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