Calm, TOTALLY INSANE, but calm still.



The smell of blood begets fear in the soul of the faint hearted
Surgeons and butchers are immune souls to it’s stench.
Once, when I had drank my fill from the breast of dementia.
I flung wide the legs of fear and I raped her.
Now, if you know anything about Memories,
It is that, the glossy finish gets glossier every time.

Back to this hour of blood and fear in the air.
Whose blood is it? You ask.
Ask the butcher when he slits the throat of a bull
Or the surgeon as he clamps down vessels in your gut.
The gory details don’t matter at this hour.
Only the muddy red blood and the bile taste of fear
That is all that matters.

How dare you think about death?
Death will forever remain a mystery to you
Until you stare it down and live to tell a tale
The tale I assure you will get glossier
-each time you tell it.
For such is the curse of memories
But I assure you this,
There’s no insurance against death
For death is equal to nothingness
And life has a strong affinity to nothingness
So, fear not death though it means your end
You’ll only become a memory that gets glossier.

Ps: Memories fade away into nothingness.

by Blaqknyght

Note: Apologies are in order, I admit I have not at all been faithful to this blog, though I’ve been writing, if you could call it that. Been getting some funny messages, on twitter especially in the last couple of weeks, people saying I don’t write, that I sacrificed my writing for twitter, tbh fam (I still don’t know what this means by the way) and all. You know what? I think Its hilarious, Iike that could ever happen.

Now the reason for my absence is quite simple, I’m working on something special with a few other people, when it all comes together I’ll let you know. I promise I’m not slacking, aswearrugad. Have a wonderful week ahead. shalom


Children Who come and go.

Hello there, today we have Monsieur @Haemlet_ here with us, he did this story sometime ago on his blog . Enjoy.


I am a prisoner of circumstance, a prisoner to life and I kept hoping that any moment he would open up the door to allow me my freedom. Escape isn’t an option and even if by some freaky stroke of fate I see a way out, I still wouldn’t be able to save myself for I am too weak to fight. I feel so cheated, deprived and unloved, I feel like a thief, a robber of happiness that has stolen from my parents again and again or so I have been accused. I can hear the rustling of the leaves outside as the cool evening breeze caressed it and the echoes of the other kids call as they fell into the rhythm of our nightly games and disturbing memories threatened my sanity. With nothing to do other than to stare hopelessly at the thatched roof of a room I soon began to associate with as my prison, memories of the good times flashed by in quick succession like it was but a blur in the distance, only to be replaced by memories of the mental and psychological abuse suffered, tortures and cruelty meted on me and the very fiber of my existence shook as I wailed in torment, like a broken soul.


Tonight I must lead the village of Nsukwu to where I have hidden it, for my crimes and the suffering of my parents must end. Desperately I listen to hear of my missionary teacher’s return, the “Onye ocha”, the only person that stood by me even when my family and village forsook me. But he was a tardy too late because I can now hear the sound of approaching feet and whispers as the time for my reckoning arrived. And my broken soul yearned for solace as I saw the inevitability and hopelessness of my situation.


I still remember the day it all started with so much clarity and intensity that it brought tears to my inner eyes. It was in the rainy season of the year after the missionary had come into our village, Nna had come home angry after he had consulted with the oracles about my constant illness. It was revealed to him that I was an “Ogbanje”, an evil spirit who has been bringing pain to them by tormenting and dragging them through the rigorous rituals of childbirth, only to leave them shattered and heart broken by dying. The oracle claimed that my mission was to rob them of all their happiness by dying, watching them mourn and then coming back when the scars have almost healed to give them hope only to shatter it again.


Is it my fault that three others of the same gender and likeness have died before me? Is it my fault that we all were afflicted by the same mysterious illness that eventually took their life and would eventually claim mine? Was it my fault that I was never as strong as my peers and even now lay sick and weak on my bed? All these I asked myself as I was being carried away to the dibia’s shrine where I would hence forth remain till I revealed the whereabouts of my “Iyi-Uwa”, or the rites of “Ibe-Ugwu” would be performed on me because it was sometimes thought to get rid of the “Ogbanje” too.


All these accusations I could have lived with if my sweet and loving Nne hadn’t shied away from my touch when I cried out and tried to reach for her as they carried me away. That singular action from her brought down all the bitter tears I had struggled to hold back because I could accept Nna deserting me to the verdicts of the gods but not Nne. That sweet loving woman who stayed up and sang to me in my worst nights, Nne that cried with me when the pains of my illness had become nearly unbearable for me, the same Nne who carried and bathed me when the rigors of my illness had ravaged my body had looked the other way like I was an “Osu” and that singular act of betrayal burnt so deep in my innocent soul that it left it forever scarred.


I could understand my Nna and Nne trying to find answers to their problems, but why blame me an innocent child for a misfortune that was not just theirs but also mine? Aren’t they emphatic to my plight? Don’t they know that I go through the most heinous of pains and suffering during my bouts with this mysterious illness? Or do they think I would want to put myself through that kind of pain and suffering just to make them suffer? Where is the sense in that? The gods should answer me please. Are the gods really watching over us? Are they seeing my predicaments? Is their no justice in this cold world? Are the gods responsible for this? Or are the gods laughing at me now as they break “Oji” over my sufferings? All these I bitterly asked myself as they battered me with incantations and forcefully made me drink different herbal concoctions just to reveal where my “Iyi-Uwa” was buried.


I was told an “Iyi-Uwa” was an object that bound my spirit to this world and caused me to return to my Nne after I have died. The dibia also revealed that the oracle has shown him that my “Iyi-Uwa” was a piece of coloured stone and I must show them where I have hidden it, so that they can destroy it and thereby put my evil spirit to rest. So I was faced with either showing them my “Iyu-Uwa” or face the excruciating pains of the “Ibe-Ugwu” rites [circumcision].


I am merely a blossoming fourteen year old girl who had dreams of becoming a teacher in the missionary school someday, but I have already experienced eight years worth of pain and suffering. At one fell swoop I had lost the affection of both my parents and my friends to the verdict of the gods and nobody in the village cared less. Even my childhood friend Iheoma abandoned me to my fate, but still the memories of Iheoma and times we spent which now felt like a figment of my imagination almost brought a smile to my face. Iheoma and her penchant for mischief, Iheoma and that twinkle in her eyes when she was up to no good, The fun we had together on the days my illness loosened its grip on me, the times we spent in the forest day dreaming when we were supposed to be at the stream, the days we helped Nne fry garri, our quarrels and our love. All those cherish-able memories marred by the injustice meted on me.


I remember the day I was too ill to participate, let alone attend the dance festival of my age group in the village. I remembered the pain I felt knowing that Iheoma and my peers would be out there jiggling and shaking their small rotund buttocks while I lay on my bed hapless and helpless. I cried my soul out that day like I am doing now, as I am being led out to find my “Iyi-Uwa”. The only difference is that today the gods are crying along with me and as the intensity of my tears increases so did the out pour of the rain outside. It was like the celestial bodies were mourning the iniquities of my life with me.


The search is about to begin and I am surrounded by a handful of the villagers but I am surprisingly filled with renewed vigour because of the sacrifice I have decided to make today. Deep down I know I won’t survive the night for I most surely would die from the long trek into the forest, but I would rather die than face the painful rites of “Ibe-Ugwu”. I go light hearted and with hope because of the promise my missionary teacher made to me. He was the only one who vehemently fought for my release, he was the only one who came to visit me throughout the two weeks I spent in the dibia’s shrine and he was the reason I agreed to take them on this wild goose chase for if I hadn’t, he would surely have been harmed for interfering. His explanations that my Nna and Nne were the reasons for their predicaments fell on deaf ears, he tried to explain that there was something in both their genes that made them incompatible and therefore led to them birthing sick children but that only further infuriated Nna and the elders for they were willing to use the gods to blame an innocent child for nothing she knew about rather than accept the blame.


I remember his last words as he left my side;


“Anyuli I will do everything in my power to help you because I know that this isn’t your doing. I leave you now not because I want to abandon you but because I want to gather help and save you from this hell, and with the support of the mission I will forever put an end to this abomination. Wish me God’s speed and wait for my return,”


Tonight I pay the ultimate sacrifice for others like me out there so remember my names, “Anwuli” which I was named because I was supposed to bring happiness along with me, that same happiness I have been accused of robbing off my Nna and Nne. “Okwukwe” which I was named for I had brought hope to my parents, the hope they have lost in me and that I am now giving to others like me out there, and “Ifunaya” which I was named because of the love I had brought along with me into this world, the same love I have lost from everyone and now showing to you all by sacrificing myself. Please weep for me, please remember me.




  • Nne- Mother
  • Nna- Father
  • Dibia- Witch doctor’
  • Osu- Outcast
  • Ogbanje- An evil spirit that deliberately plagues a family with misfortune
  • Iyi-Uwa- an object that binds an Ogbanje to this world and caused them to return after they have died
  • Onye Ocha- White man
  • Oji – Kola nut
  • Ibe-Ugwu – Female Circumcision

Day 30 – Zinc

Symbol – Zn

Atomic weight – 65.39

Ionization energy – 9.3942eV

Solution –

Chemist – @dollstreasure




I always remember this story with a smile.

That Monday afternoon, I stayed behind for ‘Calabar lectures’ alongside Mandy and Beluchi after everybody had gone back to the dormitory to hurry up their activities in preparation for afternoon prep.  Before us was a huge pot of eba and steaming egusi soup (yes, it was the next big thing after jollof rice). My heart sang with joy, I never had the time to savor lunch because we had to go prepare and look fresh for afternoon prep. That’s what I’d have been doing if I wasn’t here in this old dining hall devouring eba and egusi with my cunning friends. I would have been standing in front of Girls dorm’s locked gates pleading with the ‘Baba Duros’.

“Baba, please I can’t stay for afternoon food, I’m a Muslim.” – Works only during Ramadan.

The new idiots from Niger (I don’t even know what people from Niger are called) with their ugly brown dentition were brought a couple of months back because they looked fierce and could supposedly catch ‘Blackman’. In their thick accent they would say,

“Recite Suratul Fathia.”

I would gladly recite and enter the hostel like a hero alongside the other Muslim students.

Other pleas included,

“Excuse me, sir. I’m stained.”

“Excuse me sir, I’m really pressed.”

“I’m not feeling fine. I have medical report.”

The looks of desperation had to be there. The oldest and the most disgusting ‘Baba Duro’ was ‘Labcoat’ (because of the dirty white coat he always wore). Word went round that he was a ‘jazzman’ (another story for some other time). He’d then go ahead and say, “Unless you say Please, Baba, my good, handsome and faithful husband.”

That was very repulsive. Some girls didn’t mind though, they would go ahead to say what the guy wanted just so they could enter the dormitory. What did we do in the dormitory? We had about 30mins to wash our school uniforms (or give juniors to wash if you’re a senior, normal thing), stand in line to get water, get the water, have your bath, gather books, dress up for afternoon  prep and oh remember to put powder on your neck so that boys would think you’re neat or you had your bath.

I was ‘stabbing’ at present and enjoying it. Mandy and Beluchi however were professionals in this kind of shady business. They stabbed afternoon prep especially on Mondays. On getting to the dorm, I did everything at my own pace. Uche, my area partner asked if I was going to class and with a superior smile, I said no.

Gradually, the number of people in the dormitory reduced until it was just me, my professional accomplices and some a few others in separate parts of my dormitory.  So I went to Mandy’s corner, she and Beluchi had bread and sardine set in front of them.

“Oya come and eat o.”

“You guys are just enjoying. Are you sure those soldiers won’t come and check?”

“Na wa o. Dolapo, calm down na. This is not our first time. Plus don’t kobalize us abeg.”

But I thought to myself, this is my first time and I ‘mara’ a lot for cane. They never get caught, so I wouldn’t. Mandy even used to stab night prep and iron her uniform with the school’s back-up generator, her skirt was blue instead of green. She was the queen of contraband.

We had spent like 20 minutes of our free time eating bread and sardine and chattering away until we heard people scurrying from Octopus house followed by the heavy footsteps we dreaded, the soldiers. They were around.

Without thinking, Mandy shoved us into the nearest wardrobe and covered us with the clothes hanging on the rack. She proceeded to cover herself with a wrapper and began her act. Beluchi and I crouched in the small wardrobe holding our breaths and keeping mute, making no sound.

“What is wrong with you?” A brusque voice said. It was ‘Baby soldier’

“I’m not feeling fine.” Mandy responded in a shaky voice.

“Why didn’t you go to the MIRoom? My friend you are not sick. Stand up and wear your daywear. You are going to guardroom. Baggar!”

Yes, if you didn’t vomit, you weren’t just sick enough.

We felt sorry for Mandy but we knew she’d take care of herself. The soldier came so close to our hiding place, we could even see his heavy brown shoes. That was when we really held our breath. He left however and walked to the other side of the dormitory and we heard him leave. At that point, we let out our breath in a whoosh. We had made it.

