For Those Humans And Writers Who Feel Lost In The World Of Social Media.

 

The effect the social media has on us as humans and writers cannot be quantified, it is like an umbrella that shields us from the rain, and when your data is exhausted, the umbrella is stolen by your network providers. Gone into the ashes of lost memories not to be seen nor found no more until you subscribe again.

During those moments, it can be the most boring time ever, as you are shut out of this world, alone and alone with no one to hear your voice especially if you weave words into life like me.

Technology has given us everything that we need but at the same time, it has also robbed us of everything we once cherished. The things we hold dear, memories, priceless friendships, family, love and togetherness.

While the slay queens and slay mama's who seek relevance and validation by the likes and

comments of their followers are doing theirs, the SMALL GIRLS with BIG GOD are also catching the flight of social media paparazzo. 

Some of these girls feel alive when the likes and comments breathe life into them and make beauty out of their ashes, but when the likes and comments go into oblivion, they panic jump into the river of inferiority complex, hiding their faces just like "Small Doctor" said.

What about the boys?
Those ones especially the Yahoo Boys are the kings that sit on no throne, they were crowned by their ability to play on the intelligence of gullible people, but they have a makeshift throne, which is surrounded by the Slay Queens and Slay Mamas.

Some writers also count their worth by the likes and comments on their social media handles, for those writers, I say they have impaired intellects. The purpose of writing is to live an indelible mark on this earth, that even when you leave to suck the breasts of your ancestors, your leftover milk will still serve as a refuge to thousands and millions, if not billions of generations years after your exit.

Everybody is a celebrity in a day according to social media, that day is the day you were born, your birthday, the likes and comments gulp your timeline.
You are celebrated far and wide. But as the day comes to a dead end, you will realise it was just an illusion.

This is also to those ghost friends that the only time they resurrect is when you post the news and pictures of the death of your loved ones. They will be the first to comment with their usual condolence messages. I hope you will just go back into your grave and get cemented by the gravel of history?

And to those humans who have found a new way of committing suicide, the ones that do live videos and shut themselves out of this world, I hope you can begin to see the need to still give life another chance and use this platform as a means of dialogue and conversation with your followers. Your lives mean more than this world to us.

You know how you feel when your data vanishes into the pit of hell or when your gadget is struck by a lightning or thunder. The whole world comes crashing on you. The new world welcomes you with open arms, suddenly you feel like hugging the sun, but the ray of the sun is too much for you to bear because you are not so hot to give the sun a 10.

What a world!
The social media world, where we all allow the likes and comments be the muse that keeps our ink bleeding and flowing. In your confused memory and assisted by your village people, you feel you are really doing something, well done, Oh my god ! "won ti get tie."

This goes to those humans and writers that pretend that likes and comments do not matter, they forgot that no one fetches the ocean empty, neither has anyone ever filled a tanker carrying a basket.

As much as you all pretend, it is evident in your daily life, most of you cannot do without your social media for a day, depression becomes your guardian angel whenever you propose to the likes and comments and they both turn you down.
The earth refuses you an accommodation and your accomplishments 

are now standing trial in the court of social media, with "likes as the prosecuting counsel" and "Comments as the trial Judge."
There you are as the defendants manned by your lawyers -your Pen and Muse.

After back and forth arguments, the Social Media courts give his judgement as follows ;

Do not let the likes and comments be your muse, if they come, accept them with a warm reception, if they don't come, keep working and never stop working.

Never you compare your timeline with another.

We are not judged by our likes and comments, but by the quality of the contents we push out.

There will be comments that will break you and even pierce your hearts, but rise above them and keep churning out quality content.

After the judgement, the chains of likes and comments are gunned down and you are free to attain your full potential in life.

My thoughts and ink that flow through the South, East, West and North into my bleeding pen are always with you all.

 by Adetayo Omotoyosi Adeolu

 omotoyorsiiadeolu@gmail.com

Hush!

 

 Chimezie’s eyes were devoid of emotion, reminding Ify an experience buried in her little mind. Still holding Ify’s gaze, he sprang from the king-sized bed and dashed towards the door. 

 Her folded arms became more tightened, her body twisting in a manner suggestive of disapproval while her back still leaned against the closed wooden door. 

Recoiling with fear as she rolled her 10 yr old body into a ball defensively, she pleaded with Chimezie; the next door neighbor. 

“Please don't hurt me,” she sobbed, “You told me you will not do it again,” she continued, a stream of tears coursed down her cheeks. Dragging her up, he loosened her folded arms and held her hands.

 

“Okay listen, this will be the last,” he said, lowering his voice into a whisper. “And I promise you, it won’t hurt this time.” The stony grip she felt, reminded her of her resolution to grow 

 

into adulthood as soon as possible so that her soft and tender hand would grow stronger.  

She knew that if she could fill the drum in her mother’s kitchen with water every morning, scrub her father’s Volvo car to sparkling white, read and write on her own, then Chimezie’s feet would have no reason whatsoever to stand in her parent’s room begging her, on behalf of his penis, to walk into her panties. 

In one move, he swept her feet off the ground and swooped her up with his sturdy arms. The room rang with her scream but most of it got swallowed by the squeaky spinning ceiling fan. Hurriedly, he threw her into the squashed mattress, sprawling. In milliseconds, her eyes wandered off from the sleek ceiling to the gigantic photograph of her parent’s hung on the greasy walls and then to the clock. 

