taught me most of the things I needed to know about love, life and its surroundings. Life with him was always so wonderful and sweet. I never wanted to part away from him. He would always call me his lady, treating me like one.

He was around, mother had gone out earlier to get some groceries, and he came in with a book he bought for me from my favorite bookstore, I had begged him to read it for me, I always liked it when he read to me, I liked the way his voice sounded,  his voice was deep and very soothing, it had the tone and feel of a thousand angels singing in harmony, he sat by the side of the bed and stroked my hair with each sentence he finished, as I stared up at him, I noticed just how manly he looked, his jaw line looked like it was chiseled to perfection by a craftsman, his eyes; a dark brown, always glittered as the rays of the sun reflected in it, his lips were pink and full so much as his hair, he kept an afro. I wanted to run my hands through his hair and feel as his mouth explore various parts of my body, sending down tingling vibes all through my being, He felt the same way also.

Our lips finally met for the first time and it was as though two worlds clashed into each other, it was a brilliant catastrophic collision, the feeling was orgasmic and sensational, I couldn’t get enough of him. We deeply explored the inner depths of our mouths as our tongues flickered in and out, saliva’s mixed together, and merged as one. It felt as though we created our very own BIG BANG.

We had totally forgotten about the book and it’ dismantled fate, as he slowly pulled away and laid me on my back,  he gently laid series of soft pecks and lingering kisses which sent jolts of little electrifying shocks through my whole body, this whole feeling felt alien to me, and I was excited about the whole prospect. There’s only so much a 13 year old girl just entering her teenage years could know about her developing body. And I was ready to learn, so I surrendered completely to his electrifying touches and allowed him wander the unexplored paths of my young, frail body.

He was gentle and kind, not to quick to rush into an act, always asking for feedback, his eyes locked with mine, I could see the passion in them, I could see the hunger hidden also. He delved deep into my soul; he brought me to the peak of arousement, I wasn’t in this realm anymore, neither was he.

The disrupting sound of a loud thud brought us back to reality, it came from the door. Lying on the floor at the entrance of my room amidst bags of groceries all scattered around, was my mother, she was unconscious. We both looked worried. He hurried over to where she was to examine her, he felt for a pulse; she was still alive, I hurriedly got dressed and grabbed a phone to dial the emergency number. I handed the phone over to him, I watched as he talked with command and authority over the phone to the operator on the other end, and I realized I was in love with him, he was the perfect man for me. After the phone conversation, I sat beside him stroking his hair as he held her around his arms.

“Dad, is mum going to be alright?” I asked…