Beluchi and I were still trying to decide whether to leave the cupboard or stay in for a while when suddenly, the hanging clothes which shielded us were moved gently, staring at us with narrow yellow eyes was Isiaka, the disgusting Niger security dude. He called out to Hamidu, another security man and that one hurried towards us with glee. We were still in our underwear and they were ogling at Beluchi (There was nothing to ogle at on my body, haha you should see me now.)

“Go wear daywear. Una dey follow us go meet the remaining people.”

I was so angry, I wished my anger would make me a superhero and then I could kill them both. I dreaded the events that were about to ensue. So we silently put on our ‘daywear’, each of us plotting a way of escape.

‘To your tents O ye Israel!’

We were led to the gates and then rounded up with other students. By the time we all got to the dormitory gates, near the Baba Duro post, Beluchi had disappeared. I was on my own. I had to make plans to escape. The penalty was being flogged in public and the guardroom. Dreadful, dreadful, dreadful!

“Kneel down”

We all got on our knees, a light bulb loomed over my head and next thing I was kneeling, bent over, clutching my belly and ‘vomiting’ blood.

The soldier looked unfazed.

The tears began to flow.

In my tiny, tear-influenced voice, I said, “I did an operation sir and when the crisis starts, I vomit blood. That’s why I stabbed prep.”  I vomited another again.

A flicker of pity flashed across his hairless face and then brusquely, he said,


Those words were my liberation from koboko mayhem that day. Many people know all about koboko business. That shii aint fun.

Don’t you just miss boarding house?


Calabar lectures – Extra food after every student has eaten.

Baba Duro – The security men at the girls’ dormitory.

Blackman – The mysterious naked thief who attacked the girls’ dorm at will. Almost every boarding school has this, right?

Mara – Unable to tolerate cane/koboko hence you ‘display’ and maybe cry.

MIRoom  – School clinic.

Guardroom – Student prison.

Day 29 – Copper

Symbol – Cu

Atomic weight – 63.546

Ionization energy – 7.7264eV

Solution –

Chemist – @Volturi_Lord




Code name please….

I leaned towards the cute girl, modulated my voice down a notch and replied her in my tested and trusted bedroom voice:


She raised an impeccable groomed eyebrow and managed to look unimpressed while still smiling politely.

“Password please….”


Now both perfectly arched eyebrows were up and a tiny crease was beginning to appear in what I imagine was a botox enhanced forehead.

“Password please” she repeated….

“Oh sorry, illuminati was last month’s…..Ogboni!”

“Yea, the password’s Ogboni!”

The raised eyebrows immediately dropped, creased forehead went back to its obscenely smooth paradigm and the polite smile was back on her face as if copy pasted at the end of a wizard’s wand.

“Welcome to the Invictus corporation TBH, please go straight down the hallway”

Being an immortal god and been around for more than a couple of centuries would do that to a man, I’ve been in slightly different versions of this scenario over the last couple of a hundred years that I was almost on auto pilot. But this place was different. It wasn’t the dark sinister looking cave-like nest of festering evil we always expect from these take-over-the-world types. It was airy and cheery with a slight hint of cinnamon in the air……could they be baking cookies?

After months of undercover work and cunning slithering through the ranks, I was finally invited to the holies of holy, into the organ in the organization. I finally had a chance to know the unusual mind behind this unusual sublime entity called Invictus.

The fact that I was here alone was unfair, and the fact that I had being relegated to hunting minor offenders for frivolous misdemeanors while other gods, white gods in fact were out there doing awesome shii while I was used as a gofer was maddening. Avengers my ass!! If this wasn’t racism then the Nazi’s hadn’t killed 6 million jews……well actually they hadn’t killed six 6 million jews, more in the range of 11 mil. But who could account for humans and their mastery of the art of covering shii up? I just stick to my job and occasionally set some annoying earthlings on fire when I “accidentally” belch fire.

Over the years, I’ve had several code names for my clandestine operations, but just 2 had stuck. The first “the bawdy paet” was in the words of the urban Nigerian youths of today “casted” seeing as I had over centuries sent a lot of demons to Hades domain using that alias. So now I just go by The Blue Paet.

But of course I digress. Today’s mission is supposed to be a simple; get in, get the identity of the Head-nigga-in-charge as he likes to be referred to, get out, email a report to my supervisor, get home to my couch, a chilled can of my favorite brew and ESPN.

ESPN….human’s greatest invention! One couldn’t explain…..

Again I digress, I was now in front of a gold plated elevator and the red tinged motif on it almost had me laughing out loud. Who would have thought this possible? That I Sango, the once feared and revered god of thunder, lightning and all things loud and scary would be reduced to hunting down minor demons with drawings of a “cartooned” god on their elevator door. Who would have thought that I would be shutting down some of the few people who still actually remember that I exist?

Still chuckling I entered the elevator and pushed the single button available to be pushed. Sometimes I wonder if these evil-genius-maniac types took courses on how to be dramatic cause apparently they sha excelled at it.

The elevator opened into a corridor featuring a huge poster;

”    3,155,414,400   Seconds
52,590,240         Minutes
876,504              Hours
36,521                Days
5,218                  Weeks
1,200                  Months
400                     Seasons
100                     Years


We give you as many of this as you want.”

I felt a tug of excitement and forced myself to calm down. Now, This. Was. Very. Interesting.
I think a little education would do a lot of good here. You see, in the 1400th century, Lord Banks and some of his minions had escaped purgatory with approximately 17 liters of primordial ooze, which they had immediately and with high enthusiasm embarked on introducing into the drinking water supply of major cities the world over. Thus the Bubonic plague and the 25 million Europeans black death episode.

History had again repeated itself when the never-captured Lord Banks had again reappeared in the 19th century. This time toting an entire knapsack of meta-physically enhanced cholera pathogen that he was in the process of applying to the Asian and African continents (thankfully sparing) when he had being nabbed, hanged, drawn, quartered and had his remains scattered to the far ends of the world by our predecessors.

So when I stepped into the corridor and closely examined what had drawn my attention, I wasn’t only excited, I could feel a chill run up my spine. The Decal at the left upper corner of the poster was exactly like the one we had studied during one of the many mini-courses they made us take at one time or another. This one had stuck with me for a simple reason. The face on it was ugly as hell and it kinda reminded my of my ex-girlfriend ‘Olokun’. All gnarly and scaly.

It’s been quite a while I felt fear, so when I caught myself hesitating to take the long walk down the corridor to the huge double doors; I was startled and a little bit gratified. Fear was healthy. Fear was the difference between an immortal ‘godling’ and burnt immortal toast. Fear was exciting……. and if the thought has even crossed your mind that a god shouldn’t be scared of anything, then you obviously have no idea how fearsome, awesome and inherently scary the array of entities, beings, demons and incomprehensible things out there are. What was I expecting sef? You know absolutely nothing.

I slowly moved forward, each step filling, mingling and woven with trepidation. If I say I felt like going back I would again come across as a coward, but I’d like to officially inform you that the thought crossed my mind more times than the pointy edge of a pentacle. Call it what you wanna, but Lordy Banks had a reputation of being a Badoo! And when you think about the fact that he was single handedly responsible for the death of over a hundred million mortals, he was rumored to have once torn out the still beating heart of a succubus just to use it as a paperweight.  Add to that mix the anger and wrath he’ll be feeling now after spending the last couple of a hundred years in various isolated parts and pieces. I just would love not to be there and definitely not to be the agent assigned to stop him when he decided to hatch out whatever he had in store for you people this new millennium. Where were those white gods when you need them? All full of heroic thoughts, delusions of grandeur and glory and of course…..full of horse shit!

The corridor curved at the end and flared to meet a massive double arched door of smooth fine bronze. No finishing, carving handle or protrusions of any kind. It just cast a dull sheen and stood there preventing unbidden entrance. Silent and forbidden…..You’d need an anti-tank missile to burst through this if those behind had no use for your presence but obviously they wanted mine, because the door slowly slid open on hidden hinges. Without even as much as a muted groan and I took a short step into the unknown. This was it… There was a very high probability that I wasn’t going to step back through those doors. Every good run has to have an end.

The first thing I noticed was the swirling pink mist, followed by the thudding and head convulsing banging techno music. Well this wasn’t what I was expecting. I cautiously pushed forward through the haze towards the source of the Owlcity jam that was on and what sounded like laughter. Visibility was zero and the air smelt like vanilla and lubricated latex……wait, make that vanilla scented Condoms. The entire environment reeked of vanilla flavored condoms. I wonder what the hell Lord banks was cooking up now. I had come with the expectations of maybe sitting in on a meeting, being introduced to him and maybe kotowing to le boss, but now I had being allowed into what seemed like their laboratory and when unknown “lowlifes” were allowed into their laboratory, that went a long way explaining a lot about how confident this group was.

I stepped a little bit forward and discovered what seemed like a short step that lead into a depressed hollow area in that great room. As if prearranged, the mist opened up a bit and I laid my eyes on what I was most scared of. Someone must have snitched and told these fellows my weak spot, my kryptonite.

I could just feel my power draining outta me. An African man wasn’t supposed to witness this, talk more of an African god, the epitome of manliness and strength. I had walked right into the middle of a gay orgy.


Day 27 – Cobalt

Symbol – Co

Atomic weight – 58.9332

Ionization energy – 7.881eV

Solution – Lady in Blue

Chemist – @Sisijacobs




She sat alone at a table for two,

An oasis of quiet in a city of chaos,

Voices rising and falling, glasses clanging merrily,

Life happening all around but none beside,

A blind date gone wrong or simply awol.


He stared from afar, struck as always by her inner beauty

Till her misery he saw and swore to fix

A sense of desire filling his pores

To wipe her blues away and erase her woes

Her knight in shining armor and to her rescue he rode.


Pretty red liquor, oh so glorious and vibrant,

Tonight you convey the means to rock her world

To awaken her smile and the beat of her heart,

Like bees to honey, to her side they would flock,

Drawn by pheromones distilled and hidden within.


A shadow of a smile appears, as that initial sip slithers down,

And then the first lad stops, awestruck and smitten.

Where have you been all my life, and to think I had given up?

And so they gathered and oohed and aahed,

Bedazzled by the lady in blue.


Called away by wives and nature,

One by one, her side they left,

Pledges to call, visit and woo fell by the wayside

As the charm wore off and her allure was forgot.

And she sat alone by a phone that never rang.


He sat and groaned as her blues returned,

His wings fading with the fall of each tear,

Pondering on yet another plan to mend his wrongs,

To find her love and right her world,

As he took to the skies, her benefactor in white.

Day 26 – Iron

Symbol – Fe

Atomic weight – 55.845

Ionization energy – 7.9024eV

Solution – How to be a Gangster.

Chemist – @CaballeroZubair




Enter Denzel Washington as Frank Lucas. He’s evidently mad at the other guy. It’s something about money. A small argument ensued and the other nigga was like “what you gon do nigga? Shoot me in front of everybody?”. Denzel gave me a near orgasmic feeling when he calmly pulled the trigger on that nigga and coolly kept the gun back in his pocket. That was the kinda man I wanted to be – An American gangster.

So cool.

So cool.

Rewind a little and you have Curtis “50 cent” Jackson in bed. Bullet wounds to his chest and limbs. He is being fed food and oxygen through a tube. He is gonna survive this and when he gets out, he’ll make sure his enemies have it worse than him. That’s another gangster right there. The Flenory brothers also define what a gangster is all about.

The Flenory Brothers

The Flenory Brothers

I wanted to be them. I listened to all the songs marked “gangster rap”, had the lyrics in my head, watched more gangster movies and finally I was ready. I couldn’t get get into a gang battle or dope to buy/sell as this is Nigeria but I still did gangster stuffs like entering buildings through the exit, loading MTN recharge cards on my Airtel line, calling the customer care – with my credit, pulling out the flash drive without safely removing it and shooting ‘muthafuckers’ down – in Grand Theft Auto 4. I was a real hardcore gangster. A triple O G. Or so I thought.

I met Master Codi months ago, he taught me what being a real gangster means. Being a gangster isn’t about guns, bitches, drugs, violence, going to jail or supporting Chelshit Fc. It’s about choosing to do extremely hard things – and doing it like the perfect gentleman. Heck, anybody can go to jail. It’s easy to do drugs and be violent. There are malignant bitches everywhere, so getting bitches isn’t hard *in Riley freeman’s voice*. As such, those things ain’t even gangster. The million dollar question now is -> What does it take to be gangster? I have here today 10 quite simple ways of achieving your lost long dream of being the standard nigga gangster (tautology but who cares right?). When you’re done following these steps, you’ll be a super nigga – like Morgan Freeman.

1. Go to school, be attentive in class and do your assignments on time. Who knows anything that is harder than this?

2. Be honest – almost always. Lies are easy to tell. Everybody and anybody can tell a lie to make an impression or to get out of a tight corner. As a gangster, you gotta try hard to resist the urge to lie except of course when you’re talking to females, please tell them lies.

3. Do not sag your pants or do that color blocking shit. That stuff is for bitch niggas.

4. No matter how popular a song/movie is, if the lyrics/story-line are/ are dumb, do not fuxx with it.

Side Note: Most Nigerian and foreign rap songs fall into this category.

