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

Political Transfer Window In A MONEY-Pulated Economy.

The months to elections, in Nigeria, is usually marred by different antics and shenanigans by politicians, with a desperate move not to loose out in the elections.

In the past few weeks, the Nigerian Political Space has witnessed alignments and realignments, with Politicians jumping out of the sinking A.P.C (All Progressives Congress) ship and shielding from the rain using the umbrella of P.D.P(Peoples Democratic Party).  All these drama are geared towards the 2019 Elections.

Nigeria is a country blessed with natural resources, instead of developing it's human capacity to meet up with the emerging world trends and challenges, the leaders are busy looting the economy of the country dry. 

In 2014, the A.P.C  re-opened the Political transfer window, as it is similar to what we have in the football world. Then, different politicians and Bigwig's of the then ruling party - PDP left for the A.P.C and eventuality chased the largest party in Africa out of power.
The dimension the political transfer has taken is a source of worry, the once adored politicians who decamped to the P.D.P were labeled instantly with different unprintable names by those who felt betrayed.

As it is customary with politicians, especially in a country like Nigeria, their followers have taken over the fight, abusing themselves over the defections. But what they failed to know is that, they are tool in the hands of these politicians, who only fight for self-preservation.

When politicians make move in a transfer window, they are either moving because they are not sure of getting the party tickets or they have fallen out with the leadership of the party.

The recent political transfer move opened up the debate and questioned the ideology of these crop of politicians we have in the country. One politician joins a political party today, he is singing their praises and they are also singing his praises. The moment he moves out of the party, he suddenly realizes that the party is a confused party with no vision for the country. This can be related to what Governor Aminu Tambuwal said when he was addressed his followers, he said all the party promised in its manifesto, it failed to fulfill. He also accused the A.P.C of massive corruption and deepening poverty in the land. This was the party he once cherished and held in high esteem, and at the same time the party he defected to. The same party he joined hands to bury in 2015 election.

You may want to ask why the same party - the P.D.P ?
The excuse some of the defectors was that the P.D.P has rebranded and it has put its house in order.
But has the P.D.P really put its house in order ?
That is another question for another day.


In the aftermath of the 2015 elections, the A.P.C became the majority in the senate, the party leadership wanted it's own chosen candidates to become the leaders of the National Assembly. The man from Kwara went against the party's directives and thus became the Senate President. Saraki's emergence didn't go down well with the leadership of the party. He has since been labeled a villain, he has also seen his own part of prosecution or persecution if you like. He has been a regular visitor to the Code Of Conduct Tribunal (CBT), he won the case. He was also linked to the Offa robbery case. So when Saraki decided to join his colleagues who dumped the ruling A.P.C for his former party - P.D.P, he got more than he bargained for, with A.P.C members and leadership calling on him to resign as the senate President. There has been plot to remove him by the A.P.C senators but since it will take 2/3 of the senate which is 73 to remove him as the senate  President, of which presently, the A.P.C don't have, he remains the senate President.

The Nigerian Political space also witnessed the blockage of both the residence of the senate President and his deputy by the Police on the day leading to the announcement of the defections. In a bid to prevent the defections, the government quickly mobilized the Police to mount the residence of the leaders of the senate.

But in what looks like a coup last week, the D.S.S seized control of the National Assembly, preventing Lawmakers and staffs from gaining entrance into the National Assembly.
But in a U-turn move, the Acting-President, Prof. Yemi  Osinbajo sacked the man at the helm of affairs at the D.S.S, Lawal Daura and appointed another director, claiming the directives to block the National Assembly did not emanate from the government. While the government can keep on denying, it is a truism, that Nigerians knows the brain behind the actions of the D.S.S.
While the action of the D.S.S was condemned by lovers of democracy and freedom home and abroad, it is important that the government of the day, fish out those responsible for that dastardly act in our modern day history.

As I bring this article to an end, I will like to see a country where her Citizens are not moved by the actions and inactions of these politicians and leaders. Where our Politicians cum leaders would allow the interest and development of their people override their own selfish interest.

As we countdown towards the 2019 General elections, Nigerian citizens should keep in mind that politicians whether from the south or not, when it comes to the issues of money and self interest are all the same. And should they be called to kill or spill the blood of their fellow countrymen, they should gladly turn it down.

In this MONEY-PULATED ECONOMY, only love can set us free. When we refuse to become the tool Politicians use to fulfill their own selfish interest and agenda, we create the future that will want.

By Adetayo Omotoyosi Adeolu

omotoyorsiiadeolu@gmail.com

Boys Are Not Stones

When I saw this picture, I remembered how boyhood hurts. How we were planted in the hands of abuse; lost sisters and uncles. How our parents thought we were old enough to man ourselves, to find our way; so they gave us a weak freedom. They gave us the freedom to our doom. The freedom that would kill us later in life. Those pains still remain part of me. The pains of those boy children endangered in the hands of Auntie. Those boy children tampered like broken glasses, strong enough to hold their shattered bodies, thoughts, feelings and emotions together without breaking them; without telling their parents because society stereotyped them. Society foisted heroic names on them.

I wonder why parents always thought we were stronger when the other parts of us seek help and support. I wonder why they take so much consideration in keeping the girl child together. Teaching them how to sit properly. Teaching them how to rebuke a man that touches their body, especially their private parts. Teaching them how to avoid premarital sex. Teaching them how not to go to that boy’s house alone, but the boy child is neglected under the deceptive shroud of self-confidence, the false belief that he has full control of himself. We forget that those boys also have feelings and weaknesses.

We sing more of those girls from paradise than the boys from the ghetto school of hard knocks. Remember, we are all part of the struggle too. We face the same thing that girls face in that lonely room. Auntie and Uncle still stroke us in the dark blind room. They still ask us to plant a kiss on their lips and make us spend hours touching them here and there and watch them groan in an unknown tone. We didn’t tell anyone because if we did, they wouldn’t buy us those Christmas shoes they promised us.