The clock said it was 11:30am. Whatever that means, she knew that her mother would only be home when the short hand points to 5 and the long arm with a range of 3 to 6.Leering at her, he pulled off his yellow shirt and his three-quarter jean. His appearance on his birthday suit caused her to coil her legs and then turned her back on him. The thing in-between his legs wasn’t same as Emmy’s –his own, she had seen those times they played in the rain. But what she saw was big; with size and shape of a hot dog sausage.

Viciously, he forced her into a spread-eagle position, after he had pulled up her white gown. Pinning down her arms with his left hand; with his right, he fastened his monstrosity into the narrow passage, and gradually forced himself into her. 

His thrusts, gentle at first but paced up with a renewed surge of desire to satiate. And each thrust caused her more heart throb, more whimper and more tears. 

Her weary eyes wandered off the door when she heard a slight creak. Her eyes lit up with joy when she saw her mother tiptoeing towards the bed, wielding a pestle. The room was still ringing with his moans when the pestle danced through the air to deck his head. 

Without a sound, he fell from his back to the marble floor with a thud. Pulling her daughter off the bed, with her face and her chest covered in blood, Ifeoma wrapped her arms around her child burying her tiny body into her warm embrace. 

“Don’t cry my child, mum is here,” she said, sobbing.  Ify stared at Chimezie's body, as blood quickly pooled around his head. She then turned to her mother, 

 

 

“Is he dead?”                                                 

Staring into Ify’s eyes, she replied                                                                                   

 “No. He is not dead,” then her eyes strayed to the body lying very still on the floor, almost lifeless, “But he will not forget today in a hurry.”                                                         by Aninze Chukwuebuka Harrison                                                                         #CHA_writes xx

 

 

 

 

Why I killed The Nigerian god

It is clear that in Nigeria when a child is given birth to, he or she is either born into a Christian, Muslim or traditional family. As for me I was birth into a Christian family and christened ''Emmanuel'' which till today I don't use as my name. I make use of my native name (ADETAYO OMOTOYOSI ADEOLU). 

I deliberately don't use my Christian name because I don't want to be identified with any religion. God is in my mind and he is without faith that is what I tell myself.

The way and manner Nigerians worship God is such that encourages laziness and breeds poverty. The type that keeps both young and old in church during work-hours. The pastors tell them to pray and expect miracles, they preach to them not to go after the things of this world but to be focused on making heaven. The pastors, on the contrary, are cruising around with sound bullet-proof cars and living in palatial mansions(Are these not the things of the world ?). 

It gives me a serious headache to see people in church 'casting and binding' this so-called devil and evil spirit on Monday morning, these people should be at work and not the church on Monday morning.

I am not disputing the place of prayer in such a wicked environment like ours but there should be a limit to this attitude. Recently, an elder in a church told a group of students that they can engage in examination malpractice and later ask for forgiveness from(THE NIGERIAN GOD). In my silent but observing manner, I overheard recently an examiner gather students for prayer and after that marathon prayer, expo and malpractice started flying around. What do you have to say about this ???

The Belief in the Nigerian God is such that frowns at girls that get pregnant out of wedlock but encourages fornication as long as you don't get pregnant and you are using pills and condoms. A young girl that gets pregnant could be castigated and expelled in our places of worship, especially the churches. But the church will not take action on those that refuse to birth their own child but put them in toilets and those that engage in abortion.

The Nigerian God is among the chief-proponent of corruption among its Citizens and politicians, It propels them to steal and embezzle government funds and pay their tithes, in return, these rogues are given special recognition and status in our various religious houses. Segregation also reigns supreme in our places of worship, there is a sharp distinction between the rich and the poor.


The Men Of God(Sorry the gods-of-man) you celebrate cruise around in fine and expensive cars, they buy private jets and sends their children to the most expensive schools money can afford. They go with armed security guards -  D.S.S, Army, in some cases, the police, to guard them closely and scare the hell out of you.  If they truly carry anointing, have you ever asked yourself why they move with so much security ?? 

Here you are, struggling to eat three times a day, not even sure where the next meal will come from or what the future holds for you. How many of your religious leaders(Pastors, Bishops,Rev.Fr and Imams, Alhajis) during the recession last year ever shared foodstuffs to you?? How many of them organized lectures on how to create multiple sources of income for you? 

How many of them offered you skills acquisition, empowerment, scholarships for youths ?? Do they provide for the weak and Aged ones ?? 

The average Nigerian is very religious but Godless in nature, Christians and Muslim are the worst set of people you can ever come across. Look around you, your leaders either claim to be Muslims or Christians but look at the way our country is today. Muslims are killing Christians and Muslims are also doing the same. There is tension in the land due to unguided statements of our religious leaders.

If we have to make this country right, if we are really sincere in our fight against corruption, it should start with our religious houses, religious leaders. We must change our attitude towards each other.  I foresee a situation in the future where the fight will not be between one tribe against another but the worshippers against the church and religious leaders.

The new Nigerian God I want to believe in is the one that stresses hard work and prayer side by side. The one that cautions his followers against wrongdoings and evil acts and directs their mind to positive acts.

Do you agree or disagree??
Let me know what you think.
Until we meet next time.

I AM JUST A FREETHINKER AND A LOVER OF MY CREATOR, MY GOD 

by Adetayo Omotoyosi Adeolu

omotoyorsiiadeolu@gmail.com