5. Be hygienic, It’s super hard to take your bath on time and stuff. It’s even harder to brush your hair or cut your nails but that’s what being a gangster is all about.

6. Read wide. Super nigga M.K.O said we should try to know something about everything. That is super hard. I’m sure you understand why we as gangsters must do it.

7. Be respectful. Respect strangers, your parents and everybody in fact. Respect their life choices and their persona. It’s too easy to hurl swear words and stuff at people on the internet.

The most important thing about being a gangster is the final and greatest rule. I call it the “Ultimate Rule”

8. Do not tell everything you know. The smart ones among you know why this post will end here.

NB : No Auto-tune was used in writing this post. Thank you and follow our blog/twitter.



Day 24 – Chromium

Symbol – Cr
Atomic weight – 51.9961
Ionization energy – 6.7665eV
Solution – Below The threshold
Chemist – @Haemlet_




It all had to do with the susceptibility of the human mind.
The overbearing rush of blood coursing through his veins, threatened to overwhelm his senses as he rushed up the staircase to investigate the screaming. With one swift kick he knocked down the door to the room, rushed towards the window and saw Petre’s remains lying spread eagled and squashed on the pavement floor. For the second time in less than twenty four hours his stomach failed him yet again.

After disposing all he had eaten, he turned around to inspect the room and realized it contained a bed and a computer unit. He also noticed that the room was sterile and lacked any form of human emotion save for some framed pictures hanging on the wall. When he took a closer look at the pictures, the cold fingers of terror crept up his spine at what the pictures revealed. Now he was sure that he wasn’t here by mere chance but by the machination of unknown forces. “Or could he be wrong”?


His brain felt foggy as he slowly woke up the night skies. After a careful mental probe which yielded nothing substantial, he wondered where he was, how he’d gotten here and worse, who he was. He checked his pockets in the hopes of finding some form of identification, but all he found was a wad of cash. When he tried to rise for further investigation, he was forced back to the ground by a splitting headache. Five minutes later, he managed to get up and discovered through a sign post that he’d been lying at the outskirt of a very small village called “Harmony”. The name didn’t ring a bell and as he slowly made his way into the village, he wondered what kind of asshole gave a town such a crappy name.

He walked for about a mile without seeing a soul and just when he began to fear that he’d stumbled upon a ghost town, he arrived at a pub. The sign on the pub said “Jolly good ole’ fellas” but he felt far from jolly as he pushed open the door to enter. Once inside, he looked around at the faces of those in attendance and when none showed any sign of recognition, he relaxed a little and ordered a mug of ale.

He then took a sit by the entrance incase a quick getaway became necessary, before he joined the other patrons in watching the game. He watched the game till the end of the first quarter and while he waited for the commercials to end, he suddenly felt eyes boring into him. He looked up to see one of the patrons staring at him from across the room. Then quite suddenly, the man staring got up on a full trot and continued to ram into the wall till his head became a red juicy pulp.

He got up and ran over to where the man lay on the floor. When he saw the extent of the man’s injuries, he yelled for help but the reply he received was the sound of smashing glasses behind him and as he turned to investigate, his blood turned icy cold at what he saw.

The bartender was smashing bottle after bottles of whiskey on his head, while his assistant was repeatedly stabbing away at his abdomen with a serrated knife. A burly looking man at the far corner was drowning himself in a barrel of ale, then another who had just gorged his eyes out was mutilating his face with a piece of broken bottle. While he watched in shock, the other partrons were competitively engaged in more gruesome and creative ways of ending their lives. But the terrifying part was that none of them uttered a single sound in anguish.

It was as thought the horror bandwagon was in town and he had arrived right at the nick of time to witness the exotic freak show. With a scream trapped in his throat he made for the only other room in the pub which happened to be a kitchen. In it was a woman taking a nose dive into a large boiling pot of broth and when he tried to pry her away, she struggled with him ferociously until the pot toppled off the fire and exposed a braised up head of a once beautiful woman. With that grim sight forever imprinted in his memory, he decided that he had seen enough as he rushed for the street in search of an explanation.

But before any logical explanation could be sought, a series of illogical occurrences continued as something fell in front of him in a splat. On closer inspection, he discovered that it was the remains of a baby, and as he looked up to investigate, the mother followed suit.

All around him, mothers who had somehow managed to get the rooftops of their home, gleefully held out their babies like a sacrificial offering to the gods, while their husbands were gathered on the street with firearms pointed at their temple or mouth. In a matter of seconds, the whole street was littered with blasts, muzzle flashes, the stink of gun powder, plummeting bodies, madness, blood and gore. All he could manage to do was dance to the discordant notes of self destruction that rented the night.

When he could bear the madness no more, he ran into a house but only met more horrors. In every house he entered there was at least a kid’s dead body that had met its untimely demise in a macabre sort of way. He saw kids drowned in their baths, others mutilated to death and some burnt alive. He even saw a couple of skinned bodies, while some others died by sinister circumstances that eluded his understanding.

From house to house he ran till he rushed into a shop at the end of the street. The shop he’d just entered was a butchers shop and the butcher [assuming it was the butcher who was responsible for this butchery] had the six heads of his family members lined up on the slaughter table, while he’d hung their bloody wrapped up remains on the meat hooks lined up on the wall. The abhorrent part was that the butcher had outrageously hung himself on the meat hook and then attempted at cutting off his neck, a feat that was completely impossible to achieve because before he could finish, he’d bled to death, thereby leaving his head dangling from the neck in an odd and gruesome manner.

That was his last sight before the welcoming blackness enveloped him completely.


He woke up screaming from a ghoulish nightmare, then he recalled last night’s real nightmare and he scampered from the cold floor of the butchery. Daylight showed that the peace and harmony of the village called “Harmony” had been disrupted by sinister forces and had therefore been rendered “Disharmonious”. The once sweet village he had initially presumed was a ghost village had actually become one overnight and scavengers who’d been attracted by the stench of death were already feasting away. The whole village was dead quiet save for the mechanical buzzing of flies and the bloody sight of flesh was so overwhelming that he fell on his knees retching till he felt the cold feel of a muzzle at the back of his neck.

He slowly turned around to see the face of a surprised and terrified looking man. With unsteady hands the stranger raised the evil looking double barrel towards his head and asked him what he was doing. Scared out of his wits, he explained to the double barrel wielding stranger that he’d been passing through when the madness started last night. He then told the stranger the series of event that he’d witnessed and by the time he was through the man was so white that he had to quickly hold him.

When he got better, they both went around checking for survivors while the man who introduced himself as Petre told him he’d gone to bed early because he’d taken a very strong sedative for his insomnia. After they’d ascertained that there were no other survivor, they went back to Petre’s house to access their grim situation.

In the house, he was ushered into the sitting room while Petre went to make some coffee and sandwich. While Petre was in the kitchen, he switched on the VCR to see that a muted comedy flick had been on pause, so he continued watching as they exchanged theories as to what probably caused these mass murders and suicides. He suspected mass hallucination through poisoning but Petre was leaning towards supernatural forces. Thirty minutes later when Petre eventually came out of the kitchen, he stumbled and almost dropped the tray. He apologized, blamed it on his weary legs, quickly set the tray down and begged to use the toilet upstairs.

When Andy got upstairs, he went into a room, locked the door, quickly switched on his computer console and began to tap urgently at his keyboard.


PASSWORD: ***********


ARGON: Reporting on the field experiment carried out in Harmony. STOP
COMM: What is your status? STOP
ARGON: Experiment was a success and all the test subjects exhibited all symptoms prior to expiration. STOP
COMM: Excellent job! Have you initiated phase II? STOP
ARGON: Negative sir. STOP
ARGON: We are presented with a very serious complication sir. STOP
COMM: What complication? STOP
ARGON: He is back sir! Boris is alive. STOP
COMM: Impossible! I made certain of his death. STOP
ARGON: Well you weren’t certain enough because he is right at the moment in my living room and he seems to be immune to the subliminal initiative program. STOP
COMM: How is that possible? Are you positive it is him? STOP
ARGON: Of course I am! He somehow survived the live feeds I transmitted through the town’s local station and at the moment he is watching via my VCR, one of our rawest feeds without the protective lenses. STOP
ARGON: I am freaking out here. What if he remembers who I am? STOP
COMM: Are you sure it’s him? STOP
ARGON: Damn it! I still have the pictures we took together on the wall here; what if he sees them? What are you going to do about him? STOP
COMM: Stay calm. New directives will be sent to you immediately this transmission terminates. STOP



Colonel Yuri Vladimir sat in his office disturbed. He detested loose ends and the encrypted communication he just had gave testament to some loose ends. He hadn’t gotten this far in life by being careless and foolish in his dealings, but by being ruthless and meticulous, so he couldn’t tolerate this present predicament. He above all knew the consequences of loose ends and this loose end in the name of Boris worried him tremendously.

The cold war had been raging on for years and this experiment offered the USSR a much needed edge over their enemy, America. Now it seemed it was all going downhill with the reemergence of that bastard Boris. Yuri first met the brilliant Boris Vasilyev three years ago at a scientific seminar in Moscow where he’d talked about subliminal perception [Below threshold] as opposed to supraliminal perception [Upper threshold]. Boris had theorized that contrary to scientific beliefs, it was possible to enhance the strength of subliminal messages through visuals, thereby achieving a strong and lasting change in human actions and behavior. The excited Boris had talked about a breakthrough and cutting edge in medical science while all Yuri as a soldier thought about was mind control and the military/espionage application.

After the seminar Yuri had approached Boris with a proposal. He proposed that he would fund Boris project in exchange for a larger percentage of the profit when he’d made his breakthrough. Boris had been so happy that he’d been quick to point out that he wasn’t interested in the financial angle because he was in it purely for the love of science. But a year later Boris began to get suspicious and started asking questions. When his questions were answered, he was horrified, wanted to shut down the program and go public. So he had to be gotten rid of and it wasn’t a hard decision to make then, since Boris was already in the final phase of the project and his best friend cum research partner Nikolai Anisinov had already informed Yuri of his willingness to betray his friend and continue with the project.


The sudden ringing of his telephone jarred Yuri from his reverie. As he picked it, he hoped it was a call confirming that Nikolai had been sent his transmission. On the line, an indistinct voice could be heard talking as Yuri listened for a minute, then he barked fresh directives before he dropped the phone on its cradle.

Tsk, tsk! Loose ends will always attempt to entangle one’s feet and bring you down.

Loose ends, he thought as he held his forehead in pain. He didn’t dare accord himself any small measure of happiness now that Nikolai had been taken care of because with Boris still out there, his dreams may never be realized.

“Damn I need to find the bastard”.

Tsk, tsk!

Day 23 – Vanadium

Symbol – V
Atomic weight -50.9415
Ionization energy -6.7462eV
Solution –
Chemist – @TheShahrazad



I watched Bayo walk away from me, and I could do nothing to stop him. My heart was torn into a million pieces, but I couldn’t just utter the words I needed to, to make me happy.How was I supposed to tell him I loved him, when he was engaged? I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself. We had a good thing, but it was time to move on. But I couldn’t do that, even with Tobi in my life.

Tobi was the most amazing person I had ever met. He was so perfect, I felt unworthy of him. But despite all my flaws, he loved me unconditionally. I really thought that was enough. I loved him, but I wasn’t in love with him. In my head, it would eventually happen.

Whenever I wasn’t with Bayo, or whenever I didn’t see him or speak with him for a while, I actually felt pretty good, and I could clearly see my future with Tobi. But then when I saw Bayo…It was so frustrating that I was still metaphorically held firm in Bayo’s vice-like grip, and he just refused to let go. I would see him with his fiancée looking so much in love, and feel like screaming all the way to the heavens. He seemed to move on just fine, so why was I still suffering so much and punishing Tobi as well?

It was even more painful because we were once good friends. But then the dynamics changed when feelings started creeping in then it all went south. At one point, I decided I couldn’t do it anymore, and I decided to do away with both of them. Somehow, letting Tobi go was even harder than letting Bayo go. Tobi was entirely sweet about it though, saying that I should take some time to sort out my feelings, and that he would be waiting for me if I finally decided he was the right one. I doubted that would happen, but I liked the fact that he was still there.

When I told Bayo I couldn’t see or speak to him anymore, he looked really hurt. Or maybe it was just a figment of my imagination. I gave him excuses, and he apologized for the fact that things had been so hard for me.So I took my long overdue vacation time from work, packed my things, and went to Bali, Indonesia. I had always wanted to visit the little province, and experience the culture and the food, but it had just never seemed like the time.

Bali was breathtaking. It was also very true to its nickname as the Island of Peace. I couldn’t have been anywhere more fitting. The people were extremely warm and welcoming, and I knew I had done the right thing by going there. Week one was spent exploring the wonderful island and tasting exciting new foods that I would never have imagined eating if I was home and had the opportunity.
I spent my evenings strolling along the incredibly beautiful Kuta beach, and sorting out my feelings. Whenever I thought of home, I of course thought of both Bayo and Tobi, but thinking about Tobi made my eyes water with tears. That really confused me.