We should be careful whom we send our boys to, whom our boys go visit alone. We should

be careful with home teachers, pastors in the church, Sunday school teachers and those we leave our boys with. The boy child is also prey to Sisters of Christ, the priests and those people we trusted with our lives. They are not stones. 
Boys are not stones, why neglect them to be abused by those lost sisters?

Boys are being raped and brutalized too. They get abused by women old enough to be their mothers but they keep quiet because no one would believe their stories. Because we believe more in the abuse of the girl child than the boy child, why?

Why does the society cry only in defence of the girl child? Lest we forget, the boy child is not a stone. Parents should look into our matters too. Let’s relate this with a family that has a boy and a girl. In the family diagram, the girl is considered more vulnerable in so many more ways than the boy, even though the girl may be older than him. They believe the boy is a man and can take good care of himself. They do not know that as much as he is a boy, he has his own weaknesses weighing him down, but he won’t talk because society taught him that talking makes him a weak man. He is not allowed to cry either because crying reduces him as a man. So, he has learnt to swallow more assaulted bones than his spit.

No one would respect him if he spoke his mind. This is where society also offends the boy child. Society stereotyped him to think he is a superhero, a superman who can take care of himself. Many crazy things happen to boys. We go through severe pains. The government will hear of this and nothing will be done. No imprisonment, no suspension. The priests hurt them. The pastors abuse them, their mothers hit them and their sisters hurt them morally as well as the house help using them also, but no one is saying anything about this. Is there no hope for the boy child in these matters? People don’t really care about what happens to these innocent boys.
We say words like “If anything happens to my daughter;” “Please take care of your sister;” “Protect your sister;” Then, what about the boys? Who takes care of the boys? They are like pastors who pray for others but hope unto God for our every success.

I think that the boy child should be given a voice to speak among his peers, a voice of expression. I think they should be given the chance to explain themselves; the right to see themselves in themselves. They shouldn’t be stereotyped, they should be taught how weak they are and not superhumans.

Boys you are not super humans! Take note, let no one deceive you into believing that.

In as much as they invade our territories and want to have us by all means, we should also defend ourselves. You know when the tale is told, the world will doubt us by saying ‘Women cannot rape or sexually assault a boy;” “How can a boy be raped by a woman?” so, you have to defend your territories. This game is changing every day, and society can’t see it. We talk about the Chibok girls, Dapchi girls and those girls brutalized in the street, yet the boys are not talked about.

I actually observe that parents, especially mothers are just concerned about the girl child losing her virginity and getting pregnant and not worried about the issues of the boy child. They are not worried about the tale that the boy told them about Uncle Ricky removing his pants. They are not moved by the stories they told them about the pastor touching them here and there. Maybe they believed he was praying for them or maybe that Sunday school teacher that took Benny to the toilet and told him he had a big manhood was right saying such things to a boy. These people held in such high esteem are abusing boys, so why do we shy away from them?

Lots of little boys are suffering in silence in the street. They can’t say a thing about the

dangers they face every day. Even if they speak out, who will believe them? How many people believe boys can be raped too or sexually abused on any occasion? Maybe you will understand better when an adult male opens up to you about the horrors of their childhood. This has been my thought and will also be my message and the consciousness I exude. We should try not to keep fostering society’s mistake by raising one and neglecting another in the name of manhood. Don’t raise only a girl and not the boy because you think he is bold enough to stand alone.

I will now relate to my own childhood experience. I grew up in the ghetto town of Aba where survival was by who you are, how brave you are to defend your sister’s body from being defiled by men and boys. Mother always told us to protect our sisters. That was the ultimate role of a boy at that age. There were boys around. Boys that could take advantage of her. Boys that could harm her. Boys that could teach her bad things. So, she taught us how to defend our sisters, not ourselves, because she believed that our sisters were weaker emotionally and therefore could not protect themselves; but we boys can. We planted those beliefs in our mind. We fought harder so that we would not disappoint the mother and father. We have to make them proud. I fought too even though I was not that strong. But I needed to prove to my parents that I could protect my sister even though I was so weak to defend myself at that time.

There was one day when a friend of mine was beaten by a girl in school. He came back home and told his parents what happened. The whole house broke into elegies. It was torn into pieces and its fragments shattered into dust. The spiders went into hiding, the lizards were afraid too. Everywhere was calm and silence ruled our mind.

His father got angry. He shouted, danced here and there to his ability. He asked my friend where his hands were when the girl beat him up. I was there. I was afraid to explain what really happened to them. My friend was too afraid to speak. The father went into his room, got a rope, tied his hands and legs and began to beat him. His mother did not help the matter. She was supportive of his father. They beat the hell out of him. I helped him escape.

As I grew older, I tried to relate this issue with being inhuman and the things that have to do with boys and girls but failed. I tried to relate it to me as a man but I could not get a reasonable answer to all the questions bothering my mind. They were not abstract things. They were things we see day after day. A wife beating her husband and people laugh it away, a man beating his wife, it becomes violence against women, it makes the headlines in the dailies. Then, what is the name given to the former 

Is it a sin for a girl to beat up a boy of her age or one she is older than? Are we that strong emotionally and physically that nothing can defeat us? Or is it culture or tradition that made it so? Why do boys have to suffer this much and society doesn’t care about them?

The majority of these things happen everywhere. We think there is no way a boy can show his weakness to the world. They look up to the boy child as the firstborn of the family so he is expected to bury his father upon his death.

Boys are not stones, they are flesh and blood just like their counterpart.

by John Chizoba Vincent 

chizobavincent@gmail.com