BUNMILOFE'S MUSINGS

It must be so hard to be a rat Stay in the bush and a snake might eat you Run to the house and someone will kill you Oh the dreadful sorry life of a rat Do cats have it better? Often homeless, at the mercy of the weather Loved by few, suspected by many I bet cats are scared and annoyed, very The sight of one is reason enough to cast and bind Even its owner is considered unkind But dog is man’s best friend Or so they say Many a dog are loved without end Till you go to Agege where they are left to stray At the mercy of dog haters, shooters, even eaters I doubt that a dog’s life is much sweeter Who has it worst? Must be the cockroach Constantly surrounded by reproach Of suffering rodents, cockroaches are the head Man’s constant desire is to see it dead Probably why God gave roaches nine lives And allows its eggs multiply like Solomon’s wives What is man that you are mindful of him And the son of man that you care for him I

Olubukola is a writer, she even looks like one. Her #TeamNatural fro, excellent English littered gracefully with excellent Yoruba all point to creativity well nurtured. Hence, I was not surprised when I stumbled on this story on her website- thelityard.com and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I thought I should share it here because I also get  blank stares  when I tell people I write for a living. They look at you, hoping you will chuckle and say it's a joke. When you don't, you can literally feel the pity oozing out of them, sometimes it's disdain. All of that matters little, those who know agree that writing is a profession. Many people do not know though, like Mama Rashida in this piece below. Enjoy. Writer ko, writer ni. Mama Rashida’s insistent knocks woke Danny. He turned on his phone to check the time: it was 5:30 am and he knew he would be late if he didn’t hurry. He had planned to wake up earlier to beat the Ikorodu Road traffic, but he had been so tired whe

She felt the hand come closer. She knew what it meant. Holding her breath, she counted the seconds, wondering what to do this time. It was the fourth time in two weeks and she had said ‘no’ three times already. Could she say ‘no’ again? Why was he so persistent anyway? ‘Do not defraud your husband’, her pastor’s voice echoed in her ears as she felt the hand rest on her arm, testing the waters. But it was not like she intentionally wanted to defraud her husband. It was raining outside and she wasn’t near asleep so it could very well have been a perfect night. Except that they had warned her. Don’t bend o , don’t stand for long , don’t jump or do anything rigorous , avoid anything that will stress you , don’t even meet with your husband- rough play can break your eggs . Pppppffff, very funny, she had dismissed them at first, old wives’ tales that had no meaning. Until she woke up to blood tricking down her legs, her brain trying to solve the maths- maybe it was that ti

Thanks to @arewadudutomiwa, this poem was written donkey months ago. I can almost remember that afternoon. Seated on the worn out table in front of my windowless room in the corpers' lodge of OGS, wading flies away and watching my beans cook, I penned this words, reacting to Tomiwa's challenge. I cannot remember if I finished the poem or not when I paused to attend to the young men who were also waiting for my beans.  Good times, those times. If only we knew it then.  If you care for poetry, consider this your Monday booster. Enjoy.  She says I have a type Because Lanre was big and burly And I in love did my dance of folly Till he left with everything, leaving me only She says I have a type Because seeing Tunji, I couldn't help but hype His tender eyes that made my hands want to clap His soothing kiss that made my feet do tap tap Till again, I woke up alone, just me and my pap She says I have a type Because as I watched the rich man take

Is it just me or did the sallah break come at the best of times?  Amidst the deliverables of work and everyday living, my biggest concern over the last two weeks had been the impending resumption. It's not that my children are resuming school, neither am I a teacher or anything of the sort. I am just a Lagos dweller shivering in anticipation of the post-resumption traffic that hits Lagos like a wave. The frenzy is so thick it can be touched. Parents and school busses competing to get sleep-ridden children to school before the day even breaks. Horns blaring, words flying, everyone rushing, no one succumbing. And you can hardly blame them, sleep deprived people who left their houses before the cock could crow only to get caught in the same traffic they were trying to beat, exasperating. Totally exasperating. Hence, for me, the holiday felt like a good transition into the hustle and bustle of traffic season. Two days of quality sleep and a Wednesday to start the week, no b