In my third week in Bali, a local; the husband of the woman who had taken it upon herself to properly immerse me in the wonder that was Bali, asked me if I had ever been to the Tanah Lot Temple. I told him I had only heard of it, but I hadn’t actually been there. The old man, in his severely broken English, then insisted that I visit the place. I resisted at first, I let my faith hold me back, but he simply insisted, and I could hardly turn down this really nice man. We went together, but I stayed outside as he went in. The view was simply magnificent. The clear blue water seemed to draw away negative energy. What really got to me was the sunset; the view from outside the temple was simply magnificent. I had never seen such a myriad of colors in the sky before. I felt so close to heaven.
I hadn’t even realized I was crying until the old man walked up to me and wiped my cheeks. He smiled, that crooked but endearing smile of his and said, “I see many people, many people, cry when they come to this temple, Bali truly the Island of the gods. I see this place change so many lives.” I had no reply for that, but I could really believe what he said. The Island of Love really did change my life. In that moment, I was ready to go back home.
The last week of my stay in Bali went by really fast, but really slow as well. I didn’t want to leave the island that had brought me so much peace, and I wasn’t sure I was entirely ready to return to reality.There were a lot of tears as I left for the Ngurah Rai International Airport. Bali had sort of become my home, and the Balinese, my family. But it was time to face reality. I finally got back home, and it was another two months before I saw Bayo. He had heard that I was back, and he wanted to see me. I reluctantly agreed, and I was really nervous to see him. But then when that finally happened, it was like catching up with a long lost friend, instead of an awkward meeting of ex-lovers. I couldn’t have been happier. He had even gotten married in that time.
It was killing me that I couldn’t see Tobi yet, but I really wanted to give myself more time to breathe. It would have been really unfair to him if I tried to get back into his life just because my feelings for Bayo were sorted. It had been six months since I had last seen Tobi, and he called one day, out of the blue. Well, it wasn’t exactly out of the blue. That day would have been our second year anniversary, had all gone according to plan. I agreed to have dinner with him.
As soon as I saw Tobi, I knew. He was right. It had taken me so long to figure that out, but he was the one. I really didn’t care how hard I was going to have to fight for him, but I just knew I couldn’t let him go the second time.He walked up to me and said, “You look beautiful.” I smiled and said, “I’ve missed you.” and then he held me.


Day 22 – Titanium

Symbol – Ti

Atomic weight – 47.867

Ionization energy – 6.8281eV

Solution –

Chemist – @TheOnlyIbukun




“There was a red moon in the sky”

Man, I used to think this writing thing was easy. But I can’t seem to come up with much after this line. Hope readers can infer that a “red moon” is the “sun” haha!


Who am I fooling with this bullshit story? There is no story! I don’t even have a plot! I sip some wine and try to pour some more but the bottle is empty.  Great.

“He stealthily moved towards the building wielding nothing but a timid heart and Beretta he had never used. All he wanted was the money”

What else would a man want from a house he had never even taken the time to check out before attempting to rob it? My protagonist is stupid. And so is this story I’ve been struggling to write for the past 3 hours. I fling the fountain pen across the room and contentedly hear it collide with the wall. Blame the pen, of course. My legs feel unused and untrained as I make to pace awhile. Maybe that will clear the fog off my head. Or maybe music will help. I saw that on Wiki how it inspires people to write beautiful Nobel Prize worthy pieces. I put my ipod on shuffle and The Fray comes up

Take a breath and take it deep

You’re falling apart and tearing at the seams”

You have no idea, Mr Fray” I mutter.

I sit down again and put my head between my hands. The only reason I’m still at this writing thing is Maria and my boys. Maria with her ready smile and knowing brown eyes…

“Ope you need to make up your mind on what you want to do. You want to be a lawyer? Then be a lawyer. You want to be a chef? Then be a chef. Just make up your mind and pick one already! You have so many dreams and hopes my head is spinning. Pick. One” She said to me yesterday as she angrily chopped onions into precise cubes.

“Fine! I choose one.”

“Halleluyah-thank-you-Jesus, which?!” Sarcasm rises like the steam from the pot she opened.

“I want to be a writer.” I manage to say past clenched teeth and a tight jaw.

“Are you even joking with me right now?” she drops the knife and stares incredulity at me.

“I just need your support, Maria. I don’t need you to judge me. I’m sick of your snide comments. It’s like I never get any support OR respect around here. Am I asking for too much?”

“You–­” she covers her mouth then sighs deeply. “Okay. So write then. Please just stay with it. I can’t deal with you changing professions every month. I can’t.”

So here I am, staying with it and making it work with everything I’ve got.

“Heaven forbid you end up alone and don’t know why

Hold on tight wait for tomorrow you’ll be alright”

I reach for my pen again to write:

“Just as soon as Eric entered the house through the window, he heard ‘Put those hands right up where I can see them or I’ll blow the space between your eyes without a second thought”

Or maybe I should work with the Police Force instead. What do you think?


Day 21 – Scandium

Symbol – Sc

Atomic weight – 44.9559

Ionization energy – 6.5615eV

Solution –

Chemist – @misty0_0




When the slap came, Lola was not surprised. But, she wasn’t an animal, or a barbarian. She wouldn’t stoop to his level. Her feet carried her into her parent’s room, as fast as fast could.

“He,” she shouted, pointing at the remnant of humanity that had slapped her “hit me.”

Mother and father leapt into action. Shouts ensued and a baseline threat of moving to the boys’ quarters or complete homelessness. With Father behind him, belt held menacingly in a firm grip, an apology was wrenched from Wole’s flabby unrepentant lips.

Lola was not sated. She wanted him humble… groveling at her feet. Only that would calm the outrage that burned under the armor of her A-cup boobs, and clean the tear stains of female outrage on her cheeks.

In the darkness of the night, when the blackness of the sky had reached its peak; The point where Ghanaians don’t step out, when witches the world over commune over red-wine and skype, she cursed him. Holding her bible to her iron-board chest, she made her petition to God. “… if you don’t do it, God, I will look for a babalawo. I swear!!”


“You said?” Jesus asked, a look of shock and confusion on his handsome features.

“Exactly that, my Lord. That was what she said.”

The angels giggled behind their wings, Moses’ beard twitched suspiciously, and even the guardian angel struggled to keep a straight face as he delivered his ward’s prayer.

The voice of God thundered through the Halls of Heaven, “IT IS DONE!”

King David’s crown dropped to the floor in shock, “my Lord?”

“I said,” the voice of many waters continued “it is done.”

For the first time that day, there was complete silence in Heaven. Then the scurrying of feet to chariots and the flurry of feathers as elders and angels alike raced down to get a good viewing position in the home of Lola Williams on the drama that was about to ensue.


The alarm screamed noisily. Eyes blinded with sleep, Wole struggled to pick up the phone and put off the alarm. But, for the life of him, he couldn’t get a firm grip on the stupid thing. After a valiant battle, in which the phone assaulted his face twice, he left it to ring. The tune wasn’t that bad and it’d go off in a minute or two.

He felt weird and woozy. He couldn’t even stand straight. The urge to vomit hooked him. He rolled off the bed, landing with painfully on a bottle on the floor. An empty bottle of Hennessy a quick sniff revealed. He remembered swiping the drink from the wine cabinet and opening it in his room, not much else. I must be drunk, he thought triumphantly. Crawling into the lit bathroom, he vomited the entirety of his stomach. As he came out, his eyes fell on the full-length mirror. What he saw threw him backward. Screaming, he ran out of the room. Even the scream sounded wrong… it sounded like –

“Hello Wole,” His train of thought and path was interrupted by his sister, Lola,. In her hand, she held a big stick. Her eyes alight with a mixture of triumph, anger and the promise of vengeance, she raised the stick and it came down on his back with speed.


Mr. and Mrs. Williams woke up to find their daughter standing over a goat, a very well beaten goat. “I’m finished!” she shouted.

Confused, they looked around to see who she was talking to, then the eyes fell back on the goat. Widening in shock, as it slowly morphed back into a human form. Mrs. William nudged her husband forward to check. An unhappy, scared Mr. Williams stepped closer to the person passed out on the sitting room floor, trying to make out a face from the black-eyed, swollen-faced would-be criminal on the floor.

“It is Wole oh! Lola? What have you done?”

With a hiss, Lola delivered one last blow on the twitching form and went back to bed.


Day 20 – Calcium

Symbol – Ca

Atomic weight – 40.078

Ionization energy – 6.1132eV

Solution –

Chemist – @Blaqknyght




Once upon a time,
A pencil was to the griot
As a sword was to the soldier
As they scribbled truths in patterns of petals
To stab the jackboot like a thousand daggers
How can you be so treacherous ?
And make us forget the roots and rules
Of what we have come to know as poetry.
All of a sudden, our art became a mime
For scruffy spoilt kids with words that riot
Compositions worthy to be charged for murder
The pencil made way for things made from alloys of metal
We listened because we had no choice like beggars
To incoherent literature that would have made Milton leperous
The jackboot has turned you and your cohorts into tools
To shatter poetry like a piece of pottery.

I decided to write something fresh for you yesterday.
I have many poems I could have just recycled, but…
I crave the rush of pure inspiration in my blood again like opium.
So, I kept a straight face like a Vulcan filtering everything that passes through.
While in class, oblivious to anything else…
The word “nous” rode on the air into my ears.
Immediately life flowed into my pen and I started scribbling.
Here’s where I got to…
Qui suis-je?
I woke up grown
Memories hazy like a bad dream
Or a bad video stream
Screams interjected with manic laughter
I should have known
I was stark naked.

At this point, I stopped writing, the first few lines of the poem has defined it. But what turn would it take. By the way, Qui suis-je means who am I?
Is this a ritual re-awakening or a re-birth?
I was conflicted in my mind. But the ebb of inspiration in my blood bade me to continue.
Hence I drifted to another stanza.

Where am I?
Curious faces blackened with soot
Lost in a song without words
Tho I decipher -Welcome to the world
Acrid smoke and…

Thus the muses left me entirely with an unfinished poem.
I decided to ride on the wave of a ritual re-awakening, the re-awakened battling the questions we all battle or are battling or have battled at one time or the other.
I intend to finish this poem, but I know not the turn it would take.
Till our next correspondence.

Yours truly,


Day 19 – Potassium

Symbol: K
Atomic Weight: 39.0983
Ionization Energy: 4.3407eV
Configuration: [Ar] 4s1
Solution: Be Proactive
Origin: Neo-Latin: Kalium
Chemist: @Kemmiiii



The Periodic Table.
You see, Bobola is my guy and I’ve let him down a lot. This one time, he was doing a series on the Seven Deadly Sins and he asked me to write on ‘Sloth’. Living up to my name, I was too ‘Slotty’ to churn anything out. Trust me, I tried.


*sigh* Chemistry! When last?!

*Flings ward coat and stethoscope*

*Dons Labcoat*

Potassium. Potassium is a mineral that helps in normal functioning of the body. It helps in the communication of muscles and nerves. A potassium diet can help to offset some negative effects of sodium on the heart.
Banana is rich in potassium. This is probably why D’Prince made it the major component of his ‘Goody Bag’. Who knows? He may be that learned.
Too much potassium is however harmful. So, don’t take banana till you ‘yo’.

I learnt the importance of potassium in my recent study of Clinical Pathology and I thought I should share.


Cool Story.

That was just my medical side taking over.

That was also how Chibuzo deleted me off BBM because I sent a ‘K’ his way. If only he knew the nutritional benefits of ‘K’.

I deviate.

You see, I was working so hard on writing a story or a poem about the ‘The Life of K’ but it didn’t come out good. I tried different angles. Trust me. It just didn’t work out. I really hate all of you that are very good at story-telling and poetry. I can’t write a story to save my life and this is like the bane of my entire existence, so I have beef.

You want beef? ehn?

You want beef? ehn?

Since I can’t tread the storyteller path, I decided to tread my ‘motivational writing’ path and today, we’re gonna be learning a few lessons from the properties of potassium.


1. Silvery White. That’s what you guys call ‘shiny’.
2. Highly Reactive with water. Keyword ‘Reactive’
3. Easily Cut with a knife. *I.e Soft
4. Least Dense metal after Lithium.
5. Tarnishes when exposed to air.
6. Desiccant.


1. Everywhere you go, you have to shine bright (Not like a diamond in the sky because such things don’t exist) like a diamond.

2. Be Proactive. Being proactive means controlling a situation by causing something to happen. This is unlike Potassium which simply reacts to the change. Simply put; make (be) the change, don’t wait for the change.

3. Don’t be easy to cut through. This life is short and hard and you also have to be hard. Don’t be easily penetrated (no innuendo). Unlike potassium, you have to develop a thick skin and be tough.

4. You know what it means when they call someone ‘a dense’ right? Yeah. In all your dealings, don’t be ‘a dense’.

5. Unlike Potassium, please, don’t tarnish.

6. A desiccant is used to dry solvents because it absorbs water. Don’t just be a ‘collector (absorbent); learn to give some out. You’re not always.

I hope you guys have been able to relate.

References: Ababio,  Wikipedia .

PS. You can find some of my randomness here –
This is not an advert placement by the way.


Day 18 – Argon

Symbol – Ar

Atomic weight – 39.948

Ionization energy – 15.7596eV

Solution – Billion Fireflies

Chemist – @i_listener




A cup of water wasn’t turned down, not because I asked for it or because it was chilled or because of a seam woven familiarity, but rather it was because I opted to deny my consciousness, my conscience. There, I was amongst them as always, late, famished, consummated with the thought of relief, solace, tranquility, as though there wasn’t a place I could go by that hour, suitable for whatever mood I was in, adorned with the masterpieces of the caretaker and venerated by believers, yet I chose to sit once again as those acclaimed resolutions I made with a contrite heart, yet; only to toss them by the corner – a mere pleasure. The water had a taste I was familiar with, like that alum treated borehole water that sometimes passed through pipes and the cup smelt like one of those fragrances similar to the one used for the detergent “Bimbo”; I could tell because I had perceived it at The Confucius off a female law student passing while I and my colleagues went ballistic after I made a joke of it when we hung around for lecture.

I gulped the water alongside a meditated “prayer before meal” recited to the Lord who sees things in secret, afterwards I smiled and returned the emptied cup on the table I picked it off. We – the children and I – sat, tossed and moved objects around and struggled for the remote control before the cable channels were done scrambling. As the sitcoms came alive via the large SAMSUNG LCD TV, a more soothing ambience rose, we watched and talked as time went by and subsequently I made several eye checks at the clock adjacent to me, just above a fancied wall lamp adorned with blue robin birds. At about 8:15pm, a hurried bang sounded at the steel door securing the house, the sound came forth as if it was immigration officers trying to force their way through to raid. Immediately, the children flinched and adjusted like pronouns in a row on a paper on a couch, then eldest around dashed to open the door, they were aware who it was *sigh* the youngest whispered “DADDY”.

Daddy walked in with a stern look like he was forced to have vinegar, I greeted him but he walked along with his hands like they were warding off flies around him. The eldest around ran to the children’s room, his safe house, because he wasn’t allowed to watch TV – one of Daddy’s precepts.

Daddy has an illustrious career, name, and he inherited most of his father’s estate.  He used to be stubborn, still is, I gather now that everything about him aggravates, he reacts too easily to trivial issues but before he was calm and we had a some worth fictitious relationship. Mommy came in 30mins later, I bet she had course to do that, she looked less than how she was the last holiday I spent in Lagos and a lot happier. 9:00p.m, she came into the compound knowing already that Daddy would have gone to bed – she spends time downstairs and when she came earlier than Daddy she would wait until later, when he considers going to bed.

Today was quite different. As soon as she walked in, she headed straight for the spare room in the house, Daddy came out to interrogate her – stories I scrambled unfolded, a Pastor in church told Daddy time ago with the help of Daddy’s former driver and neighbours around that she’d been having extramarital affairs – and he opened a clotted flesh wound. Before, she was accused of torturing her neighbour’s kids and other stories connected to the elderly driver made the rounds and at a time she was taken to the Police Station, locked up for a night and bailed the following morning. Daddy was in a fix as at these trying times, I could tell he’d threatened her before now just to be certain. I knew her too well a woman, she wasn’t frightened. She came out blazing and walked into the spare room. It was dark, the light bulbs were off and while the children heard the arguments they rushed to the passage while I sat down in the living room and the eldest around came to towards me leaning on a chair. I kept my eyes in two directions: at him and the passage, meanwhile the parents switched to their native language Yoruba and as rants were almost hitting the roof I could see Daddy making a fist, he moved to enter the room but the fourth child fenced the door, she pleaded in a pity tone and the third and little last boy held Daddy’s hands. “Iyalaya e, baba e to ti ku…” and the rest were thoughts cursed into the air as Mommy fumed without holding back like a prospective insured filling a proposal form in Uberrimae Fidei. Daddy was really mad this time, he struggled with the little kids but they held him hands and feet, the eldest around stood up as if he were a Rottweiler with veins pouncing by his neck. His face was growing into a fierce disconnect, I could tell he was considering the thought of slamming any object on Daddy’s head. I was in shock, I had heard rumours but never been there before…this wasn’t Mommy and Daddy. They had lost it and so had other families too. Love, communication and faith have been exchanged for hatred, failed discourse and unbelief. The yards of husband and wife material without the piety!

Little wonder, the cup washed still had detergent in it that wasn’t rinsed.


Day 17 – Chlorine

Symbol – Cl

Atomic weight – 35.453

Ionization energy – 12.9676eV

Solution – A BRICK WALL

Chemist – @MsTeeDairo




A brick wall

I picture it

I’ll hit it when I try to reach You

Built it with my actions, thickened it with my filth

I come to you only when the pain threatens to choke me

The big disappointment that I am, enslaved to worthless self confidence

Never asked anyone to help, some try, they can’t

How do I escape my life?

I’ve been looking within, but now there’s nothing there anymore

It’s drained and empty

So I’m here again.

Nothing within?

You should be within

You should rule within

I let my will take your place

Yes I need You, always have

But I can’t ask. I can’t ask for anything at all

I lost the right

Now I watch You help others while I drown

It is my lot, I don’t deserve your mercy

Life is like an endless pit

My existence is falling every second.

Father do You see me?

Do You see me or am I too deeply immersed in transgression?

That place You ought to occupy in my mind

That place is filled with nothing now

Come back? No?

Do You even remember me?

Well of course you do, Omnipotence

I don’t remember ever coming to You without problems

Tired like everyone else?

I speak, I get no reply

I get no sign

I’ve been shut off.

Rescue me

Save me from myself, I’m tired of crying in torment

My mind tortures me, my guilt tortures me, yet I don’t stop doing wrong

Sometimes I feel somehow I want this suffering

Why else would I impose it on myself?

Father make it all stop, will You?

The voices in my head, the rejection that teases me, the fear that taunts me

This is as pointless as the other times, but still I try

I crave peace and stability in my thoughts

… and all other things beautiful death has to offer

Death, an end to all of this

Sometimes I can’t wait.

Once Your daughter, now a stranger

Deliverer, help?


Day 16 – Sulphur

Symbol – S

Atomic weight – 32.065

Ionization energy – 10.36eV

Solution – The Garri Bowl.

Chemist – @IBARU__




When Teop -yes Bobola, Sheldon etc are all counterfeit appellations IMO- told me to make a guest appearance on Redor, I was somewhat honored. Truth be told I didn’t think I was good enough to come up with something worthy enough to be posted on here, besides I was in deep sorrow. To save face, I began to dig deep into my intellect, I sojourned into the nooks and crannies of my brain, and I rummaged in the heart of my brilliance. All my efforts ended in futility, all to no avail, for I returned empty handed.

Then it hit me that I might be searching too deep, what I was looking for was right in front of me, staring, looking, wanting and waiting patiently to be found.

Finally, this is what I came up with, something out of my sorrow at the time and my ‘goodness’ to be a guest on Redor.

As 2013 began for you all, sorrow began for me. My whole being has known nothing but the deepest sorrow. Sorrow from the far east (movement), sorrow from the West. Sorrow from the Mountains, sorrow from the Valleys. Sorrow I can feel, sorrow I can see, sorrow I can touch. My heart is exsanguinating, the tears from my soul would drown an ocean, and the yearnings of my spirit are unto those of a nagging wife. Right now my whole life is like a shipwreck, I’m like Pi without Richard Parker, chiefly because of death.

Death has been very cruel to me, taking the ones that I love. The heavens handpicking the good ones and hell spitting out the bad at will, Why do good people have to die so early? And the badasses go all Methuselah on us?

I was on a quest to answer this question when a tiny voice ministered to me.

You know that voice in your head that says ‘no, don’t send that nude’; that same voice that says ‘nigguhs who pick PES over FIFA are gay’? Yes, that’s the same voice, the all knowing voice.

Here’s what it said to me, in a cool calm voice.

“Throughout my many years of traversing the universe I have never come across a set of beings as confused as you humans, you focus your lives on concepts which you have only conjectural knowledge of and argue about abstract principles which have no substantial backing. Sometimes you go looking for wealth by jeopardizing your health and use the same wealth to replenish your health; you worry so much about the future in the present that you barge into the future having not prepared for it in the present. Hence you neither live in the present nor the future, you merely exist.

You live by very primitive idiosyncrasies and inaccurate ideologies. Your ideas about ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are only surpassed in naïveté by what you think of ‘GOD’. Some of you determine what is ‘good’ and ‘bad’ by Society, some use Religion, others Law and the worst kind fall on Tradition and Culture?

So basically, this is the pit of darkness you have put yourselves in;

You say a person is ‘good’ in the society if he gives to the poor, loves his wife , doesn’t womanize , is not a drunk, doesn’t smoke  and whatnot. On the reverse he is ‘bad’ when he is greedy, doesn’t care about the poor, beats his wife etc.

By religion a ‘good’ man adheres to the guidelines his religion has set. In some religions it is ok to drink and in some it is not, in some it is ok to have more than one wife and in some it is not, in some pre marital sex is forbidden but in some sex is seen as a spiritual activity. Some foods are banned from consumption in some religions while others proclaim that everything is suitable for eating, for it is not what enters a man that defiles him but what comes out. Suicide leads to hell fire sometimes, on other occasions you receive 49 maidens in paradise. How then do you people intend to reconcile this situation? Isn’t everything such a mess?

By law ‘good’ and ‘bad’ is quite simple, you break the law you are bad (and consequently punished), you follow the law and you are good (but not rewarded, WHY?). When you obey a traffic sign why don’t the officials pat you on the back and maybe give you a few litres of fuel for your ‘good’ deed? But you just disobey a traffic light and the nearest officer would pounce on you. Then you bribe him and move on, dassal. What happens when one single act is legal in some places and illegal in some? Say homosexuality, or Marijuana consumption, or Prostitution. So a person smokes marijuana in a place and is ‘good’ and then smokes the same marijuana in another place and then is ‘bad’? For one single act a person can be both ‘good’ and ‘bad’ depending on his location? Geography? How is that a sensible way of determining ‘good’ and ‘bad’? Why are you humans so foolish?

Let me tell you a little about culture and tradition.  A child wakes up in the morning and stretches out his hands to shake his father as a means of greeting, he can accompany it with a curt ‘hi Dad’ if he pleases and he’s good to go. But in some other cultures if a child hasn’t rolled on the floor about a thousand times he hasn’t started greeting at all, he is a ‘bad’ son.

Now to the main issue, the most widely acclaimed criteria for ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are ‘MORALS’ ( or sometimes ethics), there are 3 kinds:


These people combine all the definitions of ‘good’ from religion, to culture and even by law, they seem ‘good’ in the eyes of everyone and follow what ‘seems’ to be right. The thing about a moral person is that when they do ‘bad’ they are usually castigated very much because of the high standards they have set for themselves, they utterly fear this and therefore try as much as possible to remain moral, which is very difficult given your present situation. The moral ones have a bad side that has been repressed for long and therefore seems non-existent, moral people are sometimes hypocrites.


These ones don’t even have feelings, everything goes with them, they are ‘me’ freaks, they must get it even if they have to cheat or be cunning, they would rather kill than be killed. They usually have an outgoing spirit and do not complain when ‘bad’ things happen to them; they believe that’s their lot so they take it in their stride. The immoral ones are seen as cunning, sly and untrustworthy, but deep down within them there’s a side that wants to be good, to be accepted, but somehow (childhood, poverty) that side has been repressed and so they have formed this brazen outward appearance to hide their innate need. Some of them are just badass like that, they understand that the ‘heart of man is desperately wicked’.


These people are the closest to how nature wants you people to behave. They believe there is nothing like moral or immoral, everyone is the same, nothing is right and wrong, they are the most realistic beings. Amoral ones are good to be with, thing is they might be very confused at times, very confused. They know not what they want.

Now the best determinant of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ is …”

Then the voice vanished, I don’t know what distracted me. I think it wanted to talk about the law of human nature a la C.S Lewis, but then again I wouldn’t have gotten around understanding that shii.

You know what my final conclusion is about ‘good’ ‘bad’ and life generally?

The maker played a fast one on us (no Usain Bolt). Just before he had the bright idea to create man, he was having garri for lunch- heavenly garri of course. Immediately he finished his meal he began to create, each man he created he put inside his garri bowl –unwashed bowl- until he was finished, and then he rested.

Hence, we mere mortals are just roaming, scavenging, and gallivanting in the maker’s bowl of garri, without aim, without purpose and without understanding.

Is there any Rabbi out there who wants to enlighten me on what ‘good’ and ‘bad’ is? I’m curious, I’m confused, believe me.