In ‘stupid song’, Bez recounted the silly songs we all enjoyed as kids. More recently there have been heart shattering discoveries undoing the very foundation on which our education was built. Discoveries like ‘Sandalili’ is actually “Standard Living”; ‘Jangulova epo moto’ is actually “Jingle Over like a motor” etc?  Heart shattering discoveries capable of making you doubt everything you know. For Instance, are you sure you know the real meaning of MR NIGER D or BODMAS? Guest blogger,  @Oyebilan   uncovers the truth behind some funny stories we believed as kids. Whoever spreads these stories anyway? Are we already telling such stories to our kids or creating brand new versions of generational ‘bobo’. In this social media age, garnishing and serving bobo is even easier, God help us! Marshall McLuhan was right, growth is only possible when humans are willing to learn, unlearn and relearn. Enjoy. Nigeria VS India: 99 - 1 Though there are many variations of the story, ever

Barrister Solomon Dalung is the honourable minister of sports. But that is not his claim to fame.  He became a household name when he decided to re-christen our beloved nation United States of Nigeria as opposed to the Federal Republic of Nigeria we have all come to accept and love. Perhaps he was attempting to send a ‘let’s unite’ message to the different states in the federation, who knows? But this post is not even about the US of N, that is water under the bridge. On our drive to work this morning, uncle bae and I could not help laughing out loud when @Jimidisu commented on the capabilities of Dalung as an honourable minister of the federation. Among other factors, uncle Jimi was concerned about Dalung’s dressing, completely convinced that no one will take Dalung serious as long as he keeps dressing like that. True or False? I decided to find out, and it seems like Uncle Dalung actually has a unique sense of style- his beret and conductor (as my father likes to call that shor

How did we even come about a day for celebrating jollof rice? Did some extremely busy diplomats ever hold a meeting to discuss the importance of this meal and separate a day unto it? Perhaps its influence in West AFrican unity and inter-country relations. Everyone knows I am a huge jollof fan though, so I have no complaints. Just wondering. For me, jollof rice is a ready reminder that the race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, time and chance happens to them all. I mean, picture fried rice and all the preparation that goes into it. It costs more to prepare and is sometimes reserved for special occasions. Jollof on the other hand is easily accessible. People do not have to think twice before making it and it requires only the basics. Yet, it enjoys widespread acceptance, unwavering loyalty and total love from all and sundry. I know lots of people who do not particularly appreciate fried rice, but i have hardly met anyone who will turn down a plate of jollof. That j

Hello people, It's been a while. August has been so full. I have been so busy, especially in my brain, just going through the motions ticking off items on my to-do list. It has not been gloomy though, just busy. I missed two weddings I so looked forward to attending but my parents visited and I had a great time retreating at the couple's clinic (watch out for a post on this). I have also had the privilege of housing my pretty sister who is the subject of this post. You see, she just recently clocked sixteen. And it is amazing to watch her live her sixteen year old life. Her topmost worries fluctuate between 'Post Jamb screening', 'data for Whatsapp', 'something mummy said', the songs her friends like and all these boys who won't leave her alone. She is forming philosophies and picking out nicknames, trying to decide what her style is and pursue her passions. I like that she is purposeful and passionate, interested in making money as much as

Danfo Chronicles- First time ever! Can you believe it? It actually happened to me! Me, a certified danfo huger, propagator of danfo manners, authour of danfo chronicles. I never imagined it could happen to me. I mean, not after all these years in Lagos. When I was a fresher in the herculean task of travelling around Lagos perhaps, but not now. I could have given a speech on danfo comportment, delivered a piece on surviving Lagos busses or even my own tiny e-book titled; '5 tricks Lagos conductors do not want you to know' / 'managing your emotions to collect your change' or better still 'No conductor can swindle you'. Well, ladies and gentle men, it happened to me yesterday. I forgot my 'change' with the bus driver, a whooping sum of 200 Naira. I still cannot believe it, but it happened to me. So this morning, as a sharp 'geh', I walked to my usual bus terminal with a determination to demand my money.  I did, I found the man and requested fo

Almost everyone in my inner circle knows I would rather not be living where I live. I easily blame 60% of the stress triggers in my life on the fact that I live there. When I ask my friends over, I use words like ‘when are you coming to Cameroon to see me’, even though I actually live in Lagos. My house itself is comfortable and beautiful, if only I could carry it to some other part of Lagos. I tell anyone that is willing to listen how living where I live is not a smart choice if you don’t run your own business or have absolute control over your time. The traffic is unending, the roads are narrow and when it rains, it’s time to wade. Blah, blah, blah I go on. The only good thing I see about living in that area is the amazing man with whom I live there. Then this morning, I sat in the same bus with a colleague from work. Hardly a colleague as I do not even know his name, never had any work relation with him. I just know we work for the same firm and might have said ‘hi’ at the lunc