Day 15 – Phosphorus

Symbol – P

Atomic weight – 30.9738

Ionization energy – 10.4867eV


Chemist – @BrainyPoet








By Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

Day 14 – Silicon

Symbol – Si

Atomic weight – 28.0855

Ionization energy – 8.1517eV

Solution – CATHARSIS

Chemist – @Scatty_Poet




Fear and confusion war with each other in my heart

I don’t know how to play my part

The need to be adept in the art of living

Makes every other thing seem little in comparison

Do I do what I want or what I need? Do I go the right way or my right way? Do I hear what they say or what I want to hear? Are their standards too high or is my worth just real low? Am I too slow or is patience really a virtue? I want to know, I want to be right.

Fear of losing

Fear of dying

To stay or to go

To be friend or foe

To love or hate

To be on time or to be late

Fear of success

Fear of failure

Everyday you’re haunted by memories of past failures, mistakes that made your heart bleed. You start to wonder if you’re not going to do the same thing again. If you get it wrong, will it be the right kind of wrong? Will you ever get it right? Who do you talk to, who do you turn to? Where do you run to, where do you hide?

It’s never ending

Never leaving

The fear stays

Through all your days

The elders’ advise

They say you should ask he who is most wise

They say he made all things

And he alone can understand your feelings

So you pray and cry and ask, even while you wonder if it will ever mean anything. You hope that you have paid your penance, and that your time in hell is enough. You seek the face of a supreme being and hope that he is smiling at you.

But the fear of him

Who leads the heavenly team

Is overwhelming

So you put everything aside and smile. You tell yourself it will be fine, ignoring the pain that your inner confusion brings. You ignore the torture and the maze that is your mind and heart and you dance just like you’ve always done, just as you will keep doing. You keep dancing till the music stops and the silence reminds you of who you really are, what you really are.

And now, I stand

Alone in the crowd like a stone in the sand

And say to myself

“Put everything on the shelf”

I’ve learnt in time

That life is just like lime

Sour on every tongue and  in every mouth.

It doesn’t matter that you’re screaming now, that you can no longer hear the music playing. It doesn’t matter that no one can see you, even while they’re all watching you. It doesn’t matter that you see the monsters breaking free of their chains, coming at you. It doesn’t matter that no one hears you even as you scream louder and louder, even as you’re being consumed by the monsters that haunt your very existence.

Friend or foe

Deer or doe

No one knows

Not even the sage

So you run, you fall and run some more and fall again, but you keep running until you lose all strength. You stare wide eyed at their wide eyed stares. You wonder why they won’t save you, why they just watch you. Then it all comes crashing down on you; the pain again, the pain. So you stand, you wait; feeling nothing, seeing nothing, hearing nothing…. you just wait.

And once again

My words are in vain

And I stand alone

With a heart of stone.


Day 13 – Aluminium


Symbol – Al

Atomic weight – 26.9815

Ionization energy – 5.9858eV

Solution – The Stupidity of Nigerian Internet Users

Chemist – @The_LegalHermit




When straying into the DMs of twitter chicks please beware of screen munchers

– Twitter community

I was ‘derping’ on the Internet when I ran into some statistics which states that approximately less than 10 percent of Africans use the internet. First of all I was in denial, as anyone well groomed African would be, but then I thought about it, and then realized this was true mainly because a vast majority of Africans in Africa are not educated, don’t have access to a computer and much less the Internet. Which then brings us to the issue or the question; what do the less than 10 percent who have access to the internet use the internet for?

Well, I cannot categorically say what the less than 10 percent use the internet for, but going by web usage, Nigerian youths are one of the most fortunate with unlimited access to the internet in Africa. Hence we can safely assume Nigerian youths make up a sizable part of the 10 percent who have access to the internet.

With that established, what exactly do Nigerian youths use this time on the internet for? First and foremost, we have to rule out “RESEARCH” (well Nigerians, the youths especially are not the best of readers and researchers) and also “EDUCATION” (Depends on your definition of education, but I am only interested in formal education here).

I know what you’re thinking; “But the internet isn’t used for these things only”… well you’re right, the Internet is also used to network, socialize and so much more. Honestly Nigerian youths really do know how to do these things, but it’s like there is a loose screw in the brain of some of you, always being on the defensive and not accepting reality when people differ or disagree with you on ANY issue.

There are so MANY stupid things Nigerian Youths do with the internet, and some of this stupid cyber behavior will be logically and unsentimentally discussed below.

The First act which I find stupid about the Nigerian usage of social media is how Nigerians are so imposing of their views and how they feel about topics, issues, etc. It needs to be made clear that no two persons share the same opinion or views (that is as long as you are capable of having one). So when someone has a contrary opinion which differs from yours, you don’t need to call the person names or result into tweet-fighting the person. The best you can do is either to adopt that person’s view/opinion or you acknowledge the view or opinion while you make it clear that you cannot change yours with logical reasons. Moreover changing your opinion will not kill you, I think most of you are just so eager to show how smart you are that you forget that being imposing about your opinion shows the contrary about your level of education.

The second act which I find really STUPID and appalling is when two or more Twitter users exchange swear words online, and while they’re at it, some of the followers of these two users pick sides, and then we have everyone having a go at each other. This is known to all in the twitter-verse as a TWEET-FIGHT. Unlike the physical fights where it all starts and ends there, a tweet-fight is of another dimension, there is this feeling of contempt and hatred which always follows thereafter. It gets annoying when the tweet-fighters start revealing gory and disgusting details and personal information about each other.

Furthermore there are a set of internet users who think it’s fun to go sit a corner of their rooms and plan a tweet-fight, honestly I wouldn’t call you lots low lives (oops just did), but if this will make you do some thinking, then you should know that there is someone out there in Egypt, Tunisia, Syria, Libya, Algeria…and so on fighting for a cause with the same opportunity you’re wasting and in shorter supply too. People who have decided to use their spare time to change a system which they feel is killing the people and their dreams. Some of these people are even way younger than most of us.

Ok moving on, another thing which I also find stupid is the posting of nude pictures. A girl meets a guy through the social media, and then they become really close, she then proceeds to send him nude pictures for whatever reasons (which is totally not our business). However, because of reasons unknown to us all, the degenerate who was sent this nude picture(s) proceeds to post the nude picture(s) of this poor girl on his timeline. Girls have been known to post nude pictures of other girls too.

It should be noted that the primary stupid and retarded person here is the person who tweet-pic’d the picture(s). But then surprisingly, you see a whole lot of Nigerian youth showing off how bereft of reason they are. Very few people are intelligent enough to reprimand the miscreant who posted the pictures, most of them generally just call the poor girl “a hoe” or some rather brash appellation based on a picture she sent to a guy in complete TRUST. Instead of reprimanding the guy, everyone goes into some sort of frenzy, and then some other stupid people will start a tweet-fight over a matter.

Statistically the ‘twitter session’ of 2011/2012 was the year in which most Nigerian girls (the unfortunate ones) got their nude picture(s) posted on social media network by some guys (and girls). Even though some people have been suspended, others got blocked, some trended while at it,  it just seems like some of the guys on twitter have got smaller brains than that of Johnny Bravo’s.

Also 2012 was the year of the “Screen munchers”. That was the year when you dared not meander into a girl’s DM, to whisper sweet words of love to her or ask a girl for a mutual exchange of silly pictures, your conversation will get “Munched” and the person who Munched the conversation will post such online for the whole world to see. These “Screen Munchers” are my favourites of all the stupid people online, because we all know they are stupid for posting the Munched conversations, but out of some miraculous force of nature they are the only ones in doubt that fact.

And oh before I forget, there is this category of “STUPID”. The people in this category actually do know they are stupid, however why they act or do whatever they do is something I can’t still wrap my head around. These are the guys/girls who sit down in their homes, in front of a computer and then start typing nonsense like, “THE BANGABLE CHICKS”, “TWITTER CELEBS”, “THE TWITTER HOES” etc and put it up on a blog for all to see. To make matters worse they are cowards who can’t even own up to the said intellectual property, I mean you should be proud of whatever your brain can orchestrate, after all you posted it for all to see.

The last set of stupid people are the “Follow Back” voltrons. We all know that following a particular twitter account is not mandatory, in other words, if you ask for a follow back and don’t get one, why not just FUCKING UNFOLLOW, why do you have to start ranting “ehn, he is forming twitter celeb… blah blah blah”. I have always said, if you like his/her tweets, follow him/her, and if you expect a follow back and you don’t get one, you either stay or you leave, you don’t have to bitch about someone not following you.

I am tired, if you fall into these categories, please do yourself a favor, and change for the better. I know Twitter is no man’s land, however twitter is REAL, if you keep telling yourself Twitter isn’t real, I am afraid you’re keeping yourself locked in a self-imposed genjutsu ( illusion). So tread softly on these twitter streets. Even though there are a lot of douchebags on twitter, trust me there are good people there too. You just gotta look in the right places.


Idrees Ibraheem

Day 12 – Magnesium

Symbol – Mg

Atomic weight – 24.305

Ionization energy – 7.6462eV

Solution – NIGHT WATCH

Chemist – @Daireenonline




My head bobs for the umpteenth time
I fight the dizziness
swimming in pool cool
Like the graveyard, my surroundings exude calm.

My weary eyes struggle

Open and close, Open and close

I fight still

Staring blankly and mindlessly at my computer screen.

I see a blur
Meaning took a hike several hours ago
Adamant I keep going

‘tis the man who persists that wins’

Just then a thought invades my mind
And I struggle to keep pace
Is this an exercise in futility?
Undeterred I keep at it.

Rubbing my eyes for the millionth time I strive for objectivity
willing my eyes and mind, an accord reach
wishing they would become solemnized as a man, married becomes one with his wife
But instead both parties cry with one voice –
Your pillow beckoneth!

Finally I give up after several hours

At the same spot on which I started
I understand now that a man divided amongst himself can achieve nothing.

I look at the pillow with the longings of a tired traveller
As a man looks longingly upon a fair maiden;
As the drowning man desperately fights for air;
I look upon my pillow and see REDEMPTION.

I arise, stretch and yawn lazily
My frayed nerves relax
My joints crack in loud exclamation
A noise that proclaims the tyranny of me on me
Staggering drunkenly, I fall on my bed;
Nestling my pillow nicely ‘neath my head.
And without warning, out of the blue it happens:

The solution! The theory! The concept I have battled for all night
With startling alacrity flashes right before my face as my eyes shut in sleep
Unable to resist like a man shown an ample cleavage
Like a pirate on a treasure hunt
Like the sage who keeps searching for the true meaning of life
I jump out of bed and continue staring mindlessly at the text filled screen.

Another hour passes before it becomes obvious to me
On the journey to the acquisition of knowledge,
A master and a slave exist
The master ruling imperially is knowledge
And the slave is no one but me!

Dedicated to all those who have at one time or the other had to read through the night. And for those who still will…


Day 11 – Sodium

Symbol – Na

Atomic weight – 22.9897

Ionization energy – 5.1391eV

Solution –

Chemist – @oVunderkind




“FoolProof Test for Breast Slackness: If you can breastfeed a baby you’re carrying on your back, well, it may be safe to say, YES, your breasts may have sagged a little” – The Vunderkind

Oops. Why did I begin this write-up with that kind of opening statement? I have absolutely no idea. All I know is that when compadre Bobola (his twitter handle’s BluePaet today; God knows what it’ll be tomorrow) asked me to write for his blog, in my head I was like:


But what I actually replied was:


Talk about poker face. No, no. Poker fingers.

So, our chat (actually DM) goes something like:

@TheBluePaet: Write for me, you puny mortal!

@oVunderkind: I be your minion sire! I shall do for thee that which you please (Shakespearean lingua comes to me naturally when I’m scared shitless)

@TheBluePaet: You can write on anything, minion –

@oVunderkind: oy, yey! **clickety clickin’ away frantically on my PC**

@TheBluePaet: anything, that is, except erotica.

@oVunderkind: …

@TheBluePaet: …

@oVunderkind: **delete delete delete**

Sigh. That niggah can just kill my flow.

Back to the matter at hand, I am not permitted to write erotica (somebody talk to HR about this), so I’ll keep the details sketchy.

Gentlemen, I am here to discuss breasts!

**waits smugly for the smattering of applause to die down**

We are Prime Oglers. Girls are objects of our optical excitement, and most dudes (excluding yours truly) won’t pass up a chance to give a girl the once-over. One of the primary objects of our admiration (or should I say two of ’em?) are the breasts.

I refrain from calling them “boobies”, “hooters” and “jugs” because I am a respecter of women and would not address their pride and joy in that manner (I may also be pussy-whipped in an unrelated note, but that’s subject to speculation)

Now, we know the alphabets. Let’s call them ‘breastabets’, okay? **waits for the high-fives and palm wine drinking to subside**

A – Almost Breasts

B – Barely there

C – Cowabunga!

D- Damn, mamasita!

E- Enorrrrrmous! (O_O)

F – Fake!!!!!!

G – Gulliver has traveled to Lilliput!

H – Help me! My breasts were so large, I fell and I can’t stand up.

– Original breastabets modified for my own purpose.

Whatever the alphabet the object of our lust falls in, I believe there are certain “litmus tests” the ideal breast must pass.

I am here to discuss such tests.

Test Number One: The “Ghost Mode Test/Mo Cheddah”

If you have to “guess” the presence of the cleavage, damn, mehn, those cleaves are dead to the brotherhood. Breasts that go “ghost mode – them no dey see me” should be honored: they shouldn’t be seen. Therefore A cups are hereby removed from the breast constitution.

Amen? Amen.

Test Number Two: Kneesles

You know measles? Bet you never heard of kneesles.

Here is the rule of thumb: all breasts shall not exceed the limits of the upper body, and any breasts which are ‘familiar’ with your knees are atrocious.

Lemme break am down for pidgin: breast wey long reach knee no be breast.

**adjusts bow tie**

Test Three: One Lump, Two Lump…

One aboki said the difference between Sango and Thor is packaging. The difference between Iya Basira’s breasts and Kim K’s is, well, packaging? (Someone is nudging me and whispering fiercely “surgeryyyyyy”)

But let’s face it. Ladies who keep wearing bras made out of two cap materials for Banky W-type heads are not helping matters at all. It makes it look lumpy, slack….and lumpy. Yes. I had to say it twice.

I am just warming up. Boredom is a terrible thing. It’s not as if I met my breast-staring quota for the day.

Greetings, infidels!

Day 10 – Neon

Symbol – Ne

Atomic weight – 20.1797

Ionization energy – 21.5645eV

Solution – The Invention of Dying.

Chemist – @Seuntomas






“And Semjâzâ, who was their leader, said unto them: ‘I fear ye will not indeed agree to do this deed, and I alone shall have to pay the penalty of a great sin.’ And they all answered him and said: ‘Let us all swear an oath, and all bind ourselves by mutual imprecations not to abandon this plan but to do this thing.’. Then swore they all together and bound themselves by mutual imprecations upon it. And they were in all two hundred; who descended in the days of Jared on the summit of Mount Hermon, and they called it Mount Hermon, because they had sworn and bound themselves by mutual imprecations upon it.”

•  ••

Akintunde looked at the piece of paper his grandfather had left him in his will, the paper was brown and old, it was addressed “Akintunde, may you see life in death” Akintunde smelt the paper, it smelled like an old room, it smelt like old cupboards, the paper had browned with age not dirt, it was folded in four places resulting in a perfect tiny square, he untangled it, straining his eyes under the makeshift light his chinaphone provided, there hadn’t been light for 3weeks now, his ever present chinaphone had been his salvation, there always existed parts of the settings folder he hadn’t explored, the phone served as a saviour from mind bending boredom, saving him in times where it seemed like the world was rubbing its sweaty shoulder on you, the singular most annoying thing one could have done to them. For now, the chinaphone served as a source of light, in the uncompleted building along Ibezim obiajulu street in surulere. Akintunde sat on his bed reading the words of his late grandfather, Josephus Aboderirn Thomas, “the secret is how to die”, his grandfather’s writing was beautiful, the kind you saw in movies, the kind that looked surreal, like it could jump out of the paper, “the secret is how to die ” Akintunde read the words out loud, confused as ever, this was all his grandpa had left him, the only family he knew, both his parents had died, he never met them, he lived with his grandpa , down the road from the building he now called home, the house had mysteriously been burnt down to ashes, incinerating everything in it, include his grandfather, later on that week when he would be running for his life he would understand the reason for the fire.

                          •   •



“And Azâzêl taught men to make swords, and knives, and shields, and breastplates, and made known to them the metals of the earth and the art of working them, and bracelets, and ornaments, and the use of antimony, and the beautifying of the eyelids, and all kinds of costly stones, and all colouring tinctures. And there arose much godlessness, and they committed fornication, and they were led astray, and became corrupt in all their ways. Semjâzâ taught enchantments, and root-cuttings, Armârôs the resolving of enchantments, Barâqîjâl, taught astrology, Kôkabêl the constellations, Ezêqêêl the knowledge of the clouds, Araqiêl the signs of the earth, Shamsiêl the signs of the sun, and Sariêl the course of the moon.”

                  •   •

                   THE BEGINNING
• •  •

“Josephus, Josephus Aboderin Thomas” he looked at the hospital attendant with confusion in his eyes, two hours ago he had been engrossed in his work, he was the head and only professor of the very new, very understaffed department of esoteric and mystical studies in the prestigious University of Ibadan, he had been required to leave his house in surulere and take up residence on campus, the government had developed a sudden and curious interest in matters of the supernatural, not clay sand, cowries, old idols but the angel, demon and higher level supernatural. He had already developed a minor curiosity for these things and so even though he was just a professor of philosophy, his lectures and research on the subject matter had gained him some fame. When he got a letter from the chancellor of the school asking him to be the head of the department he knew just how much fame he had gathered. Now he was in the hospital, armed with his refined manner of speaking, silver gray hair, trademark style of dressing with suspenders, brogues and his versace spectacles he had gotten as a gift from the president once, made him stand out like a goat in the midst of oranges, “Joo.. See.. Fos” the nurse on duty tried to write his name down, “ABODERIN!!”  “ABODERIN!!” He screamed at her, “JUST WRITE ABODERIN” by now a doctor had heard the shouting and was rushing to meet him, he gestured for Aboderin to follow him, leading him to his office, Fela was crooning from underneath the doctors table, “trouble sleep yanga wake am”, the sun’s intensity was fierce, the music was too low, the room smelt like old clothes, he was uneasy, he had a terrible feeling in his gut. Why had he been called her?  What was the meaning of this? Adenike, Demola and Yvonne should be here by now. Why was this doctor arranging and rearranging his already arranged table over and over again like he too was uneasy, “I have bad news” the doctor finally said. Aboderin fainted.
                          •    •


“The Lord said to Raphael: ‘Bind Azâzêl hand and foot, and cast him into the darkness: and make an opening in the desert, which is in Dûdâêl (God’s Kettle/Crucible/Cauldron), and cast him therein. And place upon him rough and jagged rocks, and cover him with darkness, and let him abide there for ever, and cover his face that he may not see light. And on the day of the great judgement he shall be cast into the fire. And heal the earth which the angels have corrupted, and proclaim the healing of the earth, that they may heal the plague, and that all the children of men may not perish through all the secret things that the Watchers have disclosed and have taught their sons. And the whole earth has been corrupted through the works that were taught by Azâzêl: to him ascribe all sin.”
                        •    •

• •  • •

“God gives and God takes” the sticker he saw on the doctor’s door couldn’t leave his mind,
God gives and God takes.
It plagued at him, clawed at him more like it, over and over again, over and over and over again, he was confused, he was angry, he was distraught, he was devastated, in one ill-fated swoop he had lost his life, his wife, son, and daughter in law, God gives and God takes, “he has taken from me alright” he thought to himself as he threw the empty pack of marlboro cigarettes into the ever growing heap in the corner, this was what his life had turned to, he hadn’t been to work in two weeks, God gives and God takes, he cursed under his breath, piles of books calling to him, God gives and God takes, God gives and God takes, God gives and God takes, over and over again in his head. Was this some kind of joke? Or some punishment for his line of work. He had plunged into the supernatural, delved into things he probably shouldn’t have, around the walls of his room were sigils and symbols, he needed answers, he had to take action, it had been three months since he had lost everything, everything but Akintunde, his grandson who was only but a baby, he stared at the materials that lay on the table where his books were piled, Tourmaline, black gemstone and a flower, he had traced out the lining of a pentagram on the wall facing him, he thought about what he was about to do, God gives and God takes, he stood and made for the table where the materials were placed, the sun was in virgo, the moon was in aquarius, the time was right, he was going to perform the enochian pentagram banishing ritual, that was first and foremost, he begun,
He touched his forehead and intoned NONCF KHYS (NOH-NOO-KEE-FEH KAH-HEES; You are).
He touched his phallus and intoned ADOHY (AH-DOH-HEE; Kingdom), then Touched his right shoulder and intoned LONSA (LOH-NOO-SAH; Power), Touched the left shoulder and intoned BUSDYR (BOOS-DEE-RAY; Glory), Touched his breast and intone YOYAD (EE-OH-EE-OH-DAH; Him that liveth forever), Facing North, he extended his  right hand with his dagger, and traced a banishing Pentagram, which is like a normal pentagram except with an arrow drawn from south, north along the left side of the triangle with the point facing north,  he did the Sign of the Enterer and intoned

He  came back into the Sign of Silence, then assumed the God-Sign for Puella, which in latin means “girl” with his right hand open across the breast and the left hand open covering his phallus, looking downward.
He Stabbed the Pentagram in the center and turn to the East, Repeating, but intoning:

GE-YAD (GAY EE-AH-DAH, Our Lord and Master)

He went on and on, taking his time, meticulously carrying out the ritual, up next was the invoking.

•   •

Kokabiel and Armaros looked on at the unsuspecting human carrying on with his ritual, everything was falling into place, Azazel’s plan was taking form. Kokabel had his 365,000 spirits ready, a war was coming and he was ready, he spat out and brandished his sword, expecting the bright and morning star to intervene at anytime, in all his Omniscience, and omnipresence surely he must know, or maybe he was secretly planning something, he spat again, he was uneasy, the demons were doing their work, clawing at the human’s mind, whispering into his ear, as he continued with the ritual, more demons filled the room, their stench unmissable, it was time for the summoning.

•      •
Aboderin rolled up his sleeves, the tattoos on both his arms facing the pentagram on the wall, it was time to summon Azazel, everything had fallen into place, almost like it was luck, almost like some supernatural force was guiding him, Azazel would have motive, Azazel would have the power he needed, he had the first part, the secret, he had discovered the secret to death. In other words, he knew how to die, he had never tested the knowledge, but he had it, he had surpassed everyone, even Crowley, the fat brit, he had met him a couple of times, summoned more like, he needed information from him, with regards to the Egyptian gods, osiris and the rest, his research had taken him around the world. In three months he had travelled around the world, from Egypt to Russia, covered all the grimoires, all of them, all the apocryphal books that were, he had conducted a few rites himself that he was proud of. The summoning of Alaister Crowley was one of them, and now he was summoning Azazel. This would be his greatest feat, he planted his feet on the ground, focusing all his energy, he began to chant, the room felt dark, the flames from the candle stood still, he cleared his mind, focusing solely on his task at hand, surely this had to work, he had created this spell on his own, he began to chant

“Spirits of air, sand and sea,
Converge to set the angel free.
in the wind I send this rhyme,
Bring Azazel before me at this time”

“Magic forces black and white,
Reaching out through space and light,
Be he far or be he near
Bring us the angel Azazel here”

As he chanted he wasn’t aware of the commotion in the room, the demons contorted and twisted, making unearthly sounds, filling the air with their pungent smell of sulphur, kokabel grunted.

                     •      • •

•   •         •


“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it”
“I knew it”
“I knew it”
” I knew one day these vermin would discover the secret”
“I told him”
“I told the bright and morning star”
“He shouldn’t have given them so much freedom, so much power”
“He shouldn’t have made them in his image”
“He shouldn’t have made them in his likeness”
“Now it’s the end for all of us, including him”

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.”

                    •       •
• •   • • •

Azazel looked down on Aboderin, he had been summoned, he was confined to earth, imprisoned more like it, but he could be summoned, slowly but surely his plan was taking form, it had taken a long time, years and years for Armaros to find a human with enough potential, what brought Armaros here to Nigeria was yet to be known, but they were here, and they had found a human, as angels they had limits, more so that they had fallen, times were changing, curiosity was growing, and lucifer and his demons were smarter, but this, this his plan was fool proof. The irrational nature of humans meant Aboderin had to believe that he was the one doing everything, that all his thoughts were his, that he was an excellent researcher, and excellent spell caster, he couldn’t see the demons clawing at him, whispering into his ear, Aboderin was a gun and Azazel had found his trigger and boy was he going to shoot.

                          •      •
•  •

Akintunde looked at the crazy man that was telling him about impending doom that was coming his way. Could his life get any crazier, he was in the local abandoned library, pouring through the materials he had found mysteriously intact underneath all the debris at his grandpa’s house, he didn’t question his sudden desire to go back to the house and rummage through, he didn’t question how intact the books where, or that they seemed to there for him, he just buried himself in them, not fully understanding his grandpa’s writings, taking interest in the spells and rituals written in them, he thought to the note his grandpa had left him, “the secret is how to die” , he wondered if the blue eyed crazy man sitting in front of him, the man was handsome, with Gold hair and odd blue eyes, blue like the ocean, the man was telling him, warning him more like, about danger coming for him, telling him to give up on his quest,
What quest?
Akintunde thought to himself, he didn’t know what he was looking for, or what he would find, but this man seemed convinced that it led to danger, a scream rang through the library, the man’s blue eyes suddenly lit up, like they were on fire, “he’s here” the man said as he grabbed Akintunde by the arm, his grip firm, his strength unnatural.