Picture This is a new column I am introducing to the blog. It's an hypothetical situation, a depiction of my imaginations. More often than not, these events did not occur. Once in a while, when I encounter something really amazing, it could feature here too. Read with a light heart, it's not a serious something. Car Chase They are attention grabbers, any day- all four of them, good looking and happy, chatting away. Locating their car in the parking lot, they file in one after the other and zoom off into the busy street. Anyone peeping into the car would have seen them laughing, talking and bobbing their heads to the music from the car CD player. It’s a lazy evening and the ladies bask in each other’s company. It’s on 3rd mainland bridge that Kemi, seated by the driver notices the car to their right, occupied by a guy and his friend, driving steadily alongside them. There's a bit of traffic, allowing the guys feast on the beautiful sight the girls make. They

Do you know there's a tea for everything? You are shocked right, I was too when I discovered.  If everyone was like me, the tea industry will be non existent. When people ask me, do you drink tea? I smile and nod, 'green tea' I say before you ask the mandatory 'what kind of tea' question. What I often neglect to say is that I drink so much green tea that I only buy one pack every three months. Pack here does not mean carton, it means pack. So the other day, I bounced into Blenco, made my way to the tea session wanting to just pick my green tea and get out. But the shelf would not let me. I was awe struck by the sheer number of tea types there are. Bright eyes tea, smoother skin tea, arthritis tea, man& woman love tea, sharper mind tea, muscle tea, longer hair tea. Name it, there is a tea for it. Got me wondering, are these teas actually effective or is the tea market under the spot light for 'scam of the year'? I mean, if muscle building tea

For a long time, Classic powder has comfortably occupied the space allocated to powder in my head. Every time it breaks (which is practically every month), I walk into a supermarket and pick up  another one. I never consider other options or see reason to change. No, I was faithful to classic. Until recently. Staring at my face in the office restroom mirror at 5:00 pm one day, I asked myself ' who would imagine  I wore powder this morning '. Just like that, my commitment to Classic evaporated, quickly replaced with a desire for a new powder. My make up artist (who has made me up the two times I ever desired proper make up in my entire life) told me a number of times that Milani would be perfect for my face. I believed him, I still do. Only that Rita Dominic looks so flawless in the Zaron billboard at the foot of third mainland bridge. No lines, no smears, no colours- such flawless beauty makes me want to look like that  everyday. It somehow never registered in my head that

I have a love-hate relationship with tricycles. Also called kekes, I am yet to make up my mind as to how I feel about those things. They appear to be safer and more comfortable than bikes (okadas) but they are not anywhere near cars. After several experiments, I still cannot decide, is the backseat more comfortable than the half-seat by the driver in front? First, one would think the back is more comfortable till you have to sit between two people blessed with an ample size. Even when your seat partners are moderately sized, the shifting and dressing you have to do when one person has to get down is mighty uncomfortable. Particularly because, unlike in a car, you can not pick a safe corner by the door (or opening, since there are no windows). While you are busy getting comfortable, somebody will hop in beside you, suddenly commanding you to dress . The keke opens both ways so you cannot complain. At such times, the front appears to be better. At least, you will maintain the same

It's my baby sister's valedictory service in a few weeks and all the preparation is taking me way back, sending me on a trip down memory lane. I remember the days when my most paramount concern was how to make my hair grow long enough to weave for valedictory service. I remember the consultations with my friends about what each person should wear and the ensuing arguments with my mum about the definition of 'decent'. I can't believe it's been so long already. Where did all the time go? How did I go from worrying about my Biology result to worrying about house rent? I remember hanging out with my friends, counting the days to the release of our jamb results. Hanging out was basically playing games in Oyinkan's house, watching movies in Bolu's house or pretending to be singers at Tomiini's house. All those Saturdays Deola, Lolade, Moyo and I spent looking for okada on the streets of Ibara GRA talking about boys, teens church, Nora Roberts  and the la

The terrifying picture of how unbearable in-laws can be does not wait for you to marry. It manifests in your neighbour’s house, reaffirms its existence in the gist your mother and her friends share. And if you need any confirmation, Nollywood will gladly do the honours. The result is that long before we say ‘I do’, we have already mapped out strategies to say ‘I don’t’ to our in-laws, especially the mother-in-law.   However, this is merely a single story, unfair in its one sided representation. Adjusting to your in-laws is mega work and many husbands have been forced to choose between their sweet mother and the love of their lives, but are these feuds really necessary? Perhaps there is a different perspective from which we can consider these issues. First, I don’t understand why the wife and mother have to compete for the man’s heart. In my opinion, both represent different kinds of love and should have separate places in your heart. One is your beginning; the other is your