                 •        •
•••    •••

Azazel was furious, he flew into a destructive rage, the humans called it an earthquake but he couldn’t care less,
The bright and morning star
It had to be, he had interfered, finally, he knew it was going sour when Aboderin became hesitant, like he had suddenly developed a change of heart, humans and their flimsy emotions, the bloody human had what they needed, the secret of death, the ultimate power, the power over death, what he felt was God’s power, God’s advantage, if he could get that power he would be supreme, equal to or above God, he would set his seat high above the heavens, angels had limits and so he needed a human to do the dirty work, he was confined, imprisoned by Raphael, limited to information he received from his fellow fallen or those disgusting demons, they had found Aboderin 3 human years ago and set the plan in motion, he arranged the killing of Aboderin’s family, pushing the already tilting man over the edge, no one ventures into these things and remains the same, things of the supernatural, things of the watchers and the nephillim, and of horus, and osiris, and the stars and the moon, he sent demons to claw at Aboderin’s mind, to lead him in the path they wanted him to go, to the books of enoch, and tobit, to the gates of hell to summon Crowley, he had the demons feed Aboderin with thoughts, blasphemous thoughts, thoughts of supremacy, thoughts of death, of “the” death, of the death of God.

Everything was set, the human was to be possessed, Azazel was to possess Aboderin and together they were to kill God, at least that’s what Aboderin thought, with his unstable human thinking, Azazel had bigger plans, grander, more magnificent plans, he wanted to be, God. Aboderin had chickened out, he probably had an encounter with the bright and morning star and was overwhelmed with love for yaweh, such is the glory.

23 years….

He thought to himself, 23 years since he was summoned,

More time.

Aboderin always asked for more time, Azazel felt confidence in his human, like nothing could go wrong, now everything was wrong, Aboderin, with his knowledge, had killed himself, his house had burned to the ground, angel fire definitely, Raphael maybe, or Gabriel, the human had died with the knowledge,

Or had he?

The grandson, the boy, the boy Aboderin left behind, such curiosity had to be hereditary. But the boy knew nothing


He knew nothing yet, perfect, he set plan B in motion, starting with a message for the grandson from the grandfather,
     “The secret is how to die”
Intriguing enough, with the right push this could lead them to their promised land above the heavens, Azazel was a thinker, a smart one, he thought ahead, precisely, putting together the pieces of his plan like a perfect jigsaw puzzle, except now the boy was running for his life, Azazel was hot on his heels, surely the boy had help from above, he stopped to smell the library, the smell of sage and sapphire overshadowing the now smelling corpse down the hall, that must have been what gave him away, the scream. Gabriel had been here.
•      •
Akintunde was panting, gasping for air, 4 seconds ago he was in the library, now he was in the RCCG church down the road from his house, “I’m sorry” the blue eyed man said to him, “I should have warned you about the effects of angel flight on a human”

“A … ” , Akintunde looked puzzled, “Yes” a voice came from the pulpit, another blue eyed man stood by the pulpit, “Michael!” The blue eyed man sighed in relief, “Yes Gabriel”

Gabriel, michael, what the hell was going on here?

Akintunde was now more perplexed than ever, “Do not fear” the one called Michael walked towards him, he took a step back, then another step, then another step, before finally bumping into something, or someone, Azazel breathed down his neck, grabbing him and whispering into his ear, “the secret is how to die”
                      •     •

The showdown………..

It seemed like that, Azazel stood with Akintunde on one side, Gabriel and Michael on the other, no demons here, not with Michael and Gabriel together in one place, just the four of them, “no its not” Michael looked at Akintunde with sincerity in his eyes, trying to get the human to see the honesty in the truth he was speaking, “Azazel is a lying”

Lying about what?

In the next three minutes Michael told Akintunde about everything, what happened to his parents, his grandfather, and then Azazel’s plan,
“Lies!” Azazel screamed, “all lies”

“No!” Gabriel replied, shedding his human form, Michael followed suit, Akintunde then felt very small as the angel beside him shed his human form too,

“They fear you” Azazel continued talking to Akintunde, “The bright and morning star is afraid of you”, Michael grunted in response to Azazel’s last comment, “The knowledge your grandfather had, could bring about a new life, a new heaven and a new earth” he spoke confidently, trying to convince Akintunde to join his cause, “we” he hesitated, “We could be God” “with the power over death comes the power over life”, “we could build a world together”, he stood erect, his might clear for all to see, “we could be G…”

Michael bellowed,
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.”

He walked towards Akintunde, stretching out his hand, gesturing for him to take it and follow him, Azazel couldn’t move, suddenly light shone through the hall, blinding light, causing Akintunde to fall, he felt lighter as he saw himself float upwards towards the light, Azazel’s screams becoming more distant, in all his planning  he had left out one major thing: ‘You can’t kill someone who knows how to die.’

Day 9 – Fluorine

Symbol – Fl

Atomic weight – 18.9984

Ionization energy – 17.4228eV

Solution –

Chemist – @Ghanaijachic




I don’t really know what I’m going to write. This young nigga told me I had to write something and I was excited but then I couldn’t pick a particular thing to write about so I’ve decided to leave a string of ramblings!!!

First of all, life is all about attitude. It depends on how you look at it. Choose to view life how you want it. You feel like you have too many haters remember God’s promised to prepare a table for you in the presence of your enemies. The more your enemies, the longer your table, the bigger your feast! 🙂 That reminds me …

My original train of thought – the eagle! Ordinary birds fly in flocks but an eagle flies alone yet it soars high above the others. You may need to be alone sometimes to move ahead. You’re a small god and gods don’t live like dogs. That’s just by the way but it’s not long enough to make a post. Oh well 😦

So back to my enemy talk. Don’t go out making enemies o! I no send una :p The fact that something’s available doesn’t mean you should take it. After all death’s available right now …

Okay no more nonsense. I’m finally serious 🙂 Allow me to present a few facts (a few sounds more professional than two so 😉 :)) to you:

  • Paternity tests are done using blood
  • DNA is the carrier of genetic material in the blood.

Therefore by accepting Jesus into your life and declaring God as your father, you accept His DNA since you accept His blood so you should express His genes.

That said, I always have contradictions in my head . Stuff like Greedy versus Needy or Content versus Complacent or Sleep versus Hibernate (:D I’m a geek like that) or Reality versus Optimism – I could go on and on but then you’d either scan through or you won’t read this anymore. 😦
They are not contradictions right? I really don’t know how my mind works sometimes. Basically, know that life’s a big ball of contradictions. Its either ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ – there’s no in between.

What else, what else? People always want to know my age so I’ll tell you I’m as young as the day and as old as the situation requires. I’ve been through quite a bit in life, not as much as some people though, but I’ve learnt that every experience should teach you something. I mean literally. I decide if I love you but you decide if I trust you!!!

I see myself as gold – chocolate gold *wink* (I’m a rare breed). Gold needs to go through fire to be purified thereby increasing its value but the fire is never enough to melt the gold. I go through fires of this world – trials and tribulations – but no matter how hot they are, they can’t melt me and I come out better on the other side.

We’ve heard that insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results (If you had not, well, now you have -_-). Be careful though when you’re giving someone a piece of your mind because in the process you may lose your peace of mind. I believe my name’s not what I’m called but what I answer to. If you waste time ‘throwing stones’ at every ‘dog’ who ‘barks’ at you, you’ll take time reaching your destination maybe even get frustrated and tired.

Again, be nice to people – What we do for ourselves dies within us; what we do for others is and forever remains immortal. You don’t know who you’ll meet tomorrow or whose help you’ll need. Still don’t let people walk all over you – Life again is about striking a balance between two extremes. I know I said there are no in betweens.
There are none but you can find a balance. It’s like a seesaw, you have to find the pivot point. But I digress …

We all know the story of the glass of water – the optimist sees it as half full and the pessimist sees it as half empty. So given the same ‘glass of water’, we can view it from two different angles.  Sometimes though, while you’re so busy being either the pessimist, the optimist or the realist (who probably just sees it as a glass of water – Period! 😉 :)), the opportunist grabs what’s in front of you all and moves on.

I think I’ve wasted enough of your time already. Thanks for donating a few seconds (more like minutes) of your life to me (I’m a boss like that I can make people do things! :)). If you haven’t gotten anything out of my ramblings, then get this: Your life is your choice!

Oh by the way being the best is great (because you’re the best. Duh!) but being unique is even greater because you’re the only one. I don’t struggle for most outstanding because I set the standard wherever I am.

Whew! Finally I’m done and I survived it …
*singing* I’m a survivor *singing*
Alright, alright I’m outta here!!!

Leaving plenri plenri hugs and kisses,
Signing out as the one and only,
Ghanaijachic a.k.a Bondess007

P.S. The history of Bondess007 is a story for another day :);)


Day 8 – Oxygen

Symbol – O

Atomic weight – 15.9994

Ionization energy – 13.6181eV

Solution –

Chemist – @Aw3l3



There’s this feeling. It’s strong, cumbersome. I’m choking. I am weak, I am weeping. I want out, I want out.
There’s this feeling. It’s like a drowning. I’m watching myself die. I don’t want to die.. A tentative hand is pulling me up. “Thank you”. “Wh..who are you?” The hand is gone.
What is wrong? May I not know the hand that will save me?
There’s this feeling. I am in between two walls. I..I f..I feel claustrophobic. Between the great walls of mental slavery, lay me and darkness. I am still weak and weeping. In the silence, is the sound of the darkness, cackling. My weeping, it’s cackling…the soundtrack of hell.
There is this feeling..I am hungry. Love hungry. My face is the shape of doors, doors slammed against me, the sound so loud, my heart cracked.
Th..there is this feeling. I am walking to the ocean. They say the ocean has what I want; the ocean will mend the cracks of my porcelain heart, and heal the wounds of self-hatred on my skin. I am walking to the ocean…endless body of water, symbol of unending love. this…this feeling. I can’t find the pieces of my heart. I took them with me for mending, but the waves.. Now I am lost. My wounds were not healed as I was assured. Leap of faith, turned tragedy….Utterly lost.
There is this feeling. The mer-people can’t see my tears. My bleeding eyes are as normal to them as theirs is. They do not understand. They will not help me get out.
There is this feeling..So will I die under the sea? Will I lose myself, in the place I sought healing and redemption? The tentative hand again..I close my eyes, and reach up. I will not ask questions. I am waiting..waiting..the hand is gone.
There is this feeling, under the sea. The fear of death, symbol of eternal loss, the struggle to live. The internal fight is ending, I close my eyes. I forget to pray, ‘Lord, take my soul’.
There is th…this feeling..I am slipping. Trying to fight, fighting to be still. The end has come. It came for me, where I sought salvation. I feel myself letting go. I remember that feeling…the feeling of utter helplessness.


Day 6 – Carbon

Symbol – C

Atomic weight – 12.0107

Ionization energy – 11.2603eV

Solution – Beneath The Smile.

Chemist – @deaduramilade




I was inspired to write this story after reading Beneath the Smile on @Obafuntay’s blog

Hi everyone, my name is Funke.

I want to tell you a story.

Once upon a time, in a time not so long ago, a little girl was born. She would be her mother’s second child and her father’s fourth. The first girl for both of them.

The little girl didn’t remember so many things about her years as a child when it came to her family.

She remembers when she was 8, she was sexually abused by her home tutor – not raped. Sexually abused. She remembers how she was always felt like an outsider amongst the people who were supposed to be family. She remembers how her mother would insult her, humiliate her and beat her.

She remembers how her mother used to make her feel like everything was her fault. She could never do anything right. She was clumsy and stupid. She was unimportant, fat, irrelevant, useless, worthless and disgusting. The boys in school didn’t like her. Nobody liked her. Nobody wanted her.

She remembers how she would write little notes to her mum. Her mum would call her into the room and explain how everything was her fault. She would apologize even though she didn’t understand what she did wrong. She would apologize so her mum won’t get angry and beat her or insult her. The next day, she would make a mistake and her mother would start again.

She remembers how everything she did to make her mum happy only to have her efforts thrown back at her. She remembers when she made a birthday card for her mum and found it in the dustbin about a week later. She remembers when her mum called her a witch and said she was possessed. She remembers that she cried and got snot all over her face and her mother said: ‘you are disgusting. Go and wash your face’. She remembers the many nights in tears. She remembers the ache and the pain. She remembers how her mother would accuse her of many things from threatening to poison the family to sleeping around.

She remembers when she almost had sex when she was 13 because she wanted to get back at her mother. She remembers how she felt like a showpiece. Something to be shown to friends and family. ‘She came first in her class’. ‘She was the best in math’.

She remembers when she threatened to commit suicide and her mother told her to go ahead. She remembers wanting to take a bus somewhere and never return home. She remembers the feeling of being alone. She remembers the hate, the hurt and the thoughts of suicide. She remembers burning her skin  just so her pain could be physical. She remembers that all she ever wanted was approval from her mother. She wanted to be loved.

She remembers all these things. She tries to forget about all of it. She tries to smile through the pain and the hurt. She tries to go on as if there’s nothing going on. She tries to move on but the feelings won’t let her. She feels alone. She feels like everyone is out to hurt her. She’s afraid to trust anyone. She’s afraid to let go.

She hides beneath a mask of indifference. She hides beneath a mask of smiles. She hides beneath a mask.

That girl is me.